Productive?

Holy shit you guys, I wrote every day this week! I haven’t done that in at least a year and a half!

Admittedly, the average is about a hundred words a day, so at this rate I’ll finish the screenplay in about half a year… but it’s a start. It’s like the first week of the app that shall remain nameless until they pay me for all last week’s blog mentions. Start out in small increments, and build on them, right?

And it’s a far cry from those couple of months I was doing 25K+, but I’m not as young as I once was. Damnit, writing doesn’t really work that way, does it…

But it feels good. And unlike running, there’s no dodgy joints to stop my progress. There’s no fear of damaging myself in a foreign country with a vague idea of how to communicate (I know it’s je sues mal, but is it jambe or jambon, and I’m pretty sure that would matter if I pulled a muscle). I mean, there’s a dodgy brain, but that’s just it being it’s old usual grumbly miserable self.

So yeah. 800 words in. Am I going to make my target of having a finished script by— oh crap, I just counted, and it’s 18 days away. 18. And this blog is already longer than some of the days last week. And I haven’t done my words for today. So I’ll type soon.

Fitness

As I sit here in my hotel room in France, slurping my dinner of instant noodles down (to be followed with a dessert of milka chocolate) I’m not sure why I’ve decided to write about this, of all things, tonight. Maybe I feel like I owe the three people who were watching me struggle through the couch to 5k app an explanation as to why there haven’t been any posts recently. Maybe I don’t blog so much any more, as generate excuses where none were asked for.

But notice I haven’t apologised for not writing in a while this time? Not going to either. There’s a lot I could have, would have, written about, but it’s all seemed a bit off. Politics? Too many people spewing about that anyway. Work? Couple of NDA’s so that’s a no go. Travel? Yeah, been doing a bit of that in between the NDAing. I posted pics. Thanks for liking them.

The truth is, I don’t know if I’ve been fit enough to write. Not in the sense that I’m not fit enough to do the couch to 5k challenge (I had to stop three quarters of the way through week 2, day 2. My right knee and groin were definitely not having any of that running shit, and being without health insurance, in a foreign country, I thought it better to not risk doing myself a damage), but in the sense that my head’s not been there.

I need to approach writing a bit like couch to 5k, I suppose (and just so you know, I have not been paid by them to mention the app this many times). I need to do a bit more at a time, and build on it, to the point I can run a 5k… or finish a project in the equivalent. But while I’d list the reasons for not working out (self-conscious, irregular working hours, shitty joints, feeling like Sisyphus), you don’t need to delve into the fitness of my mind.

But I wrote a short last week. It was 3 pages, and it could have been longer, but I didn’t feel the need. It was short, and dark, and twisted, and it made me feel good. And now the wheels are turning. The reasons seem… stupid. Like excuses that don’t need to be made. And I want to do more. A bit like the feeling, not right when you finish running, but about an hour later when your body realises that pushing it isn’t (probably) going to kill you, and that maybe this isn’t such a bad thing to do on a little more regular basis.

So I’m giving myself a month. I’ve got this horrible little idea in my head, and it could be quite a weird little script, and I’m going to finish it in a month. Provided the mental equivalent of my right knee and groin don’t start giving my gyp.

Gambler

I lived in Vegas for ten years, and in that time maybe spent $300 on gambling. Got a royal flush on a poker machine once, so I pretty much figure there's not much point in me continuing to gamble if I already got my royal. 

But here on the road, I find myself gambling. And I can see the appeal, the addictive side of it. I've spent way more on this gambling in two months than I ever did the entire time I lived in Vegas,  checking the apps and the websites a couple times a day. I've spent $1725 so far, and I'm down $50.76 so far.

I'm teaching myself to invest. Not very well, obviously, as I'm down $50.76. But it's fascinating, and addicting, and infuriating. Stay off drugs, kids; I bought stock in a marijuana company and I'm down $84 dollars there. But that's slightly balanced out by some laser company my brother knows one of the workers that I bought stock in. They're up, but not enough to break even. And just for shits and giggles, I bought stock in the parent company that did movie pass. It was $40, I've spent more on that on a hangover, and this is way more entertaining (and hopefully going to last longer than some of my hangovers which seem to go on forever these days).

I might not be going about it the right way, and I've always been highly judgmental of wall street, and day traders, and I'm glad I'm not doing it for a living, but for now stock trading is actually kinda fun. I've used stash a bit too, which is way less pressure and gives some decent breakdowns, and also handy for research. 

So here I am, crossing the US, updating stock feeds every couple hour or so, watching the numbers turn green, and red, and wondering what else to buy, and wondering about investing in other markets cos it's really boring between 1700-0900h Eastern time. Gambling with my money on things I have no control over, and if my luck with buying a house is anything to go by the market is going to crash in the next year or so and I should probably get out now when I"m only down $50 (and 76 cents).

Dearie Me

What a long time without a post. And I have to say I left it with a less than couth title. 

I could blame it on being busy, or not having things to write about, and yada yada yada. 

The problem is, I haven't felt like writing. I want to, there's so much to opine about, but where to start? And where to stop? 

I could write about relationships, love, sex, emotions, but in the years since I started writing this blog I've learned to keep more of that shit private, for better or worse. If you want to know, have a drink with me in a pub somewhere. And this way, it doesn't hurt anyone else's feelings. And as I've excluded myself from the possibility of having a relationship for the foreseeable future, I'm not really in a position to grumble about it.

I could write about politics, but for fuck's sake. What is there to talk about except everything everyone has already said? It's depressing, the state of half the governments in the world is depressing, and me hammering out some position here isn't going to do much except maybe get the ten people who read it to nod and murmur "I agree."

I can't write about work, because non-disclosure agreements and all that. But I'm working on the road, doing rock and roll touring, and it's nice to enjoy the shows again. Hours are long, I don't know what day it is (or even what city or time zone we're in), but it's definitely keeping me out of trouble.

Friends? Sailing? Death? Taxes? Personal Hygiene? The State of Young People Today? Meh. 

But here I am, managed to fill a post about all the things I haven't been writing about. And looking at how I was doing back at the beginning of the year, a whole blog a week (!) and it makes me feel guilty I couldn't keep up the momentum. 

I'm currently chipping away at a new story. Two pages in. I'm managing maybe a couple of lines a day. And maybe, just maybe, drivelling on here will somehow kick my arse in gear, push me into getting that other shit written. We'll see. It's not like I don't have time on the bus, from city to city to state to province (we're in Canada right now). I'm deleting the games off my laptop. I'm not buying any more books for my kindle. I'm going to sit and stare at this bloody screen til I have something tangible to post here. 

Fuck You

Now I’ve got that out of the way, let me explain. 

there’s a lot going on in the word right now. The administration of Donald Trump, Brexit, the situation in Turkey, human rights crisis in Yemen, North and Both Korea actually talking, Rohingya ethnic cleansing, Tom Petty and Prince as casualties of the US Opioid epidemic, and so on and so forth. 

But here’s the thing. I want to talk about it. I want to know your point of view. (Well, not your point of view, cos you’re probably about as progressive as I am. But any non-progressives who accidentally stumbled to this corner of the interwebs. You.) I want to talk about why you believe what you believe, and in exchange, I want to tell you why I feel the way I feel. I’ll be respectful as much as I can, which is a struggle for me cos if Jesus came back and changed my water in to wine I’d probably give his shit for making a chardonnay instead of literally any other type of wine cos no son of god of mine is going to subject anyone to chardofuckingnnay. I don’t like authority is my point, even if that authority is the son of god…

But I digress. And that’s the problem. We digress these days. We get waylaid by 41 texts that exemplify what it’s like to date a narcissist, or 31 tweets that show your dog is the cutest, or 91 times the stranger days kids were literally the modern day prophets that people born in the 80’s want them to be.

See? Digression. It’s easy to do. But I don’t want to digress. I want to understand. And not to convert. Just to understand, and have a conversation. I’m about as lefty liberal snowflakes cuckish that you can get, but here’s the thing. I won’t use a slur to talk to or about anyone on the other side of the political spectrum. Because I don’t think I deserve the monikers they throw at me as a way to ‘other,’ to dehumanise, to keep people on their side.

So let’s talk. I’m not going to call you a trumptard, or republican’t, or whatever the current insult du jour is. Let’s just talk. Let’s talk about the things we agree with, or disagree with, and have fun with it. No need for name calling. No need to dehumanise the other side, because we’ve all got one life to live, and one family to make proud, and the only way we can make the most of it is by talking to each other.

And if you can’t do that? If you can’t talk to people who believe other than you, and you want to sling insults and epithets at them?

Then fuck you.

Lack of Structure.

Sticking to a schedule is a real bugger when you don't have structure. And when your attempt to introduce structure fails because of you and sleep not being on good terms...

I don't think I could be a parent. Based on the sleep I don't get right now, with no work and no pets and no reason to not sleep, I still have the worst sleeping habits. Thoughts bounce around the inside of my skull, some exciting, some depressing, all distracting. A song will get stuck in there, but because of the music I listen to a lot of the time it doesn't necessarily have lyrics, which is almost worse. A melody, a couple of bars of music, playing itself over and over is almost painful when you haven't been musical for decades.

Geez. Decades. That's how I can measure my life these days. 

I'm almost at the point I can say that about writing, too. It was about a decade ago I realised how much I used to enjoy it, when I was young, before it got beaten out of me by years and years of education. For so long, writing was a chore. It was homework, something that had to be done. I couldn't tell you what made me start again (or maybe I could if I went back and waded through the blogs I've been spewing for probably about that long, but I can't be arsed). All I know is that I've gotten a lot written in the last ten years, and it's no where near enough. One novel, and all but three chapters done of the second book in the series. Several short stories (some of which are up on this site somewhere). Two scripts that were produced by a theatre company I started with some mates. Several short screenplays, one of which we produced. Pilots for two different TV series. Three full-length screenplays, with a fourth to be finished TODAY. 

And hundreds of notes, drafts, deleted and forgotten documents languishing on hard drives somewhere. And more ideas on my white board, talked about over beers, or bouncing around inside my skull. So I'm getting there. At some point it won't be enough to just write; someone's going to have to read it. And ideally give me money for doing so.

But not today. Today I'm finishing a screenplay I began four years ago. That I lost, and couldn't bring myself to start again with. That I found, 80% done, in a box in a cupboard in my parent's house. It's not a nice story, really. But it's the one that killed me to lose, and disheartened me from writing for a while. Once it's done, I feel like I can move on, I can maybe clean up, edit some stuff, and tentatively dip my toe in the wonderful world that is submission rejection...

Structure

If I could without feeling guilty, I'd just repost last week's blog, because this week was a great one for catching up, and a couple of really good brainstorming sessions make me think January might be busy for the writing. If I drag my arse out of bed any time soon, but it's all warm and comfy, and I have no real reason to get up other than to fill my belly or empty my bladder. 

But that can wait while I hash out this blog. Still one a week, although sometimes I forget it's Monday. Having not worked in... a while now... it's amazing how often I forget what day it is, and even time has lost some of it's meaning. It'll be 2145 and I'll get started on a project, only to need something from Home Depot. Or it'll be gone midnight and I'll realise I didn't have dinner. It'll be Sunday and I'll have forgotten to go to church. For about 25 years on that one...

Anyway. The structure I've always rebelled against, mostly because I can be quite a contrary bastard sometimes, well, I'll admit it would be nice to have something. Something that gives me a reason to get up at a specific time, or make me eat, or go to bed at a "normal" time rather than when I'm fed up watching youtube videos... I've tried enforcing it myself, but I'm not the strictest of disciplinarians at the best of time, and especially not towards myself. Apparently I need deadlines. 

I should have known that. I always did better on schoolwork when there was a specific deadline (as long as it was far enough in the future I could waste some of the time not doing it, but not too far that I'd completely forget about it). And just this week I accomplished what might be a first fo me... I finally submitted a script to a competition. Now, that's not the first, I actually did one about four years ago, but it didn't go anywhere. No, what's "first" about it is that the deadline for submissions is 1st February. 1st February, and I submitted on 9th January. That's a whole 22 days early! Who am I, and what have I done with me??

And in an effort to not rest on my laurels, I'm gonna keep with the momentum and try to structure my life better. Wednesday's are for the blog. I'm going to actually set an alarm for five days a week, something I haven't had to do in... a while now. 0930 sounds about right. Couple of hours to run errands, then errands and fed by 1300, and then writing. Writing writing writing. My white board is filled with projects I've started, projects I've come up with, and a whole bunch of things to do around the house. My white board is my structure. And as of today it is my lord and taskmaster. 

In 16 minutes. It's not 0930 yet. Maybe make that 1000...

Cheers, Mates.

Happy New Year and all that bollocks I suppose. I'd say I took the last half of December off as a reward for finishing a screenplay, but to take time off I'd have to be working. And I still did a bit of writing, just not on here. 

But this post isn't about writing. It's about life, my life, and the last year. And the things that got me through the year. Which is namely you buggers. 

Look, I have a lot to be thankful for. I (think I)'m healthy, I'm of (relatively, and some people would argue the opposite) sound mind. When I work, I'm in a fairly specific, in-demand field, and I get paid as such, and that gives me the opportunity to take time off, travel, see the world, and focus on other things. I have a family that are incredibly supportive, even when it's deciding to not work, or turn down jobs I wouldn't be happy at. Altho I suspect that's just because they don't want to listen to me bitch about aforementioned jobs, having had to go through it on more than one occasion.

But 2017 was a great year for friendship. From the new ones fostered, to the old ones that taking time off enabled me to rediscover, it was a good year. Sure, one or two fall along the way, and gods know I spent more time than I probably should thinking about some of them, but on the whole I finished 2017 off way richer than I started it. 

At the same time, I've found that my year away on the boat, not really having a phone or regular contact with people, has made me worse at actually calling, texting, or messaging. Being transient has a lot of perks, but that's definitely not one. As I drove home New Year's Eve I realised I hasn't messaged the people I usually would. I've missed birthday messages and suchlike, so I'm sorry about that, and this year, my only resolution is to be better about that. 

I mean, there's things I'm gonna do this year. Send some writing off. Probably go back to work for a while. Lose the bikini body in time for Mexico. Keep my room tidier. But those aren't resolutions, just "Oh yeah, I should probably do that's." Is there a word for that? 

Anyway. Thank you. Thank you for last year, and being there when I needed, or didn't need. Thank you for making me leave the house, or the country, trying new things, getting over old things, and bearing with me when I kept bragging about not working for seven months...

And the five people that read this, well, thank you for that too. And tell the other buggers that if they want to be thanked they're going to have to read this too, cos it is NOT a resolution to go round and to that to everyone, because that's a lot of travel and I can't afford it.

Last day

I didn't post yesterday cos I was busy cooking. The last couple of days have been all about the kitchen (although I did get 2600 words done the day before). I'm going to make someone a great wife one day, as long as all you look for is good cooking and an arsehole sense of humour...

But I digress. Today is the last day of my challenge to write 30,000 words in a month. Did I do it?

Eh, not exactly. I'm at 20191, and I don't think I'm going to get 9k+ done today. BUT. Today I WILL finish a screenplay, and maybe sit by the fire outside when the sun goes down, so there's that. And possibly sign up for healthcare, if I can talk to someone about what to do when you're not in one place and need something other than an HMO.

For now, though, the writing. Once I finish this bloody script today, that's three full length features in the bag. I mean, they still need editing, and I'll have to do treatments for them once they're edited, but it's not the worst start to a writing career, or the worst end to six-plus months of unemployment. Not that I'm starting a job, I'm just now at the point that I should start thinking about getting one. Make some phone calls, send some emails, remind people in the industry that I exist, have passports will travel, that sort of thing.

So enough waffling, I'm getting up, making breakfast (one thing I'll miss about working again is having all the time to mess around in the kitchen), and then I'm finishing this script.

And then, tomorrow, admitting to Tannith I only got two-thirds of the words. Fricking bell peppers.

Downhill Slog

Fourteen thousand words didn't happen. But Ten and a half thousand did. I wrote every day this week, and some days I had to stop myself once I reached the two thousand goal. I don't know if this is good, or I should have let myself keep going, but it's good to get into that habit I reckon.

It's also good for a distraction. Because holy shit the news is depressing right now. I'm trying to wrap my head around what's going on in American Politics, and I just don't get it. I'm angry that one party is allowed to ignore facts, their own words, and scream and shout and deflect to get what they want.

And what they want, it seems to me, is not a good thing. I'd love to be wrong. Let me rephrase that. It would be good for everyone (except my fragile ego) if I was wrong, and their new tax plan did what they keep saying it will. I just can't see it happening. It hasn't in the past, so why should it now? It would be amazing if the huge gaps in income in this country disappeared, money had more purchasing power than it has, wages kept up with inflation, and yadda yadda yadda. If it does, I will (begrudgingly) admit I was wrong, and I'll change my point of view, my economical philosophies, and go forth with a new outlook on financial matter.

If it goes the way I expect, based on looking historically at what's happened before in similar situations, will anyone on the other side change their point of view? It's a hard thing to do. But there's too much of feeling of 'my team vs. their team' in this country. It's hard to wrap your head around, especially with how low the approval ratings are for Congress across the board, on both sides of the aisle. If we collectively hate out elected officials, why do we keep voting the same twats in? Mitch McConnell with his unwillingness to hear things he doesn't like. Paul Ryan with his complete commitment to  deficit reduction... unless it's a deficit his policies will bring about. And Nancy Pelosi with her tone deaf approach to motivating her party's base and what they actually want.

I'd say let's vote all of them out, let's get a brand new crop of Senators and Representatives, but unfortunately I can't not vote for a Democrat, because my only other viable option is a Republican, and I fundamentally believe in marriage equality, access to health care, taxing the churches, net neutrality, science where it needs to be (the EPA, FDA, etc.), and access to decent education for all citizens. Based on those beliefs I can't vote for a Republican, because they don't agree with any of these. 

And this was supposed to be about all the writing I've gotten done this week. Sorry. I did buy a writing chair from Ikea, it's very comfortable.

grumblegrumblewordcountgrumble

So the search for 30k words in a month isn't going swimmingly. I'm just above 2000, and I've got 15 days left. 

Part of the problem, apart from my attention span being that of a cat in a laser pointer testing room full of mirrors, is that there's no structure to my days. Some days I wake up at 5am, some days it's closer to 10. Some days I'll spend all day cooking, and some days I'll pace the kitchen, looking for something to eat, unhappy with everything that I've already prepared (although I have pasties in the freezer now, so I'm good for at least five meals. Always ready for a pasty).

Here's the new plan, attempting to add structure to my life: Awake and up by ten, two hours in which to fart around, run errands, go grocery shopping, etc. etc. Then right around noon, writing time. Noon til Six pee em, bash away at a keyboard, or at least stare at a screen with no distractions on it other than blank or half-filled (hopefully) documents.

Ideally, two thousand words later, that's me writing for the day done. Two thousand, or six o'clock, whichever comes first, because some days I know nothing will come. And of course the only way for me to make all this happen is by keeping track on a conditionally formatted spreadsheet, all done up nicely so it'll follow seamlessly from month to month, totals transferring over. 

It's now 12:31pm on the first day of the rest of my writing schedule, and I've already done the spreadsheet, so all I have to do now is post this bollocks, and get on with it. Two thousand words, here I come. Potentially Fourteen thousand when I next post. 

Wasted Time

It's Wednesday. I was supposed to post on Monday. Sorry. But there's not much worth posting. I'm way down on my word count (still 28000 to go), and I've been dealing with plumbing problems and bashing holes in the wall of the house and horrific facial hair for the last week or so. But the sink is fixed, the hole is made, and the facial hair will grow back eventually. 

I'm really caught up on all the news though. And watched a couple comedy specials. And rewatched films I've already seen. Because there's all this time I have that I seem desperate to use on doing anything BUT writing. But today I'm breaking the back of the bloody thing. Writing and making Tiramisu are the plans of the day. I've got enough pre-made food that I can't even use that as an excuse today...

So I've had breakfast, I'm bashing this out, then I'm going to keep bashing away at this bloody script. Only another 13000 words. And then a second script. Sod. At this rate I'll definitely be eating a damned red pepper in December. 

Wasted words

That's what this blog is. I mean, it's good that it's another Monday, and I'm writing it. Yay commitment. It's just I have a bet on with a friend. The bet is that she can write 50k words of a novel in a month, and I can write 30k of a screenplay in the same time. Doesn't seem fair? 30k is about 2 screenplays, whereas 50k isn't quite a full length novel. 

Anyway. That's why I begrudgingly type this. This could have been a conversation between two characters. Or an action sequence. Probably not description tho. I can't be having with much of that. 

160 words for the day so far. 840 to go to hit 1000, which is what I need to average to do this, win the bet, and not have to eat a fricking capsicum. They're in the nightshade family. Seriously. Sod those things.

And if we both do it? Well, then we both win and end up with a bunch of stuff written that we would probably have dragged arse on writing. 

Now I'm waffling and definitely wasting words. But nightshade!

Decisions

I'm going to have to make some of them soon. Any day now. Maybe at the end of the week. I'll at least decide when to decide by then. Depending on some emails I get. Once I decide to send them. 

Got all that? Good. 

I'm currently in the UK (again), and I really need to be over here when the weather's miserable. Not just cold, but grey for two weeks, damp air, dirty puddles twixt the cobblestones, windy enough that umbrellas are impractical, and so on. Because for the last couple years, every time I come over it's been so much nicer than I have any reason to expect. And it makes me miss living over here more than just the food I grew up with, the access to healthcare, the history and public transport (which today has been shockingly bad but I still love having it) and family and friends.

So the decision is, US or UK? But that all depends on work, and that all depends on where, and that all depends on when I decide I need to start again. But I've got to say, incidents like the Texas church mass shooting, or the Vegas mass shooting the week before, or any of the 28 mass shootings that happened last month, push me in one direction. Then news that the Tories want to cut NHS funding make me wonder what the difference between the two countries are. Then both sides of the Atlantic have small but vocal parts of the population that are afraid of foreigners who are a different colour or religion and want to use that to push an agenda. 

One side has ridiculous University fees; the other seems to be heading that way. Both have incredibly popular TV shows that revolve around people who don't dance dancing. I have friends and family and places to stay in each. I can probably get work in both, or at least work on the road so all I need is a place to come back to. 

Bloody decisions. This blog isn't helping. But at least it gave me an excuse to use the word twixt. How many things have you read this week with that?

An Almost Excuse

Yeah, yeah, I missed blogging yesterday. Apparently I can’t make it more than two weeks in a row without missing one. But in my defence, here’s one, only a day later, so it’s not like you’re missing out on much. And also, I spent most of the day either sleeping or in the air.

Yep, in the UK again. That’s six times this year across the Atlantic. And, as near as I can tell, something around 40 lifetime crossings. 3 by boat. 

Anyway, that’s what I was doing yesterday. And it wasn’t all wasted time. I watched a pretty terrible movie (XXX: Return of Xander), and several episodes of the TV serialisation of one of my favourite books (American Gods). And I also worked on the episode breakdowns for the TV show I’m working on. So there’s that. 

When I first started travelling the Atlantic, I’d sleep. Not the first time; we were headed to Florida, Disneyworld, I was 11, and we were too excited to sleep. But after that, I’d sleep. Holidays when my family first moved over, then trips home once I relocated. And at some point, the sleeping stopped, but I traded it for productivity. I found that something about being on a plane helped me bash away at a short story, or edit photos. 

But at some point, productivity became harder, depending on whether the bugger in front of me put their seat back or not. The seats got closer, and I could barely open a laptop, let alone get anything done on it. And not to worry anyone, but have you tried getting into the crash position on a plane recently??

I digress. These days, crossing the Atlantic is this weird experience, where I’m excited to be going, or sad to be going, but most of the time the only thing I’m going to accomplish is watch something bad, or something good, and if I’m lucky, and the person in front of me doesn’t immediately recline their seat, maybe a paragraph or two. I sure as shit don’t sleep much.

Oh, and the three times crossing it by boat? No watching anything, not much in the way of sleeping, only a little bit of writing, and none of that is going to be read by anyone again, so it doesn’t really count as having been done.

Trains. They’re way more comfortable, even if the one I’m currently on, typing this out for posting as soon as there’s wifi, is delayed by 15 minutes. I wrote a whole 422 words in twenty minutes cos I had space. More, if you count the work on an episode outline I’ll be doing when I’m done with this, to distract myself from going down the carriage and duct taping a kid’s mouth shut…

Done. Ish.

It's this time next week, and I actually get to post about what I said I would... I actually finished the first draft of an episode of a TV show. And built the Lego V Saturn Rocket. So I was actually referring to the episode, the Rocket, the bottle of Pinot, but not the laundry. I'm only 37, I still haven't mastered the art of actually hanging up the clothes...

Now, I'm not going to admit the order I actually accomplished these events, because that's none of your business. And I'm not sharing the script like I sometimes do, because this time it's not just something I'm writing, but a collaboration. You'll just have to wait and watch it when it gets made. But if you'd like, I can post pictures of the rocket??

It's funny how motivation works, tho. Maybe working with someone lit a fire under my arse, and got me to finish the script almost a week earlier than I had to. Maybe I'll have to do that for all the other things that are languishing on my hard drive, or in the dark recesses of my mind, although finding a writing partner or collaborator for some of them might be a bit dodgy. 

For now, though, the TV show. Still have an episode breakdown to do, and depending on the feedback maybe a re-write. I have to get it done by this time next week, when I fly back to the UK again (again). And maybe a little holiday somewhere while I'm in that part of the world...

Me again

Remember me? I'm that guy who writes about how much I've been writing, or haven't been writing, or I'm planning on writing. But I only write very periodically, so you may have forgotten.

Who am I kidding, I don't shut up about it. Except for on this blog, apparently. So here's a quick update. I'm currently not working, taking time between jobs to write. And with all the free time I have, I've done a lot of driving, been back home (to Freiburg), back home (to Salisbury), and back home (to Vegas). I also spent some time in Eugene, but despite it being where my parents and siblings live, it's just never really felt like home. 

And I've done a little bit of writing. Not as much as I probably should, but here's my attempt into shaming myself into writing. I've actually got a solid project to work on, something that involves someone else so it's not just my arse left hanging in the breeze if I don't get it done. First draft WILL be finished this week and sent off, episode breakdown done the following week, and then you know what? I'm just going to go home (Salisbury) again for a little bit. And Iceland, because, you know, I just don't go to enough foreign countries. 

So. Hopefully, this time next week I'll get to post another blog, and confirm that I did indeed stop distracting myself, and finish the episode. Also, I'm not letting myself build the Lego Saturn V rocket I bought until it's done, and I really really want to do it! It comes in 12 bags!

Kay, peace out, just gotta put some laundry on then I'm actually going to write.

One Year On

A year ago, CV 20 motored down the Thames into the heart of London, and back to our starting point 11 months earlier. The race had finished the evening before, and our boat had carried us more than forty thousand miles round the globe, through every conceivable condition (and some we hadn't conceived until we actually went through them). 

Excitement and relief were the two main emotions on board. Excitement to see home, and loved ones. Relief that the race was over, that we'd made it, and that we'd be able to shower, or cook, or grocery shop, or go online, whenever we wanted. No more waiting for scheds, seeing where we were in the fleet. No more poring over weather forecasts, wondering what the next six hours would bring. No more going to our bunks, hoping that there would be no 'all hands' call. 

But also, no more sundowners. No more dolphins swimming alongside the boat, day or night. No more phosphorescence, no more hating the person waking you up for your shift and loving that person when they replaced you on deck. No more exhilaration as the boat surfs down a wave, going faster than anything that size has a right to go under the power of the wind, one eye for the kite and any sign of collapse and one eye for Campbell's cheeky grin on the helm, while Ross's commentary continues ever onward. 

Sometimes it's hard to believe it's been a year. It's been a pretty busy year, for me, until the last month or so. All the time I thought I'd have on the race, well, I have it now. Did I get what I want out of the race? Some. Probably more than I realise. I'd reckon I'm a bit more easy going now, tend to sweat the small stuff less, appreciate what I have more. I learned about endurance, mine and my teammates and the people at home who followed along with us, living vicariously through our blogs and emails and stories and Skype sessions. 

Would I do it again? No. Not the whole thing. There's no point. But I'm glad I did it, I'm happy I was on the boat I was, with the skipper and crew, I'm sorry for putting my friends and family at home through it (and maybe a little my skipper and crew too), and maybe one day I'll be able to wrap my head around what we did out there.

Friends

Sometimes, life plays cruel tricks on you. Sometimes, you're the one who plays cruel tricks on yourself regardless of any other external.... shit, I don't know, thing that makes you feel and think and want something other than what is good and right and necessary for you. My point is, I think that it's partly me and partly life right now that's playing cruel tricks on me to get me where I currently am.

Partly, I guess the way I feel is I re-read my last blog. And what a difference a day makes. 

Okay, that's a song. "What a difference a day makes, twenty four little hours." It's in Run Lola Run, right after she gets accidentally shot. Or her boyfriend. Anyway, someone's shot, and dying, and it's all in slo-mo, and that son starts playing.

Turns out, home is not currently what I'd planned, or hoped, for. I'm back in a city I never wanted to come back to, for a reason I always said was a stupid reason, and turns out the reason isn't even a real reason. Not blaming anyone, because blame is easy, but it's really hard to find yourself back somewhere you don't want to be, when the reason you're back doesn't recognise the irony when the might have to spend time there.

But maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's the best thing. Self-Adjudication is not necessarily the worst thing. And holy shit, has there been adjudication going on the past month. Every little thing, I've looked at, wondered 'is that it?,' 'should I have said that,' 'did she really say I was that?'. 

Nah. Self-adjudication is fine up to a point, but the problem with it is it can only go so far. You can judge yourself all you want, you can re-hash the scenarios in your memory and your mind, but at some point you need an outside voice. Sometimes, depending on your situation, that voice may be assembled its the full authority of the legal system and twelve impartial representative of your peers. And sometimes, it might be twelve of your partial peers cos they're the only buggers sad enough to read your wholly irregular blog.

Gods I hope it doesn't come to that. Instead I'll rely on the friends here; the friends I missed but couldn't justifying coming to visit because, shit, Vegas is just a pain to get to (it isn't) and it's always ridiculously hot (it isn't) and the people are shitty and fake (they.... ugh. Okay, sometimes they are, and sometimes they're one but not the other, and sometimes they're both but still delightful, and all the time they're people worth keeping in touch with because you never know if they're the one you need to get you through a shitty breakup, or just the people you need in your life regardless of whether you think you want or need, or even the cautionary tale that cheerfully tells you about all the things they've gotten up to and you resolve yourself to not be like them, and then late night swimming pools happen. 

Shit. Lost the track. I guess my point is make plans. Hope for things. Work to those ends. And if and when they don't work out, talk to your friends. They might give you advice. They will give you a shoulder to cry on, or an anecdote to distract or disgust you, or affirmation, or another drink way past you need another. Regardless all that, enjoy them. Take advantage of them. Call them-- not today, they're busy, but just remind them they're awesome, and have helped get you through some shitty times, and are also the reason you're still awake at 4am. Because they're bastards, even f they are your friends.

Leaving home for home... for home...

And I was doing so well. Three blogs in as many weeks. But then things did get a little crazy. I finished my job and became unemployed. I left my home in Baku, went home to the UK for a week and change, then flew home to Vegas via New York and a dear friend's wedding.

So here I am again. Las Vegas. It's 34 degrees here with winds of 34kph. Ideal sailing weather, except it's Las Vegas and I have no boat. I have a pile of boxes I need to flatten and put in the garage, clothes to put away without enough coat hangers, and a food dehydrator that is begging to be used. I've got a security system to install, and a housewarming with tacos to go to tonight. 

And tomorrow, I'm off again. Driving myself, via Lake Havasu city, to Phoenix. Because I'm home, in a sense, but it won't be home properly until Amy gets here, so I have to go see her. It's about time I took a turn; she's been to Cape Town, Sydney, Seattle, New Jersey, Salisbury, Sheffield, and Baku to see me so far. In my defence, boat. 

Going to Phoenix has a certain kind of poetry to it. It's funny that it should be there I go to see her, because that's where we started dating, two and a bit years and thousands of miles ago. We were planning a hot air balloon ride back then, but it was cancelled on us as we drove out there around 6am. This time of year, the start time is 445am. That's not the sort of thing you surprise someone with.....

What I'm trying to say is, I haven't started writing properly yet. Been doing things, and got things to do. Going to Phoenix is an excuse, but as excuses go, she's a pretty damned good one. And after that, she's my excuse to write. She's my excuse to get back here, finish putting the house in order, then parking my arse in front of my laptop for extended periods of time... and actually accomplishing things. The elections are over. I can stop reading all the stupidity that makes up the politicians we (barely) choose to (barely) represent us. The internet will become a tool for research and blogging about how much writing I've been doing. 

But in the meantime, I should pack for Phoenix.