Dent in the Armour

Last night I lay on my sofa whacked out from my mammoth walk yesterday and had a few moments of self doubt. Not having the courage to tackle Parisian summer traffic had knocked a little dent in me. For a few moments I just wished I was this different person. Not too different you know, just one who was a little better co-ordinated, who didn’t trip over her own feet, who could signal she was turning left without the whole bike lurching left as well, who knew her left from right, who was a little ... Hang on I then thought, I’m not that bad, I chuck myself of high things every year, I’ve done a parachute jump, I enjoy all things watery. The difference is that I do the things I do because I know I’m safe, tackling the streets of Paris when you don’t even know the Highway Code is just stupid. But (the dent hadn’t quite popped out yet), I wish I could do a cartwheel. The little moth fluttering around the room searching for light heaved its wings in a shrug and rolled its antennae.

Then this morning I trawled through the news. I considered subscribing to the Guardian Weekly, but I think they need to do their maths. You get the four first issues free, yet a year’s subscription is still more expensive then buying it from them at their weekly rate of 2.45€!

Next up was the fact that Rasmussen the current yellow jersey holder of the Tour de France, had been chucked out by his team for suspected doping and that the whole team were thinking of pulling out too. Now I know this may not interest you, but hang on in there a second. I am not a huge sports fan, I watch big football competitions and I admire the stamina and endurance that goes into the Tour de France (and the scenery). Although I have very very little in common with these sports people, the one thing we do share is determination; we all want to do well in what we do. The big difference though is that writers can’t cheat, there isn’t a magic drug that will suddenly make their writing immensely better, we have to work at it. I shook my head as I read about the doping scandals that have plagued this years Tour. I’m wondering whether to even bother to go to the last stage on Sunday. The barriers are already being put in place, but it just seems silly, I’ve been routing for Chicken man (Rasmussen) and now it just doesn’t seem to matter anymore.

So I guess it was kind of cheering to read about 33 year old Luke Bream who is cycling the Tour de France on his own. He is doing each stage a day ahead of the main tour. His mum keeps him going from her camper van, feeding him Jam butties and Coca-cola! He seems to have the crappiest diet of any rider on the tour, but he’s giving it a go. Maybe I’ll look out for Luke on Saturday when he is due in Paris. In the meantime, I’m going to keep persevering; at the writing, I’ll save the bike riding for the Bois de Boulogne or Vincennes where there is no traffic.

Oh and if you need to persevere with your writing don’t forget that Jason Evans is running his 6^th Short Fiction Contest over at The Clarity of Night and that Maht at Moon Topples will open his 3^rd Contest next Wednesday (the day after a very important day). Oh and on the same day the First issue of Blagger by Opening Chapter (aka Skint writer) will be coming out.