Week Forty-Three Fug

>>Wake up tired.
>>Slog through morning, regain a bit of energy by lunch-time. Think of something which might be a suitable blog post.
>>Energy ebbs away in afternoon.
>>Get home from work, begin drafting blog post but give up after half an hour and watch TV.

This pretty much describes every day this week.

--

Tuesday’s abandoned post:

Why Day Jobs Are Good For Writers

* Money (and the things that money can buy like shelter, baguettes and over-the-counter painkillers)
* Time away from fiction (that isn’t tainted with “I should be writing” guilt)
* Time with people: A: because they are much better at coming up with quirks, foibles and faux pas than you. B: because they remind you how few people will actually read your work. (A+B means you can steal whatever you like from the workplace for use in fiction)

(Post video of 'Take Stuff from Work'...)



The Downside of Day-Jobs

[no energy to tackle this topic]

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Wednesday’s abandoned post:

Great Moments in iPod Shuffle: A Rebuttal

To prove that the quality of last week's shuffle playlist was more down to my mood than any sentience on the part of my iPod, here is an equally good list of songs thrown up by shuffle yesterday which I skipped:

[list never compiled]

In all I managed to cycle through 110 songs in an hour and a half of travel-time (usually about 20 tracks worth). I was totally over music, yet I couldn't bear to resume listening to The Blind Assassin, either. No doubt the lingering effects of the week-end's piano drop were to blame for such a mood. I am only now returning to normal.

[Oh really?]

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Thursday’s abandoned post:

"I sing as well as I can and I dance as well as I want."

The title for this post is a quote from Warren Zevon, and I hereby adopt it as my motto for writing. That is, I'm trying my darndest to construct the best sentences and paragraphs, but I'm going to have fun with it.

I don't really feel like I've been dancing at all, let alone to my own tune, lately. It's been a grind.

I know I said I wouldn't. I know there are lot's of good reasons to keep keeping on. But I'm chucking in Novel B, again. In fact, I'm done with any project beginning with the N-word for the rest of the year.

I've come to the conclusion that I am unable to sustain the energy and attention required to write a novel whilst working full-time.

[And, it seems, I no longer have the energy to finish blog posts… ]

[File this under: Troughs]

Worksheet #2

It is two days since we went to the Tattoo and our shoes are still drying…

***

I just sent away a bio note for an online publication (not naming names, but it wouldn’t take much sleuthing once the new edition appears):

Craig Cliff was born in Palmerston North and currently lives in Edinburgh; since the beginning of the Scottish summer he has purchased three umbrellas.

I sent the submission on the 7th of April, 2007. For the non-mathematicians: that’s a fifteen and a half month wait for acceptance.

***

Edinburgh #3

We clutter under the sun
but the mourning will continue—
some things never arrive.

***

The lock on our front door has been temperamental this week. Some days it takes two minutes of jiggling to get the key right in. This morning I got home after another free reading at the Book Festival (Gee Williams read a story called ‘Hiatus’) to find my downstairs neighbour jiggling. We had a wee chat as he jiggled. The woman who lives above me arrived back with a newspaper and a coffee. The man kept jingling. He asked if I wanted to try. I did. We got in, eventually.

***

What does the above have to do with the weather? Well, I figured out why the key goes in fine some days, and is a bugger the next: rain. That is, if it’s raining, no problems. If it’s dry, good luck getting in. I’ll leave it to the chemists among us to explain the hows and whys. But I think the lock is trying to tell us something: It’s not raining, so what the F- - - are you doing going inside!

Worksheet #1

Yesterday we climbed into the back of a white van to be driven to look at a flat. When the doors were closed on us, Marisa said, "This is just like being kidnapped." I think most people who are kidnapped probably have the same thought.

Our could be kidnapper was only our landlord (we're looking to move somewhere cheaper and he owns several flats). He's got a heart of gold, but I'm sure his head has a pinball machine inside it. Whatever thought the ball hits, he says it. When we first met him last year, when he showed us the room we would eventually take, he showed us a photo of his wife on his cellphone, rapped his knuckles against every painted surface and piece of joinery and said, "I did this", made a racist remark about Africans, told us all about his MS and various relapses, asked if he could smoke in the room we were about to take as our own, and ask where we came from three times. That evening, when we got back to our hostel in a converted church, I wrote a story about a couple who view a flat called 'The Landlord.' I still can't finish it because I don't know the ending.

It has been the best weather of the summer this week. They are constructing the marquees on Charlotte Square at the moment (the Edinburgh International Book Festival starts in two weeks http://www.edbookfest.co.uk). It will probably rain for the next 40 days and nights.
The seating outside the Castle has all been erected, although the Military Tattoo is still a few weeks off. I thought they were terribly prepared. Today I learnt Atomic Kitten (or is is Girls Aloud?) is playing a concert there this weekend.

All the permanent staff in my team had a meeting this morning from 8:30 to 9:30. They got bacon rolls. The rest of the morning, the office smelt like fat and tomato sauce.
On the list of things I will introduce to my bubble of NZ upon my return from Scotland, Bacon Rolls are at the top. Also on the list, vegetarian haggis (if there's any way to source them within NZ); pear cider (not especially Scottish, but I'm big on the stuff lately); saying "the now" where just "now" would do - - "I'm busy the now," "I can't come to the phone the now" - - (a better gloss would be "at the moment")...

The things I have adopted as my own after living in Australia for three years: their beers (on the rare occasion I stumble into a Walkabout Pub, a Tooheys Extra Dry wins the taste and whistful reminisce battles against any NZ beer on offer); the expression "of a ______", eg "I enjoy going for a walk of a lunchtime", "I'm so tired of a night-time recently"; double-pluggers; the Socceroos; the currency (I'm glad I kept my house deposit/emergency travel funds in Australian Dollars rather than moving it to NZD before leaving last year).

The things I miss most about NZ: feijoas, friends and family. In that order.

This post steals it's title from Geoff Cochrane's Worksheet poems.

I have been extremely tired of late. I have been short with people who are only being nice / doing their job / taking an interest. I have not been able to listen to my iPod on shuffle because all music thrown up is inappropriate and / or overplayed. I have made little oaths with myself that a rational person should not keep ("I will never read another book by an Indian author", "I will buy the next pair of jeans I try on, regardless of price, style or fit.") I have become too interested in my weight (somehow I lost 5 kgs without doing anything, now when ever I do "something" I must weigh myself). I have turned emails from my mum into poems:

I have been instructed to avoid
yawning, sneezing and chewing,
which means soft food like soup,
mashed veggies, porridge, yoghurt--

Talking is fine so long as I don’t
overstretch my right
temporomandibular joint.

(excerpt)

Jerry's Final Thought: I wonder if kidnappers think, "I could totally kidnap this person right now," before becoming kidnappers.