Traveller's Tales

I’m noticing something odd:  ever since I got my new little netbook and started writing on the bus, my job has gotten easier to stomach.

Now, maybe it’s a coincidence, which is entirely possible given it hasn’t been all that long since I started using it, but I’ve got this weird feeling that giving myself more time to do my own writing is resulting in me being better able to deal with the massive piles of bullshit that tend to get flung around at work.

So now I’m wondering if there’s a direct correlation between one’s personal artistic frustrations and one’s ability to do the “day job.”

Let me elaborate a little.

With all my time consumed by work during the week, I’ve grown resentful of all the time the paycheck steals from me, and the rigors of the job itself, combined with a not-negligible commute, have resulted in me often coming home too tired to write, or waking up too late to steal half an hour before the last bus shows up.

Enter the netbook.  While I can’t write for part of the ride (yes, I do get mildly motion sick, and the twisty windy rural roads near my house are way too twisty and windy for me to keep my lunch down if I’m trying to write), the latter part is smooth sailing, and I can get a good 30-45 minutes of writing in before we pull into NYC or leave the highways.

So now that I’ve done that for a week, I’m suddenly finding a bit more energy available for the job, find myself willing to make a bit more effort to keep things rolling along.  Which in a way doesn’t make sense, because I’m doing more than I was, but in a way it does, because I’ve recovered some great opportunities to do what I love to do.

So I guess I do think there’s some sort of correlation between having time for artistic expression and being able to deal with the mundane crap we all do to bring home the paycheck.  Don’t get me wrong, if I win the lottery I’m still outta there — but for now, this is a nice little discovery, and it’ll do nicely.

Finally, by way of backhanded review: my Acer netbook is the best money I’ve spent on myself in a long time.

(And no, I still haven’t installed World of Warcraft on it!)

…but I think my work is finally done for the year. I just had what, on my schedule, was my last conference call. Never mind that I was supposed to be on vacation all last week; at this rate I’m happy just to appear as though I’m done, and let’s be honest — with jobs the way they are right now, I’m afraid a little bit of abuse is to be expected, so working from home is still better than hoofing it in all week.

Please, wish me luck; this might be release at last, and man do I need it!

but then the spacemen abducted me, used a maser on my brain to alter my perception of the passage of time, and fed me chocolate.  It was very good chocolate, which is always nice during an abduction, but as a result of the very good chocolate, the only thing I can remember for certain is the fact that they did in fact have very good chocolate.

Damn those sly spacemen anyway.

In other news, nobody at work can function without me being physically in the building, so I have not yet been able to indulge in actual vacation time yet, despite having been scheduled to indulge in exactly that kind of time for the entire week.  In this regard, the aforementioned chocolate is not quite as effective at making me forget details, which is both a good thing and a bad thing.  Primarily bad at the moment, as it results in much weeping and gnashing of teeth, but I expect it’ll be good in hindsight.

Lastly, someone whose work I quite like is showing a preliminary interest in the manuscript.  This is actually an incredibly cool thing and something I’d much prefer to turn into a headline while leaping from one tall building to the next (with or without a cape), but I must reasonably temper this news because (a) “preliminary interest” is not equivalent to “ready to purchase lock, stock and barrel,” and (b) I still have a quantity of residual chocolate to consume.

That is all.  More when the chocolate lets me remember I need to post again.

The first person to deduce the identity of the Word of the Day from the complex visual clue gets a cookie.

The last few months have been hell on my creative drive.

As much as I like to bitch (check the size of the ‘bitching’ tag on the left), this actually isn’t one; it’s an observation, and perhaps a diagnostic, but not a bitch.

I’ve always been fond of saying that the job is a paycheck, not Art, which is code for giving myself an excuse for not getting incredibly stressed out to the point of going bug-eyed and wondering where the sharp cutlery is when I deal with the inevitable brats, idiots and egotists at work.  I’m in advertising, so not only do I get those separately, they often come in cunning combinations of the three — which is why it’s so important I maintain that distinction.

Lately I’ve come under the guidance of a Man of Business.  I am not categorizing him in this in this way to mock him, nor am I engaging in the art of sarcasm in any way when I say that.  I say it, because this is a man for whom his job IS his art.  Having made this observation, it’s actually profound to watch him in action, and proof positive to me that for every medium, there is an Artist.  Subtle nuances of human interaction are the clearest indicators to him; shifts in process alert him to emergencies buried deeply in complex projects, and for one of the very few times in my life I find myself constantly learning.

It has, however, been my great misfortune to join forces with this fellow at precisely the moment the business decides to collapse in upon itself with all the fury of an obsessive-compulsive chasing after a white whale.  As a result, the Artist has gone manic in an attempt to save said business from consuming itself in a cannibalistic orgy the likes of which even the Donner Party would have balked at, and my life, as a result of that association, has gone from the casual contemplation of a paycheck to furious reactionary firefighting.  Given the current economy, and the fact that my first manuscript sale is unlikely to make me independently wealthy (sure, I can dream, but I can buy lottery tickets and not win, too), this is probably a good thing long-term… but with the aforementioned Artist demanding so much of my energy, as well as demanding ever-higher levels of performance and observation from me as we go, it’s a full-on brain screw when it comes to the imaginary world in my head.

Acknowledging that the work situation is not going to change any time soon, the simple truth is that business will never be my Art — there’s never been any question about that, and if that’s a self-imposed limitation, I can live with it.  With that established, then, the key to reclaiming my own Artistry has to be regaining control of my own time, and the only way I can think of to do that under the pressures of work is by adopting and maintaining a strict schedule.  With regular 12-hour days sapping my energy, nights are lost except for mindless media consumption, so I have to claim the mornings as my own.  This means resisting the siren song of online gaming for overly late evenings, it means not throwing the alarm clock at the wall during the early mornings, and somehow working out how not to get wretchedly motion-sick while writing on the bus (something I’ll gladly take hints regarding, if anyone has any).

…of course, it’ll be much harder to establish these habits this holiday season, as I fully expect to engage in some bad behavior (and, by the way, have thoroughly earned the opportunity to misbehave over the last year!).  But when the New Year comes and the feces begin to impact the rotating oscillator yet again, at least I know I have a plan.

I had no idea that the latest versions of WordPress were usable through my crummy little BlackBerry* (yes I have one, yes I hate having one, or at least one where people who are not my friends know its number, and no I can’t throw it into the East River without having to pay for a new one, so I may as well just get used to the leash instead of trying to gnaw it off).

So this means that, one, I have no more excuses for not making dumb entries here. Check.

And two, I’m betting that I can even use this little trick to get Real, Actual Writing (in the context of the novels, that is) done.

And yeah, it’s been since, what, July? For what it’s worth, that’s kind of how life in general feels right now: autopilot to survive the bullshit that seems to have suddenly become the norm and not the exception. Work-life is hugely imbalanced and weighing in at totally the wrong end of the scale, but for a wageslave like myself this isn’t a smart time to start getting overly precious about being overworked.

Anyway, done bitching. Here’s to using my new discovery for evil purposes!

* and no, the default browser can’t handle it. Thank you, copy and paste, and thank you Opera Mini.

Spent a bit of time this weekend putting parts of the house into a semblance of, if not actually ‘order,’ then at least ‘less entropy.’  Boxes went to the loft, so now I can actually get to my exercise equipment again, though I didn’t really need to use it this weekend after moving all those bloody boxes up to the loft.  Funny how that worked.  Now, at some point I’ll actually have to open the boxes to see what’s in them and where they should be going, but in the meantime just having them out of the way is a big plus.

Found myself a new local karate school; they sound like they’re the kind of place I like (Okinawan derivant, triple-focus on kata, kumite and waza, tonfa is one of their weapons forms), so once I’m back in some kind of shape I’ll be visiting to see whether it’s a fit.

No writing done.  Bad me.  So much stress and involvement from work, the brain’s just empty. Blood, rock, stone, same thing.  I’m going to need to set up better ground rules for engaging the muse, because I’ve been blowing her off a lot lately.

And that’s why this post is about rearranging.  That time thing, there’s just not enough of it to screw around and do things on the fly anymore.  Time to set aside actual chunks To Do Things With.  Dunno how that’s going to net out yet, but it’s something I’m thinking about.

Meh.  I want a summer vacation.  June to September, remember what that was like?

Yeah.  Me too.

Huge, catastrophic change tends to disrupt habits, whether they’re long-established, like finding a way to always slack at work, or whether they’re developing, like attempting to make a regular go at blogging.

As it happens, huge, catastrophic change has been going on at work for me.  Mainly good things — you’ll notice that my last blog entry had to do with intense dissatisfaction as regards the workplace, so in theory we’re going to stop making muffins soon and start supporting the business in meaningful ways.  I’ve learned so much in the last six months that the proper term to describe my progression is more “evolved” than”graduated,” and I’m not entirely sure I’m happy about all of it, but by and large I’m now being asked to help fix everything that’s broken, and on the whole this is a far better situation than smugly watching it devolve into chaos from my hidey-hole in the corner of the building.

There are writing things afoot, now, as I begin to adjust to both the new work environment and the new house, which I’ve written pathetically little about but love dearly, despite the unmeasurable multitude of Things That Must Be Done to the place.  I’ll mumble more about those writing things later, but for now suffice it to say that I’ve been taken by creative development fits twice now, both as regards the first book, and I’m pleased with the direction they’ve gone — pleased enough that I’m writing them in now.  I’m also seriously stinking tired of the lack of forward momentum, and something is going to happen, soon, to rectify that situation.  I don’t know what, yet, but I know what my options are, and I’m getting ready to exercise them.

It’s been one seriously strange year so far, but I think the fodder I’ve waded through in the first half is going to make for a very interesting second half.

By the way.  Art, if you’re out there, when the hell is the next game and why the hell haven’t you told me about it?

Wow. Yeah. That’s a long time in between posts. In my defense, I had the house I was renting sold out from under me and had to both find a new place to live and to move in there; my boss of 6 years flew the coop and left utter chaos in his wake; and, lastly, I’m a lazy negligent bastard anyway and have a hard time writing blog posts regularly even under the best of circumstances.

It’s a lovely 2-story converted log cabin complete with fireplace, spiral staircase, a loft for sunbeams, a balcony for drinking coffee (or scotch) and watching the sun rise (or set).

(Pictures courtesy of my wife, who’s much better at blogging than I am.)

It’s in a great place, not far from friends and very far from the things I didn’t like about my previous home, specifically the ‘urban environment’ thing and the ‘zomg my house is seriously old lol’ thing. There are still way too many boxes to unpack, but it’s starting to shape up. Yes, my desk is already a mess. No, I’m not posting a picture of it.

Speaking of messes, the job has entered a bit of an interesting period. I work at an ad firm, and the part of the agency I belong to is undergoing catastrophic change at roughly double the rate that the agency at large is undergoing catastrophic change, which is to say, quite quickly. Strangely, my job is not at risk; in fact, I’m more in demand now than I ever have been as people struggle to rebuild the organization and realize that not only do I have a clue or two between my ears, but I actually have a metric crapton of well-considered clues to offer. Add to this there are several outside influences who are, purportedly, interested in my roughshod, bum-rush methods of creative management, and suddenly it’s nice to be an ad man again. Go figure. I’ll post more once I have actual details I can share, but it looks as though I’m going to get to work with one of my favorite people again, and that makes me excited to go to work again. Hey, it beats waking up and having a hard time figuring out which excuse I haven’t used for a while to play hookie with.

Lastly, and this is quite exciting, there may be exciting news on the very near horizon with regards to the book. Now I have to figure out where the hell the latest manuscript is — more specifically, which box the laptop is hiding in.

Boxes. Ugh.