REVIEW: Know Your Limits…Then Ignore Them by John Mason

Dear readers,

I was recommended this book by a colleague. Why the person felt I should read this, I’ll never know, as I don’t know her very well. She said I should read this anyway, and so I did.

As stated a couple of times, I’m not really a huge fan of self help books but they keep coming to me for some reason. We’re currently living in an era where there is a book for everyone to improve a part of our lives in some way or other, whether it mentally, spiritually or a guide to tidy our home, finances or careers, or whatever. They are currently a huge trend as well, although they have been around for years. Some are practical, some repeat the same message and some are just so full of positivity it’s as though the writer has never taken a crap in their life. Maybe it’s just the insecure age we live in, and we’re chasing fulfillment because social media or our job doesn’t do it for us anymore. One thing for sure, it’s a genre that makes a lot of money.

This book is a funny one. The title suggests the latter, and in many ways it is. It consists of 101 nuggets of truth, as the writer labels it, which I suppose should be read one a day over a three month period. Each nugget is a page and a half long, and it is nice bite-sized fun. Due to that precise factor, it only took me a month and a half to read, as I would two or three at a time.

It isn’t the best written book in the world. The writer tends to repeat that he agrees with a famous quote or saying, and some of the advice comes across as contradictory. For example, in one nugget he says that we shouldn’t hold off things, then in another nugget, he suggests we should. Maybe he’s an indecisive self-help guru, I’m not sure, but I found it baffling, as well an endearing.

On the positive side, there is lots of inspirational advice, ways to look a life, that can enlighten your day in some way.

I give it four out of five stars. A harmless little read, but nonetheless an odd one.

Writer’s tip: Overcoming writer’s block

Dear readers,

I’m part of many writer’s groups on Facebook and other social media networks. I no longer really look at them because social media is very much a distraction for me, personally; preventing me from the vocation I enjoy most: writing. I don’t think I’m the only one either, as I have noticed a lot of friends choose to log on and do something constructive with their lives. Kudos. We all know how Facebook and co. are very good at keeping us hooked, controlling our dopamine levels.

Going back to the point of the post, one of the biggest complaints in these groups was about writer’s block. Now, I must be careful not to blow my own trumpet, because I don’t feel I have suffered too much from it. I’m possessed with a mind which is usually away with the fairies anyway, so I can conjure up ideas for stories from very little. My problem is often laziness, persistence and procrastination, which usually prevents me from publishing any of those ideas.

Despite that, whenever I have had writer’s block, I’ve always written about why I have it in a stream of conscious kind of way, that’s if I can’t find a prompt that inspires (it should do; there’s a million or so out there with you Google it). This can often lead to a short story or an interesting piece of work.

So, for argument’s sake, let’s pretend I’m sat in my writer’s chair at my writer’s table with my writer’s pen and my writer’s pad. It’s blank. Here I go:

It’s blank. Why is it blank? Are you a blanker? Are you a blanker wanker? No you’re not. You’re better than that. At least you think you are. What lovely blue horizontal lines across the page. Without them I’d be fucked. My handwriting is crap as it is. My teachers used to tell me. They were right. They said nothing would come of me for having shit handwriting. Thanks for the motivation, Mrs Nealian. You’re teaching wasn’t much better. I heard on the grapevine they fired you a couple of years later because you were shit. I must have been 11 when I heard and I remember how happy I was. Yes, Nealian, you taught me what it meant to be vindictive was from a young age. You stole my innocence. Knobhead. Let’s stay away from negativity. After all, I can’t talk about the qualities of being a teacher. I was barely the best either. At least I care about my student’s feelings. Discipline was my problem. Always has been.

Talking of discipline, the lines on the page. They’re light blue. Kind of like my eyes, people say. Sounds a bit narcissistic but I promise you I’m not. The blue also reminds me of the sea in Cornwall in the UK or in Trujillo in Northern Honduras. Cornish pirates came to Honduras at some point. I’m sure of it. I must have some ancestry here somewhere around the coast. Sounds romantic and contrived, but my soul was destined to be here rather than back in Brum, as much as I’m proud of hailing from Brum. I’ve never lived for long around the sea which angers me because I love water. I love the sea. I love bathtubs but they aren’t common here in Honduras. This is one of Honduras’s worst qualities in my opinion. They don’t like bathtubs. They’re perfect for this climate. Soaking in your own filth, reading a good book and seeing your hands crumple and wrinkle like an old person. Nothing like it.

Cornwall. The sea in Cornwall. The same colour as the lines on this page. Only in summer, mind, around the shallows. Still fucking cold though, no matter how lush it looks. It reminds me of granny, after grandad died. She loved to sit on the cliff tops, missing grandad, but it helped her come to peace with it, I think looking back. She was sad but full of happy memories. Full of mischief. She survived two husbands, both called Arthur. I like the Spanish equilivant of the name, Arturo. Pam doesn’t. She knows someone called Arturo who she doesn’t like. Someone from her past. I ask her what happened but she changes the subject. I don’t push it. She’s got an aggressive little side. Sometimes it’s fun to push her buttons. Sometimes it’s suicide. I guess I’m the same on occasions. Hit a nerve with me, well, one might regret it. Isn’t everyone like that? Human nature? Animal nature? Poking a tiger with a stick? Would you? Why do we piss people off? Why are people arseholes?

But Cornwall, and granny. I’d sit there with her, eating something, whether it scones and cream, pasties, sandwiches, ice-cream or Easter eggs. I was always excited to hear nan’s stories from her childhood. The world was different then. A lot more mysterious. Cornwall generally is. The names and ghost stories and people lost at sea. On sunset horizons, you can imagine seeing beautiful mermaids or hearing the bells of Atlantis ringing from the depths. Pam’s grandparents are great at telling stories. I should see them more. Life’s too short, after all. I’ll be back in Cornwall soon. Can’t wait. For the Easter eggs et al.

There we go. Finished. If you feel that writer’s block affects you, try the above technique. See how much ground I covered. I few outlets for potential stories. Let your mind roam. It won’t be perfect, but it’s fun to see what arrives on the page.

Try it.

Las Golondrinas

Dear readers,

I think even capitalinos can agree, getting out of Tegucigalpa now and then is a must. The intensity of a relatively small scale city with a forever increasing population can grind you down. Luckily I work 36 km outside the city for the majority of the week, but still, spending weekends in Tegus gets a little weary.

The good thing about Tegucigalpa is that there are a few towns, villages, national parks and recreational parks, all very picturesque and pretty, which are fairly accessible by car or public transport, and many are well-known, such as Valle de Ángeles, Santa Lucía, Picacho and La Tigra. However, like anywhere, there are always a few nice little secret corners which you hear of time to time where you can happily disappear into. And yesterday we found one, which as you can guess by the title of this post, is named Las Golondrinas, which in Spanish means the swallows.

I was told about the place by my colleague, who recommended it for the natural beauty, historical remains and as a lovely place to walk your dog; all of which is very true. Pamela and I also just needed to stretch our legs and breathe in pure air and cough out Tegucigalpa’s smog. It sits just 5 minutes by car outside of Valle de Ángeles, on the way to San Juancito. Correct me if I’m wrong; the main walk sits on the peripheries of La Tigra forest. A good reference point is El Hotel y Cabañas Ros, which sits out the forest and along the path leading to a beautiful little cascade. I’m not being paid anything by the hotel to write this (although maybe I should demand a little discount on a room), but the hotel is pleasant, with lots of rural near by to explore. What we were looking for was just to leave our car there. What we got was a tour by someone named Sergio, but had an uncanny resemblance to Mario Lopez who played A.C Slater in Saved by the Bell.

So off we went on a minute hike with two other couples and Vicente, and we both a little unprepared; Pamela in a new lovely white top and white Converse, and me in jeans and a dodgy foot. We went clambering down hillsides and slippery rocks, while stopping by from time to time to see remains of mines, left by the Spanish while they looked for silver.

Vicente had a wail of a time, jumping in rivers and ensuring his mum kept up with the group, which made him a quite a distraction while attempting to cross the river stepping over slippery logs. He would then high-five us with muddy paws. It meant I had to put a firm hand on him at times while a lovely gentleman named Daniel helped Pam to balance herself over tricky terrain. In the end, we just had to let him run loose. Suffice to say, he loved it.

Reaching the waterfall was lush. It seems Honduran summertime has come early, so needless to say, we were all drenched in sweat, so having a rinse in cool fresh water was more than what we needed.

After, we made our way to the biggest part of the mine which goes for a few metres underground. There are a few ghost stories about the place; there always are in dark long corridors. But in the end I had no time for that kind of thing, especially as I smacked my head off the ceiling, leaving me with a cracking bump. The pain, might I add, was cured by two mojitos at the hotel.

Worth the trip? Definitely. It’s easy to complain about the political problems and violence in Honduras, but when you visit little rincones like these, it helps put a bit of faith back into the country I call my adopted home.

12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos by Jordan Peterson

Dear readers,

How many eyebrows are rising by just the mere mention of Jordan B. Peterson’s name? In the world of political correctness gone made and where everybody feels offended by everything, it feels like a good many of you, judging by done of the critics and things said about him online. While I understand a few objections people might view about his conservatism and generalisations about the roles of men and women in society, I find a lot of what he says insightful and rational.

For those who don’t know who he is, Peterson is a Canadian clinical psychologist who has taught at Harvard and the University of Toronto. I came across him about a year ago like many others on social media, mostly on YouTube where he has joined panel shows and debates on television across the world. He is often associated with the alt-right, mainly due to, as stated before, his conservatism. He often quotes from the Bible and he is somewhat a hate figure for the radical left for his ideas on gender roles. He showed Kathy Newman, the Channel 4 news presenter, just how smart he is after she repeatedly attacked him and attempted to paraphrase his ideas into something they weren’t (we all know a bugger or two in our lives who pull stunts like that. Annoying, isn’t it!). He was also a figure of controversy after he criticized the Canadian law which, from what I understand, insists that people call/label transgender people by their new gender. He also accuses universities of teaching and spreading Marxist ideas in Humanities type courses. So yes, you can see why the left might have some reservations about him.

I have always considered myself a little bit more on the left, but not on all topics. I feel my conversion to Catholicism has evened me out somewhat. Yet from listening to Peterson, the less right-sided I think he is. I see an articulate man, who talks deeply about the human psyche, the soul, how we think, the dangers of sinning, being honest and communicating effectively. He is a straight talker, and as you can guess from the above paragraphs, a little damning in his opinions. But I do agree with him a lot. And this brought me to his book 12 Rules for Life: An Antidote to Chaos.

I am just under half way through, and I must say, for a long time I found self help books bland, repetitive and dull, yet the last couple I have read (Mark Manson’s The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck being one) have given me a different outlook on the genre, maybe at a time in my life when I really need it. I’ll be 40 this year and I want to cut some bad habits which have distracted me from some of my life goals. What I have liked about Peterson’s book, as well as Manson’s, is the idea of not looking for happiness and tackling your problems instead. Of course, both books are more profound than the way I am cutting to the chase, but it is useful philosophy I find. Peterson favours the f-word a lot less, but he is straight to the point, in a somewhat father and son kind of way. Funnily enough, the book is aimed men, but I believe it could be of interest to both genders of younger generations.

As stated, I’m only half way through. So far, so good. I’ll give you a full review in the near future.

Taekwondo, Football, Politics and a Book Review…and hello again

Dear readers,

First of all, Happy belated New Year. I’ve been away. Busy with work, but also embracing life a bit more. I’ve started Taekwondo classes, writing a lot more, trying to start up a writing group (although I should be putting in a lot more effort) and getting myself trim (Taekwondo requires it. It has enabled me to kick my foot above head height for the first time in my life; an achievement, believe me). It’s also made me think of my diet, so I hate to be rude and appear anti-Catracho, I’ve stopped eating tacos, pupusas, parrillas, chicharrones and copious amounts of meat (I know there is far more to the Honduran diet than that, but still, I feel better for not eating it), and I have swapped it for fruits (which Honduras does have in abundance) and salads and vegetables. Also, less beer (but more whiskey).

Football is pretty good. Liverpool is top of league and playing nice football (sometimes), Birmingham is sitting outside the playoffs despite the financial mess it’s in, and Motagua won the Honduran league since I last wrote.

I haven’t wanted to write about politics. I’m shafted on all sides of the Atlantic. Brexit leaves me confused and embarrassed as self-serving cretins try to flush their country down the toilet in what they call “in the best interests of the country”; Juan Orlando Hernández has been quiet of late but he can’t quite decide which religion to follow (he is apparently Catholic, Evangelical and Jewish. Next week, I expect him to marry three other wives and become Mormon, then in two weeks change his name to Mohammed and commit himself to Allah, just to win a very complete popularity vote); and the gringos are trying to kick off Cold War 2 with Russia down the road and turn the corner in Venezuela. Yes, a very long sentence to give a simplistic descriptions of the fuck-ups by the political elite. I will stop the rot there and write about something I do like: Literature.

I have just finished reading one of the most important books I have ever read. Funnily enough, not the best. Read on…

The Last Exit to Brooklyn by Hubert Selby Junior

I bought it on Kindle a year or so ago. I was sold on the plaudits, the reviews regarding censorship due to the obscene content (I won’t lie, it’s heavy) and that it inspired one of my favourite writers, Irvine Welsh, who apparently wrote an introduction to an edition of the book.

I’m not going to be a conformist and leave the grading to the end. This is a 5 star kick in the balls. It has such an impact in content and style that you will never forget it. It’s raw. If you have read or watched Requiem to a Dream, you know you’re in for a ride, as this was written by the same author; Hubert Selby.

It complies of short stories, none of which I’ll try to spoil, then the last story weaves together many desperate lives who live in the underbelly of Brooklyn in the 1960s. It will take into dark places. You will be relieved you are nothing like any of the characters, but you know you’re doomed if you aspire to be anything like them.

I’ve no idea if the stories really depict Brooklyn of the time, but you can see how and why the book was censored, groundbreaking and inspiring to many. Selby, you can tell, was ahead of his time. Books like this laid way for the Irvine Welshes and Chuck Palahniuks and Easton Ellises, who have gone on to write about life’s subcultures and underbellies. His protagonists are drug abusers and thugs and women haters and prostitutes and transsexuals, some of them you somehow have empathy for, but on the most part, they are deplorable.

It’s not the best book I’ve ever read. In fact, the stream of conscious style can be irritating, making you lose where you are in a room and who you are, as you drift into the chaotic and drunken mind frames of life’s less charming people. The topics and plots are pretty heavy, and the phonetics are full on New York, similar to Irvine Welsh’s Edinburgh and Roddy Doyle’s Dublin. The grammar and punctuation marks are irrational and incorrect, which adds to the chaos of the book. It is, however, one of the most important books I’ve come across. It has inspired me to write in such a way that people remember, based on real characters, not nonsense on writing “one true sentence,” as professed by Hemingway.

I now need counseling before I read anything else by Selby.

It’s not for everyone, but everyone should read this.