As an aspiring writer, I live in a world inside my own head. I live in lots of worlds inside my head.
I hear voices and I see scenes, action, drama, tension, dialogue. There's a film in my head and a more-or-less constant stream of narrative. Sometimes, well, most of the time, it has to fade into the background. Otherwise I'd get into serious trouble at work, have relationship problems with my partner and family at home and arguments with my friends when they tell me that I don't listen to them.
I don't. Sorry. Otherwise engaged.
I don't make a claim that I create the worlds in my head; they're already there. I am acutely aware that acknowledging this in writing - even in digital media - could get me committed.
(By the way, if you don't hear from me next week, please come and break me out from whatever institution has locked me away. Just follow the tracker signal that's well, erm, inside me.)
How conscious the process of creation is, is something that I'm never quite sure of. A psychological insight would be that I wanted to live vicariously through my characters so that they could do things that I, for various reasons, can not.
Like flying a helicopter, for instance. Probably not a good idea for me to do it for real. Especially the way my characters would do it…
But the worlds (in my head) are fictional. They aren't real (and I understand this, Doctor), and if there is any conscious element in the creative process, it is that: a desire to keep those worlds artificial. There is enough reality in the Real World, for me to add to it.
Yes, I have characters, and yes, they do get hurt, but as an aspiring Buddhist (I aspire to lots of things), I'm quite anti violence, and I'm interested to see how my characters handle that one (although I'm quite fond of A-Team violence, which is quite comic-booky (hey, inventing a new language here!)).
I have a theory: every single person is the main character in their own story. They're the lead character and also the author and director of their story. They decide where to go and when; who to interact with; they write their own dialogue and set the themes as they choose.
But not all themes are set by them. As all stories and worlds intertwine there are themes that occur regularly and frequently amongst all of the characters and their respective worlds. Like the news that petrol prices are up again: they feature in everybody’s story. Or at least, all of the car drivers.
With me so far?
It is rare, though, to have an event that impacts on a wide group of characters, in a dramatic fashion, with little or no warning.
The events of the past ten days saw this happen.
This week, what was happening in other parts of the UK, started happening in the area where I live and work. And for a country, the second week in August in the year 2011 will go down in history as a terrible chapter.
Worse still, it will affect how the world sees the country, not just now, but for months to come. The countdown has just begun to what is known as London 2012, an event that the whole world stops to watch. This week, the world was watching... just not for reasons that people would like to remember.
And this story focuses on one particular day: Tuesday 9th August 2011.
It started as a normal Tuesday. Get up, get dressed and go to work.
Normal.
Check e-mails, interact with other people, resolve enquiries.
Normal.
But by midday, people are coming in and saying that there's trouble in areas that are roughly two miles away from us, in different directions.
Not normal.
When we (usually) hear of trouble, its usually in other parts of the country, or more often, the world. Its on TV, or on the radio and delivered by experienced and professional correspondents.
And its okay, because its Not Here and We Are Safe.
By lunchtime, the local authority (we're just lucky enough to be on the local authority IT network) had sent an e-mail to say, yes there's been trouble, we're aware of it, we're monitoring the situation, everything's OK, you can all go back to work...
As the afternoon progresses police cars are occasionally screaming up and down the dual carriageway where we work. This is with more frequency than the odd one a day/week/month.
At this point, I'd like to say that emotion, any emotion, is like the flu. If one person feels it, it can be addressed. Two people, and you need to keep cool and listen with voices of reason. Five people and emotion starts to catch on. The emotion at work was tension, worry, apprehension. We started getting calls from staff and relatives who were telling us that there was trouble brewing in areas where they lived.
It is one thing to see things happen on the news on a TV in the safety of your home. It is another to think that it is happening less than ten minutes away from you.
By mid-afternoon, parts of the city were shutting down early. And to their credit, our managers made that wise choice too. Because although the problems weren't where we were, they were where staff lived and they affected people's journeys home. Its incredibly difficult to work if all you’re doing is worrying about the safety of getting home, or the safety of the area where you live.
Score one for management! They do get things right (sometimes).
That night, we watched from the safety of our own homes as parts of the city erupted in violence and fire. Buildings were destroyed. Lives were lost as people tried to protect their community. To keep their loved ones safe.
For me, the personal became too personal. Two people I know got caught up in very different ways. One was staying at friend's across the street from where a police station was set on fire.
In another area, police picked up another friend from a brewing trouble spot. They picked up my friend and drove them home to safety.
In stories there is a line between fiction and reality. Where we know that stop reading, or, if it really gets too bad, change the channel or leave the cinema. The reality of what was going on really hit home when the managers closed the office for the day.
That was when it sunk in: this is not a normal work day. At that point for me, I have to say, alarm bells started ringing. This is not a normal day.
Everybody I know personally got through the traumatic days of the week relatively safely and thanks to the police, unharmed. They put themselves in harm’s way for our safety. This week (and every other week) not enough credit has been given to them.
As I write, the debates, finger-pointing, recriminations, political posturing and accusations have already started, and those voices, I fear, won't quieten down for a long time. Everybody has an answer. I just don’t know if it’s the right one.
My own views on the events of the past ten days are this: every story is individual, and every case should be seen as such. I don't think there's an easy answer and I'm not going to go looking for one.
Undoubtedly, we will hear of this again in the usual news reviews of the year and in the days running up to London 2012, where security and safety for all people will be at the forefront of everybody's minds.
As for me, there were other things that I was going to write about, but they'll keep. This is one story that I needed to write. Call it therapy. For free.
Until next week, stay safe and take care.
No comments:
Post a Comment