I’m writing a blog post on writing a proposal so I don’t have to write an actual proposal. What is a proposal? A proposal is a detailed explanation of everything you intend to do in the amazing book you are poised to write. I can’t stress how horrible it is having to write a proposal. This blog post, on the other hand, is far more pleasant to write than a proposal. I haven’t planned this blog post at all. I haven’t a structure or plan or explanation of greatness and relevance and necessity in mind for this post. Look.
I’ve taken a paragraph break and I can do anything I want. I can confess to painting the Queen green at last week’s Buckingham Palace caber toss. I can confess to milking a cow portrait for a dozen portraits of unpasteurised milk. I don’t have to think about the proposal. I don’t have to demonstrate how absolutely necessary my would-be amazing book is. I don’t have to pretend anything I do as a writer is necessary in an age when writers are becoming more obsolete than coal miners.
But I still have the freedom to use this keyboard and phrase my thoughts in the way I choose. I still have the freedom to say I hate this and I like this, and I like hating this and I hate liking this. I have the freedom to tell people they are idiots for not reading Raymond Queneau. I have the freedom to keep this document open so I don’t have to look at my proposal. I have the freedom to make this paragraph slightly longer so I don’t run to the end and have to flick back to my proposal and add more lies to the page.
I wrote a sentence of my proposal there! It wasn’t very good, but it’s another sentence nearer the word count, so we can all pop a glass of champagne at that. See . . . we’ve hit another barrier here. I could have planned this post, but it would’ve created additional research work, and I would procrastinate from writing this post and have to go back to writing the proposal. I would have some double-attack proposal shit going on. Not good.
Now I’m struggling. I’m flicking back and forth between the web and this document. I should unplug the web, but if I don’t have a million distractions, I will walk out the flat and lower myself onto the Blackford train tracks or go steal all the Frosties from the cornershop and throw them at squirrels. I will tear off my shirt and run naked along the street, pull out each toenail one by one then caramelise them in a dish I call Toe Slurp.
Here are a list of things I would rather be doing than writing this proposal:
1) Not writing this proposal
2) Criticising shoehorns
3) Slapping Ewan McGregor
4) Smearing Edam on my thighs
5) Not writing this proposal
6) Making a kayak out of spaghetti
This is hell. If you ever have to write a proposal, don’t. If you do write a proposal and find it straightforward, death to you. I don’t want to hear about people successfully writing proposals right now. Another thing: in my MA class we get many handouts from blogs written by incredibly witty people telling us how rubbish we are as writers and how we shouldn’t whine because we’re not winners if we whine, we’re snivelling failures.
Listen: I write loads. I write so much I have RSI in my testicles. I try to plan and think sometimes too. Writing has always been my strongest point: planning and thinking seriously slows down my ability to write. Anyway, I don’t want to read another smarmy humorist doing the tough love routine about how useless we are as writers. It really makes my hot water sizzle when I read these unbearable smarm kings. (This is buying me excellent proposal distraction time! I should keep this up. Who else can I criticise?)
I could criticise me, but that’s dull. I could criticise someone I know, but imagine the shame when I have to explain to them in public why I called them a talentless geriatric bimbo. I could criticise a celebrity, but no one with a rational mind is interested in anything famous people do at any point, ever. I could go and research a political topic on the net and construct a well-rationed argument on this intellectual thing or that very interesting thing . . . but that would take a few days, and I would get distracted and not want to do that, and that would be some triple-attack proposal shit going on there.
Oh no! Back to the proposal!
Actually, I edited this post. This post has overtaken the proposal! Yes! I’m wondering how much more I can get away with before this becomes tiresome for me and any readers. Long blog posts usually get half-read or skimmed for key words like NAZI UNIFORMS ARE WELL CUTE and THAT NICK GRIFFIN IS A HANDSOME CHAP but that’s understandable. Blogs should be . . . no, I have to stop there before I say something dull.
I’m writing execrable sentences now. I’m writing like this: I think I would like to rite this book because I am a good ritter and I like ritting and I used to be a video game junkie and I want to find out about video game junkies and I can do fun things with form and style cause I like experimental ritting and oh god I want to self-harm hate me hate me hate me.
I have five days (as of tomorrow). Help.
(P.S. I went back through this post and highlighted additional bits in bold to avoid writing the proposal. And added the picture. And link. I think you get the idea now. Kill me).