…a desire to be what, when ye’re all growed up?..a Writer?… are yeez mad, boy?…

…fireman… footballer… film star, like those strutting their stuff on the silver screen at the local Dockside Govan Odeon Cinema saturday matinees in Glasgow… all featured large in this ol’ Jurassic’s ‘whaddya-wanna-be-when-all-growed-up,-boy?’ list before the age of twelve… the onset of teens brought a new set of WURK ambitions… drummer in a ‘beat group’… turf accountant (Glasgow parlance for a formal gambling bookmaker, ‘coz they always had money,)… and still, footballer…

dreams

…but as my compatriot of a coupla hundred years ago, the incomparable poet Rabbie Burns, said, ‘the best laid schemes o’ mice an’ men gang aft agley’… and ‘agley’ went all the prior ambitions when I left school at the age of fifteen, the doors of the mighty Clydesdale & North of Scotland Bank opened to embrace the future Financial Lord of the Universe… the young, callow, albeit numerate, Master Gallacher… fifty years later, that same Govan version wannabe emulator of Messrs Rothschild, Morgan and Vanderbilt has metamorphosed into a Writer… and into my head comes an imaginary conversation with family, friends and would-be professional career counsellors from five decades earlier, thus: ‘Writer???? Lawd’s sake, boy… hush yo’ mouth… a Writer?? are yeez mad, boy?’… in totem pole expectations of societal acceptance, being a scribbler back then was the provenance of a limited vein of people with large real-ink-filled pens and industrial gauge typewriters… the ones which had the rachet-return-with-a-ding-when-yeez-reached-the-edge-of-the-page… now we fast forward to the present day… and I find more than a kernel of regret and a slash of sadness that it took so long for the quill-scraper’s art to infect me… but glad am I now that  it did… the pleasure of being ‘God’ in yer own laptop, directing the lives and destinies of yer characters… who, by the way, soon let yeez know, that yer notion that these characters are subject to your literary whim is wrongthey crack the narrative whip… they control the cerebral committee meetings in yer cranium… and it’s WUNNERFUL… I wish I’d gone mad much earlier… and one of these days, I might actually get all growed up, too… but that can wait… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!

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11 Comments

Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff

11 responses to “…a desire to be what, when ye’re all growed up?..a Writer?… are yeez mad, boy?…

  1. Finding our muse is a godsend, whenever it happens. I’m certainly glad you found yours, as are your thousands of admirers!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. being ‘growed’ up is way over rated. 😉

    Liked by 1 person

  3. We’ve got a lot in common Mr G. When I was growing up writers were those peculiar people like ladies of the night. You knew they existed but they weren’t mentioned in polite society (apart from Shakespeare of course.) So I joined a bank. Now all those characters I neglected for so long are fighting back, demanding to be put on paper, or rather on the ether. One wonders what an old Jurassic (no, not you, a dinosaur,) would have made of an iPad. Probably eaten it as an appetiser, with a computer as the main course, except they were vegetarians. See you when we’ve both grow-ded up- if we ever do! x

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  4. It would seem you and a committee write your thrillers, Seumas. Do they get paid in chocolate, coffee, ice cream, etc? It must be worth it to them. 😀

    Liked by 1 person

  5. I think being grown up is severely overrated too. I’m glad you became a writer in defiance of your meta – metapsyc – imagined conversation with your family 🙂 Oh, and I’m awfully glad I ‘met’ you xxx

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