The 30 Day Novel

I am on Day Two of an intriguing writing exercise.

The idea was brought to me three weeks ago by a monk with a vast mind. He knew that I wanted to write a book, and in our Skype chat he asked me if I knew of the existence of the National Novel Writing Month (www.nanowrimo.org). This mad organisation has been inspiring budding novelists for over a decade. Every November they gather 150,000 or more writers around the globe, and tell them to write 50,000 words in 30 days.

The concept is thus: we all want to write a novel, but the only way to actually do it is to sit down and bash it out. No planning or outlining or day dreaming is going to get us there. When we do make it to the desk, we are crippled by our inner critics and censors. A few paragraphs into a piece, and we become besieged by doubts - so don't write again for a while. No novel will be born from this quick sand of sinking ideas!!

On the contrary - to sit down for 30 days and write anything, simply for the sake of reaching the 50,000 word mark by 11.59pm on November 30th, 2009 - means that we are churning out words. And through this churning, this stream of consciousness purging, all the themes and stories that have been circulating in our deep down mind for the past decade or so, come trickling out. They take a form on the page, sometimes surprising to the point that it makes you want to cry. Sometimes painfully badly written. But right now: Just write - don't edit, don't change anything, don't delete. Just write rubbish and nonsense and out of that raw matter, diamonds will start sparkling and leading you forward.

I'm on Day Two, 4,002 words into the journey, and so far I'm loving it.

Peace, Man

So the morning opened with a dazzling ray of sun. Obama won the Nobel Peace Prize. Close to tears over tea. That man still gets me. Having studied the insanity of slavery in my Literature degree at Leeds, the oppression and pain of the African-American existence; I saw his election victory as an explosion of hope. He continues to inspire me.

By mid-morning the talk-shows and blogs and opinion pages were roaring across the country. The international community had made its point - but internally, the land of the free was a mass of opposing voices. "Yeah. but he's done nothing" being the resounding Conservative line.

All this focus on action. As my Buddhist teacher Gen Kelsang Tonglam constantly reminds me: mind creates everything. It's our intentions that shape our future. If we come from a good intention, of kindness and compassion: our actions will carry that purity forward. If we come from anger or delusions, then we're creating a load of bad karma for ourselves and others in the future.

Fear. I think that's what it boils down to. We are scared to believe these days. We have become so critical, that even when we see a brilliant being in our midst, all we see are our own projected fears playing out. Well, I think that the Nobel Committee made a profound point today. They reminded us all that it's not only about what we do: it's what we're thinking that makes the difference.

The Town That Won

I recently walked into Freeport, to investigate this town that I now call home. It was one of those trips where you are very amused, where you point, giggle and go "ahhhh" many times. Freeport is a magical little town.

The first thing we noticed on hitting Main Street, was how the corporations have for once in their lives, LOST. Take a look at the above pictorial evidence of Freeport's McDonald's. Note the architecture, and the fact that it is not only a historic listed building, but it is also haunted. It is without doubt, the best McDonald's in the entire world.

It seems that when the powers of Maccy D wanted to sweep into town, the people of Freeport simply would not allow them to build their normal red and yellow Lego structure. McDs argued, they threw various tantrums and attempted to shove their dirty cash into the faces of the people of Freeport. But as the name of the town suggests, these Americans were free. They said no.

McDonald's eventually gave up and moved into this haunted home. We popped in for a burger (purely for research reasons) and noted the presence of ghosts when Tim mysteriously spilled copious amounts of coke from the drink vending machine. And the waiter looked a tad pale.

But ah, how wonderful: people power in action! Unlike 98% of the rest of American towns, where the corporate powers have changed the landscape with their horrible box malls, fast food restaurants, Dairy Queens, and Walmarts - Freeport has said no. 'Piss off,' they yelled (or perhaps concurred, this is after all a posh neck of the woods). 'We don't want your generic faces to ruin this quaint little spot!' And that's all it took.

To The Fair!

We drove North for the 2009 Common Ground Country Fair. We parked on fields and walked through the autumn drizzle to the "Rose Gate" and entered 11th century medieval England. At least, that's how it felt to me.

This was America's most hotly anticipated, 100% organic farming event. A three-day festival of all things natural, hand-made, lovingly grown and sold without guilt. Upon entering the hippy domain there was immediately an audible - and delightful - absence of noise. There was simply the sound of feet stepping through mud, shoppers talking at stalls selling soap, shit and socks and the slicing sound of the occasional windmill. 25,000 liberals in a field: This was BIG and remarkably well-behaved.

We immediately began to eat. I had an expensive yet undeniably delectable vegetable stew. Tim chewed on a happy cow burger. We ate under a marquee and listened to a young lady do a sound check with her Ovation guitar and angelic vocal chords.

Then we wandered. And wandered some more. We saw a remarkably large male turkey with all his plumage. We stood in a field and watched sheep dogs round up sheep and geese, and a group of donkeys pull an old dude in a sled. I spotted Worzel Gummidge in the distance making some kind of steel sculpture, and laughed out loud. Then we ate some pie cones - filled with Indian Pudding (a miraculous substance of spices and pumpkin) and blueberries mixed with maple syrup.

The central part of the fair (that covered acres and acres and acres) featured a large sitting out area and a stage where speakers and farmers spoke wisdom, and planting methods. There was the odd shriek of activism, but mostly a sense of peace radiated. This was America at its most innovative and forward-thinking, yet also at its oldest. The pagans of England (and the hippies of Lamma Island) would applaud.

Freeport, Maine

We have moved! In the space of one day, we went from the suburban spread of Charlton, Massachusetts to a totally eclectic house on the coast of Southern Maine. I have re-entered the realms of creativity! This house is phenomenal. It was built for an artist, so is south facing, filled with windows and surrounded by meadows and pine trees. We have this cozy basement apartment with a stove and french windows that open onto three acres of land. If we were in Hong Kong, this house would be considered a millionaire's. I have to admit, I'm feeling rather like one right now.

Sport as Life

We arrived at Nichols College at 8pm on Friday night. There was the occasional pack of drunken young things roaming the campus, but on the whole most students appeared disarmingly sober. We parked near a young man who was pissing into a bush, and then descended the large hill to a floodlit football field.

Two teams were battling it out below, in shining helmets and cartoon costumes. All you could hear was the crash of helmets colliding, like rams smashing their horns, the sound of bones breaking. It was a visual representation of good versus evil - Brit's boyfriend's team wore blue and gold and the other side were a sinister black.

We settled ourselves onto the freezing bleachers, and watched as two seconds of play would occur, a whistle would blow, and they would spend about three minutes in "time out". There was much talking, and drama, and not a whole lot of sport.

There had to be about fifty kids on each side - most of them not playing. Each team had four coaches complete with earpieces and mics. And I noticed something that I have been seeing with regularity in this new world: I witnessed the insane confidence and outrageously outgoing behaviour of American beings. Unlike the calm and restrained Confucian ways of Hong Kongers, Americans by contrast let it all out in public. On several occasions grown men would start shouting "F**K!" to themselves in absolute seriousness and bash their heads into the ground. Another dude knelt right in front of the bleachers and started to pray - seemingly oblivious to the 80 people watching him.

Halftime arrived and the teams trekked off the pitch. I noted with annoyance that the cheerleaders were not cheering in the slightest, but sitting around gossiping. Fortunately a man dressed as a ram appeared to liven things up. Then, the players returned like an ancient battle scene - marching in single file from opposing sides and shouting their war cries.

By the time it all ended, our team had lost. It was close - at the last minute the blue and golds managed a touch down - to make it 21/20, but then the young chap wearing bright-green boots missed the kick and victory floated over to the other side of the field.

As we walked back to the car, I thought about how America's sport reflects it's culture: The game has been crafted with frequent breaks for adverts. There is ample opportunity for one individual to break out of the pack, score a touchdown and be a hero. And they wear silly costumes that make them look bigger then they really are. Anyone for ping pong?

All-American Anticipation

In approximately 20 minutes I will be hopping into a car in the faded fall evening, and driving to the outskirts of a nearby town. There, I will leave the car and walk upon grass and make my way to glaring floodlights and an ALL-AMERICAN COLLEGE FOOTBALL GAME! Yes! This is football of the ridiculously-clothed kind. Grown men (well college dudes) in shoulder pads and tights. I'm excited! I will recount my adventure very soon, I promise.