Of Past Adventures

I mostly turn to this blog when I feel either very bored, or maudlin, or both. This is resulting in an assortment of "Life Sighs" which actually makes me feel sorry for anyone who reads it.
(Jackie, you are my heroine. Honestly!)

Enough misery now. Even if my life is rather dull these days, I had a fair share of adventures to write about. Some thrilling ones, some funny ones, and even a few romantic encounters. They could feature in this blog, too, as a change from the usual gloomy posts.

What should I start with? The most exciting adventures were not always pleasant - like the one where I almost freaked out when a friend and I got lost in a maze of crevasses on a glacier, which we had tried to cross without proper gear (we both were very inexperienced and stupid, and lucky to survive the day!) - nor were all the funny ones, like when I embarassed myself in front of a camerateam and dozens of people by walking right into a grass-covered slough in Poland (the locals tried to warn me, but I didn't understand Polish and was already sunk waist-deep in the bog when one of the guys on my team grabbed me and pulled me back to solid ground).

No, I think I'll start with a story of cultural misunderstanding.

I travelled in Scotland once, by bus and train, going north along the east coast. For one night I stayed in a pretty little town called Keiss, which has a very scenic ruin of a medieval castle, right on the edge of a cliff.
I took a room at the local pub and spent the evening downstairs - having a meal at a table by myself, and then a few glasses of ale with the locals at the bar.
It was summer, and night fell late that far north. Looking out of the window, I saw a beautiful dusk. An almost full moon rose over the North Sea, and I decided to take a walk along the beach. That was when one of the men from the bar asked if he could join me.

The first strange thing was that the landlady didn't want to give a house key to me, although I had rented a room in the house. I practically had to fight her for it (and she refused to talk to me the next day until I departed). This should have made me suspicious of the situation's undercurrents - but I had already had a few glasses of ale and was glad for the company of that nice guy.
Until I understood that his idea of 'taking a walk' didn't involve much walking.

When he started kissing me, I was tempted for a moment, but really only a moment. The guy was married - he had told me stories of his wife and kids all evening - and I was soon torn between being amused, exasperated and frightened. It was not easy to get rid if him. I told him over and over again that he was a nice person, and I was very sorry about the misunderstanding, but I really only intended to take a walk and watch the waves by moonlight. I did not want to make him angry, because he had drunk a lot more than I had, and he started to hint at how strong he was and how he could force me. So in the end I let him come back to the pub with me (he was probably hoping for a bed instead of the beach) - where I had to tell him I would yell for help if he did not leave, until he finally gave up. From my room I watched him drive away, and wished I would have gone to the moonlit beach alone.

The next day I settled my bill with the landlord, whose wife didn't even look at me. I took the next bus north, and wondered how they would have laughed about the true story of that 'walk'. But I didn't tell anyone, of course - and I am sure that guy still enjoys his reputation as a seducer of naive foreign tourists.

Out There (or: Fascinated Yet Frustrated)

These weeks are strange. I wait for my new home to be finished (so I can move), I try to sell my old one, and I am again/still looking for work. So this is a time when I am at home a lot, but I have very little to do except for sorting, packing, brooding, and avoiding unpleasant thoughts by the means of pure escapism.

I watched a lot of DVDs lately, and re-read several sci-fi and fantasy books. And I surfed the net, looking for writers, directors and actors whose work impresses me. There are so many to be found in the www; some with professionally built homepages, some with regularly updated blogs and truly terrific journals. To name only a few: I found (and read most of) Neil Gaiman's Journal, Sir Ian McKellen's official homepage and blog, or the blogs of David Nykl and Kate Hewlett, actors, and Joe Mallozzi, screenwriter and producer from the Stargate universe, one of my favourite resorts faraway from bleak reality.

At first, I was thrilled to have found all their websites. I am impressed by those gentlemen and ladies, their books, scripts, acting; whatever they do, and do so wonderfully.
I loved to learn more about their lives, travels, thoughts and projects. And of course I still do. But in some strange way, those websites and blogs are a curse as well as a blessing.

See, I write and work in the big world of TV myself, and I certainly am no 'fan' of anyone (honestly, I don't even understand the things fans do - like collecting autographs and photos, or travelling to conventions and dressing up as fictional characters).
Thus, I have no intention to obtrude or ingratiate myself with anyone. But the more I read, the more I am impressed by (and feel drawn to) some of those people - writers, actors, or directors from different parts of this world.
Their blogs give me the illusion of getting to know them. They make me want to communicate, as I do with real-life acquaintances or friends.

And there's the catch.

There is no way to connect; no way to get to know any of them. Yes, I left some friendly comments, which (understandably!) remain unnoticed amidst all that cheerful bulk, between dozens of unanswered questions and tons of fanmail.

So, after fascination came frustration. Those guys have genuinely impressed me and make me want to get in touch with them, but it is simply not possible to initiate any kind of dialogue or correspondence. Despite all the so-called interactivity of the world wide web, there just is no way to really get a message across. Too bad.

Animalistic

Since I don't think it would be wise to try and write anything remotely intelligent today (since I am still suffering from sleep deprivation, and can't even think straight in my own language, let alone in English), I'll continue my mini-series of animal pictures.
(In this layout, they are small, but by clicking on them you'll see them better.)

This is Lisa, one of my mother's new cats (there are two of them who arrived last summer), in the filing cabinet, trying to get filed between the folders for bills and credit card receipts.


She's not always that shy. Here's a more flattering picture of hers:


And while I still feel sheepish, here's a couple of Welsh sheep, posing in front of their residence. I took the photo in September 2008 when hiking up Snowdon (Yr Widdfa) in North Wales.

Sheepless

Last night, I tried counting sheep - but they just walked away from me.

(This is a photo I made in Iceland in 2006, to illustrate the traffic jam on a typical Icelandic country road.)

Sleepless

Every now and then, I get a bad case of Existenzangst. That's a German term which means existential fear; angst; the sinking feeling that something - no, everything - is about to go awry. When I was younger, it was a lot worse, but even now I have these times once or twice a year. Times when I don't trust myself to earn a living, to do things right, to be there for my friends, to ever make films again, to ever find new friends; times when I generally expect myself to make a total mess of my life.

It is strange, because the fear is so irrational, not at all based on facts. I am doing reasonably well since almost 20 years now, I am independent, I have a circle of wonderful friends, I am free to live my life and travel the world as I like, and still earn enough money to pay for my flat, my car and all kinds of conveniences. It is a carefree and rather selfish life, and I am aware of the privileges I have.

So I sometimes suspect that I chose a freelancer's job (with no secure income whatsoever) just to cure myself of those bouts of angst. Maybe my whole lifestyle is like one of those therapeutic flights for people who are afraid of flying. It makes me face the fear and see that there is nothing to worry about.

Most of the time, it works. Only now, the fact that I am going to be broke once I move to my new place, stirs it all up again. I have a relapse, and a bad one. Can't sleep, can't eat, can't even think straight. Every night for the last ten days I sat up in bed till 04:00 am, browsing the internet on my laptop or reading boring books (hoping they'll make me sleepy).

But it has its good sides, too. I lost some of my surplus weight, and I have discovered many interesting websites and blogs lately. About Iceland and India, about music, films and people.

Once I am able to use my brain again, I'll list the links and tell you more...

Irreversible

It is done. The contract is signed, the flat is going to be mine in a few weeks - in exchange for practically all my savings. Suddenly, I was no longer sure if this was a wise thing to do. It made me feel strangely vulnerable, no longer having a financial buffer to fall back on. Especially now, at a time when it becomes more difficult to find jobs.

But then I went there. I started planning the kitchen, decided on some changes that will need to be done before I move in, and then I visited my soon-to-be next door neighbours. They made me feel truly welcome and spontaneously opened a bottle of champagne to toast our new neighbourship.

A perfect start for the move to my new home. I don't feel poor and vulnerable anymore, but rich and vital, and full of energy.
I only hope that this is not just the effect of the champagne.

Jackie's Question

This is an answer to the question my faithful friend Jackie asked in her comment to Backstage:

"Are you able to write ANYTHING?! I mean, as long as you get the documents and details, would you be able to write about any topic/issue/subject even if it's about - let's say - cell biology, automation engineering or computer science? Is it only that those people just need someone who writes the TEXT itself without really having knowledge of the stuff they have to write or do you need to actually understand that stuff? (Well at least in my imagination I think that I would need to understand it....)"

Good question.

Yes, of course I have to understand what I write about, otherwise the result would surely become an utter disgrace for me and, worse, my client. And of course there are many topics I could not write about, without putting in a lot of time and effort for reading, learning and understanding in the first place. Automation engineering and computer science are among them; cell biology isn't, because I actually studied biology at university.

Whatever subject I tackle, I need to feel comfortable with it first. So I usually spend some time with research and reading before I start on a project. Maybe there are subjects (like computer science) where I would have to invest so much time and effort in learning about them, that I could not make a profit from them anymore, so I would have to refuse them for practical reasons. But theoretically (although this sounds terribly arrogant), yes, I could write anything - given enough time for research and preparation.

You see, I love to learn and to be challenged. I love my job because of the diversity of subjects I read, research and work about. In my 16 years of experience I have already written or made documentaries about quite a variety of topics. Documentaries usually include some travelling and many of them gave me access to unusual places. I have been to arctic islands, primeval forests and archeological digs, inside steel works and power houses, government departments, psychiatric wards and university labs, at factories, farms and feature film shoots, on glaciers and mountaintops and on fishing trawlers.

I have written about a lot of subjects including energy policy, quantum physics, bollywood films, waste disposal, earthquakes, allergies, migratory birds, climate change, compulsive gambling, immigrants, genetic engineering, pedagogics and education, and many kinds of environmental and natural history subjects, often with a focus on fascinating animals like whales and polar bears.
That is why I think there is no limit to possible subjects.

On the downside: My friends refuse to play quiz games or scrabble with me anymore. I have won too often.

On Top

Earlier today I wrote a lot about writing, but nothing about moving. This is a picture of the view (well, part of the view) from the place that will soon be mine. Yay!

(Please click on it if you want to see the real thing.)

Backstage

The book is finished; the book that I have just written. It is a nonfiction book about children's disorders - you know, all that attention deficit and hyperactivity stuff which is worrying more and more parents around the globe (and increases the production of pills that keep kids calm and parents happy). The book will be published in a few months, under the name of a professor of educational science. I was only her ghostwriter. I have done this kind of job before, mostly with articles and once with another nonfiction book.

In this case it is okay, because I didn't do much research for the book; I got some (very) detailed and scientific thesis and dissertation papers to work with, so my job was more like a translation from scientific lingo to everyday language, plus quite a lot of editing. And of course translators and editors don't appear on the cover of a book.

It is a simple deal: The professor gets the credits, I get the money. It is only fair, but still, that kind of arrangement is not always easy for my ego to digest. I was a lot more ambitious when I started being a writer, journalist and filmmaker all those years ago. I wanted to make a name for myself. I had dreamed of being a writer since I was a child. The first time when I sold my writing skills to someone else, it felt like a betrayal of everything I had hoped for. I wanted to be recognized, not to be some part of the service industry.

Maybe it is a lesson in humility I really need to learn. Without giving up hope that I will be the one on stage again, some day.

Time flies...

God, it's been months since I felt like writing anything here.

It's not exactly an exciting life I am leading these days, and I long for a chance - any chance - to make films again. But even documentaries cost money, and finding someone willing to pay for a docu seems to get more difficult all the time.
So I am mostly earning my money by writing now. Ghostwriting even. Some people have to write books or articles without having enough time (or skill *g*) for that task, so they pay someone else to write their stuff for them.

That's what I do (in my own language of course, not in English), and it's slowly driving me nuts. Not the writing as such - I love writing - but the fact that it's such a lonely profession. I really, really miss the travelling and the teamwork, the thrill and the stress of making films.

But I found a new apartment, to which I will move in a month or so. It is bigger than my current one, with more space for guests, and with a rooftop terrace overlooking most of the city I live in. A whole landscape of roofs, spires and faraway hills will be surrounding me there.

Now I dread the packing and moving, but I am already looking forward to spring, sunshine and dinners with friends on my new roof. It will be perfect (I hope).

Lets see what else this year will bring...