Congratulations to Will for having his following short story chosen for publication on Blank Canvas Post. The short story that follows is a truly wonderful exploration of the paralysis of indecision. Please read the follow conversation between us at Blank Canvas Post and Will to understand more about the writer and the context for this brilliant short story.
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Writer Spotlight: Will.
Will, a writer from the UK, has been working on his writing craft for the last year.
What was it (if anything) that made you start writing?
Back in school I used to love writing; but naturally grew apart from it as I got older. About a year ago, I found myself bored out of my mind in a corporate job I hated and have since quit, so decided to fill the time by writing short stories. I’ve been obsessed ever since!
What experiences have you had that have shaped the writer you are today?
Honestly, there’s not one ‘experience’ I can think of. I fell back in love with reading a couple of years ago, and I’d say my passion for writing has just stemmed from that.
What genres are you writing at the moment? What genres do you enjoy writing?
Perhaps experimental? I enjoy trying to draw the absurd from the mundane.
What inspires you to write? Where do you take your inspiration from?
Literally anything! Obviously the books I read, but also the people I meet, things I see, places I go. I think there’s inspiration in absolutely everything, if you look close enough.
What does your writing process look like (e.g., environment, tools, setting, etc.)?
I enjoy writing on pen and paper, but I’d be lying if I said this is all I do - I often just use my laptop. What I definitely do need though, is a quiet environment and a familiar setting.
What do you envisage when you are writing something new? Are you writing with the intention of sharing your work, or are you simply writing to write, for example?
A lot of the short stories I’m writing at the moment are part of a wider book (it feel pretentious to call it a book, it’s more just a messy collection of chapters with absolutely no order to them), so I suppose I’m trying to write with the intention of building on that. I’m inspired by writers such as Kafka, David Foster Wallace, David Markson - all of whom were probably writing to try and vent/ visualise something that they otherwise couldn’t explain. I love trying to take everyday situations and pinpoint exactly what it is about them that we all take issue with; be this a late train, a hole in our sock, just little inconveniences that we all endure privately. I think I mostly write for the sake of it, but I’ve really loved being able to post bits to my Substack over the past few months. Only a couple of my friend, and DEFINITELY none of my family, are aware that I actually write in the first place.
Why do you think community is important for writers and creative people?
Strength in numbers, which is more important than ever for creatives! We need to be loud, all of the time.
Where do you currently share your work?
Just Substack for now.
Why did you submit your work to Blank Canvas Post? What drew you to our publication?
It looks like a brilliant publication with the right intentions.
About the Short Story: Toothpaste Stream.
Regarding ‘Toothpaste Stream’, what inspired you to write this piece?
This is written from the perspective of a character called Theo. He's essentially me, if I'm honest. So like me, he's absolutely paralysed by indecision - he can hardly decide what he wants for lunch and what to wear, so decisions like 'what do you want to do with your life?' are just completely incomprehensible. I think a lot of young people feel this way, and I think it perhaps comes from a lifetime of overstimulation, social media telling us we can 'be whatever we want to be', etc. Also, like me, he hates early mornings!
What, if any, is the context for this piece? What is the main feeling or message behind it?
This piece is actually part of a wider 'book', which is centred around the ever-moving cogs of a huge warehouse, the characters within it, and how they're all essentially at the mercy of the decisions other people make.
It's loosely based on a place I actually worked.
As for the message or feeling of the whole thing, you're likely asking the wrong person. I've got no idea!
What was the process of writing this piece like for you? What did this process look like?
I don’t think there’s much to it, really. I just sit down at my desk and go for it, and I try not to think too much as I write.
Why did you choose to submit this piece specifically to Blank Canvas Post?
I quite like them [both short stories submitted], and they’re both different enough to be submitted separately.
Without further ado, here is Toothpaste Stream, by Will.
Toothpaste Stream, by Will.
Theo felt the water dripping down his arm irritatingly from his toothbrush, onto his wrist. It flowed over his wrist bone, and took its stream in the crevices of his exposed skin, where it trickled and dripped off the edge of his elbow. The drip would hang teasingly, shaking in the vibration of Theo’s brushing motion, before eventually dropping down, stalactite-like as it plopped onto the cold porcelain. More drips followed, saliva-filled, opaque water infused with toothpaste and plaque, residue from yesterday’s lunch.
He glanced in the mirror and scorched the sight of his pathetic Colgate grin and godforsaken bed hair. The mirror itself was steamy, distorted, not providing a clear view of his morning eye-crust which he could feel, itching the far corners of his lacrimal caruncle, inhabiting the upper arches of his loose eyelashes. He blinked to remove the excess, to no avail.
The bathroom light was rude and obnoxious, and the early morning moon scarpered behind wispy clouds in an attempt to hide, like a changing woman walked in on before she’s ready. Theo yawned, and purposely dug the toothbrush into the gums of his lower mouth. He drew blood. Easy, expendable, diluted blood; like the coke at a fast-food drinks machine. Tasteless. It polluted the river of drips, and the pinkish-red stream flowed down the side of his arm, and pitter-patter stains pinged on the sink’s edge.
The tap was splashing back onto Theo’s work top, little blotches of darkened cloth now accompanied the morning’s porridge stains which were rapidly crusting. Polyester, 100%. A polyester world at this early hour; the hour for weak stomachs and unforgiving back of throat scratches that warned of early colds. The window pains were frosted, and did their best to hide the dark reality of the world Theo had awoken into, the last guardians of his dreamland.
Bags for Life, the company preached. Bags for Life, deep and purple under Theo’s eyes. Seventy Eight job applications this month, six replies, zero interviews. Bags for Life, consequential and turgid.
He turned the tap off, and wiped his mouth using a towel from the floor. He went downstairs.
He could still feel the dried river bed on his arm.
It still irritated him.
The insides of his cheeks were torn-up.
Like ripped chainmail after battle.
He’d regularly bite them to wake himself up.
His hair was all over the shop.
Out the door, off to work.
The car is a brick of ice, and its clock shows 5:20am. Coatless, Theo scrapes at the ice, watching the white powder gather and dissipate in the harsh light of the overhead street lamp.
Back into the car, where the seat is cold.
The sun will rise three hours from now.
The full beams of oncoming traffic walk the last crumbs of Theo’s dreamy slumber to the foot of the guillotine, before laying its head down on the cold sharp metal, and dropping the thin blade down whilst proclaiming the dawn of a forced awoken consciousness.
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This really captures that early morning feeling and the grind of being in a job you don't love.
What is Will's substack? I'd love to read more of his work.