Discipline.
It takes years of discipline, hard work and determination along with the
strongest sense of desire and want… it takes mental fierceness and an unbreakable
resolution to pick yourself up after disappointments and failures, to try and
try and try again… but finally, after many years of training, I can now say
that I’m capable of sitting on my backside for 48 hours in a row and binge-watch
television at an Olympian level. There were times when I
thought I’d never get there, when boredom, phone calls, pins’n’needles, weak
bladder control and other interruptions meant I’d have to break away before an
episode of Game of Thrones had finished. There were times when I couldn’t wait
in-between episodes before having to fetch another pot noodle. I even briefly considered not immediately watching the next episode of Stranger Things
while the credits were still rolling. We’re not all perfect.
On
reflection, I think I’m superior to those who need support from friends and
family, words of encouragement, early morning wake up calls, shoulders to cry
on and all the rest of it. I got to where I am by myself, I didn’t need
anyone’s help to change the batteries on my remote control or re-fill the
nachos in my cooking pot sized snack bowl. I was the one who took it upon
myself to MacGyver-out and fuse my chair and desk in such a way I could rest my
laptop at the perfect viewing angle when lying on my sofa. I’m my own trainer,
coach and mentor.
At
times like these, when the guilt at watching people who actually work hard
turns me into this gabbling idiot, I’m reminded of the Stephen King quote that
I’ll paraphrase (how dare I change the King’s words) as: Amateurs think about writing, professionals get up and go to work.
As
I watch yet another re-run of a sporting achievement I saw live anyway that
quote is beating me around the head. The most important thing in my life is
writing. I have no children or responsibilities that come above everything
else, and not one single excuse that will hold weight with anyone who struggles
to find five minutes to themselves in this intensely manic world. I know that I
am capable of writing more and yet I fail. The last two weekends makes over a
month’s worth of weekends in a row where I have somehow found myself doing
nothing and I’m having palpitations thinking that if I don’t do something about
my work rate, decades are going to flash by without me achieving anything.
The
thing is I’m not a lazy person, it’s purely avoidance. I like keeping busy and
I like working hard but there is something very easy and simple about telling
yourself tomorrow tomorrow when working
on your own writing. At a normal job you don’t say to your boss and colleagues
‘I’m not coming in today because I really fancy watching the canoe slalom heats…
’ or ‘I’m having the week off as I need to re-watch GoT series 1-5 to refresh
myself before binge watching series 6.’ You wouldn’t dream of it and you
certainly wouldn’t dreamt of getting permission! When I think back to the early
mornings and late nights I have worked under pressure from deadlines and
targets over the years it’s hard to reconcile that with the person who will lay
down to listen to a few minutes of an album to clear the head knowing full well
that means a two hour nap.
When
there have been public transport strikes I have woken hours earlier than normal
and walked into work. I have worked weekends and not taken holiday. I have
dedicated myself to organisations and given everything I possibly could have to
them yet when it comes to that same drive and near submissive sense of duty to
my own work I miserably falter.
I’m
not saying that I’m not allowed fun. Of course you need time to chill out and relax.
There isn’t anything really wrong with binge watching television or watching
table tennis or water polo for hours when you have no idea what is going on. (You should also never compare yourself to an Olympian under any circumstances.) There is nothing wrong with enjoying a series so much you can’t wait to put on
the next episode. But for me, it is wrong if that overrides what I should be
doing. Work is work and time off is time off and never should they mix. And it
is far too easy these days to employ silly excuses like, ‘Well, it’s only every
four years!’ As if the universe is somehow going to grant you time in lieu and
give you extra days at the end of your life for all the wasted hours. Also,
there is always something going on! You could fill every day with somethings. I mean, the European
football championship is only every
four years, the football world cup is
only every four years, the general election is only every four years, the winter Olympics is only every four years… then add in the yearly events like the FA
cup, Wimbledon, Grand National, Tour de France, bloody birthdays and Christmas!
Then what about the one off’s? UFC championship fights, boxing world
championships, the odd F1 race, weddings and funerals! If you really wanted to
you could fill every single day with a something.
I
guess this blog post is along the lines of a Facebook rant but aimed at myself
rather than anyone else or the infuriating general population we are surrounded
by. Why is it the simplest things we fail at most often? Why do I find it so
easy to not sit at my desk, which is basically the easiest job in the world?
Someone wants to pay me minimum wage to get up at 5am and work until I am
emotionally and physically drained at 9pm and repeat five days a week… sure!
Bring it on! But the offer of not moving further than a few metres from my bed
with an endless supply of coffee and 90s indie alternative rock blasting out on
the digital radio? No, thanks. No, sir. You have me mistaken with someone who
wants a fulfilling and satisfying life.
So
another week has passed. I have had my only
every four years fill of long jump, synchronized swimming, individual
dressage and Greco-Roman wrestling… I have had my fill of twiglet and dry
roasted peanut fuelled telly binges and I have produced exactly zero words
towards my latest short story, which in turn means that’s another week added to
the time before I get back to my first novel, another week after that until I
get back to the other short stories I have planned, another week added to the
time after that when I start working on the other two novels I have planned…
and on it bloody well goes! Add a couple of weeks more between each one and I
reckon I’ll 172 years old before I start on the memoirs.
Just
concentrate and work hard, sacrifice everything that isn’t important to you and
do as Stephen King says, don’t think about it, just get up and go to work.
Have
a great week.
R.G
Rankine
