It all came as such a surprise when he was notified that he had won. What was remarkable was he couldn’t remember entering the contest. He looked it up.
“Write your thoughts on the notion that most creative thought is really dressed up nonsense.”
He knew the topic was one close to his heart, after all most of his life he lived in a bubble as far from reality as he could manage and he’d been told on more than one occasion that his writing was little more than creative nonsense.
After all who in their right mind mind would write an entire novel, five hundred pages, centred around a man and a bath towel. But he had, he found his mind going there day in and day out. The towel took on a life of its own and he become obsessed with it giving it characterisations he knew it clearly didn’t deserve.
But here it was, a prize winner and wondered what that meant.
Another letter arrived congratulating him and offering to buy the rights to his novel in order to turn it into a movie. He initially thought it was the silliest of ideas, how could you sustain a film about a man and a towel and retain any sort of credility?
A week later and three days out from the presentation ceremony at the Opera House he received another letter from the film company with ideas and plans for a range of merchandise. This of course included a range of towels with smily faces similar to the one mentioned in the novel.
He had planned to ignore the film idea, he knew what he had written, and yes he began to agree his novel was well written but that didn’t elevate it to anything note worthy in his eyes, as far as he was concerned nonsense was nonsense and he’d passed off his novel as something more than nonsense and in his opinion that made the whole notion of an award even more ludicrous.
He received a call from the presentation people outlining the presentation and suggesting what he might wear, black tie was apparently the way to go, as the presentation, in the Opera House was considered a big deal and according to the caller there was a huge expectation from the committee for him to attend and say something pithy during the award ceremony.
He went back over his notes to see if and when he must have submitted the text to the contest. In the back of his mind he thought Mavis his cleaner who was always rooting around on his desk under the guise of cleaning and dusting may have taken matters into her own hands as she had stepped beyond her role on more that one occasion. He liked Mavis, she cleaned his house each Wednesday, she was eccentric and he liked her for that. If it was Mavis who sent in his novel would she expect a part of the reward as it was her initiative that resulted in his being recognised.
But Mavis, duster in hand, denied all knowledge of doing anything other than cleaning his house.
He sat a pondered his situation as the novel had now taken on an air of ‘uncontrollable nonsense’.