Thinly-veiled Vanity

I realised something today.

Something I haven’t been able to pin down for years.

Sitting on Hazel’s bed as her avatar journeyed around the pixelated realm of Fable III, she commented how strange it was how I like to watch people play videogames. And she’s right; I do enjoy it.Watching - never playing.

I like the sense of detachment, the inherent feeling of safety, somehow comforting, whilst still getting the ‘thrill’ of watching the plot develop. (I have a point, other than proving that I’m a loner, I swear.)

Now, I’m not a gamer by any measure. This isn’t the ’90s and any lingering dexterity that defined a childhood avidly clutching a PS1 controller and screaming at Tekken 3 has long since faded.

Well, apparently it’s unusual to enjoy simply watching, rather than playing games… I suppose the process is passive enough to begin with.

And Hazel’s casual comment just made something click, something that, to be perfectly honestly, I haven’t had a fucking clue about for years.

I’ve always wanted to be a journalist. Always. Kids on the playground would always entertain absurd fantasies about becoming a pilot or some other deluded bollocks, but I always found myself saying the same thing.

“I want to be a journalist.”

And you know what, I won’t lie; before university, I hadn’t the faintest idea what it involved. All my thoughts revolved around the feeling of seeing your name in print and that insufferable pride that surfaces as it stares back at you with a steely resolve. But I finally get it - it is more than just thinly-veiled vanity.

I always assumed that I was a ‘doer’ but I enjoy nothing more than watching things develop, from a controlled closeness. For once I actually believe my own UCAS statement.

I finally realise why I wanted, why I still want, to become a journalist. It’s that feeling - the strangely erotic thrill of forming a sentence, as though the words fall from your fingers like a line of semen running down your hand; the only visible, the only lasting remnants of the creative process.

And (now be honest) how many of you ever REALLY read the name of the writer sat atop an article? Exactly. That’s it. It’s the appeal of the enduring word-smith, the invisible author and the silent critic.

I finally remember why I want to spend my life typing away - because from the youngest age, words have been my closest and most valued friends.

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