I’m waiting for some audio files to export, so I have a rare few minutes minutes to quickly update this blog.
Life is good. My energy levels are up and down. For ten days I could barely get out of bed in the morning, and staggering to the kitchen and back to make tea seemed like a colossal effort. I was doing everything through a fog, work was a struggle and I neglected the housework. I was sleeping eight, nine, ten hours a night.
Then last week – perhaps an inevitable swing, or perhaps the result of the accumulating stress of knowing how much work was mounting up – something shifted. I was hanging up laundry after a night of less sleep than usual and something happened in my brain. I thought I’d been planning out a blogpost, but then it seemed like it might be a series. I mentally stepped back and looked at the idea that had landed, trying to hold the whole thing in my mind at once. I couldn’t be sure, but it might – perhaps – be a book. I finished hanging up clothes, sat at my computer, ignoring the urgent work I should have been doing, and hastily started to write down notes as succinctly as possible. An hour later I had a 2000 word synopsis for a complete work of non-fiction, which had seemingly arrived in its entirety in my brain. My whole head was fizzing with it. I felt like if I could only make time, I could write the whole book out there and then.
My experience of inspiration has always been that it’s born of frustration. I get ideas when I am meant to be doing other things; when stress has stimulated adrenaline to course through my body, when I’m already using my mind to focus on a difficult task. That’s when the film script, the new business idea, the creative project, the essay arrive, when you can’t do anything with them. I note them down, file them, and they get added to the to do list. I never have a shortage of ideas, but I rarely get to work on things when I’m still fired up with excitement about them. By the time I’ve carved out time to make my idea happen, it’s no longer inspiration – it’s now work like any other.
Now is not the time for me to write a book. I’m about to start the process of launching a new business with Nimue. I have client work stacked up higher than my head, two European trips in the next four weeks alone, and two US trips in the first quarter of 2015. I need to earn money to get the new business up and running (so yeah, if anyone wants to invest some start-up capital, email me – I’ll turn you a profit) and, specifically, this week I am editing a custom feature film I’ve produced for a private customer, so I’m already losing sleep.
It’s weird how these things work, though. If I had three months with nothing to do except write a book, would I write it? I suspect not. Being busy is what prevents me procrastinating; procrastinating is what makes work appealing, what drives the creative process, if it’s not the work I’m meant to be doing right now, but still work that needs doing. My whole lifestyle turns on structured procrastination. The 2000 words are now 8000 and I think this book is going to get written over the next 6 months, in evenings and weekends, and I think the frustration of not having enough time for it, the burning enthusiasm to work on it when I can’t, is what’s going to get me out of bed in the morning over the winter.
Meanwhile, I’ve had five hours sleep every night this week and I’ve edited a feature film in three days. I’m even happy with it. Not bad. I wish I could rest on my laurels after delivering it tomorrow, but I have to edit a film for Dreams of Spanking still before Saturday, and I want to produce more DVDs to sell at the World Spain Party which Nimue and I are going to next week, so, you know, life is going to be interesting for a little while yet.
I’m not complaining. I’m starting to understand and accept the way I work. These mad energy cycles, these seemingly uncontrolled ups and downs – they drive the whole creative process. It’s sometimes overwhelming, and often exhausting, but if the alternative is letting these ideas eat away at me and never, ever making any of them happen, I’ll choose the sleep deprivation, thanks.
It feels like it’s the same engine that powers my kink. Perhaps it’s an adrenaline addiction; perhaps I simply love the rollercoaster of excitement, nerves and achievement. Whether I’m anticipating a severe caning, psyching myself up for it, focussing and getting through it, and feeling proud of myself afterwards – or going through a remarkably similar process with an intimidating creative project – it’s the thrill of pushing myself to my limits that makes me feel alive. We masochists are often our own worst self-sadists, after all.
I wish I could share this film I’m working on with you, but it’s a private commission, so I’m afraid I can’t. Here are some new online things I enjoyed doing instead:
The Clone’s Training is the new film on Dreams of Spanking, and it’s a good ‘un. If you like spanking stories with an extra dimension or three, psychological drama, sci-fi settings and dark, twisted reasons for punishment, this will be right up your alley. This is possibly the most complex plot of any spanking film ever, and it was also the scene which made me realise that David Weston can really act. Judicial canings! Military drilling! Medical inspections! Full frontal nudity! Really, do you need more reasons to watch it?
As for the other projects, I’ll keep you updated as things progress…