Meta Letta

Things have been erratic of late: my adherence to schedule, my focus, the quality of my writing and photography. The only truly consistent elements have been a nagging imposter syndrome and an increasingly diminishing faith in my projects, this one included.

I’ve never been one to anthropomorphise the concept of a ‘muse’; I can see why it’s a handy construct, but all too often when people talk about their muses it’s regarding their absence. It’s a handy way of externalising periods of poor creative output. The alternative is to put in the work, to trudge through the quagmire of clunky text, to post the poorly composed photos, even to ignore reassurances given in good faith. You know when things aren’t right, when things need work – there is a vision and it either needs to be worked towards, or abandoned.

Here’s the good news: I don’t abandon lightly.

Meta Letta

I seem to have lost the ability to measure the passing of time. Not only did my ability to perceive, measure and control get away from me this week and, arguably, last week, but I have uncharacteristically let a milestone slip by me.

I sent the first of these newsletters out at the end of March last year, and here we are, 47 emails and 61 thousand words later. It's not always been plain-sailing: As much as I professed this to be a project for my own edification, to get thoughts out of my head, it's hard not to feel dispirited when people choose to unsubscribe. It shouldn't mean anything, when strangers who took a punt just decide it's not for them. It's not why I started this project. And yet, when there's a lull in external interest, when the feedback returns to a trickle, one can't help second-guessing the whole enterprise. Am I wasting my time?

The average reading speed is 200 words per minute, so have I delivered five hours of value to you the reader?

Having a week off really messes around with your perception of time. Throw in a few bank holidays and a packed work schedule, and it appears that newsletters just don't get written.

But, since I don't want to deprive playlist fans of their Friday Fix, here is Sounds from the Engine Room - 9 / 2022.

Have fun, and I'll be back next week.

Meta Letta

My plan was to write this yesterday, Friday. My thought was that writing it fast, and in a delirium born of stress and poor sleep, would allow me to sail through this writing task. My hope was that a slightly untethered mindset, free from overthinking, would allow it to glide from mind to page. It was not to be, and my new thinking was that a good night's sleep would allow me to approach this, and my myriad other tasks, with a fresh mind.

It's now Saturday. I'm writing this fast, in a delirium born of stress and poor sleep. Untethered, yes. Free from overthinking, not so much. Fresh mind? Not on your nelly. Time to fire up the twin engines of caffeine and words.

What's this? What happened to the weekly schedule?!

Sadly this is not a return to weekly newsletters — the fortnightly schedule works better for me, so I think that may be cemented in for a while. However, making playlists takes very little time, and is a fun thing to pull together on a Friday. And the gods know, I have a deep backlog of tracks to work through!

So, if you're not interested in the playlists, fear not. This won't take anything away from the usual offering.

But for those who like an end-of-week musical interlude: Sounds from the Engine Room - 7 / 2022. You're very welcome.

Meta Letta

Does your life go in seasons? I don't mean feeling dreary and SAD in winter, only to come alive when the sun comes out; blooming like cherry blossoms, like the promise of the perfect picnic. This too, but not just this. Brittin Oakman said "Every season is one of becoming, but not always one of blooming", but that's not what I mean. Sara Benincasa wrote that "some seasons are for creating; other seasons are for becoming the person who will create". Sara is very wise, and correct about this (I asked her to confirm that I got it from her and she said "I could’ve said that but I don’t remember"), but I don't even mean that.

Sometimes I feel my life goes in thematic waves, that for a period of time a leitmotif emerges, only to switch to something new when the season ends. This is especially the case with creative endeavours: a season of excellent writing will never coincide with Photography Season, which is where I find myself now. Not only am I investing attention into my photography, but people are once again approaching me to enquire about event photography, headshots, etc. It's quite a boost to have people show faith in your aesthetic.

But the first step in this season was me redirecting attention to my photography, so maybe it's that more than anything else. Like the two wolves, the part of yourself that thrives is the one that you feed.

Meta Letta

You know, I might just declare Friday to be The Day from now on; I have more time to myself on a Friday and I've not been hitting a Thursday deadline for a while now. I entirely blame my day job for this inconvenience that's been foisted upon you. But as they pay for my interests, predilections and addictions, and apparently somewhat value me, I ought to give them this sacrifice of this precious time. Our precious time.

These employers; just when you feel yourself slipping away from the whole crumbling edifice, they pull you right back in again. Damn you capitalism. And damn you, absence of a post-scarcity Utopia.

I bet Utopia isn't all that anyway.

Meta Letta

You know, these newsletters would be a lot easier to write without the spectre of disease hanging over me? Last time it was the last embers of a minor case of COVID, and now... a cold. Or "man-flu" as the incredibly original, and not at all trite, mums on the school gate declare it. Trying to explain to them that I was wearing a mask to protect them was such an utter waste of precious breath; somehow that particular lesson in epidemiology and public health has not sunk in over two years. So, between my rasping breaths, and that particular encounter, it may go some way to explaining why I'm not my usual perky self in this fourth newsletter of 2022.

And why I'm late...

Meta Letta

Here we are again, welcome to the contents and product of my mind!

To my surprise, one of the unexpected complications of switching to a fortnightly schedule is remembering what week we're in. Is this a writing week, or a resting week? I'm really busy right now, surely I wrote issue 3 while I was on leave last week? No. No I didn't, I was ill last week. I finally succumbed to the plague, so I didn't have a thousand or so words in me. Which of course means that I have double the amount of work to do this week as well as carving out precious time for writing these Notes.

But, you mustn't misunderstand me, writing these is precious to me, even under the more "relaxed" regime. They say we have in us two tigers, the light and the dark, eternally fighting. The one that wins is the one you feed, the one you nurture; me writing these newsletters is me nurturing a tiger.

Meta Letta

If there's one thing I've learnt about myself, it's that just because I give myself more time to do something doesn't mean that I won't try and cram it all in last minute. Now, I will give myself a small piece of credit: You might be reading this on Thursday the 27th of January, but I'm writing this the day before. The 27th is my birthday, and while writing this newsletter is a treat, I didn't relish a deadline on what will be a busy day off.

But while it might not be my birthday at time of writing, I'm still getting into the spirit of it. With cavalier abandon I am day-drinking, and cards and gifts have been arriving throughout the day, much to the fury of my small, anxious dog.

Tomorrow will start with a yoga class, before heading into town for dinner at Balthazar's followed by seeing Eddie Redmayne playing The MC in Cabaret in the Playhouse Theatre. Dinner and a show; let me tell you, it's been a while.

Meta Letta

Happy New Year!

Can you believe it's 2022? The year in which the classic disaster movie Geostorm was set; the year of Dead Rising 4.

Welcome to Issue 1 of Volume 2 of Notes from The Engine Room! We have a whole volume of these newsletters behind us now, and it's time for a fresh start. Sadly a new year also calls for a rational look at hopes, aspirations, resolutions... and reality.

Meta Letta

I should never have bragged about being ahead of schedule in the last two weeks. When will I learn that neither easy nor smooth are the leitmotif of these distinctly un-roaring twenties. For a year filled with glorious highlights, it hasn't half felt like a slog.

I'd say I'm so tired I could sleep for a week, but we all know what a lie that would be.

But a little rest wouldn't go amiss.

Meta Letta

Well, this is a turn-up for the books! As I begin to write this issue 35, issue 34 is scheduled to go out tomorrow! For the first time since inception I’m actually ahead of the game! I know this can’t possibly last, but let me enjoy it while I can.

(Note: It'll be no surprise to anyone that this didn't last. But for a little while I was ahead instead of feeling the icy breath of self-imposed deadline on my neck)

It was clearly a window of time when my brain semi-worked in a way that befits the Engine Room. And on the topic of that, some weeks ago I suggested a one-off physical magazine format for charity. The vicissitudes of life have meant I need to push this back, but it’s postponed not cancelled. I’m now looking at March 2023, assuming December and January go smoothly.

Meta Letta

This run-up to Christmas is going to be busy. I mean, sure, there are all the usual reasons related to reaching work deadlines ahead of the year, preparing for Yule-time gift-giving and entertaining, and such things. But ahead of the festive purchasing season and, more importantly, the imminent awards season, there is a lot of music and movie news about. Releases abound, and with each release there's a marketing machine, feeding the engine of Hot Takes that truly drive the opinion economy. I shall do my best to navigate these choppy waters for you, to limit the waffle, and maybe offer my own tepid take.

In My Ears

The Grammy nominations are in and it’s a potentially intimidating cornucopia of musical mysteries. I try to stay on top of things, but even I have to work my way through everything, pencil poised, brow quizzical.

So I’ve dedicated this week’s double-length playlist to Grammy nominations, through the prism of my own tastes. There’s no way I can cover every single nomination, even if I were to limit myself to only the major categories. But I’ll endeavour to curate a selection of the releases deemed worthy of a Grammy.

The caveat is that in no way does this comprise a list of predicted winners. That’s not something I have a good track record at. But for me, awards shows are all about the long list and the nominees, a selection of noteworthy items for consideration. The list of “winners” is so subjective as to be next to useless.

I’ve mentioned TikTok trends quite a bit herein, partly because it’s an important taste barometer. It’s for that reason that I’ve included Doja Cat’s Kiss Me More, which managed to have three different parts of it used for major Reels and TikToks.

If we consider these things act memetically, there can be no denying the zeitgeist impact that the track has. And that makes it worth paying attention to.

Adele has been in the news too, and not just for the release of her new album, or being very human on-stage when talking about who inspired her.

But no, in important news, it was her influence that made Spotify make an album’s default play-mode be in album order, rather than shuffled. It only affects albums and only for Premium subscribers, and the shuffle function hasn’t been removed, but that hasn’t dampened some people’s anger. Anger that this arrogant wailer decree how people listen to music, how very dare they?!

On My Screen

How strange it is to have watched not one new-ish movie, but three! What a delight!

I’m glad I got to see Dune - Part One on a big screen, but even that screen might not have been big enough. There are movies where people say “see it on the biggest screen you can, please don’t judge this after watching it on your phone”. But never have I seen this be so very very true, the most powerful part of Dune is the very scale of everything in it, that vastness of it. I can’t wait for the next part, and then to watch both parts back to back in an Imax. But what I truly enjoyed most was discussing the film afterwards with a friend, in person! It was a great half a movie, I’m so glad it exists, I love it warts and all. But I’ve not talked so intensely about the ins and outs of a movie and its meanings and implications since Promising Young Woman.

By contrast, that’s not really something I can say about Jungle Cruise. This divertingly hollow romp is akin to The African Queen meets PotC by way of The Mummy, with allusions to Werner Herzog‘s Aguirre, the Wrath of God. But, like the theme park ride it’s based on, this film is fixed to its rails.

Blunt and Johnson are fun to watch, but as whacky as Jesse Plemons‘ German prince is, I think it’d have been a great to callback to have him played by Herzog instead.

Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings is the film with the longest title I’ve seen this year.

I can’t begin to tell you how tempting it is to leave this segment there, but I fear it would come across as a poor impression rather mere silliness. The truth is SCatLotTR is very watchable. I enjoyed it more than quite a lot of latter-day MCU fare, though I wonder if that’s partly due to the fact it didn’t feel entirely like an MCU movie. You could have stripped every single reference to a wider universe from it and it not only would still have worked, but might even be a leaner, lighter movie.

The Will Smith VO’ed trailer for Bel-Air took me by surprise. Not just because I wasn’t expecting a Fresh Prince reboot, but because it felt like a high-quality fan-made project, like the one made by Morgan Cooper a couple of years ago. It turns out there’s a good reason for that, as NBCUniversal hired Cooper to helm this new project.

In My Face

I enjoyed eating at Soho’s Blacklock, but it was a very contrasting experience. It veered wildly from ‘check out how unfussy we are, we’re just an old-fashioned London chophouse’ to ‘check out how fancy we are, we use sardine juice on our little gems’. It made for an inconsistent but interesting dining experience, and the drinks were top-notch.

Photo of the Week

Chinese fashion photographer Chen Man has apologised for her “ignorance” after a picture she shot for French luxury brand Dior sparked outrage.

The outrage in question is that some Chinese people felt that the photo represented a Western version of a Chinese beauty ideal, not a Chinese one that apparently leans towards fair skin and large eyes. Dior said the photo, which was recently displayed at a Shanghai exhibition, has since been removed.

Denouement

By the time the next edition of this periodical find you, this curséd month will be done and we’ll be into proper winter. The season of the solstice, of the best foods, the feast-filled precursor to my birthday month will finally be upon us.

At time of writing it’s exactly one month until Christmas Eve, and a time of that happy combination of hygge and geselligkeit that marks the season. And all I want to do is go home, lock the door, put the fire on, and not leave that place of safety and warmth.

See you next month!

Meta Letta

I'm going to try something crazy here and actually start this newsletter... in advance of the deadline! Perhaps at least starting to write a few segments ahead of my self-imposed deadline, rather than hammering it together as fast as I can, will mean I don't end up thinking and writing about Imposter Syndrome as I do so. When we have no time to consider, no time to reflect or edit, we don't half tell on ourselves when there is just an outpouring from brain to page.

It's not rare to receive feedback from my lovely subscribers, and I treasure it and them. But I also receive feedback from non-subscribers who dip in and out of the archives as time and interest allows. (An archive that has now changed to a horrible format by Buttondown, which feels like a confirmation of what I'm thinking)

These people, who we shall not call stalkers, argue that they already receive too much email, that they don't enjoy the format, or associate it with work. Some are even logical, and argue that I'm losing out on site content, social media sharing, and sweet sweet SEO rankings. They'd prefer the entire newsletter move to the website rather than come out as a weekly email.

Meta Letta

One thing established photographers do from time to time is writing articles about the equipment they use; partly to illuminate their methods, and partly as a collection of affiliate links to rake in a bit of extra revenue. The other day I read the most depressing one of these yet: A successful but not renowned outside of photography circles photographer published his list, and aside from the affiliate links and sponsorships, it was all Leica this, and Hasselblad that. In layman's terms, an absolutely unaffordable assortment of high-end, dare I say luxury hardware. I won't link to it, nor name him, but I would put money on the fact that you have never heard of this man.

Let me tell you this name though: David Bailey. I'm pretty sure you've heard of him. I looked up what equipment he generally used, when not paid to use a specific product, and let me tell you it was eye-opening. Essentially you could have bought his three most-used cameras on eBay for under £1000 combined. Throw in his favourite lenses, and you could have bought Bailey's favourite tools of the trade three times over for the price of one camera advocated by a man who you've never heard of.

Why do I bring this up here? Because for me, as I grapple with many things creative, it was a welcome reminder that what's important isn't the tools used, nor the brand accolades, the audience, or the glamour. It's the eye, the voice, the handwriting, the singular and unique creative voice that differentiates one creative from another, one creative work from another. Even this one.

Meta Letta

I've reached the point where I'm beginning to have second thoughts about using Roman numerals for each edition of the newsletter. It might have been okay if they were monthly, but at (nigh) weekly, they don't half stack up quickly. Maybe I can reassess it in the new year, and relaunch the numbering with Volume II.

The New Year. At the time of writing we're a mere 58 days away from 2022; two years into what some hoped would be our glorious revisiting of the Roaring 20s. It's a hope that feels like it's been eroded, bit by bit, headline by headline, development by development. With every ratchet clank towards cynicism, it feels like the hope is diminishing. But it's also in hope that the solution lies. Hope, and work, and kindness, and putting better things out into the world. Sometimes just the intent, the hope, the desire for a better world can go a way towards making it. And it's the only way we can forestall a mainstream return of drum and bass.

Meta Letta

For what is apparently the XXX edition of this fine newsletter, it is actually going to be quite tame. If I'd planned ahead in any way at all, I'd have saved up some stories and snippets for the occasion. But planning isn't really what happens here, especially in this Holiday Edition of this periodical. One might assume that since the extended period of time since the last one, plus the fact that I'm on vacation, that I'd have had loads of time and headspace to plot out a huge and well-thought-out newsletter.

Instead, I am sitting in a Margate harbour pub, tapping away with limited broadband, limited battery life and limited time; but essentially unlimited beer, so I think I'm generally winning. However, it does mean that this newsletter will be a bit patchwork, or might even fee a bit rushed. My apologies. I'm doing my best.

Meta Letta

Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my own actions! Being very impressed by your humble correspondent in his day job, his employers have decided to reward him with a dramatically increased workload. And so, while I always said that there’s no way said day job would get in the way of me doing these newsletters, here we are; two days late.

Modern life tends to be fairly stacked, it can be like a game of trying to fit it all in; if one piece doesn’t quite fit properly, then the whole thing starts falling apart. No time to write during the week means, for example, getting up early on a Saturday morning to get it started, a time when the house is quiet and you can hear the street slowly start to wake up through the skylight. Sounds of the world drawing in its breath to start the cycle again, drift through the haze of coffee smells and potential.

Meta Letta

After passing the six month anniversary, working on issue 28 feels almost workmanlike; not quite pedestrian, but certainly part of the weekly grind. It's good to have that reminder though, that it's not just about the milestones and the metrics, it's about doing the work. It's not just about the fun of pulling the threads together to weave my madcap tapestry. It's about putting in the effort, maintaining the focus, even when sometimes it would be so easy not to. The things I get asked most often about the newsletter are things like "How do you find the time?" and "What is wrong with you?!". I won't give the latter the attention it demands but doesn't deserve. But as to the former, the answer is I don't find the time. I don't even make the time; if I could make time there'd be no limits to what I could achieve! No, I steal the time. The time I use for this humble email newsletter is stolen from other duties and people who might also have a claim on it. But instead, I take it from them and give it to you. I sit in my ivory tower, my Fortress of Solitude, one of the many Sounds From the Engine Room playlists playing, while I cackle, research, write, and commit atrocities against the English language. Not because anybody asked me to do it. But because nobody can make me stop.

Meta Letta

Last issue, when I said my plans for this six month anniversary edition were grand I was thinking grand as in grandiose, not grand as in large. But here I am, the day before deadline day, looking at a vast battlefield of a draft, strewn with notes and ideas. As the week goes on I tend to drop snippets, sentences, links and ideas into an Evernote template. Then, when I'm ready to start writing, I survey the scene and begin to tackle the snippets one by one. Some, I just don't end up feeling; they might not fit the tone, flow or theme, I might have no further thoughts on what turned out to be a throwaway comment or bon mot, or it might be just for this ole publication. (Aside: Publication? Is that right? Or does it only count for something that's physically published? Is terminology largely fluid anyway?) Topics that are deemed too big, those will then end up being a draft for a article.

Meta Letta

I think this is the latest I've ever sent this out. Time, it turns out, is not a flat circle; it's an entropic fractal.

But, I had such grand plans for this, the 26th edition of . Grand. Grandiose even.

Meta Letta

At time of writing these words, I'm sweating in a new pub that's hoping to thrive on borrowed nostalgia. It has the same name as something nobody really remembers very well, except in broad strokes. Just enough to trigger rose-tinted spectacles.

It's not without virtue, or promise. But if you know me at all, I'm not one for unearned nostalgia. And for me, it's just neither new enough, nor old enough; it just sits in an uncomfortably uncanny valley.

Weather-watchers will note that means I started writing this on Wednesday, as the rains began to fall on submission day. In this busiest of weeks I actually managed to reduce my burdens by spreading the writing load over a couple of days, rather than try to cram everything in to one fevered window with one eye on the clock.

Meta Letta

It feels like every other newsletter introduction is some form of cry for help; a handwringing as to whether I'll be able to pull anything out of the bag, whether my engines are running on empty, whether a combination of poor sleep and stress have left me in any state to do anything other than just get through the day.

Survival mode is no fun, it generally coincides with a eye-poppingly unhealthy heart rate which robs me of sleep and patience. The lost sleep makes the day-to-day more difficult, which adds to stress. And this is without the addition of any of the extra-curricular activities that tend to occupy my mind and vie for attention. The loss of patience makes me more difficult, more difficult to deal with, more irascible, a worse partner, father, human.

Meta Letta

It may surprise you to know that I don’t enjoy self-promotion.

Wait, that’s not right: I don’t enjoy creating advertorial style updates, whether in-person, email or social media, to explicitly drive attention to something I have done or made. Like this very thing you’re reading right now.

I have two modes when it comes to things like this:

Meta Letta

A decent novel tends to be around 80k words long. NaNoWriMo asks a mere 50k words of you, and anything over 40k words is considered novel-length, albeit a short one. A novella is deemed to be a work of prose between 10 and 40 thousand words.

Why do I mention this? Because yesterday I learnt that in the process of writing these newsletters, a whim that I half-expected to flake out of after a few weeks, I have written 27 thousand words so far. By that measure, by November I’ll have hit that 40 thousand word novel length, and that blows my mind.

Meta Letta

The gods of writing are really capricious little goblins; they’ll punish hubris as much as humility, only to then reward them on a whim, bestowing bountiful boons. They’re quite partial to a bit of false hubris, perhaps the fictitious fake-it-until-you-make-it attitude amuses their little goblin hearts.

But what they cannot abide is false humility. You want to play down what you’ve got in the tank, to playfully make light of middling inspiration, like I did last week? Then your brutal punishment will be an object lesson in what a lack of inspiration truly looks like.

Meta Letta

This is one of those weeks again, where I sit at the keyboard and wonder whether I’m going to find anything to write about. Where I just have to put my fingers on the keys, start typing, and hope one of the Muses shows up.

But even then, who is it going to be? Calliope with her epic poetry? ‘s comedy? ‘s tragedy?

Meta Letta

You know what the worst sound is that a computer can make when you try to turn it on?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing. Thundering silence.

Meta Letta

My favourite bit of feedback I ever received with regards to this newsletter was:

“The meta bit, it’s a bit self-referential isn’t it?”

Hello!

As threatened last week, I need your help!

If you have a couple of minutes, I’d really appreciate it if you could fill in this .

Meta Letta

There is problem with being freed from tasks, duties and responsibilities, and gifted freedom and space: Who are you when there are no expectations, no productivity guilt, only hours to fill?

Do you fill that space with nothing? Mindful relaxation? Throw yourself into work, if you can? Fill your creative tanks? What kind of person are you when the lights are out, and how do you fill that void?

Meta Letta

I never considered these newsletters arduous to read, and have often been told they’re a good length. If I don’t include too many links (or you don’t follow them) and if you consider the playlist an added extra, it’s 2-5 minutes to read about a thousand words. But I have had some feedback that, after a long day, a wall of text can feel like a daunting mountain to climb.

When the first lockdown kicked off in March 2020, I despaired at what I expected to be an avalanche of new podcasts: Bored people, sitting in their rooms, creating tedious shows called the likes of Lockdown Lowdown or . Thankfully this didn’t happen, or if it did it didn’t hit my radar. But it turns out that all it really took for to create one… was being asked.

Meta Letta

I think if these newsletters were to have a leitmotif, it would be my tired, gleeful journey towards burnout. It’s a thrilling tale, with a mystery ending: Will I, Top Gun-style, be able to pull up at the last minute? Will I dance on the razor’s edge of the ? Will I blast through the burnout line, burst into flames, only to rise from the ashes like a glorious and rejuvenated Phoenix? Only time will tell!!

Meta Letta

Thursdays come around fast, don’t they? There I am, minding my own business, keeping things together as much as I can, and BAM! My todo list reminders tell me that I’ve once again not done what I said I’d do: Write the newsletter early. Sure, I’ve gathered some links, some rough thoughts, some vague ideas, but that’s all it is. It reminds me of non-writers who think that coming up with the idea is half the battle, and suggest to published authors that they should write about their idea and split the proceeds 50/50. Apparently this is something that happens a lot.

But having an idea is easy. But, just like in Revolutionary France, the real power is in the execution.

Meta Letta

Ooh, lucky number 13! Remember: To have a fear of the number thirteen is called triskaidekaphobia, but to have a fear of failure is called normal.

Meta Letta

There are times that you write and you are riding the muse hard (or the other way around, if you see yourself more as the vehicle in this tortured metaphor). Those are the days when your creativity just flows, when it’s not hard work to keep creating, but it’s hard work to stop; when any interruption or distraction must be eradicated with fury of a thousand suns.

Then there are workman-like days, when you’re just grinding it out, just to get it out. There’s no inspiration, just perspiration. It’s tempting in this instance to channel the mindset of Spider Jerusalem in :

Betta Meta Letta

It had to happen some time, and this is that time: Planning a whole extra section for Newsletter XI, but then forgetting to add it in.

There have been some categories that have drifted in and out of rotation as and when I have ideas for them, such as , the ambiguously named , or the relatively new . But as the world begins to welcome us back, I’d like to add…

Meta Letta

Here we are again, the sun is shining, let’s delve in together!

I was asked yesterday what this week’s newsletter was going to be about, aside from talking about Public Service Broadcasting and . (Though really, what else is there to talk about?!)

Meta Letta

Ten newsletters.

“Ten newsletters”

Those are the words I wrote last Thursday, mere seconds after sending the ninth out. I had planned to follow those words up with quite a big spiel, but now it’s Thursday afternoon again.

Meta Letta

I hate being late. And last week I was a good 24 hours late in delivering a poorly-written, thin on content, abbreviated issue, and it fills me with… well, not shame. But disappointment. This week, I’m starting early, I’m gathering my troops, I’m forming my thoughts. I’m making lists, I’m checking them thrice.

I feel sorry for any subscribers who might have not read many past editions and who, having arranged to meet me in the outside, alcohol-serving, world suddenly are gripped by The Fear. They might at this moment be, if you’ll excuse the term, . I mean, even without this Majestic Ninth, that’s a worst case scenario of . And that’s a lot of me to process all in one sitting, even before they do so face to face. Pity them dear reader.

Meta Letta

They say the enemy of sleep is an over-active mind, and the enemy of an active mind, is not getting enough sleep; so I guess they’ve got me coming and going. Insomnia is a plague upon even a semi-rational mind, it tints and taints everything, distorts every perception. Spoon Theory is mostly used as a metaphor for people with chronic illness, but it can also apply in this instance, where the sleep deprivation limits what can be affectively achieved in a day. All of which is to say I’m quite tired and will do my best with this week’s offerings!

In My Ears

Meta Letta

Last week was a bumper issue; at 1600 words it was double the length of the first newsletter I sent out. When combined with a completely new playlist, last week was quite extra, and hardly sustainable under the best of circumstances. Illness and sleep deprivation do not count as “the best of circumstances”, under any circumstances. Look, I’m really tired and I just like saying the word circumstances, and hoping it’ll distract you from the lumpy nature of this week’s newsletter.

In My Ears

Meta Letta

My eternal fear with these newsletters is that one day, I’ll be staring at the blank page and blinking cursor of a fresh edition and I’ll have … nothing. It’ll come in a week laden with stress, devoid of entertainment, or thoughts. Weeks where the goal is to survive, not thrive. At those times I’ll go to my well of inspiration and find it dry. To you, this may seem silly; but to me it’s a very real fear. This last year has seen me flirt with burnout on more than one occasion, when I’ve tried to stretch just a little too far for a little too long. I’m not especially good at non-productive relaxation, but burnout is a state where working harder and doing more makes things worse, not better.

It’s part of why I’ve been trying to keep up with yoga, and indulge myself in a little meditation. To give the mind a chance to unclench a little bit. And maybe eek out one more newsletter.

In My Ears

Meta Letta

“Phew”, I said to myself on Wednesday afternoon. “It’s a good thing I have all of Thursday to write this week’s newsletter, I’ve barely started!” This was all, of course, before the crashing realisation that tomorrow (today?), Thursday, I have a day off. And not one where I’ll be doing DIY or other jobs that don’t involve actually leaving this enclave of the Shires. Tomorrow, my fiancé and I will be heading for The Smoke, where we will brunch and go clothes shopping. For me, that is. For me, looking into the wardrobe right now is like in the Tomb Raider movie where, with the smoking ruin of her stately home behind her, she informs the courier that she “woke up this morning and hated everything”!

Meta Letta

This newsletter marks the anniversary of the death of my friend Julian Boote. He was a good man, a good father, a tireless creative, and a big fan of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And to that end I’m dedicating this edition of the newsletter to him. I have no doubt he would have encouraged me in this endeavour, as he always did. No creative scheme was too harebrained or too ambitious; if anything he always encouraged people to strive for greater.

In My Ears

Rather than list out a couple of individual tracks for this segment, I’ve started curating a weekly playlist, the first of which can be found here: It’s a mix of tracks from the brand new to a couple of ancient tracks from the late 2010’s, as well as ‘s which will be familiar to you if you too had a brief obsession with shuffle dance tutorials on TikTok. That… might just have been me.

Meta Letta

You know what I do when I send out a newsletter? After I’ve checked for bad links and misspellings that are now too late to correct? I start a brand new draft. The last one was sent out a full five minutes ago, but here I am, typing anew. The rest, though? That’ll get pieced together, like a series of mismatched jigsaw pieces.

Having sent out a couple of these so far, I’m starting to get a bit of feedback, which is great. I’ll be honest, it’s been so contradictory that I may as well just continue doing whatever I feel like. It’s when there’s a trend that I really need to start paying attention.

And here we are with the third update to this introduction alone, as I lie upon my bed of recuperation. I don’t know if I’ll finish this newsletter today, or if I should even try when my head is naught but mush. But here I am, and here I’ll stay.

The measure of success of a new newsletter surely centres around two things:

1. Whether, there’s a second one
2. How many people unsubscribe

Notes from the Engine Room

Why am I getting this email?

Last year in 2019 (!), you signed up for the Story Factory mailing list. Or I wanged your email address into the subscribers list. Sorry.

Words started to trickle out, and you may have even found some small part of them useful or interesting. Or not. I boldly pledged to post , a nebulous term that I could bring to mean absolutely anything. Or, as it turned out, absolutely nothing.