The Idea Police

Irritatingly...

No. I was going to start this post with that word, but have realised that I am excessively negative in this blog. If you know me, you know I am generally positive about life (if often sarcastic), and I would hate to think of people seeing me as a permanently grumpy misanthrope. In light of this revelation, I shall add some positive content to this page. The following things are fantastic:

- mint choc chip ice cream
- Scottish comedian Frankie Boyle
- sunshine
- Patrick Stewart
- the second Killers album
- Matt Hardy matches
- hitting pebbles together on the beach at night, making sparks
- water

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Irritatingly, I discovered today that the idea I had for a children's book has already been done (or at least something similar). I was browsing in a bookshop to see what other things were on the market, and found that my idea was already published. I'm sure I hadn't heard of that book before. It's just a coincidence. A bile-wrenching coincidence.

Of course, this raises the question: is it impossible to come up with a new idea? has everything already been thought of? The history of ideas is long and complex; from Homer (inventor of the idea) to Lenny Henry, the human race has generated canyon-loads of ideas. Is there anything else left to think of?

If you have a take on this subject, leave your answer to this question on the comments section of this blog. This will serve the dual purpose of providing intellectual stimulation, and letting me know that I'm not the only one reading this (I thank David [I think I know which one] for already using the comments tool [unless you are a figment of my imagination]). If you can't be bothered, don't worry. This blog will serve well to be posthumously published when I'm executed after attacking the queen with a brick.

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This is a slightly more interesting story than most of my rubbish, so burying it here will act as a reward to anyone that has got this far.

I have both male and female sex organs.

Ok, it's not that interesting.

I recently received back some assessed writing from last term. It was the beginning of a film screenplay. I was generally pleased with the comments. But one marker's statement left me a little bemused.

In the script I had described one character as being a wannabe protestor; not caring about the issues, just wanting to have the image of a leftie troublemaker. I described her wardrobe as "refugee-chic", trying to get across her interest in fashion, rather than people. Anyway, the comment from the marker was:

"'Refugee-chic' is a horrid abuse of language."

I was confused. This guy is a poet, so I thought he might mean it was linguisticly clumsy. But Lucy thinks he is offended by the term, seeing it as being offensive to refugees! I don't know for sure. The weird thing is, I'm sure I've written much more offensive things than that (see elsewhere in this blog for examples).

It's also funny that its seen as an abuse 'of language'. As though I've sullied the good name of the English language with this mis-use. Perhaps if I had comunicated this thought with telepathy he would not be so annoyed.

It seemed like a strange thing to write, anyway. I suppose poets have to be enigmatic and fragile, or else they'd be forced to get a real job.

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That's all for today. I shall write again soon with more tales of petty fussery (yes, fussery is a word).