So tomorrow is Holly’s birthday, which means tonight is going to be filled with food, drink, and dancing. It’s been one of those cold but clear days, and everything is looking like it’s going to be a fun night. So strange to think that this time last year was the third time i’d seen her, and the second time i’d actually managed to spend any time with her.
She’s a hard-working warrior-woman, and an all round excellent human. Not afraid to make fun of herself or have a little fun, all while managing several projects like a entrepreneurial octopus.
She’s been the key inspiration to going after what I want, without any excuses, and I spent last year doing more than I thought I was capable. The great thing is she doesn’t really know ow she helping, it’s something genetic, buried deep within her DNA that just says keep working.
My advice to anyone out there with dreams and ideas, is to find that special place that helps you work, and let those willing to help do so. It’s not always easy when you doubt yourself, but that’s what these other people are for, to call you out on you BS and keep you focused forward.
The snow has receded to the corners of the wood, it’s already dark, and things can’t help themselves as they whisper words of opportunity and chances to do something. I hope you realise that nows the best time to start on that project, and if you’re halfway through something and you feel like there’s no end in sight, just remember to keep going. write the next word, take the next step, and try not to focus on the scary bits.
I’m almost through Michael Chabon’s Yiddish Policeman’s Union, and i’m so glad I decided to buy it. The metaphor-ladened world he has created in this novel have left me with all sorts of questions. I’m not jewish, so I don’t know how much of the book mirrors real-life, but it’s obvious to see that it mirrors humanity, even if it’s the slightly distorted mirror of a fun-house.
I grew up in a small area, not too far from an Orthodox area, so trying to imagine these “Black-hats” as potential gangsters is rather surreal, but intriguing. The book throws you into a world with rich history, to the point it feels like a Tolkien-style story, you feel like an outsider but you want to know more.
The gritty Noir style is a strange mix of self-deprecation, and disgust, as you follow round a detective crumbling from the pressures of life, like the fallen stones of a mountain, left to erode at the bottom of a fast-flowing river.
Interesting enough is the fact the book seems to mirror a lot of the personal demons we suffer from at one time or another, it isn’t just a view of the freak at the circus, we feel connected to him and subsequently feel the need to make sure he’s alright. I don’t think it’s an altruistic feeling at all, but something born from the feeling that in terrible circumstances we could be in his situation, or worse.
I have seen the devastation a junk environment can create, and I think this book reflects it’s languid lazy acceptance of a wasted life perfectly. It points a finger, but it’s not from the position of a high horse, it’s mocking, but in that bitter knowing way we understand that we’re not special, just lucky.
Tomorrow’s Sunday, and i’m going to share one of my stories I haven’t put anywhere else. If you’d like to see some of my other stuff feel free to message me on here or Twitter, or Head over to Scriggler and check it out.
If you’ve liked what you read and want to support me while I make stuff up for a living then head over to my Patreon and give me some money to buy a coffee or a pen or something. If not I hope you’ve done something creative today, and try and share it, who knows you may just encourage someone else to try something.