Blog Sweet Blog Part 1 - One Small Step for Dan

Now is a time of crisis. In fact, as we move deeper into the 2020s, I think we can finally admit that now is a time of many crises. Many, many crises. It’s a tidal wave of crises. A crisis crisis. You can’t move around here for crises. They get under your feet. They get in your food. They get knotted in your hair.

If only we’d found some way to harness the speed with which they reproduce, then maybe we could’ve used them as a new power source. That would’ve sorted out the energy crisis. Or we could’ve rounded them on, kept them on farms, set them up as a new food group.

   “What looks good, darling?”

   “I hear the Cajun crisis sliders are to die for.”

   And there goes the food crisis.

   Sadly, much like the slasher franchises of the 80s and early 90s, there appears to be no stopping the crisis stampede for now. We’ve passed the early, sleeker, more gritty entries in the series and the cringeworthy Crisis 6 –Crisis Lives. Never mind the likes of Crisis Takes Manhattan, Crisis Goes to Hell or the inevitable Crisis X, which is set in space for some baffling reason. Before we know it, there’ll be a ropey looking crisis fighting Freddy Kruger and then we’ll be on our way to the first reboot.

   One crisis which shows no sign of abating is the housing crisis. Housing prices, let alone the sheer cost of utility bills and most food groups, are making it impossible for a lot of people to find their own place to live right now.

   It was in order to try and help with this situation that I decided to rent out The Blank Page as somewhere to live.

Here’s some space going spare, I thought to myself. Surely we can help someone set up a home.

I’ll admit it all got a little complicated after that. It was the first ever accommodation that had to be measured out in word count for a start; and it took quite a lot of effort to make sure all of the margins were childproof, just in case we had a family move in. Also, it turned out that paragraphs are not as watertight as you might first expect, which gave the builders all manner of headaches.

   Still, after a few viewings and a small amount of negotiating*, I’m proud to announce that The Blank Page has been rented out to a chap called James Myers. Not long after we accepted James’ offer, he checked to make sure there was room for two occupants here and we told him that this blog is techically a limitless space, as long as you’re happy with living in a prose-based environment**.

   Today, in a momentous step for human living conditions, Mr Myers and his plus one, Dan Carpenter, have arrived to settle into their new home. It’s one small step for blogs and one giant leap for letting agencies the world over. So, let’s sit back and watch as the lads unlock the front door for the first time and start to make themselves comfortable.

Here we go. This isn’t bad, right?

It’s cold.

It’s not that cold.

There’s a draught coming from somewhere.

It’ll be fine.

And we sound weird.

Weird how?

Can’t you hear it?

No, I…

Wait, what were those things?

What things?

You had…I don’t know…there were dots. I just did some as well. How did I do that? Urgh, they taste like burnt sugar.

What’re you talking about?

Why don’t we sound right?

Hang on. The estate agent chap mentioned something about that. Here we go.

   “There. Is that better?”

   “What did you just do?”

   “I switched the speech marks on.”

   “Switch them off again.”

   “Why?”

   “I just don’t like them, okay? Turn them off.”

   “Technically, they’ve always been there.”

“What a revolting thought.”

“You can just see them now, that’s all.”

   “Well, I don’t like seeing them. It’s weird. Turn them off again.”

   “It’ll be fine. We just need to get used to them. Hang on, let me get that box out the doorway and you can come in, get a proper look at the place.”

   Hefting their first heavy, if battered, box away from the door, James Myers set it down with a groan. When he stood back up, holding his back, he felt vaguely haunted by a time when he could’ve lifted that one box without any trouble at all. If not a good few boxes more.

   Of course, back then, he’d have spent far more energy trying to avoid lifting the boxes in the first place. He’d been an expert at avoiding any sort of exercise back in his prime. Although, ironically, he’d have walked a mile for a decent sagwalla.

   “There we go.”

What was that?

   “Use the speech marks, Dan.”

But they feel strange.

   “You’ll get used to them.”

   “Fine.” Dan, who wasn’t carrying anything at all, sulked his way into the blog and looked around. “Does it need to keep doing that?”

   “Doing what?”

   “It’s describing everything we’re doing.”

   “That’s just how it works here.”

   “It makes me feel, I don’t know, sort of exposed.”

   “It’s just new, that’s all. You’re focusing on all the negatives here. Think of all the extra space we’ve got.”

   “Sure. Cold, draughty space,” Dan said, sounding for all the world like a child being forced to eat his vegetables.

   And you better believe that description stopped him in his tracks. He looked around, stared up into the blank space waiting over his head – even though that wasn’t where it sounded like the words were coming from.

   “I don’t sound like a whinging child,” he shouted.

   He really did. In fact, if anything, he was just proving my point for me.

   “Please don’t argue with the narration, Dan.”

   “We should’ve taken that bedsit over the chip shop.”

   “No, this is going to be better, trust me. Healthier for a start.”

   “It’s going to be where we freeze to death.”

   “Just see if you can find the kettle, okay? They said there’s a fitted kitchen in here somewhere. I’m going to get the rest of the boxes out of Martha’s van.”

   Dan watched his friend go and did his best to ignore the fact someone was describing his every thought, his every move. At some points, they seemed to know what he was going to do just before he did it - let alone what he was about to think. It was like being caught in some sort of feedback loop.

It’s like being caught in some sort of feedback loop, he thought.

   “You’re not making it any easier,” he muttered, before setting off, hoping the kitchen would be obvious.

   With his footsteps echoing around him, he found it was strange to think that just this morning he’d been sleeping at James’ last flat. A tiny little converted basement that in no way involved a spellcheck at the door or a password instead of a key. Not that he’d ever been a fan of that flat. The air had always reeked of traffic pollution, no matter if you had the windows opened or closed. The carpets had always been damp under your feet, and the hot water had arrived with all the frequency of Halley’s Comet. Still, it felt more homely than this. He’d woken up there today, on an old, unforgiving fold out sofa, thinking anything has to be better than–

   “And you can knock that off,” he told the blog. “I do not think in Italics, thank you very much. It’s a bit book of the month for me. Maybe I’ll think in a different font. That’d look quite good. Something with a little class.”

   This really isn’t that kind of blog, Dan.

   “No. I suppose all those sorts of blogs are far too successful to go renting themselves out as pokey little flats.”

Who’re you calling ‘pokey’?

Dan fought back the urge to reply. It was like arguing with the double glazing. His skin itched here, like it did after someone had given him a strong static shock. Dan had always attracted static shocks. In the wide world of talents, it was one he could do without. Along with the ingrowing toenails and the hair which reset itself to roughly the shape of a bowl if he ever dared to leave it to its own devices - regardless of how long it was or the last style he’d had it cut in.

   “Yep,” he said to himself. “I’m going to hate it here.”

   Will our heroes settle into their new home without any problems?

   Will Dan find the fitted kitchen before the writer’s finished writing in the wiring?

   Is anyone ever going to tell the people involved with The Blank Page that, technically, a blog really shouldn’t be this long?

   Tune into the next enthralling instalment of Rent-A-Blog to find out.

*Which all came from the estate agents by the way, I only set a very rough (and surprisingly humble) guide price. After all, struggling writers have their own bills to pay, you know. All of those stress balls, tea bags and takeaways aren’t free. And, despite my own protests, they can’t be claimed as a business expense.

**Prose living has its ups and downs, as does any new form of accommodation. Technically, prose is almost entirely carbon neutral (depending on how, when and where you’re reading it), and it comes with absolutely no heating costs. Of course, it also has incredibly spotty Wi-Fi and the plumbing can technically border on the fictional if you’re not careful. Plus, no matter how hard you try and keep on top of it, punctuation is always going to be a problem. As a lot of editors will tell you, it can take no end of work to remove a stubborn flock of commas, and the less said about the dreaded semi-colon the better.