Writer

Scene: A car travels down a quiet motorway in the middle of the night, its speed legal, its strict adhearance to its lane undeniable. The only indication of the darkness to come being a suspicious banging coming from the boot.

Cut To: The car pulls down a slip road and continues, the banging getting more pronounced. The brake lights flash red and the car drifts to the side of the road. Out of the drivers door comes a thin, bearded, shifty looking small man in a white Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure T-shirt, a cheap pair of combat trousers stained with plaster dust and mud and in his left hand he carries a large, wickedly sharp kitchen knife.

Cut To: The boot opens with the camera pointing out to see the blade wielding streak of piss looking menacingly at the inside of the boot. The camera shows a body of a dude lying in the boot, he's wearing the same clothes, he's the same size and shape as the driver and damn, its the same man, perhaps his twin? He's staring up, terrified by the driver. He's covered in blood and shifting limply around in an attempt to find some place to hide from the maniac poised above him.
The man above looks down and smiles with contempt. There's a squeal from the boot and then the stabbing starts; brutal, visceral, deadly. The driver steps back dumping the knife beside his victims lifeless body and then draws a breath and slams the boot.

The red light floods the killers face making him look deranged and demonic. The camera closes in and he stares at the audience.

'Ever Since I can remember I always wanted to be a Writer.'

Black screen. Killer soundtrack explodes into life.

Ok, that was me doing Goodfellas and I clearly am not Ray Liotta (thank god!) but I am the man with the knife...and the man in the boot. See last year I kidnapped the guy that didn't send what he wrote off and though he thought he had something to offer he didn't think that anyone would want to be offered it. I took that guy, the guy I'd been for the last eleven years and I beat him up and made him tell me what I wanted to know and then I threw him in the boot and went for a drive.

This year I'm not just writing and I'm not just sending off in the hope of getting affectionate rejection letters. This year I'm publishing anything that the established order doesn't want. This year I'm making in roads, kicking in doors, taking names and kicking ass. In short, and to cut away any more boring clichés, I am going to succeed.

Watch me. I will fight my way to some form of success. I'm going to end the year with cuts and bruises, a gun shot wound to my ego and people are going to need to wrap me in a blanket and usher me off to the ambulance, but as the credits roll it will be undeniable.

This year I win.