Getting stuck is part of the process. If you’re never stuck, you’re not doing anything thrilling, important, and/or daunting. Be patient, be kind, and rather than focus on where you’re stuck, do something to shift the stuckness.
My father grew up loving the Sherlock Holmes stories. He wasn’t the only one, of course, and Sherlock has remained a driving force in modern culture since he was first invented by Arthur Conan Doyle.
Now that the books are in the public domain, there are a lot of new Holmes stories coming out, which is great. But if you want to go back to the originals and you enjoy audiobooks, consider this collection of 19 Sherlock Holmes short stories on the BBC, narrated by actor Hugh Bonneville: Sherlock Holmes Short Stories.
His adventures have been enjoyed by audiences around the world for over a century with new generations discovering his thrilling tales through blockbuster films, television series, and even video games.
Now, the great detectives’ most famous mysteries are being brought to life in the new podcast Sherlock Holmes Short Stories hosted by Hugh Bonneville.
“Let’s put it this way: if you are a novelist, I think you start out with a 20 word idea, and you work at it and you wind up with a 200,000 word novel. We, picture-book people, or at least I, start out with 200,000 words and I reduce it to 20.”
Today, I wrote a 200-word story (a double drabble?) inspired by modern politics, and those who are willing to sacrifice everything for power.
The muted roar of the crowd echoed through the green room. He gave himself a final check in the mirror and checked for consensus updates.
:: Tie too tight, one response said.
He loosened the half Windsor.
:: Hair too perfect, another said.
A quick head toss fixed that.
:: Walk more like a gorilla.
What the hell was he supposed to do with that kind of feedback? He expanded his stance, arms bent at the elbow, and strutted side to side.
His reflection sighed.
:: Accept all changes?
The button flashed green on his behavioral adjustment interface.
He stared at the screen. He used to enjoy this job. Before they promised him power. All he had to do was agree to a chip in his head and external control of his every move.
Was it worth it?
The crowd cheered his campaign’s warmup act. What a difference from the old days, when sincerely held speeches were met with yawns. Now all he had to do was read three-word slogans from the crowd-sourced teleprompter.
A recent poem, the result of the dumpster fire that is currently the news and a memory of a bully with a magnifying glass on a hot summer day:
It’s so easy, yes
to break things.
Careless cruelties
Narrowed to a single focus
of concentrated power.
One ant crushed, one sneer revealed, one push over the edge…
But one and one and one divides into two
and regret comes all too soon.
I also thought it might be interesting to show my work. Here’s what a typical poem draft looks like for me. The indented lines are the alternatives tested as I wrote my way through.
The 70% rule: If you’re roughly 70% happy with a piece of writing you’ve produced, you should publish it. If you’re 70% satisfied with a product you’ve created, launch it.
Do I believe this, as in, do I think that 70% is “good enough”? Not entirely.
Would I be more productive if I did? Absolutely.
And is most of my reluctance to sign onto this rule based in my little problem with perfectionism? Again, absolutely.
I do very much agree with the general idea:
I’m convinced it’s also the way to cultivate a particular kind of sane, action-focused, peaceful-but-energised approach to life that’s becoming more essential by the day. At the risk of offending any sticklers for traditional mathematics, I’m even tempted to argue that 70% is actually better than 100%, at least in this context.
So I think I’ll try to work my way down toward 70%. Will I get there? Maybe not, but when it comes to clearing away barriers to productivity, every step counts.
“Don’t throw any of yourself away. Don’t worry about a grand scheme or unified vision for your work. Don’t worry about unity — what unifies your work is the fact that you made it. One day, you’ll look back and it will all make sense.”
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