Category: Non-Fiction

Real events from an Englishman living in America

Deadlines

Deadlines

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At the beginning of the year I set some goals for the first quarter of the year. This is an update on my success and what I learned.

I love deadlines. I love the whooshing noise they make as they go by. – Douglas Adams.

Between January 1st and March 31st I set out to complete the following goals”

GOAL: I will have finished a second draft of my comedy mystery novella. It will be at least 20,000 words long.

STATUS: Completed

THOUGHTS: This ballooned into a 41,000 word manuscript. It was a bit messy so I did a third draft before sending it to beta readers.

GOAL:  I will have sent the 2nd draft to 3 beta readers for notes.

STATUS: Completed

THOUGHTS: I picked five people to read and all accepted.

GOAL: I will have finished a first draft of the sequel novella. It will also be at least 20,000 words long.

STATUS: Incomplete, currently 10,000 words and headed towards 40,000.

THOUGHTS: Since the first novel/la is 40,000 the sequel needs to be 40,000 as well. I’m fine with not completing this goal. I have written 51,000 words total this quarter and that is still an achievement I am proud of.

GOAL:  I will post 7 blog of at least 50 words each (after this one). Ideally one a week.

STATUS: Complete.

THOUGHTS: I wanted to post an average of one a week. I’d already posted 5 posts in 2014 at this time and I just needed 7 more. If I didn’t proclaim this as a goal I probably would not have developed this habit.

GOAL: I will be able to touch my toes with my hands without bending my knees.

STATUS: Complete

THOUGHTS: This is a fun goal, I’ve never been good at stretching and didn’t remember being able to touch my toes, even in childhood.

LESSON LEARNED

1) The main lesson I learned is that to achieve my goals I need good daily habits. Most goals that are worth completing aren’t completed over night; to do something properly it needs to be broken up into smaller steps. With toe stretching I can’t cram all my stretching in the night before the deadline and expect to gain that extra few inches of flexibility. It’s impossible.

This is the video that inspired me to touch my toes:

[youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEKhVgwqiOc&w=560&h=315]

As you can see it’s a gradual process. So were the other goals. I could have written thousands of words in the last night to meet by goal but they wouldn’t have been quality words. Creating a good steady habit makes the task feels effortless.

2) I also realised other important things will come up. One of the reasons I did not complete the second novel/la is because I had another good writing opportunity come up.

3) When it comes to quarterly goals I need to reach for the toes, not the stars. Sure I have big aspirations, but breaking them down to smaller chunks, making them achievable in a small time frame, made me feel that hunger and drive. It was something just out of reach and I could see myself get closer and closer. That goes for word counts, blog posts and toe touching.

One of my goals for the year is to publish three novels on Kindle. It’s a big goal, daunting really, but by concentrating on whats just a little out of my reach I see myself getting closer. I get the win and realise: I did this one, I can do this again.

Bring on the second quarter of goals.

Closing The Gap

Closing The Gap

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[vimeo 24715531 w=600 h=338]

Here’s a healthy dose of inspiration for all you creative types. Ira Grass talks about the first years of being creative, and working through the troubling time of creating work that doesn’t quite meet your own standards.

What I really like about this talk is the positive angle on those developing years. I’ve seen or read plenty of other artists talk about their years of sucking before they got good but never in a helpful way. Ira really focuses on the goal of getting good by creating a body of work and calls it “closing the gap.”

I’ve seen it in movies or TV where the artist is portrayed as sucking until one day they create a magical work of art, now they have a voice or style of their own. It’s like they worked in the dark for years and suddenly found a light switch.

What I like about Ira’s “closing the gap” philosophy is that it recognizes the evolution of a craft. It takes years, but it slowly becomes something good until eventually you meet your own standards.

When looking at your work though this lens you can see that everything you make, even if it doesn’t meet your standards, is a success. You finished it, you learnt from it, hopefully it’s better than the last thing. No matter what, you closed the gap a little bit more.

Feast

Feast

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Dad’s late evening shopping trips to Asda usually meant a nighttime feast. Seduced by the reduced aisle, he’d return with a bag of french baguette, tiger loaves and hedgehog bread. £1.09 to 29p, 80p to 25p, £1.20 to 68p.

Unpacking the bags at 10pm, the counter would be covered in speciality doughy goodness, all two hours from their expression date.

Although it was meant for tomorrow’s slightly stale packed lunch,  me and my brothers scoffed as much buttered slices as possible. The amount we were allowed, followed by the amount we could sneak.

We’d completely counter the discounted prices by gorging the extra bread. The next day we’d eat our plain lunches with no regrets, looking forward to the next time dad walked by the reduced aisle.

Cold Feet

Cold Feet

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January 1st 2008

Spending New Year’s Eve in Budapest seemed like a great idea, and would have been, if I was prepared. My winter clothes consisted of nothing more that a coat and gloves.

When I arrived in show-covered Budapest with aerated trainers on my feet I could see this was a problem. Ever the cheap skate, I decided to push on with the running shoes. After all, it’s just a few days of snow.

On the evening of New Year’s Eve there was many street parties for me and my friend, Nick, to enjoy. I would just keep warm with the mulled wine. That’s how I preferred to stay warm at home. I don’t mean wine, I mean a hot drink. A big cup of tea would warm me from the inside out. My central heating, I called it. I wouldn’t need to pay for heating when I had a kettle and a thick jumper to wear. If any guests complained about the cold I’d give them ‘the guest jumper’.

Looking back, getting drunk on hot booze was not the safest way to stay to warm. Instead of an organised firework display, Budapest had street vendors selling fireworks to anyone. Between mulled wine stands I’d pass by people shoving firework rockets in between the street’s cobbled stones and light them up. I’d try to keep my distance, I avoided the teens with the rockets and headed towards a group of people huddled up and talking. When I got close they group ran leaving behind a firework with a lit fuse. Six feet away from an explosive taking off, I thought about how I’d forgotten to get travel insurance.

On New Year’s Day Nick and I went out to explore the city in four inches of snow at -4 C weather.  My silly trainers with their dynamic air wholes and all that sport science did not serve me at all. My feet were wet and ice-cold. It was too much. Just to keep warm we kept returning to the hostel for ten minutes of warmth before heading back out to the tourist sites. Each time seeing four American girls watching the same rolling news on CNN all day.

The hostel had put out some pork pastries for the guests to eat as eating pork on New Year’s Day is considered good luck. After munching more than my fair share I had an idea; I could stick my shoes in the tumble dryer and in twenty minutes I’d have toasty feet.

I threw the shoes into the hostel’s combo washer-dryer turned the dial to the dry symbol, pressed start, and the drum span. Genius.

As it came to the end of the cycle there was a click noise and everything was still. I tried to open the circular glass door but it wouldn’t release. Then the drum filled with water. The cycle started from the beginning. My shoes were now the wettest they’d ever been.

I tried turning the dial back to dry, but at the end of the cycle it repeated again. At this point I realised it wasn’t a washer-dryer at all. It was a washer and I’d put my shoes to spin. I tried turning it off, I tried unplugging it, but it remained locked. Every time I attempted to skip the cycle it would repeat a new cycle each time.

I waited until right after the click, the point when the cycle was finished to unplug the machine. It was still locked. I pulled at the plastic handle as hard as I could. The thing snapped off and pinged from wall to wall.

“Um, I don’t know what to do.” said Nick, who’d been watching the whole time. I sent Nick out to buy new shoes but all the shops were closed for the holiday.

After deciding my shoes would be released if I let the full cycle happen I sat and read for an hour. Hoping the owner didn’t come by and notice his broken washer. I wondered if the American girls, who probably heard me shouting and swearing at the machine, would tell on me. Then the cycle ended, the washer beeped, and my shoes were free.

My stomach was ready for dinner but any restaurant was a good 15 minute walk in the cold and snow. My feet wouldn’t survive in that. I remembered my dad telling me when he was a child and his shoe’s had wholes he would use plastic bags between two socks to keep his feet dry. The outer pair would get soaked, but the inner pair stayed dry thanks to the plastic.

I looked around for two plastic bags and went to work making my water-proof socks. Me and Nick walked across the bridge to the main street of restaurants with my feet cozy. Once we entered the restaurant I noticed each step I made created a rustle. A loud rustle. I couldn’t hear it outside as the snow and traffic made enough noise to cover.

Headed to the restaurant’s bathroom I’d get strange looks. If I were to see and hear this I would assume the man had plastic underwear and was incontinent. So I assume that’s what others thought. I wanted to point out I was headed to the bathroom, therefore I had urinary control. However, returning to my table was still a walk of shame.

The next morning with my shoes still wet and on a coach to Vienna, I held my shoes against a tiny radiator grill beneath the window seat. By the end of the four-hour drive the gentle warm air had dried my shoes. Although this was inconvenient I did get extra room as no one wanted to sit next to the guy with no shoes. Not even Nick.

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