Five Little Words
(In case anyone’s wondering, someone’s stuck in an airport lounge looking for a new Harkaway story. I’m not actually going to write one right here - mostly because I doubt I’d finish before the flight was called, which sort of defeats the point - but I said “pick five words at random” to see if I could come up with an outline for a story from them, because, hey, it’s a good writing exercise and also I’m tired and it’s the end of the day and Mrs H isn’t quite coming home yet.)
Sooooooo….
Flagellation inevitably gives me monks. I’m not sure I want monks, it seems like a bit of an obvious step. Let’s hold that in reserve and move on to…
Hairnet. Women, obviously, have been known to wear hairnets. But so have men. Hercule Poirot always wore one when he slept. Could this be a detective sort of story? If so, I’ll have to move away from Poirot, obviously, or what’s the point…
Carrot. (I’m sensing a surrealist sort of feeling here. Okay…)
Daisy. A woman’s name? We’re back with hairnets. This whole thing has a Robert Rankin feel about it to me, and while I love his stuff I’m not comfortable with it as something I would write… I may have to take this to stage 2…
Handbag. Yep. I’m getting a curlers and roll-ups feeling off this. We’re going to work the old Jeff Noon on it…
The Old Jeff Noon:
You take your text, and you remix it. Now, Noon would have you lump a load of text from a phone book or something and I only have five words… so… gonna have to freewheel a bit:
Flagellation jellyfish deeps dark mist categories window windlass pirate passion deadhead iconic sandstone building gothic blood type. Hairnet androgyny lithograph half way goal laudable hymnal priest. Carrot rot farmyard rust dog dinghy doleful rocks pain Payne’s grey coastline uncle shadow cypress graveyard. Daisy bicycle cone missing collision iceberg water hold on tight wreckers hope. Handbag gloss maroon mules slog wander old gnarled joints lonely age.
Okay, that’s post one… more to follow.
