Tap, tap.
'It was quiet in the coffee shop that afternoon. There had been a short rush before 1, but it seemed most people were getting lunch delivered and working through their unpaid hour.'
Tap tap tap.
'Still, the day crept on and there had been a steady trickle of customers until about half an hour ago. Now, the only thing that could be heard was the espresso machine ticking over, giving the silence a kind of vibratory hum.'
Tap.
"No."
The tapping ceased as the typing came to an abrupt stop. He shook his head in disappointment as he realised that this was all dross. Sighing, he pushed the seat back from the desk in resignation. Is it really this difficult? Five years of study (not forgetting that Master's...), too many unpaid internships to mention and a regular gig as an opinion columnist all seem to count for nothing when it gets to writing about something that hasn't actually happened. Still, he didn't get through all that by giving up at the first hurdle; that and the uncanny knack of getting on people's good side can't have hurt either.
Leaning back in the chair, he looked up at the shelves above his writing station, filled with precious artifacts from over the years. His Graduation photo, arm in arm with smiling parents before dad died, the 'Good Luck!' card from his last job waiting tables til midnight, and a curious needlepoint that bore the words "a broken and contrite heart shalt thou not despise", a gift from an art college girlfriend, ex. The only thing they had in common was a love of scripture rather than each other, but it was a strange comfort in moments like now, when inspiration deserted him. Above these, shelves rose to the ceiling: packed with manuals of style, collected works of Shakespeare, Brecht, Kant, and all sorts of curios; their spines faded from years in the light.
Pushing himself up from the chair, he grumbled and retied the cord holding the robe closed around him. Barefoot, he strode firmly over to the desk that managed to dominate the huge study. Rooting through the third draw, he finally uncovered a large leather pouch from the litter of nicotine patches. Slamming it on the desk, he fetched out filters, a bag of tobacco and liquorice papers. Rolling with nimble fingers, he turned about face, the robe swishing behind as he opened the curtains to a bay window. The shock of the light threw his furrowed brow into sharp relief, as the light of a full moon reflected off the calm surface of the river. Something padding outside to room suddenly caught his attention, if only for a second; was wasn't alone, after all. Turning back to the window, a sharp click punctuated the air as the lighter burst into life, and he drew heavily on the little brown cigarette.
"Who the hell would write about some damn coffee house anyway." The ashtray was full. "Shit."
"Maybe I should write a poem about a boat, send that to the publishers. I could tell them it was a children's story. I could make a lot of easy money."
He heard the padding noise again, and this time leaned out of the bay to check the time: 2am. "Oh Christ I didn't realise..."
Adding to the corpses of half smoked and long forgotten cigarette butts, he quickly shut the curtains and returned to the bureau that the laptop lived in to check over what he had written that night. "At least I've got something down. I couldn't bear to imagine that I'd just wasted the last six hours...", he chuckled grimly, while trying to lick the nicotine off the back of his teeth. Shutting down and switching the lamps off, he suddenly remembered that he was supposed to be in a meeting at the office by 10 in the morning. He issued a small groan at this point, completely synchronised with the perfect eye roll of dismay.
As he reached for the door handle, he heard it again; padding across the outside landing floor, a dread footfall in what should have been a silent house. He recoiled, and felt the air chill around him. "This... isn't happening. Nope!", he rallied and swung the door open with force, in some sort of show of territorial supremacy to find... nothing. The sudden pang of fear followed immediately by the realisation there was nothing there made him feel like an idiot, and he snorted in his displeasure. The entire place was deathly quiet, and the only note in the darkness was light creeping out from underneath the bedroom door. Crossing swiftly and not without a hint of paranioa, he slipped into the bedroom pushed the door closed behind him, issuing a sharp thud, which made the her stir in the bed.
"Nnnnn... Have you been working again? What time is it?", hoarse with sleep.
"Yes, but shhhh, it's late."
"How late?"
"Late enough. Don't worry about it. Come on", he whispered, doing his best to slide in without disturbing her too much.
"You shouldn't smoke so late"
"What?"
"Pfff you were supposed to be giving up."
"I know, I know. I'm trying."
"You are."
It was only 2:15. Still early, he thought. He could definitely miss the meeting. They wouldn't mind too much. He already knew what would happen, it was just one of those office bureaucracy things, a formality. As he lay down to sleep, he turned on his side and faced away, so the smell of the tobacco wouldn't be her problem too. Drifting off, the image of a huge black dog flashed into his mind's eye for just a second and then gone; with that, he dreamt no more.
Wednesday 9 April 2014
Wednesday 2 April 2014
Master Plan, part 1
It's easy, really, to start something and leave it. Not even approaching the unfinished stage, just kind of hanging indefinitely, forgotten and wasted. It is this state that I must avoid not only here and now, but also in my personal endeavours, lest this blog become too telling a metaphor for my life at large.
As I keep banging on, the primary reason, I suppose, for this page (rather than carry on with the last) is different. Even though I am still the same miserable pile of secrets, if I can at least trick myself into believing that I can make some progression then maybe I will without realising. The real point behind this is the next step in trying to work out my issues of anxiety, self-destruction and lack of confidence. Also, I will detail my desire for a trip far beyond the scope of anything before attempted or imagined: Portland, OR. Hopefully though, I'll be able to avoid sounding too sorry for myself as this goes on.
Essentially, I don't believe in my own abilities. This is the conclusion I have reached with some pretty critical self-observation. I don't really go out of the way to sabotage myself on too regular a basis, even if it works out that way eventually. No, simply a lack of belief is the root of my confidence - or should I say the lack thereof. I never feel capable, and doubt immediately that I could "the right man" for anything at all, let alone in particular. Last month's job interview was a case in point: applying for work at a well-known High Street Gentlemens' outfitters, I managed to secure an interview, receiving the phone call while I was halfway to St. Michael's Mount. Donning finest suit and favourite tie, I went along to this rare opportunity, and was informed that while they still had enough candidates to see into the following week (although if you say you're hiring in February of course everyone will throw a CV at you), they'd inform me by letter if I wasn't being hired, or telephone me if I was. Of course, friends and copains spring to my support: "They'd be stupid not to hire you!", "You're perfect for the job!", "When do you think you'll start?". I found the 'thanks but no thanks' letter after returning from another amusing and gently lucrative day at the Cathedral Office, explaining that while I was not successful this time, they did wish me every success in my future career. Brilliant.
Of course, this is a process that we all have to go through, that I'm sure many of us Music graduates find totally soul destroying. Unlike those who took the BMus course at, oh say, the Royal Northern Conservatoire of Music, giving them four years of performing experience, even singing every day isn't strictly what I spent my time at University studying for. I find it difficult to imagine balancing choir and an outside job as well; Church Music, much like Fond Youth, is a bubble, and precious few outside the system truly understand it. Rehearsal starts at five in the evening during the week, not after. Having recently leafed through my old recital folder and finding Thoreau reminded me that Charles Ives managed to balance twin careers as both an insurance agent and a composer but honestly, I am not Charles Ives. I certainly haven't programmed any recitals for a long time (who would want to listen to solo Countertenor anyway), but at least I'm still singing every day. The closest I really get to is in writing the programme notes for the Cathedral Choir concerts, and perhaps after the rave anecdotal reviews from the last set, I might even be lucky enough to start writing for a wider set of concerts. Applying for work is a stressful and time consuming process as well, which takes more toll than I'm actually comfortable with letting on. I can't just bounce back from every set back like a lot of other people can. It's such a disappointment that I've simply quit for now; there's method in this particular madness though, as Cornwall is so seasonal that finding part time work relies on the time of year. The fact I was called for interview in this post-Christmas but pre-Summer nadir is nothing short of a miracle. Anyway, I called it that I wouldn't get the job, which made me predictably frustrated with everyone who took as read that I would get it, and certainly those who tried to swear me off doubt - what's the point? If I'm not hopeful about it, then I won't get upset when (not if) I fail to secure employment.
In fact, that last sentence is another hook into the matter: I am the one who fails others, not that others fail me. Out of all bad habits that I should seek to reverse then this has to be the worst; assuming fault where where none at all lies, usually in order to keep life quiet and as fuss-free as possible. If anything, it has become more like a reflex than anything else. There are of course, some things that are outside the sphere of my control, even though my sense of self blame is reaches as far as the east is from the west, but there'll be plenty of time for blaming other people for their own egregious errors later. Trying to switch my thinking around that it is in fact the employer who is at fault for not giving me the job, is bordering on the impossible as it is; my ego doesn't have the sufficient gravity to pull off something like that. Something I have come to terms with though is that not only are employers looking for somebody to fulfill their job spec, but they also look for a specific person. I'm sure this is crossing a line that may well be strenuously denied or otherwise, but think about it... Why else would a person of equal or lesser qualifications generally qualify to be employed in a situation where I have also applied? Perhaps they only employ students? Maybe they're looking for someone with experiences gathered perhaps from time spent backpacking in the far east? What about if they don't employ men at all - but obviously legally they must at least consider applications or suffer some sort of discriminatory backlash? I have reached the stage where I accept that I simply am not the person that people are looking for in addition to the existing spec. That said, I almost believe (not without an air of desperation) that there is an employer looking for me, and just me. What a simple dream to clutch on to... But such tenacity stops me from going under most of the time, at least.
The other great hook into this is that I am more willing to face and accept my deficiencies than my strengths, to the point where I actually have to ask other people to point out the latter, the former being so obvious to me. My entire attitude to my skills and talents is no one of triumph or pride, but really one of duty; that I'm supposed to be doing this as well as I can because I have the ability to, in a case of weak deontology if ever I saw it. It's the reason I never have time off from choir, and make light of having a knack with the photocopier. I know it isn't very exciting but somebody needs to know how to email straight from the copier, right? Most of my transferable skills (other than score reading, ornamentation, registration, and rusty continuo playing) are office-based. I'm good at filing, sorting copies, and forwarding messages. The on again, off again employment I have at the Cathedral Office has been extraordinarily kind to me over the past 30 months, starting as just an hour a day lunchtime cover going to full two week stretches of full time days, learning the systems and phone extensions gradually, while keeping up a professional telephone manner. It proves that I can in fact work in an office environment... But then again, this is part and parcel of my vocation, and they understand when I skip off five minutes early to get somewhere near the 5pm kick off in The Shed. It's a small office, with less than 30 people in the building, even when everybody's here. It's a manageable environment, and I'm bloody lucky to have been invited back again and again; not only is the money good but there are some fine souls working here who are often pleased to have me on board. They speak in appreciative tones, and tell me how well I do. How well I do? I don't even think about it in that way. It's not that I refuse praise, it's more that I don't see why I deserve it.
But perhaps this is the essence itself. Having actually lost that delicate grasp on faith in myself, I have made things almost impossible. Meeting this issue head on is possibly the best way forward, and certainly better than pussy footing around it all, and predictably I have no truck for this new-age 'positive thinking' nonsense either. If I'm going to get anywhere, even with the help of others, I need to do it through effort and a couple of hours Organ practice a week. It's amazing what even a lunchtime spent on what's left of the Cathedral Byfield will do, actually. But I digress...
Of course, the final part is that I make it public discourse. I don't often get much in the way of comment or discussion on here, but sometimes people do mention in public that they've at least read. It's not so much some sort of handy guide or signpost, but more to perhaps to at least start thinking; I am grumpy, foul mouthed and infinitely critical, but it stems from the ridiculously exacting standards I hold myself to. I'm only just beginning to understand that it might not be fair to expect other people to have even remotely similar standards. Although why they don't is completely beyond me... Perhaps it's an unconscious decision though, knowing that in order to make effective and valuable progress that I must at least admit and accept my vulnerabilities in order to move on. That's also quite hard, and hardly surprising that certain people choose to cover themselves with an almost never-ending variety of lies in order to make up for it. While I may have made great strides in telling untruths, I can hardly keep up a facade with any real consistency.
Oh well. I'm sure I've spent long enough unpacking my problems. I can only hope that reading them is just as informative and illuminating as writing them has been, and critically, not totally boring. I set a precedent for moaning last time sure but I'd like to think there's a smattering of hope and even a crumb, even a grain of understanding. It may be my own timidity that stops me in my tracks day by day, but at least I do not witlessly believe any chance that I take will lead to glory and instant success. Years of Science lessons have at least taught me that even the meanest of experiments need their very own risk assessment.
As I keep banging on, the primary reason, I suppose, for this page (rather than carry on with the last) is different. Even though I am still the same miserable pile of secrets, if I can at least trick myself into believing that I can make some progression then maybe I will without realising. The real point behind this is the next step in trying to work out my issues of anxiety, self-destruction and lack of confidence. Also, I will detail my desire for a trip far beyond the scope of anything before attempted or imagined: Portland, OR. Hopefully though, I'll be able to avoid sounding too sorry for myself as this goes on.
Essentially, I don't believe in my own abilities. This is the conclusion I have reached with some pretty critical self-observation. I don't really go out of the way to sabotage myself on too regular a basis, even if it works out that way eventually. No, simply a lack of belief is the root of my confidence - or should I say the lack thereof. I never feel capable, and doubt immediately that I could "the right man" for anything at all, let alone in particular. Last month's job interview was a case in point: applying for work at a well-known High Street Gentlemens' outfitters, I managed to secure an interview, receiving the phone call while I was halfway to St. Michael's Mount. Donning finest suit and favourite tie, I went along to this rare opportunity, and was informed that while they still had enough candidates to see into the following week (although if you say you're hiring in February of course everyone will throw a CV at you), they'd inform me by letter if I wasn't being hired, or telephone me if I was. Of course, friends and copains spring to my support: "They'd be stupid not to hire you!", "You're perfect for the job!", "When do you think you'll start?". I found the 'thanks but no thanks' letter after returning from another amusing and gently lucrative day at the Cathedral Office, explaining that while I was not successful this time, they did wish me every success in my future career. Brilliant.
Of course, this is a process that we all have to go through, that I'm sure many of us Music graduates find totally soul destroying. Unlike those who took the BMus course at, oh say, the Royal Northern Conservatoire of Music, giving them four years of performing experience, even singing every day isn't strictly what I spent my time at University studying for. I find it difficult to imagine balancing choir and an outside job as well; Church Music, much like Fond Youth, is a bubble, and precious few outside the system truly understand it. Rehearsal starts at five in the evening during the week, not after. Having recently leafed through my old recital folder and finding Thoreau reminded me that Charles Ives managed to balance twin careers as both an insurance agent and a composer but honestly, I am not Charles Ives. I certainly haven't programmed any recitals for a long time (who would want to listen to solo Countertenor anyway), but at least I'm still singing every day. The closest I really get to is in writing the programme notes for the Cathedral Choir concerts, and perhaps after the rave anecdotal reviews from the last set, I might even be lucky enough to start writing for a wider set of concerts. Applying for work is a stressful and time consuming process as well, which takes more toll than I'm actually comfortable with letting on. I can't just bounce back from every set back like a lot of other people can. It's such a disappointment that I've simply quit for now; there's method in this particular madness though, as Cornwall is so seasonal that finding part time work relies on the time of year. The fact I was called for interview in this post-Christmas but pre-Summer nadir is nothing short of a miracle. Anyway, I called it that I wouldn't get the job, which made me predictably frustrated with everyone who took as read that I would get it, and certainly those who tried to swear me off doubt - what's the point? If I'm not hopeful about it, then I won't get upset when (not if) I fail to secure employment.
In fact, that last sentence is another hook into the matter: I am the one who fails others, not that others fail me. Out of all bad habits that I should seek to reverse then this has to be the worst; assuming fault where where none at all lies, usually in order to keep life quiet and as fuss-free as possible. If anything, it has become more like a reflex than anything else. There are of course, some things that are outside the sphere of my control, even though my sense of self blame is reaches as far as the east is from the west, but there'll be plenty of time for blaming other people for their own egregious errors later. Trying to switch my thinking around that it is in fact the employer who is at fault for not giving me the job, is bordering on the impossible as it is; my ego doesn't have the sufficient gravity to pull off something like that. Something I have come to terms with though is that not only are employers looking for somebody to fulfill their job spec, but they also look for a specific person. I'm sure this is crossing a line that may well be strenuously denied or otherwise, but think about it... Why else would a person of equal or lesser qualifications generally qualify to be employed in a situation where I have also applied? Perhaps they only employ students? Maybe they're looking for someone with experiences gathered perhaps from time spent backpacking in the far east? What about if they don't employ men at all - but obviously legally they must at least consider applications or suffer some sort of discriminatory backlash? I have reached the stage where I accept that I simply am not the person that people are looking for in addition to the existing spec. That said, I almost believe (not without an air of desperation) that there is an employer looking for me, and just me. What a simple dream to clutch on to... But such tenacity stops me from going under most of the time, at least.
The other great hook into this is that I am more willing to face and accept my deficiencies than my strengths, to the point where I actually have to ask other people to point out the latter, the former being so obvious to me. My entire attitude to my skills and talents is no one of triumph or pride, but really one of duty; that I'm supposed to be doing this as well as I can because I have the ability to, in a case of weak deontology if ever I saw it. It's the reason I never have time off from choir, and make light of having a knack with the photocopier. I know it isn't very exciting but somebody needs to know how to email straight from the copier, right? Most of my transferable skills (other than score reading, ornamentation, registration, and rusty continuo playing) are office-based. I'm good at filing, sorting copies, and forwarding messages. The on again, off again employment I have at the Cathedral Office has been extraordinarily kind to me over the past 30 months, starting as just an hour a day lunchtime cover going to full two week stretches of full time days, learning the systems and phone extensions gradually, while keeping up a professional telephone manner. It proves that I can in fact work in an office environment... But then again, this is part and parcel of my vocation, and they understand when I skip off five minutes early to get somewhere near the 5pm kick off in The Shed. It's a small office, with less than 30 people in the building, even when everybody's here. It's a manageable environment, and I'm bloody lucky to have been invited back again and again; not only is the money good but there are some fine souls working here who are often pleased to have me on board. They speak in appreciative tones, and tell me how well I do. How well I do? I don't even think about it in that way. It's not that I refuse praise, it's more that I don't see why I deserve it.
But perhaps this is the essence itself. Having actually lost that delicate grasp on faith in myself, I have made things almost impossible. Meeting this issue head on is possibly the best way forward, and certainly better than pussy footing around it all, and predictably I have no truck for this new-age 'positive thinking' nonsense either. If I'm going to get anywhere, even with the help of others, I need to do it through effort and a couple of hours Organ practice a week. It's amazing what even a lunchtime spent on what's left of the Cathedral Byfield will do, actually. But I digress...
Of course, the final part is that I make it public discourse. I don't often get much in the way of comment or discussion on here, but sometimes people do mention in public that they've at least read. It's not so much some sort of handy guide or signpost, but more to perhaps to at least start thinking; I am grumpy, foul mouthed and infinitely critical, but it stems from the ridiculously exacting standards I hold myself to. I'm only just beginning to understand that it might not be fair to expect other people to have even remotely similar standards. Although why they don't is completely beyond me... Perhaps it's an unconscious decision though, knowing that in order to make effective and valuable progress that I must at least admit and accept my vulnerabilities in order to move on. That's also quite hard, and hardly surprising that certain people choose to cover themselves with an almost never-ending variety of lies in order to make up for it. While I may have made great strides in telling untruths, I can hardly keep up a facade with any real consistency.
Oh well. I'm sure I've spent long enough unpacking my problems. I can only hope that reading them is just as informative and illuminating as writing them has been, and critically, not totally boring. I set a precedent for moaning last time sure but I'd like to think there's a smattering of hope and even a crumb, even a grain of understanding. It may be my own timidity that stops me in my tracks day by day, but at least I do not witlessly believe any chance that I take will lead to glory and instant success. Years of Science lessons have at least taught me that even the meanest of experiments need their very own risk assessment.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)