Birth of a Masterpiece by Jason Brown

10 February 2022 { General Fiction }

Birth of a Masterpiece

It’s time I produced another masterpiece; well really this will be my first. I’m in the familiar room I call my writing studio. My laptop is near the window on a desk positioned so I can watch the goings-on outside if I need to. Flask of coffee, a plate of sandwiches, a notebook, and a pen. Behind me is the rickety shelf holding up; just about; my reference material. Show don’t tell, creative writing, Grammar, and punctuation for dummies, and a dictionary. Old manuscripts and rejection letters are scattered on the floor, my masterpiece awaits my magic touch. I’ll show the buggers who say I’ve turned into a grumpy old git.

Fire up the laptop, come on, what’s up with you? “BATTERY FLAT. PLUG-IN CHARGER.”

‘Oh No, who’s been in here, I normally keep it locked. Charger where are you? This is a good start; Ah! There you are. Suppose I’ll have to wait now, it’s completely flat. Make a few notes while I’m waiting.

LOCATION. Somewhere in England. Or Wales or Scotland.

Coffee time. Oh no! why is it that the filling in homemade butties always falls out when I take a bite? Look at that, mayonnaise all over my notebook.

LOCATION, Ireland. No that’s not right, what was my first idea, I know Europe. No good, too many damn foreigners and I can’t think as they do.

Nice day out there; Grr. That ginger Tom from next door has just peed on my Queen Elizabeth Rose. ‘How dare you, that’s bloody treason you stupid cat. Where was I? Somewhere in Europe, no that’s not right.’ ‘What do I know about Europe? Stick with Ireland, plenty of stories there. I can always ask my mate Paddy if I get stuck, he knows some IRA songs.’

SITUATION. War or Peace. ‘No someone has done that. Gang wars, Youth crime, Romance? Naw, I’ve got to be in the mood for that.’

‘Must be school holidays again, the kids are playing footie in the street. Bloody Menace. OI! That ball hit Elizabeth scattering pee-soaked pink leaves all over my grass. This place is going to the dogs; and cats.’

SITUATION. What about cats and dogs fighting and getting pricked to death by her Majesty’s thorns?’

Balls in the garden again. ‘GER AWAY from here, little buggers. And don’t you stick two fingers up to me? I know your dad.’

‘Where was I? Ah, 50% charged, what am I doing sitting here? Can start typing now, good job there's no deadline.

‘Time for a coffee break, oh that’s good, and so is that young lady walking up the street. If only I were a few years younger. Just a minute, that’s not a schoolkid, that skirts a bit short for a nurse. She looks like Fred and Elsie’s girl from number ten only seems five minutes since she was at junior school. My how she’s grown up. No daughter of mine would be allowed to walk out with a skirt that short. It’s disgusting, you never know who’s watching. Could be any dirty old man ogling her from behind the curtains at an upstairs window.’

THE LAPTOP IS FULLY CHARGED. ‘Open Word, Start Grammarly. Now, where was I? I can’t think straight, be better in the morning. Think I’ll go to the club tonight, United is on the box, a couple of pints and I might get some material watching some of the clowns in there.

‘Now there's a thought, A clown in a travelling circus going to Ireland and getting bitten by a rabid dog, or a pack of rabid dogs from Europe. I’ll sleep on that.’

‘Well, that game was a load of rubbish. United played like a bunch of clowns. Think I’ll call the Chinese Chippy. Fish and chips please Lee.

‘Sore finga? Effing else?’

‘Wonder if there are any clowns in China?’

Time for bed. Do a lot of thinking there.

‘EUREKA. Story Title, “The Blank Page.”

PROTAGONIST. Percival Penman.

Percival sits down to compose his latest masterpiece but gets distracted looking out of his window. He suffers from Writers' Block. Runs away to Ireland and becomes a clown in a travelling Circus. Gets bitten by a Rabid dog that had escaped from Europe,

He was given a posthumous MBE by Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth for services to entertainment, certainly not for writing.

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