I (sometimes) call myself Mr. Pondersome. I'm a rather wordy, weirdy person. I say hullo a lot. I write a lot more. While you're here, why not give some of it a read?

Tuesday, 26 February 2013

"Half-Arsed Fairytale" (a.k.a. I'll Come up with Something Better Soon, I Promise)

There was once a couple of kids I never really met. They got into some bad shit. Weird bad shit.

They might have talked to some animals or little people. Inanimate objects too, I'll bet; people just do that in this area. Anyway they probably weren't that bothered by it.

I think they disfigured an old woman, could have been an old guy in drag. Might have involved garden tools or kitchen utensils or such like.

Anyway last I heard they scampered off scot-free. Bastards.

Moral: You writing this down or something?

Tuesday, 19 February 2013

FIRST PERSON - Soothing Pastime or Addictive Disease?

Owen Townend has succumbed to a particularly foul affliction. He is addicted to the First Person.

The First Person is a psychotropic drug that is ingested by writers in dire need of 'talent', a popular misnomer for the metabolic state whereby inspiration is inhaled and brilliance is exhaled. Abuse is commonplace among the lower classes.

Symptoms of the First Person include agoraphobic compulsions, loss of descriptive memory and manic finger spasms. Sufferers have been known to turn out 10-20 pages of writing a day with a declining rate of cohesive thought.

Should you come across a writer exhibiting these symptoms then do not approach them directly: they will lash out at the first sign of honest criticism. Instead apply a steady Third Person diet plan immediately. The Second Person is also recommended but should only be applied in the later stages.

Owen Townend is currently undergoing this diet and is showing some small degree of success. Remember, it is a long journey but one that leads to recovery. Be sure to keep him in your prayers.

Monday, 11 February 2013

"The Aromatic Punk" (a.k.a. Smells and the First Person)

                I mean to say that I am in fact the Aromatic Punk. You've heard a bit about me, have you? Quite a bit? That's good, that's good.

                Well what I have to say is this: we've been through a hell of stenches and it seems that I'm the only one who's noticed. The sewage water: can't you smell it? It's changed; been mucked up, tainted even further.

                For one thing it tastes like beer-stained fuchsias. How anyone can bear that I just cannot understand. No, I haven't actually drank the waste; I'm talking olfactory palate stuff here. It's...well, the smell's not really rotten but it's definitely pungent. Kind of sweaty and yeasty, only it's ever so subtle to the average nose. You see, most people get distracted by the obvious stink of faeces and just leave it at that.

                So I got up and did the right thing. I ran home and sifted through my perfume collection. Yes, yeah, I get it. I realise that that seems rather girly to blokes like you but it's absolutely necessary for blokes like me. Anyway I used a musk actually.  I managed to find something suitably sweet in that particular subsection which is a rarity, I can tell you.

                So I took a few bottles, slid them into my jacket pockets and ran to the nearest manhole cover. I lifted it off then poured three bottles worth of musk down into the hole. Then, of course, your boys on the beat came along and asked me what the hell I was doing. They thought I was poisoning the fucking water supply! Christ sake. I set them straight but they still weren't having any so I got collared.

                Yes, this isn't the first time I've done something like this and it turned out ridiculous back then too. The way I figure it, surely I'm not the only one with sensitive nostrils around here, this area. I'm sorry, I just will not stand idly by. Nobody else is doing it so I'll get it done. Too bloody right.

                You just do what you will, your worst. But don't stick me in that opposite cell, eh? Do me that one little favour. Smells like someone pissed themselves to death in there. They did? Phwoar.

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

Letters to Numbers and Numbers to Letters - A Rather Complicated Way to Make a Poem

Next time you find yourself bored and/or stuck while writing, why not try out this fun little poetry exercise? I'll step-by-step it with lots of clear and detailed examples:

1) Find a book.

I just picked up a text book titled "Brilliant CV".

2) Take a key word from the title.

I'll take 'Brilliant'.

3) Display this word like an acrostic.










4) Identify the chronological number of each letter's place within the alphabet (e.g. A=1, B=2, C=3 etc).










5) Pick up the book again. Find the page number that matches each of these numbers.

B=2 = page 2

R=18 = page 18

I=9 = page 9


6) Find the first word on the page that begins with the original letter. Write down all following words until you reach the end of a line or sentence.

B=2 = Best Buy

R=18 = Reliable information

I=9 = is that things that are unusual

L=12 = life history

L=12 = life history

I=9 = is that things that are unusual

A=1 = attempted to put together

N=14 = needs to make far more of her ten years

T=20 = Training Manager

7) Fiddle around with the syntax, the layout and/or omit certain words until you have some form of contextual coherence. Or not.

Here is the (rough) final product:

Best buy

reliable information,

things that are unusual

life history

Life History

Things that are unusual


to make far more of her

Training Manager.

That's the idea in a surprisingly retentive nutshell. If you're still scratching your head then please ask your questions in the comment section below.