Hello there! I bet you didn’t expect to see me again so soon… perhaps you just hoped. Anyway, a drastic change in my personal circumstances was expected to mean no blogging for a couple of weeks, but wouldn’t ya know it… here I am already.
In truth, I nearly gave blogging a miss today anyway, and just lazed around writing scripts for upcoming Sleepless Knight videos, but I ventured over to one of my favourite blogs and discovered a post which fuelled my desire to wind people up.
So I may dart about a little from topic to topic here, because my mind is going at a million miles an hour and I just have to try and grab a topic without losing fingers in the process. But I’m certainly going to start by referencing the blog post which made me turn back to my keyboard in the first place. Because it has been literally hours since I last touched the thing.
Stephen King… whose name is met with mocking laughter amongst the literati, has long been a hero of mine. I was introduced to his books as a teenager, by a friend of mine, and that first book “The Stand” is still my favourite from Mr King’s extensive library. I will not say much more about him because I think my fellow blogger over at Prawn and Quartered has done a much better job of that already than I could ever hope to do, but I must just say; can we stop this literary snobbery? Because I have found that, almost without exception, the people that hate the man’s work are those who have never even opened one of his books. I am guilty of almost the same thing sometimes, I’ll admit. I love Shakespeare, Joseph Conrad, Edgar Allen Poe and many others, but Dickens bores the crap out of me and, as for Chaucer; I only own The Canterbury Tales because it was on offer at the bookshop, and after about half a page I realised that however important this man might have been to English literature, the laundry pile wasn’t going to sort itself, and on I went to grander things. We all have presumptions and prejudices about different authors, artists, or musicians. In some cases that snobbery extends to food, or wine… or even (as I recently learned) coffee, but let’s practice what we teach our children; try a little before you pull a dramatic “This is the end! You have killed me with Broccoli!” face, and spit it back onto the plate.
So… onto A.A. Milne. What is it about this particular author that makes the whole world think his most beloved character originated in their country? Seriously… I have come across Australians, Americans and, most recently, Canadians, who all seem to think they are responsible for Winnie-the-Pooh. I suppose I can excuse the Canadians, since Winnie was named after a stuffed bear, named after a real Canadian bear; a tenuous link to say the least, but there it is. The thing is, I honestly wouldn’t mind if these countries were responsible for the fat little bee-molester. I mean anyone who can’t spell the name of their favourite thing in all the world, after many years of stealing it, surely deserves less than our complete attention. Sure, you can argue that he’s only a bear, and the argument holds up if he goes back to mauling tourists and shitting in the woods, but if you’re going to chuff about collecting jars of stolen insect produce, and hanging out with suicidal donkeys you should at least bother to correctly label the sticky stuff you are peddling.
In other news (not that any of that was “news”), the novel was eventually rejected by the lovely Victoria Marini, but we thank her for taking the time to read it and will soon start submitting it, once again, to British agents (I can’t help but hear the Bond theme whenever I say this now).
Sleepless Knight will soon return, better and stronger than ever. I realise that wouldn’t be all that difficult, since we are hardly breaking viewing figure records at the moment, but you will not be disappointed if you stick with us.
Here, have a picture of whatever I can find in the next ten minutes that will remotely relate to this post.