As If I Would

 

You what?

You want me to do what?

I do like that you’re funny, but I think this time you’ve got a bit …

Oh you’re not joking.   

You really want me to. 

I suppose I could try it out if that’s what you really … yes, okay I said I’d try.

Geez, give a girl a break why don’t you?

Why Don’t You?!

I used to love that show for the irony. 

You know, they were telling you to go outside and do something less boring than watch their show.  Which you always ended up doing of course.  The ‘watching their show’ part, not the ‘going outside’ bit I mean.

I’d much rather stay inside and watch any old rubbish that was on the goggle-box than have to go out into the brightly lit world and deal with the noise.

And the people.

And the killer worms.

Okay so I made that last part up, but I'll bet that's a book waiting to be written.

Or maybe it has been and I didn’t think it would sit well with me, particularly in light of watching a boy in my class at school eat worms and wondering in my innocent, pre-Stephen King days what happened to them after he ate them.

If Mr King got hold of the idea they would have taken over the boy’s body, or morphed into evil worms that left his body and took over everyone else’s bodies, until everyone became massive worms that took over the world.

Gross and disturbing.

But I digress.

As a child I was happier to deal with events happening on the television, or stories on the radio, or anything between two book-bindings.  

 And I don’t think it's because I was an only child, or because it made the grown-ups happier if I sat and read, rather than tore up the town and vandalised property.

I think it's because books can have their protective covers closed.

And the television and radio can be turned off.

But people can’t.

In particular, children can’t.

But they can, I discovered, be ignored.

If you stick your head far enough inside a book, I found, they will stop throwing things at you to make you come and play with them, and get bored.

Plus, grown-ups like quiet children.

To be seen and not heard, and all that.

So if they see one they cannot hear, who looks like they are not going to make any loud noises or demands, they will smile and let you be.  Better yet, they will even encourage the other children to leave you alone to read.

It’s true that other children will think you’re strange.

Perhaps not so much now with the popularity of children reading books on the increase, thanks to a certain young wizard, but certainly when I was young.

Plus, they think you can’t hear them.

After the name-calling ceases and they leave you alone, they actually become oblivious to you and think you have dematerialised to another planet, or something.

And if you’re the kind of person who likes to listen to other people’s conversations, it’s fascinating.

A veritable goldmine.

And it’s a skill I’ve cultivated over the years; to be in a place with other people and not only do they hardly register you're there, they are actually surprised when you move or cough.

The art of stillness.

I'll bet I’ve nicked that from some meditation book or other I’ve read over the years, but I like it.

I love it.

It’s perfect, in fact.

It means that we writers can sit around in coffee shops all day, notepad and pen at the ready, gazing out of the windows to where the real world is going on.

And if someone asks us what we were doing all day, we can say we were ‘Practicing the Art of Stillness’.

Better yet, we can say we were ‘Practicing the Art of Stillness for Our Craft’.

Ooh I like that, there may be a book in there somewhere too.

Maybe.

You what?

Look, you should know me well enough by now, to know that I cannot just sit down and write with a purpose in mind, or with a specific point to make.

Hah!  As if I would.