Too busy killing darlings to ride

This one’s for The Ride. More Fare Game online tomorrow …

So here’s the thing… it’s kinda late, it has been a long day, I’m due to have posted something for The Ride and I’ve just been too plain busy doing the metaphorical riding – working on the transition of my days from full-time corporate functionary to thinking, feeling, creating writer – to get this blog piece done.

Well, yeah, I get the irony in that. And there’s even more ‘cos in between wrestling with the delicate balance of family and self and dollar-earning functionary and creative writer and glue-sniffing popcorn vendor – the recording of which is the exact point of The Ride posts – it’s a ride-like slice of writing that has tipped me over the precipice and left me here with so much to say that I can’t get any of it down.

Some of you will be aware of Kill Your Darlings, who describe themselves this way on Twitter: Kill Your Darlings is an independent, quarterly publication. We publish fresh, clever writing that combines intellect with intrigue.

On Friday, those very darlings agreed for me to contribute a piece to their blog about my bumpy ride. This very ride right here. As a result I have spent a good part of today doing my best to be clever, by combining intellect with intrigue, and shoe-horning the whole damn lot into a piece they will be sufficiently satisfied meets those lofty criteria and is consequently published. Bloody enjoyable it was, too.

By spending time killing darlings I am actually on The Ride. Two darling birds killed with one stone. Or one story. The keyboard is mightier than the stone, after all. You’ve probably heard that. Writing 1,000 words for them is very much a part of the ambition of this blog: do my topmost-notch job of writing Fare Game and use this blog and other relevant online avenues to raise awareness of that topmost-notch job.

Bums on seats, folks, that’s what I’m after. If some of those in the KYD audience want to mosey over and check-out some mcphoenixy Fare Game freshness, all the better. And while I’m strong on the re-animation theme here, preferably clad in a lovely rich purple, rather than the slaughter of  those I’m fond of, I’m sure we’ll learn to respect those differences.

But that’s it for now. I’m all clevered out. Clearly. Intrigue is off the agenda and I just spilt my intellect on the floor with the green tea bag. The cat – Harry – about whom it will be alleged soon in Fare Game is contentedly homosexual – has sniffed at my intellect as it seeps from the green tea bag and dribbles across my kitchen floor, turned up his nose at it all and sauntered off with his tail held high yet whiskers untwitched.