The November Man
The poor November man sees fire and wind
And mist and rain and Winter air
The January Man – Dave Goulder
New October dawns upon us bright and cheerful, a gentle malevolence on the air. But October lasts just four short weeks and once again my friends we approach the ominous eleventh month. The season of mists, of counting out the days, of new beginnings that bring the agony and the ecstasy.
I speak of course of that dark trial of Winter, the month of Nanowrimo. It’s uncanny, inexplicable call begins, for me, around March. A dim throbbing in the temples, a curious discomfort as if my head no longer fits, an edge, an itch within the very lobes themselves. I know it now of old, know I will not have peace until it is done, until it is out, ejected from it’s slimy carapace and foisted onto the world. In May the second trimester begins, great galloping, formless thoughts dash themselves against the walls of fragile brainspaces, bursting into nothingness. Discarded, they float about, dissolving slowly into the thick pool of dead ideas that gathers deep in the ground water of the brainsump.
By July the formless nothings have coalesced into large amounts of mostly nothings, strung together with kettle flex and baling wire. But it is done, the plot it acquired, the characters set in motion, they are upon me, they are within me, things are happening now beyond my control. Fingers jitter to begin, shoots and bushels of connections burst forth, presenting themselves with a saucy insouciance, but I must hold back, not yet, not yet, timing is everything.
September comes with feverish a denial, there is nothing, there can be nothing, look at this nothing, it is nothing. Stop this madness you fool, stop it, only you can end this. It is around now I generally volunteer to be a Municipal Liaison again.
October is a month of whistling in the dark, pretending nothing is wrong, nothing is happening, quietly, desperately, attempting to regain the focus of the Summer and finding nothing. Then there is drinking, lots of drinking and wailing and then…November comes and we’re off.
This year, in addition to my special French Whiskeys, Special Scottish Whiskeys and general Breakfast Whiskeys, my trusty writer’s jacket, now in it’s third year, I have added a special writer’s bag. Yes, that’s right, a writer’s bag. I have been a proponent of the manbag for many years. A manbag or mansack (do not Google) is an essential piece of kit for carting reading materials, electronic gadgetry and bits of paper about the place.
What marks out a special writer’s bag from a run of the mill manbag?
A proper writer’s bag should lift the spirits of all in the room and yet instill in it’s bearer a sense of enigmatic purpose and bohemian versatility. A writer’s bag enhances the proper writer’s sense of restrained masculinity, whilst simultaneously accenting his eye for detail and a good conversation. A good writer’s bag will have the ladies swooning and secretly wondering ‘Oh my, what classical erudition, but what lies beneath it’s rugged, yet high quality weatherproof exterior?’ and who knows ladies, perchance a swift penned love sonnet, the ink still moist with quivering emotion, or perhaps a heart rending story of unrequited love across the intricate barricades of the human heart. Who knows, for within it’s simple canvas depths may lie the answer to all those questions and more, such is the power of the manbag.
I go now into the gathering storm clutching my triumvirate of sacred objects; jacket, bag and special whiskeys, this year I cannot fail, this year the portents shall be favourable, the Gods shall be appeased, this year I will finish Nano AND the damn novel.
October 10th, 2007 at 2:05 pm
I’ve been mulling this over for a while now–what to say to Donal about the man-bag–and I have to admit defeat. I can’t think of anything snarky!
All hail the man-bag then, Purse of Power, Satchel of Substance, Tote of Truth.
October 11th, 2007 at 10:55 am
Poor Neil. NaNoWriMo is so close that your sarcastic tongue is already tied?
It’s a purse.
I’m OK with it. But it’s a purse, nothing other. Denying that it’s a purse just makes you weak, and appear to be afraid of your femininity. Embrace the purse.
October 11th, 2007 at 1:20 pm
See now, DaviMack, in a subtle way you’re just reinforcing the whole “a purse is feminine” thing. That’s what we all need to get away from if we’re going to make this whole man-bag thing work.
We–as a civilisation–need to acknowledge that hey, maybe purses are actually gender neutral, useful for both women and men with lots of makeup/hair curlers and things to carry about.
I suppose the whole notion of ‘purses are for girls’ is a kind of race-memory thing handed down to us from our hunter-gatherer ancestors. Women would spend their days out picking berries, mushrooms and the like, and so they’d need a bag slung over their shoulder–at that time, of course, it would have been made out of a bear’s stomach or something. The men would be out poking elk to death with sticks, so all they’d need is a good straight carrying-pole and some rope. I imagine there would have been a positive selection pressure on women who liked nice bags, and a matching selection pressure that would give an advantage to men who could obtain nice bags for their women.
Maybe that’s what this is–for the first time in human history, men are going out to the shops and finding nice, functional bags for themselves; but later, when they’ve taken the bag home, and they’re looking at it leaning against the side of the sofa or whatever, they start feeling kinda funny about the whole bag thing. That dim sensation of internal conflict–that whole this is wrong, this is wrong, I have worms in my stomach, there’s no way I can actually take it to the pub thing–that’s because their brains are trying to tell them something! Generations of their filthy, bearded forebears are whispering “give it to a woman! Give it to a woman! GIVE IT TO A WOMAN!”
I agree with Donal. It’s time to rise above millenia of natural selection and good sense and say–to hell with you, women! We’re carrying the berries now!
October 11th, 2007 at 2:35 pm
Hear, hear Neil and it’s manberries (DO NOT GOOGLE!).
October 11th, 2007 at 4:14 pm
But if you persist in drawing attention to the device by calling it a man-bag, then you’re only highlighting the fact that you believe it to be a feminine article. If you were to accept it as a purse, and redefine purses to be gender neutral, then you’d be OK. As it is, though, you’re merely drawing attention to the fact that you’re usurping this thing’s rightful place in the world.
October 11th, 2007 at 5:13 pm
What? You’re talking balls David. It should be clear to everyone by now, any named object can be improved by the addition of the prefix ‘man’ to it.
“I’m going downstairs now to watch my mantv and have a manbeer, then later I’ll go to the mangym and work on my manboobs.”
I persist in drawing attention to the man-bag because it is awesome and it is a bag. If it was slung over the shoulder of a lady it would be a lady bag, but it would still be awesome.
Man-purse is fine if the article in question is a purse, but purse’s are small and generally filled with money and fluff, the man-bag is larger and filled with awesome.
October 11th, 2007 at 6:09 pm
Man-love.
October 11th, 2007 at 6:39 pm
Q.E.D.
October 12th, 2007 at 10:00 am
“Man-purse is fine if the article in question is a purse, but purse’s are small and generally filled with money and fluff, the man-bag is larger and filled with awesome.”
Right, then.
You’re admitting you’re all broke. Just checking.
October 13th, 2007 at 12:13 am
I like Neil’s theory, but I think we just need to ditch the word “purse” altogether as way too loaded a term. I don’t much like carrying a purse (although I do carry one), just as I refuse to wear “blouses” or “slacks.” But maybe that’s just me.
The whole man-bag thing reminds me of the Friends episode where Joey propounds the benefits of a man’s bag (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_One_with_Joey's_Bag).
And it’s funny that you should bring this up now, because I was in Target the other day, actually buying a purse/bag/whatever, when I noticed a whole rack of man-bags. (Boy does that sound wrong–”rack of man-bags.” Okay, I’m done now.)