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My hunch is that it’s a pre-cuneiform sentiment, exemplifying the eternal curse of the storytelling class. No sooner do you work out a spiffing yarn concerning the pharaoh’s next Nefertiti, and – by wedjat! – it’s already happened and your story is yesterday’s papyrus. Talk about bad luck.
In the twentieth century, the Golden Age of Science Fiction owed its sheen at least in part to the abundance of low-hanging story-fruit. Bradbury took us to Mars, Asimov introduced us to sentient robots, Wyndham gave us triffids and just about everyone gave us space operas. But those halcyon days are long gone.
Today’s writer is in a tight spot indeed. Not only have all the obvious story ideas been long-since nabbed but – even worse – real life now seems hell-bent on outperforming every scribe out there. It’s not just the spookily predictive nature of The Simpsons plotlines, although that is strange enough. Orwell’s 1984 feels like old news today. Atwood was clearly channelling JD Vance. And let’s not even begin to talk about HG Wells.
And so, in tomorrow’s Huddle, I’d like to set you the (somewhat playful) task of bringing along your most outrageous writerly predictions for the rest of this year.
You don’t need to put word to paper. Just come along with your wildest ideas. But be warned: heretofore-implausible events (such as the attempted assassination of a presidential candidate?) almost seem trite these days. You will have to work pretty darn hard to beat reality… But I know you can do it
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See you tomorrow!