Naming short stories is a funny business; you expend all the time, effort and expertise you can muster into something which, if it wasn’t for you, would never exist. Undoubtedly, there’s something very creative about how scientists and mathematicians play around with various problems, sometimes discovering an ingenious solution. Rarely, if truth be told, considering even the greatest minds possess staunch ideas which, over time, are disproved. Think Galileo’s theory of tidal motion, or Einstein’s notion that the universe is static and can’t expand. In my opinion, nothing quite matches the absolute creativity required to produce something from nothing; writing illustrates this fundamentally.
Panacea? Should I really name it that? After all, it sounds like some sort of tropical S.T.D... I don’t want people reading the title to imagine it’s a tale of unsafe sex and Chlamydia. Nevertheless, I wrote it, my idea, no way Jose am I going to be forced into changing it. Even if I alienate potential readers because they think I’m some sort of infected sex fiend.
All this chatter of static universes and kinky diseases must, subconsciously speaking, be my method of distraction; probably, it’s a conscious idiosyncrasy. Tomorrow is the big day. The apocalypse, the day of reckoning, the first day of the rest of my life; *insert equally ponderous cliché here folks*. Almost packed, boarding passes printed off and, believe me, entirely aware of the magnitude of what I’m undertaking.
NAHHHT.
How can I predict who and what awaits me? Guidebooks, advice, maps, all pale in insignificance when you’re carrying a bucket-load of cereal bars and nipple lubricant on your aching back, into the Spanish sunset. I can’t fully identify my feelings at this moment of time; overwhelmingly, I feel a bit numb if truth be told. And I think that I’m a bit of a silly wanker for attempting it in the first place.
Braveness or stupidity? Fine line that one. As Vincent Van Gogh said (wish I could say I knew this off the top of my head like some smarmy genius, but yes it is Googled): ‘What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?’
Here here Vincey baby... Of course this is the bloke who chopped off his own ear, perhaps I should swerve his advice; or alternatively for you QI buffs out there, it might have been his nemesis Ganguin who did it, but let’s not procrastinate here...
Either way, it’s time to flee now; head torches and spare running shoes must be bought (last minute yes yesss). And some charred meat also awaits, God how I will eternally love BBQs.
I very much hope that said short story will be made available for public consumption, but that can wait for now; subtle niptucks here and there are the order of the day.
Farewell for now, G. x
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