Chapter 2

“You’re writing a book?”

“Yup.”

“What’s the point?”

“There isn’t one.”

After outlining his toaster theory, which Dail felt was vital to understand in order to see why exactly he was writing a book, the conversation turned to what the book was about.

“What’s the book about?” inquired Yosh, Dail’s friend of many years, inquisitively.

“No idea.”

“Ok, who is it about?”

“No-one, at the moment.”

“So it’s going well then?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

Many conversations between Yosh and Dail were similar to this, so much so that they had it down to a science of sorts. But not the good “lets-find-out-stuff-about-the-universe-we-live-in” kind of science. This was more along the lines of the mad “lets-grow-an-ear-on-the-back-of-a-mouse” science.

“I’ve got it!” announced Yosh, accompanying himself with a very unprofessional sounding drum roll on the table they were sat at. “Write it about your experience of writing a book, but make it read like a novel.”

“You think I should write a book about a person trying to write a book?”

“Yes! Why not? It’s brilliant.”

“No, no it isn’t Yosh. It’s one of the least appealing sounding ideas these think sessions have produced since we decided it would be a good idea to go into your room at night, turn on a strobe light and throw dead batteries at each other. No-one would pay to read a book about a guy writing a book. Even then I would still need something for the character in the book to write about! What you’ve managed to achieve here, quite skilfully, yet completely and utterly accidently, is the literary equivalent of those Russian dolls.”

“Kind of a Catch 22?”

“Sure, why not.”

Catch 22, Dail then realised, sounded like it could be a playground game that kids might play. It would most likely involve the number twenty-two being written on a piece of paper, probably A4 (a good size for the sake of visibility from a distance) and then attached somehow to the weakest member of the group, whilst the rest of the children then proceeded to chase and, if they were doing it right, catch the “22” and then win the game by kicking, punching, flicking or sneezing on (or whatever it was that kids did these days) them.

“Kids can be such bastards…” murmured Dail, more to himself than as any form of conversation starter.

“What?” chimed Yosh. “I couldn’t hear you. You were murmuring to yourself again.”

“Never mind. I’m off. Going to head home and try find some sort of inspiration.”

“May the force be with you.”, which was escorted towards Dail with some sort of hand gesture that mildly resembled a half-hearted wave but which, in some cultures, was probably regarded as an insult.