Author: Paul

There’s nothing like the anti-climax of getting on a commenter train to London. Nothing like it. I’m surrounded by shells of men, bloated corpses, this can’t be what it’s all about.

I went for a run this morning. I ran out to the lake beyond the woods at the bottom of my road. I feel extremely privileged to be able to disappear into a little bit of wilderness every now and then, makes you appreciate things a little.

Whilst running I decided I’m going to scrap the recordings I’ve been working on an start anew. I can do better so I will do better. As I’ve previously said, running is my time. I get away and I see things differently to how they seem when I’ve shackled myself to my work.

It’s nice out today isn’t it, make sure you enjoy that instead of complaining about it.

I’m sat in the garden. That’s quite a revelation given the recent outbursts of weather.
This morning I got up and ran five miles.
Then I cleaned the bathroom.
Now I’m trying to get some work done.
It’s hard to concentrate when you can’t see your screen, you can just see your wonderfully pale shoulders glaring back at you in reflection.
I’m struggling to stay focused on anything, I’m pulling myself about way too much. Just need to stay the course, work out what I’m doing and stick to it, otherwise it’ll be another six months treading water and the start of another year where I promise myself that I’m going to get things going.
Yesterday I actually managed to sit down and shortlist ten literary agents that I’m going to send my novel off to. This was a depressing step. It’s quite impressive the number of agents who refuse to accept unsolicited or first time writers. You’d think that defeats the whole object of their position but what do I know. The important thing to note is that in the next week I should be sending my novel off to all of them, and then sitting by the front door like a dog waiting for those rejection letters so I can frame them all.
I’ve sort of sidelined my music for the time being because I’m just not happy with anything I do, which obviously points to the fact that I’m not actually able to create what I want, that it will always fall short and that I need to reevaluate.
In the meantime I’m going to catch some sun because I’m low on whatever vitamin you get from sunlight, and I’m going to drink some whiskey, and think of a time when I won’t have to moan about my first world problems.

After a couple of weeks of drifting I’ve finally started to sort things out, everything is on the move at once and I’m looking forward to the foreseeable future. I can’t go into details because I’m a superstitious little thing and I don’t want to mess it up by jabbering on about it. Rest assured that if things go my way you will all hear about it.

With the knowledge that the film adaptation of On The Road is safely heading our way I thought I’d take today to talk about Sam Riley, the Yorkshire born lad who doesn’t look right without a popped up collar and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

Riley has a habit of picking these characters; Pinky, Milo, Ian, strung out, dark anti-heroes of the purest order but each has their own quips and characteristics. I’ve read that this all had to change to take on Kerouac’s thinly veiled character Sal Paradise and I’m really looking forward to it (despite how disappointing the majority of favourite books to film transfer has been). He attended a beat camp alongside others from the film in order to immerse themselves in the culture of the time, and to bond. I’m hoping the film that emerges still holds that heart.

The important thing to note about Riley is that he hasn’t just jumped on any chance to appear onscreen, he knows he can afford to maintain a certain standard, and that the offers are all there off the back of his role in Control. It’s an artists integrity that is so rare in this day and age and something I greatly admire.

On Friday I got home to find the house was a mess. I know that sounds like the sentence of a mum but that is essentially my role at home. It’s complicated. The problem is that there are four men and only one of them has OCD, the others have twigged this and know that everything will be done to a far greater level than any of their efforts if they just leave it for long enough. I get fed up with stacks of stuff laying about everywhere that we don’t need or use. I believe Ben at Life Rapture is at least partly responsible for opening my mind to minimalist living. While I haven’t gone to the impressive extent he has (I’m sorry Ben, I love paperback books and vinyl too much) it did make me realise that the amount of ‘stuff’ in our lives is disproportionate to the amount we use and need. It’s very difficult proving this to people. I’ll give you an example that I’ve probably used before.
In March I was introduced to Charity:Water who run a campaign where you can donate your birthday to their charity so instead of your friends buying you things that are nice but that aren’t essential to your life you get them to donate to Charity:Water (the standard donation is your age in pounds) and then you get updates with what your money has done. I shared this news with a group of people I work with one lunchtime, and told them how annoyed I was that I’d only learnt about the charity a month after my birthday. One of them said:
‘Yeah, I’d rather have the stuff’.

So that’s the kind of thought pattern I’m up against when I say that we don’t need all of the objects and material items we surround ourselves with, how the stuff you own ends up owning you (thanks Tyler Durden) and so I set to work emptying out the understairs cupboard. My dad hates it when I get in these obsessive cleaning moods because he has to orchestrate otherwise I will literally bin everything and he has a habit of leaving MOT certificates, life insurance documents, money, just laying about and I’ll sweep away the lot if he turns his back.

I am slowly teaching him though, in the same way I was slowly taught. You can just take one small area, and you can clear out 90% of the stuff stored in it. You don’t think about the bigger picture of how to clear out a four bedroom house, you just think of that cupboard under the stairs and everything else will fall into place. ‘No possessions’ as John once said.

For the first Monday in a long time I’ve woken up grouchy. For weeks I’ve pledged about the power of living right and positive attitudes but today I overslept my alarm and didn’t go for a run. Now I’m on my way to work without the chance to burn some of my nervous energy off.

I don’t think it helps that I have that ‘Call Me Maybe’ song stuck in my head. I spent yesterday listening to covers and parodies of it and it’s clearly effected me. For those who haven’t completed their studies in this area the best one is the Star Wars edit.

Brilliant. I just walked in on a bus driver using the toilet. This is going to be one of those days isn’t it.

I’m sat with a cup of coffee and my own recordings as accompaniment to my writing.
I had a sort of lie in this morning, which is highly unusual for me. Maybe the nights of five or six hours sleep had finally caught up with me. Maybe I’ve been doing too much as people insist on telling me. I’m happy in it though.

I’ve managed to write another five hundred words of the story that I’m working on. It’s not a complete idea yet, I don’t know if it will become a novel, I have quite a broad concept and bits I’m borrowing from The Great Gatsby. It’s nice to be writing prose again, I’ve been caught up in any number of other things recently.

I managed to get one of my songs finished yesterday, to a degree anyway. I’m sure I’ll spot something and take it back into my bedroom studio for more work, but in theory it should be the first track off the album I’ve promised myself I want to write, record, produce and self release in some way or another. It’s called Bienvenue and I’ll try and link it onto this page for anyone interested.

Right, I’ve got writing to do, and then a girlfriend to collect from work.

I have a problem.
No, not that one, I’ve got ointment for that.
I have a problem in that I place far too much pressure on myself and my ‘artistic endeavours’. I realise that’s a wanky term hence the speech marks. I’m stuck in a horrible loop where what I want to do is just slightly out of my grip. I can’t become a full time writer/musician/journo unless I put in an awful lot of time and work but the thought of needing to get it all done makes me rush and as a result the output is never as good as it could be.

Example: I keep recording songs. I don’t know what it will all come to but I keep recording songs. When I listen back to them they’re never as good as they are in my head and I rerecord them just to find the same result the following day. I wouldn’t put myself down as being a perfectionist (I mean look at me) but for some reason I just can’t get the sound in my head transcribed to recording. Basically I have about fifteen songs that aren’t quite ready to go. I think I need to borrow a  pair of ears, mine aren’t cutting it anymore. I could just keep looping the same thing like Dante’s seventh circle of hell.

Meanwhile I have my novel to think about. I sent off to one agency who rejected it and now it’s in limbo. All it would take is for me to print off some more, and send them off but the pressure comes in and stops me even doing that. Basically I’m treading water in a massive way and I need a slap round the face to sort me out. I need a PA or a secretary to sit me down and tell me what I’m doing, in what order I’m doing it and when I need to stop, because I will run myself into the ground trying to get something right when it just needs to sit. I know today’s post is a massive soundboard, I just need to get it out of my head.

I need to write this down.