It may comes as shock to people but when writing I do my best to be original, so last week I was delighted with myself as I finally had a great opening paragraph to the amazing book I am clearly destined to pen at some point in the coming 40 or so years. Honestly its fantastic, I just somehow have to get it out of my head, devise the characters, the plot and at some point learn how to write something that isnt just a 1000 word rant. Really don’t hold your breath, my to do list is expansive and contains amongst other things, the desire to run a marathon, making dresses again, learning Chinese & Spanish, re-learning Irish, losing a stone or so as well as this fabled book. Like I said for the benefit of your health and my conscience dont go holding your breath. 

So it was undoubtedly a surprise to me that this opening paragraph which could go almost anywhere but sounded brilliant in a slightly self aware postmodern way literally jumped into my head. Genius I tell you! The lead character of the book hadn’t even needed to affirm their gender or general well being in anyway shape or form. Other than a mild bitch about being woken up and having to go to work. Classic! A sentiment we can all empathise with I thought. I had the reader on side from the get go, and what’s better it didnt even sound like thats what the protaganist was complaining about. Shakespeare, Clancy, Rowling budge up a bit there’s a new boy in town and quite frankly he’s just a bit clever. 

That was until over a frappucino and brownie in the glorious spring sunshine, I began discussing a recently read book with a friend. The weather was unseasonally good, Greenwich Naval College was relatively tourist free, & the brownie despite being several thousand calories was worth every bite. All in all a great Sunday afternoon. So back to the book, it was ‘A Single Man’ if your interested, we were chatting about how good it was and how it wasn’t the easiest to read but still very enjoyable. Sumptuous in some parts I believe I may have said in marginally pretentious way. Then, just then it smacked me in the mouth. There word for 1950s word was my genius opening. Sure I’d twisted it, made the alarm clock a mobile phone, transposed my character to London, complete with joke about the media confirming just how we rise earlier here than in other parts of the UK, but it was essentially the same. 

My blatant plagiarism shocked me, and what’s worse I realised I had also robbed another phrase from a friends blog. Clearly not content with ripping off great authors I was also ripping off my friends. Properly disgusted I scrunched up this wondrous piece of writing and lobbed it into the wire framed waste basket in my brain, and promptly decamped to the pub for a well earned cider in the sun. 

I may not be genius yet after all, the dresses still need to be made and I doubt I walk a marathon a month let alone in one go & at a decent pace. Still yesterday I had salad for two meals and a healthy breakfast this morning so maybe all is not lost.