I'm nowhere near being an expert on politics, which is why I haven't posted a single word on the subject of the US presidential elections. But yesterday's events have persuaded me to put aside my reserve.
As I listened to Obama's speech last night, the main thing that struck me was that even though he's unlikely to turn out to be a saint, even though his policies will probably anger as many people as they please and even though he may well find it impossible to withstand the corrupting influence of his position, yesterday, for about fifteen minutes, he reminded me of the tremendous, overwhelming power of words. Language moves us as compulsively as any physical force. And when someone uses it skillfully and enthralls us with their charisma, the effect is electrifying.
I was never excited by Blair's rhetorical posturing and I've not been impressed by the 'people pulling power' of the likes of Cameron and Brown. But Obama's got gravitas. Maybe the substance of his rule will turn out to be no more tangible than a breath of fresh air, but then sometimes that's all it takes to make people stand up and step outside.
My other thought is to do with the prefix 'black'. Yes, I can easily see that placing Obama at the end of a narrative that begins with slavery and takes in figures like MLK and Rosa Parks gives proceedings a poetic resonance. I can understand that, socio-politically, it makes sense to keep his image simple: he's black and that's that. But the reality's far more interesting. He's not 'black': he's of mixed race. His parents represent the first US generation that was able to enjoy the riches offered by multi-culturalism, riches such as inter-marriage. To my mind, this makes him a far more important and iconic figure than that painted by the single-hued moniker used by the media.
It's been ages since the world went past the stage when race was an accurate marker - if that's the right word - of identity. We're all a patchwork of various strands of DNA pulled out from pretty much every section of the globe. It's wonderful that we can now say that the US is about to have its first black president. But I guess we're not yet ready to call him the president who's as black as he is white and every shade in between.
I didn't open my door to any trick-or-treaters last night. This was partly because - same as last year - I'd forgotten to stock up on sweets. But there was another reason, one which I'm ashamed to admit. You see, the truth is that I haven't yet obtained my official qualification in Confection Provision.
There's no need to look at me like that! I've just been so busy, what with one thing and another! I haven't got around to doing the reading on Advanced Sherbet Fountain Handover techniques, and the essay on Gobstopper Proliferation Following The Abolition Of The Poll Tax has been lying untouched for weeks. The whole situation's hopeless. I am doing my best, but when you're also trying to get a GCSE in Supermarket Aisle Etiquette and an HND in Non-Eye-Contact Chip & Pin Entry, it's almost impossible to find the time to write a dissertation on the political correctness of Bertie Bassett. And I would've loved to have seen all the kids in their costumes last night, but I mean, you can't just open the door and GIVE them a whole bunch of jelly babies without knowing what you're doing, can you?
Maybe next year I'll be better prepared. Or maybe I need to make use of the services of GiftRepublic.com. Check out their site: not only do they offer the usual 'name a rose', 'name a star', 'dedicate a tree' stuff, but they've also branched out into gift qualifications! Yes indeed, you can now buy a neatly boxed chance to get an NVQ in Wine Tasting, Chocolate Making, Meditation and, needless to say, Creative Writing. Hallelujah, all my worries are at an end. I shall buy the pack and at the end of the 10 'bite-sized' lessons I will undoubtedly be able to give the likes of Austen, Hardy and Forster a real run for their money. Who needs hours of anguish when you can find success on the shelves of Tesco's?
So worry not, you trick-or-treaters of 2009. Next year I will not let you down. If you knock on my door, you will find your bags filled to the brim with a sparkly array of sugar-filled goodies, all of which will be handed over in the most elegant, the most professional, the most highly qualified manner you could possibly imagine. Could I ask you to just do one thing for me, please? My eyesight's not what it used to be and those Halloween nights can get pretty dark, so do you think maybe you might be able to wear the larger versions of your Trick-Or-Treater Proficiency badges. I'm sure you'll agree it would make all our lives so very much easier.
I've said this before and I have no doubt whatsoever that I will continue to say it again and again: I find writing hard. There are loads of reasons for this, but the one on my mind right now is that I never seem to be able to shake off the feeling that the ideas behind my words are embarrassingly banal. It's a paralytic state in which to be: what's the point in committing your thoughts to paper if you don't really think anyone's going to gain very much from reading them?
I guess, in a way, what I'm driving at here is that I worry about originality. I know all the lines about nothing under the sun being new, but it's difficult to find them comforting, even though I acknowledge they're mostly true. In his latest diary entry, even Patrick Neate - whose work nearly always strikes me as fresh and singular - writes that, "Just because a thought is less than original, doesn't make it less than true." I totally agree with him... but I also wonder if he's trying to convince himself.
Somewhere in all this lies a battle with my ego. If I could truly let go of my 'intellectual inhibitions' and just write whatever my heart/head tell me to write - without worrying about whether there's going to be a reader at the other end of the process - then I suppose the paralysis would thaw. But I am a worrier. And I do wonder what people are going to make of my output. And I would like to be published. So I end up gagging myself.
Over the last few weeks, I've tried several times to update this site. I've told myself to sit down at my laptop and not get up until I'd composed a devilishly witty three-para piece on some aspect or other of modern life. It hasn't worked. (And I sometimes wonder if I deliberately set myself too ambitious a challenge because I know I've no hope of accomplishing it, which then allows me to retreat into a state of protective inertia... but that's another story...) Every single subject I've thought of to write about fizzles away within moments of entering my brain, because I'm unable to come up with a slant on it that I consider sufficiently different from everyone else's. The current economic climate? No way, people far more qualified than I have already written thousands of words on that. A film review? Nope, I've banned myself from doing those. (Can't quite remember why, but they're definitely forbidden.) An update on my novel? Uhh... okay: the second draft is coming along at a rate of about a syllable a day. There's your update.
So what does that leave me with? Random pseudo-observations, I guess. Feel free to string them together in any order you see fit and derive any meaning from them.
- At very end of the film I've Loved You So Long, the main character - who's had to cope with the death of a child - says the words, "I'm here." At the very end of my novel, the main character - who's had to cope with the death of a child - says the words, "I'm here."
- I used to find it harder to get assertive with Help Desk staff working in India than with those working here in the UK. Having spent several hours of the last few days speaking to Help Desk staff working in India, I no longer have this problem. I am pleased to report that Help Desk frustrations know no national boundaries.
- Ishiguro uses many more adverbs than I suspected before I started counting them.
- Another one of my short stories was rejected the other day. This brings the total number of rejected stories to one more than the previous total.
- Some new research has shown that if you want to become an expert at doing something, you need to have done it for 10,000 hours, which equates to about 3 hours a day for 10 years.
- This year's Booker Prize committee stated they wanted their shortlist to contain real "page-turners".
- The current crop of Teacher Training students have been told that if ever they're in doubt as to what would be suitable attire at the school where they're working, they should take their cue from the kids' clothes.
- In 2003 Philip Roth wrote, "Over the years what you develop is a tolerance for your own crudeness. And patience with your own crap, really. Belief in your crap, which is just 'stay with your crap and it will get better, and come back every day and keep going'."
- Not so long ago, A S Byatt said on Radio 4 that authors should worry less about prizes and more about writing.
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