Andrew McEwan's Blog: Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life - Posts Tagged "litter"
Tuesday
I think the two people I admire most in the world right now are the little old lady who, regardless of the weather, always seems to be out walking her dog, and the guy who picks litter up in the shopping park who I pass most mornings on my way to work. They're just there, doing what they do, day in day out; temporary yet perpetual cogs in the universe, burning like stars who never think about death.
To me, individual human beings are a peculiar thing. Or maybe it's not just me. We're all beter at handling groups than individuals, surely? Whether through racial or other stereotyping, it's easier to classify a mass of people, for better or worse, than it is to understand, or at least comprehend, an individual. A lot less effort is involved. The difference between reading the blurb (forming an opinion based on someone else's distilled version) and reading the book.
So people are naturally lazy? The old lady and the litter picker certainly aren't.
Just you then. And me.
Enough of that though. I'm having a birthday and you're all invited...to read stuff and buy books! Yes. Go on; it's only once a year. Take a longer look and engage your brain. Seek out rather than wait to receive. Point a knowing finger at the pubishing industry and say, 'I know what you're about.' For you are being sold to. You are marketing's bitch. You walk blindly into fast food outlets and you munch the same old unheathly crap. And then you come back for more. Worse, you leave a trail of discarded packaging in the car park. You're crapulous. Little old ladies do more leg miles than you.
No, really. I'm 48 on the 23rd. I've survived largely intact thus far. I go a little crazy on occasion and I've allowed far too many opportunities to pass me by, but overall I've resisted the compulsion to create a black hole. I think life is funny. I think individuals are important, even if no-one recognises them. Plus I'm skint.
Looking at my previous post from last month I describe Skidmore Shuffledeck, the MC in my latest novel, Spare Parts For Spaceships, as non-violent. Approaching 40k words in his character has developed somewhat. There are now two sides to Skidmore, or even two Skidmores - I haven't figured it out yet. He may even not be human. What's for sure is the more I get to know him the more complex he gets. He has become real to me, as I hope he will to the reader. He has become an individual and thus difficult to brand and box. His cog will turn as mine and one by one the stars will go out.
If you let them.
To me, individual human beings are a peculiar thing. Or maybe it's not just me. We're all beter at handling groups than individuals, surely? Whether through racial or other stereotyping, it's easier to classify a mass of people, for better or worse, than it is to understand, or at least comprehend, an individual. A lot less effort is involved. The difference between reading the blurb (forming an opinion based on someone else's distilled version) and reading the book.
So people are naturally lazy? The old lady and the litter picker certainly aren't.
Just you then. And me.
Enough of that though. I'm having a birthday and you're all invited...to read stuff and buy books! Yes. Go on; it's only once a year. Take a longer look and engage your brain. Seek out rather than wait to receive. Point a knowing finger at the pubishing industry and say, 'I know what you're about.' For you are being sold to. You are marketing's bitch. You walk blindly into fast food outlets and you munch the same old unheathly crap. And then you come back for more. Worse, you leave a trail of discarded packaging in the car park. You're crapulous. Little old ladies do more leg miles than you.
No, really. I'm 48 on the 23rd. I've survived largely intact thus far. I go a little crazy on occasion and I've allowed far too many opportunities to pass me by, but overall I've resisted the compulsion to create a black hole. I think life is funny. I think individuals are important, even if no-one recognises them. Plus I'm skint.
Looking at my previous post from last month I describe Skidmore Shuffledeck, the MC in my latest novel, Spare Parts For Spaceships, as non-violent. Approaching 40k words in his character has developed somewhat. There are now two sides to Skidmore, or even two Skidmores - I haven't figured it out yet. He may even not be human. What's for sure is the more I get to know him the more complex he gets. He has become real to me, as I hope he will to the reader. He has become an individual and thus difficult to brand and box. His cog will turn as mine and one by one the stars will go out.
If you let them.
Words Are the Gravy On the Mashed Potato of Life
...there may be lumps in either or both.
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