Back tracking - 02.11.14

Brief explanatory note.  I'm going to post the blogs I found yesterday on my desktop.  It feels silly leaving them there, unread and unloved.

Enjoy.

Letters to November 02.11.14

Dear November,

I'm surprised myself that I'm writing to you for the second day in a row.  I did as I promised and started NaNoWriMo yesterday.  In the process, I started clearing through the documents and pictures I had saved on my computer desktop.  I've been struggling with writing for months now and it annoyed me a little to find that I had three possible blogs, sat on my desktop.  2 of them, I even finished and just haven’t posted. 

My new chair in my disorganised work room. 

When I talk to people about my writing, I tell them that I struggle to find the words for what I want to say.  I realised yesterday that it isn't true.  My struggle is believing I haven’t found the right words for what I want to say.  The difference is massive.  The difference is a dictionary to a thesaurus.  If I pick the wrong words, I can go back and change them later – that’s why editing exists.  I've been living in a state of “Bad Faith” about my writing.  It won’t get me writing to declare that I have nothing to say, especially when it isn't true. 

Worst of all, November, writing – no matter if it’s my blog, a poem, a short story – it helps me.  I feel more like myself when I'm doing it.  So why avoid it?  Why not do something that makes me happy?  I won’t be happy with the quality every single time, but find me any sort of artist that is always 100% happy with everything they put out in to the world.  Surely it’s the act of doing it that matters?  To create?  To make something new?

November, pessimists would have me believe that everything has been said before.  There are only seven basic story lines that exist in all of writing.  How many times can we re-hear the same stories over and over again before we get bored of them?  I don’t want people to read anything of mine and be bored of it.  But I realised something else today.   Even if I do tell the same story that someone else had told, it will be my way of telling it.  I’ll show them something else, or at least I hope to.  I’ll give them something else to see, or at least I hope to.

Hope.  Such a fickle thing.

I have a new chair to sit and write in.  Hopefully, I’ll be encouraged to write at my desk, where I’m more productive now I have something very comfy to sit on.  I've enclosed a picture for you.

I hope your month is going well.

Letters to November - 01.11.14

Dear November,

Having watched Miss Carrie Hope Fletcher make a series of videos to her favourite season, I felt the need, at least once, to write a letter to my month.  It sounds peculiar to refer to you as ‘my’ month, but being the month of my birth, it always felt like November was my month.  I don’t think I've ever admitted it until now.  After last year and the events I’ll be remembering in a few weeks, it might take a long time before it stops feeling as though it’s my Gran's month.

Watching a video where Carrie talked about feeling creative and the ebbs and flows, needing to act on them when she felt them strike, I felt somewhat guilty, November.  I've been ignoring an idea in my mind for a few weeks now.  Watching scary films last night as my homage to Halloween made me realise that.  I didn't like it.  Choosing my second film to be about a writer, being forced to write for his life under the care of a nurse with the world worst bedside manner made me realise something; there is no one stood over me making me write for me life.  I can do it whenever I want.  And I enjoy doing it.  So why avoid one of the things that makes me feel the most like myself in all the world?  It feels childish to even admit it, but it is how I feel.

There has to come a point at which I stop ignoring what I want to be doing and surrender to it.  I'm scared of the failure.  Despite my knowing that I can’t grow without my failure, and despite knowing that I won’t fail if I don’t try, I'm still sat here filled with dread.  Even writing this to “warm up” feels like avoidance of what I know I should be doing.  I could have started last night, but I didn't.  I could have started as soon as I got out of bed.  It’s now mid-afternoon and all I have managed to do so far is procrastinate from what I really want to and feel like I should be doing.

So here is my hope for this month, November.  This is my hope for us together and what I might do.  I hope to write in theNaNoWrMo.  One whole month to write in every single say, at least 1667 words a day towards a story that I've just decided it will have to be.  I have no idea where to begin or what to do. 

But I’m doing it.  Starting now.  All my love to you, November.

Creative Desperation and the Prospect of Weather-Induced Insomnia 20.08.14

NB. Before beginning to read:  I am not a Weather-Man, so any of the following statements I make have no basis in fact, just my findings and experience.

My whole family get headaches.  ‘Nothing unusual there’ I hear you cry!  I have a very vivid memory of my Gran coming over one Sunday for lunch when Laura and I were children.  The clouds gathered outside and we were all out of sorts; my Mother was irritable (this was long before her crazy-menopause days), my sister and I couldn’t settle and my Gran was very quiet.  My Mum declared she had a headache.  My Gran declared she did as well.  So did I.  So did my sister.  What was going on?  My Gran declared “There must be a thunder storm coming.”  We sat down to eat a little while later.  The heavens opened with a god-almighty thunder crack.  Not long after, the brain-tension was relieved by nothing other than a break in the weather. 

I’ve met a few other people who experience this as well; I don’t have a clue what causes it (Best guess that I can summon is that it’s to do with the changes in pressure… But that is a massive guess!) but I do get “weather headaches”.  

Over the last few days, I’ve noticed another common phenomena.  A lot of people are struggling to sleep.  The children next door are evidence to this – more specifically, the screaming and shouting of their father on Tuesday night which scared the living day lights out of me.  I rarely sleep with the curtains closed (it’s too dark if I do) and my neighbours lights were going off and on all night.  There seemed to be more traffic on the roads.  Low and behold when I got into work the next day, a lot of people were tired due to a lack of sleep. 

In my own special world, given how rapid the change has been from Glorious Summer to Sudden Autumn, I can’t help but wonder if there is some sort of a pattern here?!  A massive change in the weather and now lots of people cannot sleep?  The nights seem to have suddenly drawn in earlier.  My summer quilt is not keeping me warm enough.  It’s cold until nearly midday.  Something’s up in the ether.

More than that though, I’m off my game.  I’m pulling my head out of my arse as far as work is concerned and getting a lot done for being able to see a little better (head-up-butt is not a good view).  As far as anything else is concerned though, I’m really not firing on all cylinders.  I am thinking very specifically of one particular area; my writing. 

I am quite sure that there ought to be some ebb and flow in the creative process.  I’m almost positive that dry spells are natural.  I’m positive that I cannot be alone in this experience.  I want to write.  I have put a “viewing ban” on for the last two nights to make sure I don’t have the excuse of ‘Oh, but one more episode of Modern Family couldn’t possibly be a bad thing!’   Yes, Michael.  Three episodes later, it is a bad thing.  Despite this full intention and commitment to do some writing… Nothing.  Not a word.  Truth be told, the reason I am writing this blog is because the one and only thing I can think to write about is how I have nothing to say – the irony, whilst frustrating, is by no means lost on me.   

I had to accept a while ago that writing was going to be hard whilst I had a full time job; it’s hard to maintain my energy levels, keep in touch and see people, do a full time job, keep on top of a house and get enough sleep, as well as writing for a hobby.  It wasn’t something I much liked coming to terms with, but I’ve had to.  Sadly, my winning lottery ticket has yet to be delivered by the Supernatural-Forces-that-be, so I’m going to need my job until further notice; my dream of riding off on a fictional-horse to write is sadly on hold.

The frustration is that even though I have no excuses not to write – the TV is off, I have eaten, my ironing is done, my house is tidy and I’m conscious – but I don’t have any inspiration to write. 

It’s got to a point of yearning now.  I have an ache within me to write or draw or… something!  That too, comes and goes.  Sometimes I can coax it out.  Sometimes it comes to find me and monopolises my mind.  All I’ve thought about today is a) What to have for my dinner and b) Writing something when I get home.

Another convenience of living alone is that I don’t have real live human people to interact with; my former house mates used to provide very convenient procrastination when I was avoiding a writing project.  Terrible of me to admit, of course, but true nonetheless!  I don’t think they minded me bunking off from my short story to spend time with them… I hope they don’t now that I’ve admitted that.

Despite the quiet, the comfort, the convenience and the urge to write… Still nothing.  So for this reason, I have concluded: It’s the weather.  There is no other “rational” (kidding!) reason for this.  It must be to do with the drop in temperature and the nights seeming to arrive sooner that then were, and the cold and my duvet needing swapping.  The sleep-stealing atmospherics and my writers block are, without (self) doubt inextricably linked. 

My solution to this situation?  Well, there is where I’m struggling.  I’m writing my blog to vocalise said frustrations (which makes me feel much better as it happens!).  I have made myself a cuppa.  The TV is turned off.   What do I do now?

Last nights and tonight's chilled out music choice... 

I’ve been reading a book that’s designed to help reduce stress… and it’s working so far.  I might do a review of it when I’m done.  One of the things it recommends to reduce stress in any given situation is to accept things exactly as they are.   Yes, I want to write some fiction.  No, I have nothing fiction-ish to say.  And breathe.   Other than that, right now, is there anything I can do?   Well, I guess there is; trying.  Granted, it’s difficult to try and write anything when I don’t have anything to say.  Considering I have nothing to say, this blog is already more than 1000 words long.  Perhaps there is a fault in my logic.

All of that in mind, it’s just started spitting outside, I need to put my clean washing away and come up with an idea for a best-selling novel… Things to do before I sleep! 

Any ideas on how you could help?  Leave me a comment.  Hope this finds you well. Xx

Avoiding escapism 03.08.14

Despite promising myself I would write on my blog more often… Well, it’s been a while.  Welcome back me!

In a flippant comment to a friend via text, I realised that the first thing I do when I get stressed out is stop.  Stop being stressed?  No, no.  That consumes my life.  I carry it around like a huge train-spotter coat, soaking wet, dragging me down like a lead weight.  I mean I stop everything else.  I stop doing things I should do that make my life easier – I don’t cook well for myself and in some rare occasions, I don’t eat at all (Things have to be really dire for my appetite to subside); I don’t keep on top of the housework; I don’t go to the super market and buy the food that I won’t eat or bother to cook; I don’t speak to my friends about it.

I do manage to watch a ridiculous amount of media though; YouTube, Netflix, DVDs –of which I have many.  This might not sound like the worst thing in the world.  I am, after all, a lover of the visual medium, so what’s wrong with my indulging in some escapism?

Most of what I do for fun is some manner of escapism:

I draw or paint – Don’t like the world you’re in?  Make a new one!

I take photographs – find a moment you like and keep it forever.

I write – a whole new world for me to play in; one I’m in control of… It’s a good job I’m not in therapy or that one sentence would have cost me a fortune.

I listen to music – transported out of your world in to another, carried by the tune and images conjured by someone else.

Almost anything and everything I do as a hobby or to pass the time is some manner of escapism.  One would think that a sensible thing to do in a time of stress would be to throw oneself headlong into such a blissful state of existence.  No.  Not if you’re me.  Why on EARTH would I do something so calming and cathartic?  I’ll just turn my brain off and stare at Pinterest for a few hours, ignoring the pile of ironing I’m not doing…  No hypocrisy at all considering what I’m doing as I type is actively avoiding the ironing.

I digress.

For some reason, as soon as life (work in particular) starts to get on top of me, I stop everything else I’m doing.  I have to admit in the last year, I haven’t been shutting my friends out.  That is a conscious and active effort on my part.  I don’t want to keep people out when things are crappy.  That’s the worst idea I’ve ever had.  If I’m sulking, cocooning under a blanket is totally acceptable.  If I’m having a conflict between the idealised version of reality I want and the one I have to put up with, why not tell people about it?  They’re meant to love me for exactly who I am… Poor fools that they are.

Reading?  I’ve been nursing the same book for over a month. 

Writing?  I’ve written less than a thousand words in July.

Drawing?  I’ve drawn an eye.  Woop.

Photography?  I've taken a single picture - here it is; a coat I saw (and couldn't afford) in the Trafford Centre a few days ago.

What point am I trying to make?  I suppose I’m trying to share something that I very much doubt I’m alone in doing.

The media seems to have managed to convince us that trials and suffering are a good thing.  In the end we will get what we want if we keep striving for it.  If we give in, we lose everything.  Screw the media – religion is where that little myth started.  Whilst we’re striving and yearning and aching towards our brighter tomorrow, I doubt I’m the only person who stops giving myself those things that I like and enjoy; baths, escapism through reading and writing, enjoying the scenery through a camera, throwing paint around and making pretty shapes.  Whatever it is that floats your boat on a day to day basis, I can almost guarantee that it will be one of the first things you ditch when the going gets tough.

Sounds very Catholic to me.

My solution; be mindful of how you spend your time.  I’m a bugger for this.  I can hear Brave Frontier (immensely addictive game, available on the iTunes App Store for the iPhone 5) whispering to me as I type.  I procrastinate, promising myself I’ll get round to doing something in a minute… That minute never comes.  The book doesn’t move off my side table.  I stop writing in my diary.  The food in my fridge goes off.  Worse than all of that, I console myself that the progress I’ve made on my app-game is ACTUAL progress.  Be mindful of what you are spending your time avoiding doing.  Why?  Because it makes you happy?  Worst reason to stop doing anything in my opinion.

Another solution; force yourself to do the things you don’t want to do.  Easier said than done.  I know.  I’m lazy when miserable.  Getting off my butt to urinate can be a huge effort some days (In fact, when I’m being incredibly lazy, I’ll wait for the desire to drink tea combines with my need to evacuate my bladder).  Truth be told, the more we do, the more we want to do.  We gather momentum and it helps us be more productive because we are already being productive.  It helps and gives motivation.  Start with something little and an easy win.  Work your way up to the big things or the ones you really would rather avoid.  Make sure you flavour your time with something you really love to do.  Ironing to do?  Read a chapter of your book when you’re finished.  Laundry to put away?  Write a blog post and share it. 

I hope all of you out there have had a lovely weekend and are optimistic for the week ahead.  Me?  I’m hopeful.  And now, I’ve got ironing to do. 

Best Wishes. xx

Is it really though?

When I started this blog, I called it Ranting to Release because it’s something I do a lot; I get things off my chest in the form of a rant.  It isn’t something that I really have been doing on this blog. 

But today, world, I have something that I really want to get off my chest.  It is the smallest of things, hardly even noticeable to most of the English speaking world.  I have noticed.  I cannot be the only one… Can I?  Let us begin with a dictionary definition:

in a way that is easily perceived or understood; clearly

(Taken from Google.com).

Are you with me yet?  No.  Is it clear to you?  Is it something that you know… Something… Maybe… OBVIOUS?  Ah!  With me now are you?  Good.  Was it obvious?  No, it wasn’t, obviously. 

There, that last sentence, right there!  That!  My rage lies in that one overused word.  When did it become okay for almost every sentence we construct to be littered with this word?  Worst of all, its ill placed most of the time! 

Is there anything more frustrating than someone explaining something to you like you’re an educational throwback into infant school?  Quite a lot of things actually, but still, it is incredibly annoying.  No one likes to be patronised. 

So, dear English speaking world, someone please explain to me how this word has ended up worming its way in to everything people say nowadays?  It makes the speaker sound instantly obnoxious and rude.  The person on the receiving end feels like a moron.  Everyone is at it.

“Obviously that is something we need to look into.”  If it is obvious why weren’t you looking into it before someone brought it up?  Is it clear and easily perceived?  Obvious?  Obviously not!

In a recent phone call with my bank, the following sentence was uttered by the customer service representative I spoke to:  “We’re doing everything we can to resolve your complaint, obviously, Mr Edwards.”  Is that to say you’re doing it in an obvious way or that it should be obvious to me that you’re doing that?  How would I know?  Can I see what you’re doing?  Do I know how you progress my complaint to my end-satisfaction?    Is it easily perceived and understood by me to know how you do your day-to-day job?  No, it is not.  So why say it?

(In this instance, fair is fair; the poor guy I was speaking to was using English as his second language.  He also didn’t know that the particular word he seasoned the end of the sentence with has become one of my biggest irritations.)

Why are there so many people wandering around stating the obviousness-of-the-not-so-bloody-obvious?  Who is responsible for this?  Obviously, I want an explanation as to how they came to believe everything was so bloody obvious.  Obviously, I’m not psychic and the rest of the world is. 

The thing that most hacks me off about this abuse of the word “obviously” - I’ve been robbed of my oral sarcasm.  One of my favourite ways to deploy sarcasm in every day conversation is that word… No more!  It’s lost all of it’s charm.  No one bats an eye any more.  The word has been so down trodden and battered about, I can’t even be sarcastic with it.

Here is my plea; stop it!  If we all band together and agree to put the word back where it belongs - my personal sarcastic uses and to state when something really is clear and easily perceived - conversation would be a much friendlier place.  

And so ends my rant.

Good Excuses, Realistic Expectations and Patrick 08.06.14

Good excuses have a limited duration.  I can let myself get away with certain things under specific circumstances.  I will try, however, and extend that self-leniency for as long as I can.   When I was younger, this could go on for days, weeks, months, (for some things) even years.  Part of the problem with being more honest with myself – regularly writing in a diary and confronting the elephants in my mental-room – is that I don’t get the leniency for anywhere near as long.  It’s somewhat frustrating to me because I don’t get to blame anything or anyone apart from myself; being a grown up blows. 

It isn't without its huge upsides though.  I get to do more because I'm not constantly procrastinating.  I can only get away with that for so long and I'm happier as a result.  I find I do less manic-running-around-trying-to-get-everything-done-in-bulk, which eventually leaves me stressed, shattered and subdued.  I won’t want to do anything after all that.  It’s just easier if I work at things slowly and systematically.  I guess it’s a good thing I don’t get to keep my excuses for as long any more.

The problem with this “can and will do” attitude is that when you sit down to do something like- oh, I don’t know? – update your blog that you haven’t touched in some time, you feel the guilt from the excuses you’ve made that have resulted in nothing happened.  I inevitably think of the wasted time where I could have done something better; how many films have I watched where I could have been doing something better, like my blog, or working on my short fiction or writing poetry, painting, drawing?  So many things I could –and probably should have been doing – but I haven’t.

It’s a double edged sword.

What am I really talking about?  I'm talking about the excuse I gave myself of having moved house.  Yes, Internet, I have moved house.  I've left the house where I was in Preston and I've come back to my home town, where I work and where my Mum lives.  Things are considerably easier.  I live within walking distance of where I work, the local amenities are great and I'm not far from town.  It has been a big adjustment though.  The situation has forced me to face certain things; my terrible ability to control a budget, the obsessive-compulsive tendencies I have around cleaning and certain things being orderly, my stress levels and my Gran dying.  Worst of all, the way they all tie in together in some weird little mess in my head.

My sister likes to invite me over when she has necklaces and bracelets knotted together.  I will sit for hours and undo the tiny knots and pull them apart, usually with tweezers.  Several cups of tea, a lot of patience and concentration later, I’ll end up with separate, distinct pieces of jewellery along with a bucket of gratitude from her.  What I'm doing with the bundles of stuff in my head is not dissimilar to this situation; it requires no less concentration, patience or tea for that matter.  It’s difficult and uncomfortable.  It has to be done though and I am happier as a result.

Somewhere in all of that though, I have allowed myself a free pass to not do things that I don’t need to do, like working on my short fiction or updating this blog.  I have a tendency to be way too hard on myself.  The week I was packing to move, I set myself a list of things to do.  None of those things had anything to do with packing or moving.  None of them involved cardboard boxes or parcel tape.   Did I get a single one of them done?  Did I heck!  Did I start to beat myself up for it?  Of course I did!  I realised not long after I began how ridiculous that was.  Who has time to do anything towards their writing project when they have more books than the local library that need packing?  It was an unrealistic and pointless expectation of myself.  I do it a lot.  The problem is, I see-saw from high expectations to excuses in abundance for doing nothing.   The bigger issue is as well, despite some self-worth concerns before I sit down to write anything, I enjoy what I’m doing right now.  It chills me out and I enjoy doing it, so why wouldn't I do it? 

Amongst my other goals for this year, one of the bigger ones and a later addition to the mix, was the realisation that a lot of things in my life zig-zag from one extreme to the other.  The last time I lived alone, I craved company because I felt so alone, but when I had it, I needed the solitude because I couldn't handle it.  I plough through a video game for a week and wonder why I haven’t made any progress on the painting I was doing or the short story I wanted to work on.  I stay up late, not paying attention to the time and get up late for work the next day.  This year, as much as my goals are to write more, read more and many other things (like living alone – tick!), I also strive to find balance; between my private time and the time I spend with those I love; between writing, reading, watching that never ending list of films and shows I want to see; between work and home life.  Striking the balance.  I have no doubt I am not the only one in the world who has and will struggle with this.  I suspect that my hunt for this balance will never be completed.  Knowing how life can be, the moment I strike that balance, something beyond my control will tilt me in one direction and I’ll have to balance up again.  I'm going to have to work on this for the rest of my life.  I'm OK with that.

I'm happier than I've been in years.  I have a huge project to work on – getting my house exactly the way I want it – amongst the other things I want to achieve.  I've also managed to make a new friend.  His name is Patrick.  Say hello to the Internet, Patrick.

Amongst all this though, I'm happier and more aware that I need to strike the balance.  Any balance I do achieve, I want to have all the things I've talked about above (particularly the cups of tea) but all at the right time and in their proper place.  I do love a challenge.