Let's Start Again

Let’s Start Again

I suppose, in the beginning, I set out to compose the story as a way of distracting me from a feeling of loneliness. I’m a bit of an outsider you see and I’ve been alone and single for what must be ages and ages. Also, I don’t have any really good friends to speak of – or to speak to either, come to that. I get the impression that others think I’m rather remote or unapproachable and I’ve noticed that people in general seem to feel a bit uncomfortable in my presence. You see, I’m naturally the type that likes to keep himself to himself but others appear to think that gives them licence to be rude or to ignore me. They imagine I don’t care, I assume, and so they don’t care about me; some silly kind of retaliation or something, I expect. However, it isn’t true at all that I don’t care. Indeed I rather think I care too much and it’s just that kind of hypersensitivity that means that I feel distinctly unloved most of the time.

Over the years I’ve heard people say all manner of unkind things about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. ‘Unsociable, self-righteous, aloof or enigmatic’ are about the mildest of the opinions I’ve heard expressed – ‘conceited, dogmatic, arrogant and selfish’ are much more frequent criticisms and, to tell the truth, it all makes me feel incredibly miserable. No one likes to be unpopular or be so terribly misunderstood and I’m no exception. I guess, if I’m honest with myself, I can sort of see why people might think I affect an air of superiority but it’s decidedly unfair all the same. I just think I’m quite reserved and self-reliant although I’d also probably own up to being a bit capricious or eccentric from time to time.

So, what I’m saying is that I spend a good deal of my time alone and I’ve really got no pals as most other folk have. No-one, I mean, like the kind you might go out for a drink with, and talk about football or politics and end up having a curry or a Chinese or something. You know the sort of thing I mean though, sadly for me, I actually don’t know the sort of thing at all, as I’ve just been saying.

I’ve often watched groups of blokes in pubs or clubs, drinking, laughing and telling jokes or things of that nature. They seem to be having a good time – happy in the company of their mates or peers, and I do feel left out and, well … jealous I suppose it is. Yeah, I am jealous, I admit it.

Quite often, there’ll be one or two Flash Harry types who really fancy themselves as ladies’ men – like, dream on! They won’t notice but I’ll be there watching while they try and chat up the barmaid or indulge in a bit of banter with a group of girls nearby. It especially seems to happen when some of the girls go to the toilet which, to my endless bewilderment, always seems to be a mob-handed affair and to be undertaken much more regularly than you’d think nature required. It must be a design fault.

Of course, the exchange won’t involve a conversation as such but it’ll just be loads of crude comments and childish innuendo. The really strange thing is that I never really know what they’re on about or exactly why what is said makes the others laugh so raucously. Sure, I can hear the words, if I make an effort to listen, but the real meaning of the dialogue is lost on me somehow. Same with the discussions the groups of girls are having. Mind you, they do seem to talk about sex much more than the blokes do for some reason. I’ve always wondered why that should be. Perhaps it’s a hormonal thing.

Anyway, the thing I’m trying to get over is that I’m a confirmed and irredeemable loner. And that’s a very unfortunate thing to be if you’re naturally as garrulous as I am. It involves me doing a hell of a lot of my talking to myself – like I’m doing now I suppose.

But I’m not really complaining about it. It’s just the way it is. I am what I am. I comfort myself with the thought that at least I know myself well enough to know that much.

So, at the very least, please understand this: don’t, whatever you do, be tempted to feel sorry for me – that would be an unforgivable offence in my view and might lead to all sorts of unpleasantness. And besides, this tendency towards indulging in monologues does have one major consolation, or perhaps that should be one principal benefit. You see, I can be sure that I’m usually talking to the most intelligent person present – that is, me. Yeah OK, so I’m an egotist too.

But all that’s by the by and although it must be fascinating for you to learn all this about me, even at this late stage, it’s not entirely relevant to the subject in hand. I was going to tell you about my latest creation and I mustn’t let myself get side-tracked though I know it’s an occupational hazard for an ingenious and resourceful storyteller like me. I trust I’m not blowing my own trumpet too much here but I do have a terrific imagination and a very persuasive way with words. At least, I think it’s my way with words though some might call it bullying. Often I find, it’s hard to know the difference but that, I might say, is not my problem.

Nevertheless, given that my motives are, I believe, unimpeachable, the qualities I mentioned are supplemented by a strong desire to do things that others might find remarkable or entertaining. I certainly do like to be well-thought of – that as a bare minimum – which is why I find people’s indifference to my efforts so distressing, as I said before. Anyway, as a result of all this sensibility or whatever it is, I found myself … well, driven really … to attempt the extraordinary by way of a new kind of tale.

For sure, I wanted to avoid chick lit and romance and neither did I want to do murder mystery or thriller – well not exactly that anyway. And SciFi is definitely not to my taste, nor fantasy either, though I thought I’d introduce a few fantastic elements at the pivotal points; kind of cryptic clues or unanswered questions left hanging as it were. I understand that the punters like that sort of thing.

No, my idea was to compose a saga or an epic sort of chronicle, as it were, following the lives of a set of people through the generations. Sort of like The Forsyte Saga or that cycle of novels by Emile Zola; Les Rougon-Macquart, I think it’s called. I even thought it would look well if the whole story was broken up into chapters or episodes under the names of the main character in that section. So, of course I knew that this sort of thing has been attempted by others from time to time but I intended to create something much more extensive and ambitious; a kind of history in other words, but one wrapped up in a cautionary tale.

The narrative I had in mind didn’t come fully formed or with all the details mapped out but I did have a basic idea of what should happen and how it should resolve itself. So, that being the case, I decided not to do a full synopsis or anything but just get on with it so that the story would flow organically and spontaneously, so to speak. I thought if I wasn’t happy with it I could always tinker about with it and fashion it into shape later.

I had a few false starts I have to admit. Part way through I found myself dissatisfied with some of the characters as they developed. I’d had several ideas in my head but when they went down on paper, as it were, they were almost without exception, a bunch of wimps – the men I mean, though the women were really no better than they ought to be. Some women at least had a sense of self-possession about them and acted in human ways but most of the men in the early chapters were far too suggestible to be truly believable. They were messing around and playing the fool, acting out of character and doing things without any real motivation or clear purpose. The only personality that was completely convincing I decided was the ultimate villain of the piece. He was a smooth operator all right, gratifyingly sneaky, and with just the right level of deceitfulness.

So, as the story developed I did some tinkering here and there and at one point, a complete re-working. Fortunately, it wasn’t too disastrous because I already had a pretty clear idea of how I wanted it all to end. I’d composed that bit fairly early on and it was just a question of taking a different path to the conclusion. I had a lot of fun with those final chapters, actually. A bit weird it was – kind of Gormenghast meets The Wild Bunch.

I also liberally sprinkled death, murder and mayhem throughout the story not to mention skulduggery, treachery, betrayal and sex. Lots of sex there was, though done in a thoughtful kind of way so as not to upset those of a sensitive nature. Mostly suggestion really, put in to whet the appetite rather than it being erotica per se. I thought that if I did it that way, people might plough through to the end trying to find the graphic bits to think about when they’re in bed at night or while they’re in the bath, or however people indulge themselves these days. Personally, I wouldn’t know as I’m a dreadful prude really.

Mainly though, the whole thing was plot-driven. I’m not one for lots of flowery descriptions, like doing an assignment for an up-its-own-arse creative writing course or something like that. I did scatter bits of philosophy into it though and used a few choice phrases I rather liked – almost poetry though I do say it myself. So, a touch of meta-physics here, a smidgeon of mystery there – leave ‘em wanting more I say. I thought it was good.

But you know, this creating lark is a right peculiar thing and no mistake. Anyone who’s ever designed and crafted anything from scratch will know what I mean. You work from a little spark of inspiration and try to build it up from there. Trouble is, it never seems to end up like you intended at the outset. Things seem to develop a life of their own and before you know it, your characters are behaving outrageously and are completely out of control. That’s a real problem for a guy like me because I do like to be in control.

I worried away at it like a dog and the whole thing took me six years to complete. After that, I decided to have a bit of a sabbatical before I hawked it around to agents and publishers. I had a pretty good holiday, relaxing in a resort on the Red Sea coast, skin-diving and generally catching a few rays. There were lots of good looking women around as it happens though I was far too retiring to do anything about it of course.

But …, when I returned from my rest and reviewed the work, you can imagine my distress and consternation when I discovered that my original vision bore little or no relation to what was down on paper. I must have been creating characters and things unconsciously and the story had gone off in all sorts of bizarre directions.

It was like the whole thing had developed a life of its own. New characters had popped up all over the place and were doing unspeakable things to each other. I couldn’t have that! Isn’t it just typical – when you put your heart and soul into a thing there’s a risk that some bugger will come along and trample on it but I never expected it to be my creation doing it to me. I never expected the Spanish Inquisition either but that’s another issue.

How could I have been so stupid? A work of six full aeons and I’d nothing to show for it but a universe in chaos, exactly the way it was when I started. Now there were all these charlatans stirring up trouble and trying to control what people ate, what clothes they wore and even when they could cut their bloody hair. And to cap it all they were encouraging parents to let them cut bits off their children as an act of piety or some such nonsense. Talk about taking my name in vain!

But the sad truth is that I made mistakes – me! Who’d have believed it? Not so omniscient or omnipotent after all and just a great mass and mess of humanity from the genesis to the final revelation. And as for all that begetting and begatting stuff? Far too many hormones, that was for sure. I should have stuck to water, amino acids and pro-biotic yoghurt. No it just wouldn’t do. I crumpled up the whole damn thing and just slung it in the bin.

Oh, the shame of it. I’ve just given out a faint but audible sigh which has rippled through the cosmos, stirring a new explosive expansion at the very centre of existence – and there was light!

So, let’s start again.

By mine own hand during the month of July, in Two Thousand and Eleven AD
or by my new reckoning,
01/01/01.