Last night I won a $600 prize in a competition. Yay?
No. It wasn’t a short story competition. If my Ace-King hadn’t run into an extremely lucky (whole stream of expletives deleted) Ace-Seven on the other side of the table, it could easily have been $10,000. The week before I won $2,678 one evening and about $700 another. This is all bad news. Poker is one of the things I do when I’m not writing.
An online poker tournament requires hours of application and concentration in front of a computer screen – sounds familiar? It demands an overall plan implemented through a serious of micro-decisions. It demands insight into a variety of characters, predicting their reactions in challenging circumstances, without actually meeting them. It rewards a certain amount of creativity and preparedness to put yourself on the line, to click caution to the wind, throw all your chips on the table, take a big risk and do what you know is right in the situation. But stop! Let’s not admit this analogy. They have nothing in common. Poker is simply a way to avoid writing when I’ve got the hideous block parked on my chest.
The others are: going to the gym, booking tickets to the World Cup, spending time with my son, spending time with my girlfriend, cooking great meals, reading South African guidebooks in preparation for said World Cup. I’ve even tried to con myself into thinking I might set a story in South Africa one day based on this research. Nonsense and delusion.
In other words, I have a wonderful life (if you don't want to be a writer). But for me, all these activities must be stamped out. All non-writing time is a waste of life and at the moment I’m wasting nearly all of it. Work has spread through my world like the flu.
This doesn’t Strictly count. It’s not real writing; it’s not fiction. Poetry counts, but I’m not writing any poems at the moment.
Aaarrghhh!
I know you think all life experience is valuable as the raw material for fiction, but I'm afraid you are wrong. I've done my living. Now I want to do my writing.
This is my last slot before Christmas so I also want to take the chance to say HAPPY CHRISTMAS! to everyone who visits these pages. In the New Year I resolve to publish posts bubbling with enthusiasm for writing.
No. It wasn’t a short story competition. If my Ace-King hadn’t run into an extremely lucky (whole stream of expletives deleted) Ace-Seven on the other side of the table, it could easily have been $10,000. The week before I won $2,678 one evening and about $700 another. This is all bad news. Poker is one of the things I do when I’m not writing.
An online poker tournament requires hours of application and concentration in front of a computer screen – sounds familiar? It demands an overall plan implemented through a serious of micro-decisions. It demands insight into a variety of characters, predicting their reactions in challenging circumstances, without actually meeting them. It rewards a certain amount of creativity and preparedness to put yourself on the line, to click caution to the wind, throw all your chips on the table, take a big risk and do what you know is right in the situation. But stop! Let’s not admit this analogy. They have nothing in common. Poker is simply a way to avoid writing when I’ve got the hideous block parked on my chest.
The others are: going to the gym, booking tickets to the World Cup, spending time with my son, spending time with my girlfriend, cooking great meals, reading South African guidebooks in preparation for said World Cup. I’ve even tried to con myself into thinking I might set a story in South Africa one day based on this research. Nonsense and delusion.
In other words, I have a wonderful life (if you don't want to be a writer). But for me, all these activities must be stamped out. All non-writing time is a waste of life and at the moment I’m wasting nearly all of it. Work has spread through my world like the flu.
This doesn’t Strictly count. It’s not real writing; it’s not fiction. Poetry counts, but I’m not writing any poems at the moment.
Aaarrghhh!
I know you think all life experience is valuable as the raw material for fiction, but I'm afraid you are wrong. I've done my living. Now I want to do my writing.
This is my last slot before Christmas so I also want to take the chance to say HAPPY CHRISTMAS! to everyone who visits these pages. In the New Year I resolve to publish posts bubbling with enthusiasm for writing.






