At the minimum this blog is my "twenty lines a day, genius or not," the Stendahl dictum made famous in recent years by Harry Matthews, who it seemed to work for. On the other hand there’s Shaw’s method: forcing himself to write 5000 words a day. You might have to be a vegetarian sex-relinquisher to manage that.
Whilst flailing my arms around in front of the mirror during my morning Mitzvah exercises (which alleviate my computer back problems), an idea floated to the surface: the Tynan Society. I admit that the man’s life and work has obsessed me in recent weeks, and that he is the current background epiphany that won’t budge. That said, I am merely reporting an observed notion. He is in on it, I think, at least in the sense that the dead are alive in the world through the minds of those they influence.
Once a month the Society meets in the house of one of its London members and spends an alcohol-free first hour or so of conversation using the Tynan rules (whatever they are) relating to Society matters (of which there are a delightful many), and followed by free-for-all food and drink second act.
As this hook is now in the river, the question is: are there are others in London who feel as I do, and are spurred on by the idea of gathering in the memory of, at his least, a very interesting and good man; and a way to have some good conversation through a filter whose time has come, or not. If you are out there, you know where to find me. I'd say that if there are four others who like the idea that would be cause enough to meet.