Joy in the midst of insanity

As you’ve noticed, I’ve been struggling with the whole ‘being creative under quarantine’ thing. Well, under a shelter-in-place order, anyway. I know it’s to be expected. I know it’s a normal response to trauma--and yes, this is traumatic. For all of us.

Before I left the house on Tuesday, I looked at my bookshelf.

“Maybe I need to read something.”

For those of you who read this on a mobile device, you may never have seen the ‘About Me’ blurb that shows up in the right-side ribbon when this blog is viewed on a computer. Here is what it says:

One woman’s desperate attempt to circumvent the mind-numbing boredom of the corporate nine-to-five.

Contents may include*:

Ranting,
Raving,
Being scathing,
Anecdotes,
Excessive quotes,
Men in white coats,
Kittens,
Mittens,
Silly people being smitten,
Foul language,
Emotional baggage,
A fair amount of collateral damage,
Sex,
Train wrecks,
References to the T-Rex,
Peanuts,
Tree nuts,
The author may actually be nuts.
In addition,
If you care to listen —
She’s a cranky,
Sassy,
Pain-in-the-ass-y,
Self-professed Anglophile.
Can’t be bothered if something’s not worthwhile.
Rough around the edges,
Sometimes has to be talked off of ledges,
Frequently up for fun and frolic,
Occasionally catatonic.
Honest, sometimes to a fault.
Unafraid to call a halt
To bullshit, when she hears it uttered.
Cannot cope with rooms which are cluttered.
Sarcastic,
Bombastic,
Wary of people seemingly made of plastic.
”For goodness’ sake, do something constructive with your time!”
Apparently means making a rhyme
About herself, and forcing it on unsuspecting folks,
Who will hopefully laugh at her jokes,
And not think this whole thing is a hoax.

*Format lovingly, reverentially, and unashamedly stolen from Charlie Brooker’s poem about The Sun on 10 O’Clock Live, 15th February, 2012. Credit where credit is due, and all that.

This whole endeavor is actually largely Charlie’s fault. “Give yourself a deadline” is the only writing advice he has ever felt fit to give, but it was enough for me. It gave me something to be accountable to, and I managed to fill in the rest.

Back to me at the bookshelf on Tuesday morning.

I drew my eyes across my embarrassingly large ‘to-read’ section and stopped at Charlie. The Hell of it All. A collection of pre-2010 columns I had yet to read. I pulled the book down and opened it to the first page of actual text, which happened to be his ‘about the author’ blurb.

“Charlie Brooker is a writer, presenter, and self-indulgent crybaby. He writes for the Guardian and was voted Columnist of the Year at the 2009 British Press Awards. Televisual cultural artifacts he’s shat out include the Royal Television Society award-winning Screenwipe, as well as Newswipe, Nathan Barley, You Have Been Watching and the zombie horror mini-series Dead Set, for which he received a BAFTA nomination. Not an award though. No. That went to someone else. Physically, Brooker resembles a cross between a white Laurence Fishburne, a paedophile walrus and a scowling pork knuckle. He lives in London and is silly.”

Decision made.

Charlie’s unique brand of linguistic contortion never ceases to enthrall me--or, you know, make me feel thoroughly inadequate. It’s bitter and visceral and dark and raw and very, very funny.

His writer’s voice was the metaphorical kick in the arse I needed. Whether that kick ultimately gets me back into at least a semi-permanent creative place or not remains to be seen, but I’ve managed to find a sliver of joy again, even if it’s the bleakest joy you can imagine...but then, what else could you expect from a man who describes himself as "an absolute shit”?

Cheers, Charlie.