It's taken a month but 2025 is finally on track. The diggers have left, the pit in my garden's been filled, and my own personal sewage is whizzing through a shiny new tank as we speak.
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| Deadlines schmeadlines |
It's all systems go for the rest of the year. I've got deadlines schmeadlines littered throughout, and a book to birth by the start of 2026. It's doable, for sure. The trouble is, if I float around in a creative bubble without actually doing the graft, the year will go nowhere. Nothing will get finished, and I'll still be wanging on, twelve months from now.
Take this morning, for example. I woke up knowing I had a whole day in an empty house, to bash out this blog and write the last sixth of my current chapter. Piece of piss! Well, let's take a look at what happened. My alarm went off at 7am. Standard. I switched it off and waited for the following alarms of 7.30am and 8am to gently signpost that I was ready to start the day. Except! Knowing I had a whole day, an empty house, and a manageable amount of writing, my semi-conscious mind thought... 'Nah.' I rolled over, did NOT set another alarm, and gave myself an extra ten minutes.
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| My thoughts this morning! |
This is my worry for the year. I've GOT to stick to my deadlines and ignore all distractions. If the next book's publication date is early 2026, I'll have managed it. Any later than that, and you'll know what happened.
My bit of chapter I'm writing today, will be the end of Chapter Ten. I've got to do Eleven and Twelve, and then the first draft is done. Woohoo! A strange thing happens when you write a story. To me, at least. No matter how detailed my plan is, and no matter how much I've plotted the ending, it always comes out differently in the wash. The basic plot doesn't necessarily change, but new subtexts emerge. Nuances you hadn't realised, pop up by the end. Then, when you go back and edit, you find ways of signposting those themes earlier on. Joel Morris wrote about it recently in regard to The Traitors edit. Whether you like The Traitors or not, it's a fascinating read on the way novels, especially mystery novels are written. I'm looking forward to getting to the end of my new Leeza McAuliffe story. I want to find out what the vibes of the novel actually are. They're always a surprise.
Culture
We're in the midst of awards season! I'm not obsessed with the ceremonies themselves, simply the abundance of film options at the cinema. This is the upside from the barren listings of the summer. What's that quote? Something about living through the darkest night so we can see the dawn? Summer kids' films are the blackest of nights, and January is the beautiful dawn! A couple of weeks ago I watched A Real Pain. On paper, it sounds simple. A road movie around Poland, with two odd-couple cousins, searching for the place their grandmother once lived. It's comedic and witty and that's about it. Except, it's so much more than that. Both cousins are dealing with their own shit. They're in Poland as part of a Holocaust tour, with others making sense of their own family history. Then, part way through, the film shows the coach tour's visit to the real life concentration camp, Majdanek. The silent scenes in the camp - ones that follow laugh-out-old moments and comedically verbose dialogue - are incredibly affecting. A remarkable film on many levels and one that stayed with me afterwards. Then, last weekend I was back at the cinema for A Complete Unknown. I went in, not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I came out... not knowing much about Bob Dylan. I think that's the point. Is he an enigmatic genius or an up-himself pseud? Maybe he's both? The film doesn't seek to find an answer. What I do know is that Timothée Chalamet gives an outstanding performance and I'd watch it again for that alone. Also, the scenes set in Greenwich Village made me long to live in a time where you could literally sense creativity and art on the streets. The hubbub of those scenes was intoxicating.
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| Not authentic but utterly gorge! |
I know, I know, I'm not Scottish. But how marvellous that instead of a patron saint or a random king, it's a poet that gets celebrated every year. Burns Night was last week and, as usual, I culturally appropriated it to hell. I had veggie haggis, neeps and tatties for my tea, along with smoked salmon blinis for lunch. I also rode roughshod over another Scottish culinary delight. Cranachan. I see it on menus every time I'm north of the border, and I'm sure it's delicious. Except I don't like cream and I'm not fussed about whiskey. However, that same day, in unrelated news, I'd read a recipe for lemon curd. Did you know how easy it is to make? My mind started to fizz and next thing you know, I'd worked out my own homage to cranachan. Not authentic in anyway, but with kinda similar vibes. And so it came to pass, that on Saturday night after the haggis, I served Bondie's Non-Authentic Cranachan With Lemon Curd. There was no real recipe. I mixed curd and Greek yogurt, added some raspberries, and plopped more curd on top. I served it with home-made shortbread and it was DELISH. Once again, apologies to Robbie Burns and the entirety of Scotland. I do it out of love.
I love a pub quiz. There's something about being asked to recall the capital cities of Africa that makes me feel alive. That was one of the questions at the pub quiz I attended last week. Actually it was 'Put the countries that have these capital cities, into alphabetical order. Then, on the iPad, popped up Tunis, Algiers, Cairo, and Nairobi. Because, yes! Did I not mention it? This was a pub quiz on a SCREEN! Ngl, I missed my paper and pen. When it's an interactive screen based quiz, it's not really about knowledge of capitals or Shakespeare plays. It's about speed. Fastest finger gets most points. Still, I enjoyed it. I even remembered from the depths of my brain that Sixpence None the Richer sang Kiss Me. (My team had my Dawson's Creek CD to thank for that.) Anyway, thanks to The Cookhouse in Rainhill. Your quiz night was fun, even if it was a little frenzied.
I"m going to have to leave it here. That sixth of the chapter won't write itself. And it's already 3pm. I can safely say I've frittered away my empty house and writing hours. This can stand as a lesson to us all. Crack on and get the job done. Only then can you play Candy Crush and trim your fringe to your hearts content. Learn from my mistakes! Don't waste your time!
Have a lovely week, folks.
