Page 91 of Not That Impossible

I had nothing to do other than sit here and let my imagination unspool.

I was here to brainstorm, and nothing else. This was a practice session.

Since I’d last tried to come up with some article ideas for Ralph, I’d had something of a revelation.

There was areasonthat the fiction flowed and the non-fiction didn’t.

Other than the fact it was unarguably way more fun to write about getting railed than it was trying to sex up a story about the bitter fight for parking spaces in the centre of town.

It was obvious. I couldn’t believe how long it had taken me to work it out.

Very simply, I’d written hundreds of thousands of words of fiction, and…well. Ten thousand of non-fiction?

I hadn’t logged the hours. That was all.

Now that I was free from my obsession with Liam Nash, I had many, many, many hours available in which to practice writing the way I wassupposedto. In a way that would appeal to and entertain the good citizens of Chipping Fairford, rather than just me.

I knew how to train toward a skill. I’d trained my way through learning everything from yoga to kickboxing. If things got desperate at the gym, I could even stand in for Barre class. That had happened once or twice, and I wouldn’t mind if it happened again. I’d loved it.

All I had to do was flip those physical training skills into the mental realm.

As of now, I was in journalist training.

And a good journalist could make a story out of anything, I told myself as I sat there, continuing to stare down the cursor.

Even carparks.

Which was a good thing. Because nothing exciting ever happened in Chipping Fairford.

Apart from that battle in the 1300s.

And Ray finding a dead guy in his bedroom floor.

I could hardly expect something like that to happen twice, could I? I’d just concentrate, open myself up to inspiration, and practice.

I lifted my hands and held them poised above the keyboard. I closed my eyes. The universe was on my side. The universe would deliver the perfect idea. I would write abouuuuut—

My phone rang over on the sofa where I’d put it out of reach.

Oh, thank god.

I jumped up and glanced at the screen.

It was a new phone, or at least new to me. When I went around to my parents house the other day, my mum had noticed the appalling state of my phone with its cracked screen, and insisted I have one of her old ones. She’d opened a kitchen drawer and told me to take my pick.

That drawer was stuffed. She gets a new phone every time Apple releases one, and she’d had her first mobile back in thenineties. In other words, it was like a phone museum in there.

The display said it was Ralph calling. It cut out before I could answer.

The universe hadn’t filled me with inspiration about what to write, but here was Ralph, calling out of the blue. It was a cosmic thumbs-up, I decided. A nod. I was going in the right direction.

A voicemail notification popped up and I was about to hit play when the phone rang in my hand.

“Hi, Ralph,” I said. “You’ll be happy to know that I—”

“Oh, thank fuck you answered your fucking phone this time!” he yelled. “What a refreshing change! Jasper!”

Oh my god, why was he screaming at me? I winced, and held the phone away from my ear. “Yes?” I said tentatively.

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