It was a way of telling people the chaos of life, the sheer bastardy of a bean spatula could be addressed by the courts and all would be well, writes Colm O'Regan
Rage — it comes to me easily. Over the years I’ve learned to turn some rage into useful biofuel. If someone is an arsehole, I put them in an ‘arsehole folder’ in my mind and hope that I’ll eventually write enough fiction to shamelessly plunder their arsholery and build a character.
There’s obviously a limit to that though. There is only so much room in any plot for people who don’t salute you after you let them out onto the road in front of you or let them go ahead in the queue at the checkout with their two cans of Galahad and a protein bar. I’ll only get a few hundred words out of people who hang their dog’s shite in a bag from a tree. But still it’s a start.
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