Canon T5i, 55mm f5.6 1/80
The framing of this photo makes it for me. There’s a beauty in the pattern.
I love finding patterns in nature to shoot. Whether you believe that’s by chance or design, intelligent or not, it’s beautiful.
“Wheels within wheels in a spiral array
A pattern so grand and complex…” —Rush
Canon T5i, 18mm f/4.5 1/400
There’s a sense of adventure here of conquering a pile of rocks (that probably shouldn’t have been conquered, but no harm done)
What you only get a hint of in this photo is the giggles and absolute glee of this kid has he stamped over this pile of rocks to get to where you see him. Absolutely delightful.
Next week is our 27th Anniversary.
I just want to make sure you know who the only person who willingly puts up with my flavor of crazy is.
“Polarize me, sensitize me
Criticize me, civilize me
Compensate me, animate me
Complicate me, elevate me”
— Rush, “Animate”
This was a little bit of a chore trying to get this shot even, the horizon was the only thing level in this shot. The bridge is definitely NOT level. I like these low angle shots that have leading lines, like the rails in this picture. Kim had decided to walk ahead of me to get some shots of the beach (on this day, we went down pre-Elsa to see what the waves looked like—they were not optimal).
Due to the obvious weather concerns, we were the only ones on the beach. I honestly could have stayed all day, even with the rain.
A happy little discovery on the volleyball net pole. It demanded to be shot. I obliged.
I was going to post a very long impression of a guy who takes movies too seriously, but I’m fairly sure I would have had my fanatical love of Pink Floyd served back to me, so touche’.
We took a trip in the opposite direction on this day, because I had wanted to drive the Colonial Parkway, something I’ve never seen. We went in the direction of Jamestown, but as we arrived we realized we didn’t have as much time as we thought we did. There’s a lot more Parkway to see, so you’ll be seeing more in the coming months. However, we noticed a few pull off areas as we traveled, so we investigated a few. There a few nice little beach areas along this route, like this one. Off we went, cameras in hand. The next few posts will be of this trip.
This fisherman, if nothing else, was focused. There were two photographers, a family with a little kid, and a big. honking. dog down there all playing it up and this guy was just on point.
The first thing you need to know about Chase is that he is a very good boy. Chase ran up to me barking as I came down onto the beach, because Chase was protecting his family. I said Hi and made sure Chase knew I wasn’t here to cause trouble, and Chase decided I was ok and went back to the stick he’d been working on.
Chase was not amused when I took this shot, as you can see from the “Why is the paparazzi here?” look on his face.
I thanked Chase and his family, and made my way back up the slope, while Chase’s dad got on him about barking at people. I told Chase’s dad it was all good.
Chase was, in fact, a very good boy.
The car was stopped.
The dark outline of the end of the tunnel caught my eye, and I thought this might be nice. Not much else to this story other than I thought is had a Detective Eddie Valiant driving to ToonTown vibe to it.
Yes, I’m old. Why?
There is an alternate photo of this with the green of the trees left in that makes it even more Toonish, but I prefer posting black and white photos here.
This storm was just offshore, crossing over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel and stayed just north of Shore Drive. I took my iPhone 12 and held it on the deck and slanted the camera lens up towards the sky. There’s so much definition in the clouds that were brought out even further when I made it a black and white photo. I feel like this could be someone’s desktop.
In the fifteen years that I’ve been a podcaster, I’ve used many different kinds of formats. Daily shows, weekly, long-form interviews, unscripted improv, monthly magazine-style. None of them have stuck with me as something I’d like to do long-term.
I’ve noticed the surge in seasonal podcasting due to the popularity of shows like Serial and the rise of True Crime podcasts. So I decided to experiment with seasonal podcasting and dedicate each season to ideas I’ve had swimming around in my head for thirty years. Once I committed to this idea, I found it remarkably liberating, so much so that I could come up with an idea and produce twelve episodes of a season in a matter of weeks. To my delight, this season has been the most popular in terms of downloads, unique listeners, and fan engagement that I’ve had in some time. It’s led me to believe this is where I should have been all along, and I will continue making seasons of my show from this point forward.
With that in mind, I’ve got some observations about why this switch to seasonal podcasting became a natural fit for me.
The first decision I made was the number of episodes I wanted to produce in the season. At first, I thought ten was a suitable number, but after some thought, I upped it to twelve because I would let the next nine episodes drop weekly after an initial drop of three. With that decision, I gave a topic to each episode, wrote a draft, and then edited it down. Because I took the time to do this first, I wrote the scripts for all twelve episodes in about ten days. It was a much better process for me than the grind of prep, outlining, writing, and producing every three to four days.
A season of a podcast is the same as the season of a TV show. You’re telling a long story that arcs over weeks. In this season of my podcast, I spent the first three weeks establishing the character called ‘This Pirate.’ Then over the following weeks, I let him reveal more and more of himself until we get to the last episode, which is a callback to the first episode and a nice ending to the season. The first-person narrative of ‘This Pirate’ made the writing very easy for me. Still, as I move into the next season of my podcast and a third-person narrative, it will be vital to tell a complete story with a beginning, a middle, and an end.
The following season of my podcast will continue the This Pirate line, but I have other ideas for future seasons. One of these ideas has been in my head since 1989, the rest since 1999. Of course, they’re fictional and will require more resources than just talking into a mic. Nevertheless, this switch to seasonal podcasting has lit that fire underneath me to start writing these stories and put them out in the real world in a way I never could do before. Perhaps it’s better to say that I’ve never felt as empowered to put these stories out in the world before now. Regardless, I’ve never been as positive that I can produce these figments of my imagination as I do now.
A daily or weekly podcast is a Sisyphean effort of prep, outline, write, produce, distribute, and repeat. It’s almost too much for one person to do, and I respect anyone who can. I can’t. I’ve repeatedly tried, and with kids and a job and obligations, it’s just too much for this guy. While the effort it takes to create a whole podcast season in one shot may seem just as much a struggle, it’s just for a short time. Once done, I can move on to the next thing on my list, like Promotion, community building, and scheduling some downtime to prepare for the next season. The weekly grind creates anxiety for me, and when I have that anxiety, I can’t perform consistently. I would rather be anxiety-free and consistent than be bouncing off walls and podcasting on a hit-or-miss basis.
After I wrote the 12-episode season, it took me another four days to produce and distribute them. So from the initial idea to distribution, I created 12 episodes in about two weeks. Pre-scheduling these episodes to drop means I have a podcast season that runs weekly until July 30th. I plan to add one more episode out of the Pirate character, but I plan to record that closer to the end of the season to include more behind-the-scenes material. So this podcast will end on August 6th, and by then, I hope to have most of the next season produced, tentatively scheduled to start around Labor Day. The mental bandwidth it gives me and the pressure it takes off me is priceless.
You must maintain consistency in creativity to keep an audience engaged. After a while, if the audience can’t rely on you to deliver when you say you’re going to deliver, that audience will move on to someone who can. With this method, your consistency is built-in. You’ve guaranteed that there’s a new podcast dropping next week for the next couple of months while you’re working on the next thing. Because it’s a season, you can bake the expectation of a hiatus until the next season into the last episode of this season. As long as you tell your listeners what’s happening, they’ll be there waiting when you get back.
Let me get this out: Promotion has never been my strong suit. I know they won’t just come if you build it, but telling people that I’ve built, it has always made me feel — and this is a technical term — icky. I despise high-pressure salespeople, and I don’t particularly appreciate feeling like one. However, with the reclaimed time I have using the seasonal method, I can create graphics and stories for my social media accounts and pre-schedule those posts using Buffer. A bonus to this method is using my social media accounts to be me, which lets me feel better about the scheduled posts hawking my stuff. I tend to schedule those posts about four hours apart, so those posts are bookends on a sandwich, with me being a human in the middle.
Finally, we get to the elephant in the room. Of course, the obvious upside to seasonal podcasting is the possibility of monetization. I uploaded all the podcasts in the season to Patreon. I offered early access to all the shows for five dollars a month, with the ability to access a subscriber-only podcast and a monthly get-together on Twitch. With this new way of doing things, I admit that the Patreon approach is not yet working. However, I believe it will take hold because the podcast is still growing. Looking at the data for my show, I reached the total downloads for May on June 14th. On that trajectory, I should double the number of downloads, and if that trajectory holds, I should be able to continue outperforming the previous month. On the subject of unique listeners, I continue to attract new listeners every day, and repeat listeners return for the next episodes. I think it’s only a matter of time before the subscriber model starts working.
Of course, your mileage may vary. For me, this switch to seasonal podcasting has been the best decision I’ve made for my creative work since I decided to start creating audio for the internet back in 1999. So if you have a day job, family, kids, obligations, or you want to start a podcast but don’t think the weekly grind is for you, I would strongly recommend seasonal podcasting. I see no better way for me; I hope it works for you.
One of my bucket list shots has been to get the skull at the Haunted Mansion on 20th Street and Atlantic in Virginia Beach with a thunderstorm rolling in behind it. The shelf cloud didn’t have as much definition as I would have liked, and I may try this again soon, but I really like the way this came out.
A funny little note about the Mansion: I’ve never been inside. I don’t do scary stuff. However, the little skeleton in the window? That’s French Fry, and as I was wandering around taking shots, he told me I needed to put this on my Instagram. I’m not kidding. There was a recording that went in rotation full of funny scary related jokes, but I think the guy who did the voice actually got on a mic to say that because I never heard it again and I was down there for an hour.
I consider it an honor to get roasted by the little guy.
When I first started podcasting in 2006, I didn’t possess the technology to do interviews, so I left that out of my show for a long time. One of the first interviews I did in 2008 was with a gentleman named George Tabb, a NY punk icon and early activist for those who suffered from 9/11-related sickness. While it was a bit stilted and awkward, it gave me a definite idea of the kinds of interviews I wanted to do in the future.
I think the essence of a good interview is that it isn’t an interview at all. It’s a conversation. That’s why Larry King and Howard Stern are so good at their job. They engaged in a conversation with their guests, and in doing so, they could draw more out of their guests than intended. Someone who has appeared on Stern has said they told him things they would never have spoken to anyone else. I think that’s a high compliment, and it’s certainly something I try to emulate. Last year, I did a limited series of interviews on my podcast related to how people became creatives and how they stayed creative during the pandemic. I’m biased, but I think it’s some of my best work because I think I managed to get into a personal zone with people and gain their trust during the process.
I am by no means an expert, but I do know what works for me. So I’d like to share with you five things I would do when interviewing guests.
If your guest has written or appeared in anything recently, you need to know about it. Read and consume anything relevant to your conversation, and maybe go beyond that. I like to ask relevant questions, but I also look for human moments in a person’s bio, social media, blog posts, and videos. If it’s funny, all the better.
Now, you may want to tell the guest you found this moment and ask if it’s ok to bring it up. Don’t go for embarrassing the guest. It’s crass, and that guest has friends who will hear about it and never appear on your show. In my experience, the human moments we all share can be a real icebreaker or pressure release during an interview. If you can get the guest to share that laugh with you, you’ve got a good conversation going.
It’s easy to get sidetracked doing other things while the guest is talking. Riding a volume level, responding to chat if this is a live stream, posting quotes on social media, and other things. I’m asking you to stop that. Your focus should be entirely on the guest and what they are saying. I have heard my share of podcasts where The host prepared the questions well in advance, and the guest said something nullified a question, only to have that question pop up later in the show. That’s an unforced error, and you’ll pay for it. The other problem with not focusing on the guest is that it becomes very awkward. Sure, you can fix long pauses between questions in Post, but the guest may have a bad feeling about it, and it will reflect in their attitude, and the quality of their performance as the interview goes on. If you realized the person you were talking to wasn’t paying attention, how long would you stick around and participate? Exactly.
I want to be clear about this point. I am not saying that you shouldn’t have a list of questions or a game plan for this interview. I am saying that if you’re actively listening to the guest, they may say something that opens up a whole new line of questions you hadn’t thought about and might be worth exploring. Conversations are not linear; you can drop one thread, pull on another one for a minute, then come back to the first one. That is what makes for an organic, authentic experience for the guest and the listener. If the guest feels you are in this experience with them, chances are they’ll trust you more, and they’ll loosen up and give you the interview you want
You should be getting a good read on your guest as the interview proceeds, and you should be getting an idea of places you should and shouldn’t go. If you inadvertently head down a path the guest doesn’t want to go, and they might clam up a bit, don’t push. In some cases, the guest might say something they didn’t realize would take them down that path and then give you some indication that they’d rather not. If you hit a boundary, respect it.
Ideally, you’re looking for an interview to take up a substantial part of your regular podcast, but like any party, you should be looking for hints that the party is ending. The guest might start giving you shorter answers or other context clues when they start feeling like they’ve said everything they need to say. When I get to that point, I have two questions I ask to signal the guest I’m starting to wrap up. I’ll ask what they’re working on now (or next) and how people can connect with them on social media. Then I’ll thank them and wrap it up. Know when that time is coming, and don’t stretch it out. An interview that goes too long becomes awkward later, and the listeners will pick up on it.
Interviews don’t have to sound like interviews; they can be all call and response and no substance. To get to something real, don’t treat it like an interview. Treat it like you’re just talking to a new friend you want to get to know. The result is a better product for you, a better experience for the guest, and trust as an interviewer grows in your field.
Clearly, someone melted this mirror into a Yin Yang sign, and it was just irresistible.
More memorable was the fact that this was the first cold day of the Fall. The cold temps come late in the year around here, which is fine with me. As a boy who spent a couple years in San Diego, three years in Hawaii, and two-and-a-half years in Cuba, people wonder how a kid from Maine hates the cold. Because Maine was a stop between Navy transfers for my Dad. Then we ended up in Virginia Beach, and while the winters aren’t usually bad here, I would prefer not to see a day under 70 if I can help it.
As Virginia Beach weather goes, this was a fine, sunny day in the 70s. I came across this person between 1st and 10th streets on the Boardwalk and had to take a picture. This is part of the side of Virginia Beach the tourists don’t often see. In season, by the time the sun is up, the homeless are either shooed away from the beach, or they know the game well enough to know where to go during the day. This person is a seasoned homeless person. Look at all the gear. The umbrella to protect from not only the sun, but protecting their identity, their dignity. They even chose a bench where they wouldn’t have to fight over territory, or they brought that tape themselves to cover the adjacent bench.
I took this picture because I want people to see this. Sometimes I believe we think we’ve solved the homeless problem in this city—and this country—by ignoring it completely. it hasn’t gone away. At the lowest point in my life I slept on one of these benches, and I’m here to tell you that each of us is no more than few bad days away from having Atlantic Avenue as your temporary address.
Think about who this could be. Could this be a vet? Could this be a survivor of abuse? Could this be someone who hit rock bottom? Once you fill in that blank, ask yourself if this person is worth redemption.
Your answer will say more about you than about this homeless person.
I want to start this by suggesting each of us ask ourselves a question: Am I OK?
I know that might sound simple, and you might think that’s ridiculous, but I’m dead serious. I want you to ask yourself if you’re OK, and I want you to be honest with yourself about the answer.
The reason I’m talking about this is pretty straightforward, I have had to ask myself this same question, and my answer is “I’m not sure.” I’m not OK, but I’m not in dire straits or anything. I can only describe myself as being in some weird limbo state that allows some things to pass, and other things stick and drag me down a little bit for a little while. I don’t know if anyone can relate to this, but maybe you can. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lost my audience by talking gibberish, and it certainly won’t be the last.
Basically, I’ve spent most of my time in the company of my family or outdoors, far away from everyone else. The main human contact I’ve had is with people that share my last name. I have seen other people three times in the five months we’ve been in this state. The only time I can tell you I am in the company of other people for any length of time is on Sunday Mornings when we do the groceries. I have not done any delivery side jobs since the shutdown because I think it’s dangerous. I lost a job I absolutely loved at the end of May. I’ve been looking ever since. I’ve been doing freelance work, but it doesn’t replace my income. I wish it did.
Some of you will tell me that I’m acting like, as one friend has put it, a covidiot. There are a few people in my life that believe that this thing has been blown out of proportion, that it’s not as bad as the news has made it out to be, that it’s a big hoax, and that I’m a sheep. If that’s what you believe, you’re more than welcome to believe that. You do you. What I’m not going to do at any point is argue with people about this because that’s time out of my life that I’m never getting back, and what I have seen out of the arguments I’ve read or been a witness to is that the anti-maskers are all about demanding respect for their rights, but not willing to respect the rights of others. I’m not into recognizing your right to put me in a possibly bad situation, but I’m not going to change your mind, and you’re not changing mine, so let’s just leave it.
I realize that I will probably have to break my promise to myself that I will never take another Customer Service / Tech Support phone call, and I hate it because the second I take that job, I feel like I’ve given up. I have done many things, but giving up is not one of them. Still, coming to that conclusion has not done wonders for my disposition. It’s depressing, to be honest. I had a great job, and I want to keep doing it. I just have to figure out how, and I don’t have much of a plan as I have a bunch of ideas that barely string together to form a coherent thought.
As near as I can figure, what I need to do is post content every day and promote the heck out of it. I need to reach out to people and ask if they need something I can provide, like podcast editing or Voice work, for example. I think I’m going to create a storefront to sell my photos somewhere. I’m going to write like the dickens and get it submitted places. I would like to start making videos again, and that one seems to be the hardest button to button. I suffer from what I’ll call “Neistat Syndrome.” I just don’t think my life is that damn interesting compared to people like Casey Neistat or Peter McKinnon, and while I know I’m comparing myself to two of the tippety-top YouTubers, It’s still a thing I’m dealing with. I need to think about the format.
In the end, I think I have what Michelle Obama says is a ‘low key’ depression, maybe? I don’t feel bad, I just feel resigned to certain things and disappointed. I’m fifty years old, and that’s a factor. I indeed have more time than my parents had; there is a limited amount of time on the game clock. So I’ll do what I always do. Work, and try to pull off the seemingly impossible.
I’m amazed this one came out as well as it did. There’s a very narrow dock at Lesner, and with the camera on the deck and almost to the rail, I couldn’t twist the multi-angle display to a position where I could see it. I had to contort myself into a position where I could see the screen. So, I’m doing a handstand against the rail, and completely ignoring the general advice one receives at my age, which is not to put yourself in a position where your backside is higher than your head. I had a few onlookers during this process, so I’m glad I could be the afternoon entertainment for all the boaters down there that day.
I love the texture of the tie-down here. It’s been there a while so you can see the weathering.
Day or night, standing under this bridge and seeing the lights and the symmetry is just amazing. If you look at the pillars at the bottom of the picture, you’ll see the curved lines in the pillars. They light those up at night, and it’s stunning. On this day I was more interested in the symmetry and the almost futuristic look of them. Behind the bridge in the background were some rainclouds, which adds some fantastic texture to the shot.
I fought myself for a long time about whether or not to remove Cape Henry Towers (or whatever they call it now) from the bottom of the picture, but I decided to leave it. If you’re standing here, there’s just no way to not see it, and to remove it would be disingenuous to any other photographers who come down here looking for the same thing.
I was a little worried for this guy when I took the shot, since there were storm clouds coming in front of him. He was going to be rowing into a thunderstorm. I thought there might have been people telling him maybe he shouldn’t be doing this, but here we are. He was ready to go, save for the moments he hung around wondering what this crazy guy was doing contorting himself into weird positions on the dock to take a picture. He stayed long enough to get a laugh, then made his way on into the inlet, presumably to get drenched in the downpour that happened a short time later.
I think only one other seagull has allowed me to get this close to him. I was at a focal length of 55mm according to the EXIF data on this photo, but I think I was within 10 feet of him. That tells me that he’s very used to people. Very glad to have met him.
Seagulls and I have a very close connection. I consider one particular seagull to be the greatest teacher I’ve ever had, and I love to photograph them. Seagulls are fighters, and they are survivors. I’ve loved them for most of my life. You can bet if there’s one around I’m going to be talking to him and trying to get a picture.
Fun fact: I’ve got a tattoo of a seagull on my right shoulder.
Today, I want to talk about freelancing. Not any particular line of work but the subject in general. Freelancing has enjoyed something of an uptrend lately; Lots of people were doing it before of course, but I suspect there are a lot more people doing it right now, partly out of necessity. For some, it may be how food gets on the table.
I’ve been fortunate to get a few gigs here and there, and things are working out. Did I wish I had a steady gig? Yeah. Do I wish I had, oh, I dunno, something with benefits? DUH. Am I just a little bit nervous that the Apocalypse is going to happen in a couple of weeks, and it’s all going to hit the fan? OH YEAH, TRUST ME. But right now is right now, and that’s what I need to keep a focus on. I hit the job boards every day and fill out a gang of applications, and then I hit Upwork and submit some proposals. Upwork, for the uninitiated, is a freelance job board where people post what they need, and you can submit a proposal to fill that job. If they select you, you have the gig, and you get to work. With any luck, you get paid.
I find myself wondering about the folks that are dipping their toe in these waters for the first time because I know how frustrating it was for me to pitch and pitch and pitch…and hear crickets. Contrary to popular belief, the worst thing you can hear isn’t “No”; it’s hearing nothing.
I am not going to lie to you, it took what seemed like forever to get my first yes, and before that first yes was several bites on the hook that I couldn’t reel in, but for me, the real frustration was in hearing nothing at all. Not a yes, no, hi, boo, f you…not a thing. To be honest, I have to tell you that I found it hard not to take it personally until I didn’t.
The reality check is that nobody owes you anything regarding this. They’re — hopefully — paying decent money for the result they want, and if they decide you’re not for them, there’s nothing that says they have to contact you to say “Thanks, but no.” it would be NICE, but they don’t have to do it. Once I got over that hill, it became easier to hear nothing, “No” became easier, and of course, “Yes” is just THE BEST EVER.
But let’s get back to the crickets for a second. It’s a buzzkill, for sure, and that’s where Mo comes along. It’s hard to keep going when you’re not getting anything, but that’s just momentum working against you. The overused cliche is running uphill, but it’s the most appropriate. You’ve got to spend that extra energy and dedication to keep swinging. Keep Pitching. Keep saying to the world, “I can make this for you”, and realize that you’re going to have to take no and nothing for an answer until that first person says “Yes,” and then the most amazing thing will happen. You’ll be able to show the world that one person said yes, and you’ll be able to show the world what you did with that yes, and someone will see that and add another yes to your pile. That’s when Mo comes around and starts working for you. “Yes” means results, and results attract more Yes.
I know this sounds oversimplified, and honestly, it is. But it has the benefit of actually being true! Ask any best-selling writer you can think of, and I’m sure they’ll be able to tell you some of the most hilarious and mind-boggling rejection stories before that one moment that changed their lives. How many actors and actresses, how many songwriters and musicians, how many artists were told they didn’t have what it took and that they’d never make it until they did?
We are on that same road, you and I. We’re on the highway to that town we’ll never work in again until we find there’s a house with our name on the door.
A question that is weighing on my mind lately is how much structure helps or hurts a creative. I was talking with a friend who, by all accounts, has mad organizational skills, and she runs a filmmaking business. There’s a lot of structure in her day that is taken up doing the administrative work that you need to do to run a business the right way, and she’s very good at that. However, she tells me that she spends so much time making the admin work and the proposal writing for grants and things she laments not being able to spend the time actually creating as she would like.
For purposes of comparison, I don’t have a licensed business; what I do is what I call a hobby on steroids. It could be a business. I spend so much time on the creative side that I don’t spend any time on the promotion or administrative side. So, I would be the polar opposite of my friend, as you can see. I’m sure there’s a third person out there that promotes like the dickens but doesn’t have anything created and likes the idea of calling themselves a business. Three legs on three separate stools, and every one of them is wobbly.
I’m about to say two words that I hate hearing, and I suspect a lot of us hate hearing. Time Management. We need to employ some of it. Now, I know the urban myth of the creative is some person who’s a night owl, who can’t hold a deadline with both hands, a bucket, and handles, who suffers and bleeds for his art, and haven’t we grown up enough to understand that this is simply not the case most of the time? I mean, I know one person who works all night creating clay yonis and selling gemstones on Etsy, but other than that, most of us who are creatives are day-walkers, probably with jobs. We have too much on our plate for any day, so we need to plan what those days look like. The problem is, we don’t. So, the thing that we hate doing is the one that gets put off until the Twelfth of Never.
Since I am home full time, I’ve been experimenting with time management. I block out three sections of time during the day for things. I get up at 6 am and have some quiet time before the rest of the house gets up and moving. I have a trial balloon of a project I’m trying for the first time this week that starts at 7 am, and once that’s up and running, I take the time between 7 am and 8 am to plan my day. The morning period between 8 am, and 12 pm is for new stuff. For example, this article was written during the morning period. I’ll post any blog articles, drop any podcasts or videos I’ve completed, and look at my idea pile for what I want to tackle next.
Then I take lunch and get out of the studio. If the weather is decent, I go outside and take a little walk. Generally, I take my earbuds with me, but I’m finding that this is one of those times during the day when I am by myself, and I’m finding the usual noises of being outdoors — I hesitate to call it silence — preferable. It allows me to think more clearly about what I want to be doing and not concentrate on what someone else is saying.
I return to the studio around 1 pm, and for my afternoon work period, I work on what I will call the ‘big’ project. The priority item that I would like to get shipped sooner rather than later. Right now, I have two such items, a podcast interview and a video. Both things require attention. The interview has a deadline. The video doesn’t, but I would like to get it done. So any items that require voice, or shooting, or anything like that will happen at that time. I work until 5 pm, then I shut everything down and get out of the office.
The third segment of my day happens between 7 pm and 9 pm when I do my social media for the day. I try to focus on certain hashtags. This is not posting my own work, I did that earlier that morning. This is social media outreach. I follow and commented on accounts during that time. At 9 pm, I head upstairs, put the phone on the charger, and wind down. Lately, I’ve been reading non-fiction stuff before bed. I’m out by about 11 pm if I’m doing it right.
Rinse, Lather, Repeat, as they say.
Now, there are days when I can’t keep to the schedule, if I have a Doctor’s Appointment, for example. I just don’t sweat those things when they happen because I find that getting discouraged by my schedule is the first step to not following it. As this is an experiment, I’ll be tweaking this as we go to find what’s optimal for me, but for right now, this seems to be working ok.
Time Management doesn’t have to restrict your creativity, and it doesn’t have to manage your time minute to minute. If you just lay some minimal guidelines down as to what you’re working on and when you may find that it helps move you forward with everything.
Over this summer I’ve been trying to build up some content for my website and let people know I’m open for business. I say I’ve been trying. I’m sure you well know that you can have good intentions to get things done and you get a good start, but then you poke your head out of your creative cubby hole and notice that there’s housework that needs to be done, and there are errands to run, and then someone needs you to do something else, and so on. So you do all of that and get back to the cubby hole only to find it’s 9 pm, and you wonder how in the hell did all that time get sucked away from you? So you wind down and try to get a good night’s sleep so you can get a good start tomorrow, and you know what happens. Rinse, Lather, Repeat.
If you’re a creative that wants to go pro, the outside world trying to barge in is a real problem because your family members and friends may not realize that this is your job now, and it’s also possible that you may not realize this is your job now. It’s also possible you might feel guilty doing your creative things when you look around and see there’s so much to be done. I can tell you that I’ve dealt with all three of these issues, and in this time of isolation because of the pandemic when every day seems almost identical in a way, I find myself wondering if there’s a point to it. It’s easy to get discouraged. It’s tempting to quit. We mustn’t quit.
If we want to be professional creatives, we have to show up. We have to do the work if we want the reward, and we need to gently but firmly tell the outside world to step off while we work. I would bet good money that the people in your life would get very upset if you came to their job and interrupted what they were doing, yet that is exactly what they are doing to you. If you’re like me, you hate saying no, but the simple fact is we need to say it more often. It’s the only way our to-do list will be a priority over someone else’s.
The other person who needs to hear that being a creative is your job is you. In the book “The War of Art”, Stephen Pressfield talks about The Resistance, which is the excuses your brain gives you as to why you shouldn’t be doing the work. We’ve all heard them. The voice tells you that you’re not good enough, that someone else is doing it, that you should be something else with your time, that you’re missing the game, and so on. The Resistance wants you to give up, and we just can’t let it win. Who’s the judge of who is good enough? Not the Resistance. Who cares if someone else is doing it? This creative work is the best use of my time; it’s time someone else learns to do the laundry. I can DVR the game. It’s not that important anyway.
This is our job now. We need to schedule it as such. Block out time every day to do your job. Right now, I’m working from 9 am to 12 on writing, I take a lunch break, and I work from 1–5 on the project I’m shipping. I don’t answer the phone, I try to avoid picking it up to scroll through Twitter or Instagram but I have to tell you, sometimes I fail at that. I wear noise-canceling headphones because I don’t want to get distracted, and I have some instrumental music on. I found some albums by Tycho a few years back, and I think they’re just about perfect for my work time.
I have made two rules about working in the studio: I only work in the studio, and I only work in the studio if I know what I’m going to be doing. Especially right now, it’s very important to separate work and life. I have not been very good at this in the past because the studio is where my Mac is. I bought some new living room furniture over the summer, and it would be a shame not to use it. At the end of the day, I leave the office, and I don’t go back in. Regarding the second rule, in the last part of my night I write down what I did today and where I left off. Then I write down what the next steps are on anything I’m working on. Sometimes, I’ve made a checklist for big projects, and I check off what I’ve done. I check my calendar for anything I have to do the next day, and then on the next page, I write down tomorrow’s plan. That plan is my ticket into the office the next day, and yes, I do think of the door as a checkpoint.
Other self-described ‘gurus’ say there should be some accountability built into your process. I agree to the extent that there ought to be some factor like a deadline to indicate some kind of measurement, but other than that I say we are grown-ass people who know what we should be doing. I’m not really a big fan of life coaches, mentorships, or accountability partners, so I don’t use them. If you feel you need a person in your process to hold you accountable or give you direction, go for it. My accountability is my ticket into the office, I have a deadline for the content I’m creating, and my reward for getting the job done is I go play on Instagram and Twitter for a block of time.
So, to recap, we’re creatives now. This is our job. We must tell everyone, including ourselves, that we have work to do. We need to schedule that time and not break it. We need to have a plan for the day. We need to separate work and life. We need to recognize we’re adults who have a job to do, and we need to do it.
You’ve decided to take the leap and step out on your own in this new iteration of the New Normal. Fantastic. You’re creating, posting, and wondering why nobody’s coming to see it. You built it, but they’re not coming. Why?
Well, let’s start with a hard truth. The only place “If you build it, they will come” works is in that movie. I don’t know how that got translated from a film about a baseball field into creative work or entrepreneurialism. Still, it’s the worst fantasy anyone can have when they begin this journey. Think about it; If that saying were true, we’d live in a world without billboards, commercials, print ads, and infomercials. I’m a child of the Eighties, and to say that my generation was a target demo is like saying a hurricane leaves things a little damp. They made damn sure we knew they built it. They went so far as to tell us they built it that companies made several cartoons solely because there was a toy they wanted to sell. That’s what I call effort.
I get it. I’m just like a lot of creatives. I love the creating part; I hate the promoting part. Partly because the social media people have convinced me there are magic beans involved, and I don’t have them, and partly because I hate being THAT GUY.
I was at a Christmas party for my wife’s place of work about ten years ago. While the party itself was just fine, I have very little memory of it that didn’t involve a person who was just there to hand out business cards and practically projectile vomit his resume at people. Once someone mentioned that I was a podcaster, I had a friend for the rest of the night. He was enough of a bad example that I swore that I wouldn’t be THAT GUY, ever. Instead, I think I’ve gone too far in the other direction, and if it’s happened to me, it must be happening to somebody else who is nervous about self-promotion.
So how do we, the nervous promoter, tell people we built something for them? Here are a few things that helped me get over some of the anxiety.
First, to get to the point that you can sell yourself, you need to have a good product. In the creative person’s case, that’s your writing, photos, video, graphics, crafts, or whatever you are shipping. There’s a school of thought in creative work that amounts to “The heck with it, ship it.”, and I don’t think that serves you as well as you might think. We lived in a world where “Good Enough” was good enough. I don’t think we live there anymore, and all the promotion in the world isn’t going to help if your product sucks.
Second, it’s helpful if you don’t consider it a sale. Unless you have a product or a service ready to go, you’re not selling anything, and even then, I wouldn’t think of it as a sale. I don’t think I have ever sold anything, and I never will. What I have done is educate someone to the point that they have decided to buy something of mine, and that process has lessened my anxiety quite a bit.
Third, how you educate someone is just as important. I’m a storyteller, so when I promote something of mine, I decided to take a prospect on a little journey. I’m not just telling them what I made, I’m telling them what led me to make it, and if they’re interested, I might even tell them how I did it. I’m not going to read War and Peace to them, and if I get the feeling they’re just polite for my sake, I’ll cut it short. It’s vital to get a good read on who you’re talking to because if you bore them to tears, you’ve lost them.
Third, don’t go low on competitors you might have, people you’ve dealt with personally or professionally, and not on yourself. I have witnessed a person promoting their podcast, and when another podcast name came up, the promoter went negative and lost that person immediately. Why? They were related to the other podcaster. If you don’t know who you’re talking to, keep it civil. Regarding self-deprecating, that can be funny at the right time. But if it’s all you do, you’re just going to sound depressing, and that’s a turnoff in any scenario.
Promoting your creative work can be nerve-wracking. I know. If you remember to make something you can be proud of, educate people about it by telling a story, and not going negative, you might find promoting that work a little less frightening.
On the stage there are some other people, and this one lone figure standing in from of the stage, made me wonder what this story was. I had originally taken this photo because of the clouds behind the stage, and was focused on that at the time. It wasn’t until I went to edit this photo I even noticed I had anyone in shot. Happy accident, as they say.
As is often the case, I go searching for storm clouds or sunsets at Trashmore, and end up with something completely different.
Also, notice his little friend to his left. Good doggo keeping him company.
In the summer, amusement parks are colorful, shiny and oh so bright.
In the winter, they’re just husks. Skeletons. Bare branches, waiting to bear their garish fruit again come May.
