Crutches, ideas, and the coolest guy on the planet...

Every writer has a crutch. 

Every damned one of us. 

Doesn't matter what we write. Whether it's ad copy, magazine copy, DM copy, posters, advertorials, scripts, plays, short stories, novellas, novels, serials, comics...whatever. 

We all have a trick to get the wheels moving. We all have a key that turns on the ignition.

And we're not the only ones. 

Anyone who's creative in any way, shape, or form, has one. Or more. 

Anyone who paints, draws, composes lyrics, designs fashion, designs homes, solves problems. 

Anyone who makes movies. Makes music. Makes anything. 

Anyone whose job or passion it is to ramp up the synapses and come up with ideas.

We all have our own mojo. Our own way to get the juices flowing. 

In theory. 

Knew one guy who lay on the creative department sofa and looked at the screen on the inside of his eyelids. Sometimes he'd get a good idea. Other times he'd get a good sleep.

Knew another guy who did a Steve McQueen. Coolest guy on the planet. 

He used to go into his home office. Hang a 'stay the hell away' sign on the door handle. Lock the door. Sit on the floor. Bounce a baseball off the opposite wall. Trap it in an old, worn, catcher's mitt. Throw it back. Repeat the procedure. 

And repeat. And repeat...

All the while thinking up ideas...headlines...images. 

Note to self: Need to find myself a good beat-up catcher's mitt. 

Knew somebody else who went to a gym near her office. Put on her running shoes. Stacked up the miles on the gym's running track. 

All the while solving problems. 

That's how she solved her biggest problem. Being unfit. 

Me?

I used to smoke. Long time ago. 

Benson & Hedges.

Or Bennies, as I used to call them. 

Used to start with a full pack and an empty pad.

I'd have a smoke and a scribble. Until I emptied the pack or filled the pad.

Whichever came first. 

Eventually I got out of breath just thinking about climbing the stairs. So I quit cigarettes. I even quit thinking about them.

But I never quit thinking about ideas. 

Instead of smokes I switched to coffee. Black. The stronger the better. 

And I got a routine. Nice and simple. 

Pour out a fresh cup when I start thinking, and another fresh one every couple of hours after that until I come up with a half-decent idea. 

That gets me a milk chocolate biscuit. 

A decent idea gets me two.

Then I keep on going until I run out of coffee or biscuits. 

Whichever comes first. 

On balance I prefer this crutch. 

Don't wheeze as much as I used to. 

Get more ideas than I used to. 

Still looking for that catcher's mitt. 

And if it weren’t for the damned insomnia, I'd sleep like a baby...

***************************************

You've just read an extract from one of my books of urban essays...Ad Hoc. 

All my published books are available separately from those nice people at Amazon…right here.

(Urban Essays):

Ad Interruptus: https://amzn.to/3AmkfjQ

Ad Infinitum: https://amzn.to/3pof7Uq

Ad Lib: http://amzn.to/2kd4LKf.

Ad Hoc: https://amzn.to/2Nx8GL8

(Unfinished): Ad Astra

(Urban Romance)

Love & Coffee: http://amzn.to/28IWaHq

(Humorous Science Fantasy)

Heaven Help Us: http://amzn.to/2nkQ1Jk

Or…you can pop along to my new website at brycemain.co.uk and have a sneaky peek at them all together in the one place.

And choose one for 2023...