This Means Nothing To Me

With my work for the day complete and the Bank holiday finally mine to enjoy. I sauntered around the streets of Norwich under the vacant gaze of a lazy summer sun, whose oddly surreal light gave the city an almost ethereal ambience. The humid, sultry atmosphere; through lack of a breeze, making me feel increasingly enwrapped in silken, moist cocoon. It was like being sandwiched between two oiled up sumo wrestlers, the rolls of smooth fat belly massaging my entire body, calming me, soothing me. Enrapture.

I know reader. Hush now. You’re imagining yourself sandwiched between two large, oiled up sumo wrestlers, aren’t you. Their smooth round bellies touching you, caressing you in a way you didn’t think possible. Erotic, isn’t it? Don’t be ashamed. Go with it, I’ll be here when you want to continue.

Thankfully I managed to break free from this confusing episode in my head before I was dragged into the darkened depths of the psyche, by the sirens that offered such sweet reprieve from a life on land.

Awakening to the world around me once more I found myself looking directly at a piece of graffiti that simply said Question Nothing.

A blasé phrase that rings of manufactured rebellion and hints at conspiracy; likely ignored by the vast majority of shoppers, whose attention is shrouded by consumerist urges. On most day’s I would have likely looked through it, or looked at it and questioned nothing. But at that moment, my mind was obviously closer to my writing than I realised because it gave me my antagonist for my current project. Fully packaged.

One thought followed another, and now the central plot has fallen nicely in to place. Which leaves me no excuses, time to get down to the business of writing!

Another example of how inspiration can be lurking in the most unexpected of places, and how the mood of a moment can influence the meaning you draw from the environment surrounding you at the given time.

I am finding inspiration everywhere at the moment; I am seeing my writing everywhere. Be it totalitarian propaganda and rebellious ideals in phrases stamped on sidewalks or walls, characters in people passing by, or entire worlds in the inverted reflection of a teaspoon. What a world in which to be a writer.