Just so you know, Thingy Magigy is not an ogre in folk tale. Granny used to narrate to us such tales when i was a little boy, and all the ogres had weird names but even if we combine all of them, they still have nothing on ‘Thingy Magigy’.
What comes into your mind when you think of this word?
What smell or color would you give it?
If you colored it Mauve, would it throw a tantrum and poke its index finger into your eye? Or maybe it would light up like a good story idea if you colored it Beige!
Does it have an age?
Double chin perhaps?
If it had a girlfriend, assuming it was masculine, would she wear floral dresses and wide rimmed bifocal lenses and eat pepperoni pizza every last Saturday of the month?
I like referring to it as the Farrah-effect. Farrah is a fellow writer under the ensemble tendi.org, our little space somewhere in the universe where we meet as writers in a bid to slay the boogeyman and just write. When the search for better adjectives and descriptions does a number on her, the word she uses to describe it is Thingy Magigy.
I understand, from her, that it is the name you give to nothingness. When you can’t seem to get the right color for sorrow, just call it Thingy Magigy, it will suffice.
I bet if someone pisses her off this would be the word that springs to her mind, because at times calling someone a moron is too commonplace and far too kind.
So now am at a point in my life where my head is balding from the front and centre and i feel like i should have churned out a novel already. I sleep with this idea on my mind in the hope that it will inspire me to finally start on my book.
As dawn yawns and stretches ready to grow up, ditch the Winnie the Pooh pajamas and become a good morning to some and a hell of a day for others, i open a blank Word document and the glaringly bright white blankness scares my ideas away. I mean, they just up and leave and am left there, arms outstretched, shouting ‘C’mon guys, don’t do me like this!’
I feel my brain go blank just like the page.
Too much agony. I open Call of Duty, Modern warfare in the hope that it will instill a fighting spirit in me.
I feel like i just watched a terrible episode of Tele-Tubbies. But i still want to get started so i type the title of the novel i want to write, blow it up to font size 80 and search within the pixels for something that might spark an idea.
No luck. There is only an emptiness that is darker than satan’s thoughts.
I backspace into blankness, a towering cursor blinking defiantly at me. Then i write ‘Thingy magigy‘ and stare at it for seventy eight seconds.
I smile. If MS Word was an animal it would be a JackAss with a forked tail.
Yvonne’s Dust beckons me. Picking it up, i ran a hand on the cover; i do this with all books i read. I guess it’s a way of saying hi to the book, or saluting the author!
Soon am lost In Dust and the cough i develop from it will hopefully push me into at least writing a few words for my own novel.
This first novel for me is a real struggle.