#and then he reminds me to improve my posture because I have terrible gaming posture

[canon-can-fight-me]

You know what would make gaming even more fun? If I could do it while resting in 🛞’s lap and he cuddles me

[lilydeerwrites]

A Muggle Studies Moment 3: Part 4: A Lily and Sirius Sidequest conintued ...

The motorcycle transaction went well. The neighbor, a Mr. Trevorsmith, was beyond relieved to be rid of the motorcycle. Apparently, his wife was well over it and wanted it gone. He showed Sirius a few tricks to get it started, wrote down instructions about petrol and parts, and took his money gratefully. Lily was impressed with Sirius' ability to remember how to use Muggle currency and to ask insightful questions about the function and care of the machine. Two helmets came with the motorcycle, having belonged to Mr. and Mrs. Trevorsmith during their courtship. Three kids later, she no longer had interest, apparently.

Sirius thanked the man sincerely and politely, but she could see the glee and elation lurking behind his polite smile. The very moment the man went back into his home, Sirius calmly folded the registration papers into his jacket pocket and turned to Lily, offering her a helmet.

"Fancy a ride? You facilitated this whole thing, after all. First ride belongs to you, my dear!"

She put the helmet on and climbed on behind him. "Have you the slightest idea how to drive this?"

He nodded confidently. "I've done a lot of research. Manuals, old videos, anything I could find. Jamie even found me a Muggle game that was a simulator once. It only worked for a few days, but I did my level best. Do you trust me?"

Lily patted his shoulder affectionately. "Well, I know how to ride a bicycle. That's like this but without the motor, so ... won't Remus and James each be insulted not to have the first ride with you?"

Sirius nodded, grinning cheerfully. "Oh, yes. It has to be you - literally. We have to ride it at least to a point of entry for the Wizarding World. And James will be sooo jealous when we get to Potter Manor and you've got your arms all around me."

She laughed. "Poor James. He really has improved. I don't think he's asked me out in months."

"Do you miss it?"

"Not ... exactly. He was awfully annoying, but I do appreciate if he's changed because he's started listening to me."

"That's most of it. Poor old James has always listened to you. Every word you've said in a class, every time you insulted him and us, and every kind interaction he's witnessed with other people. My boy's always had a terrible mouth-to-brain connection problem, especially when he's blinded by wretched, angsty thirteen-year-old lurve."

She adjusted her helmet and said a prayer to whatever might be listening that they wouldn't come to harm on this experimental ride. "Was that all it was? Angsty 'lurve?;"

"You know better than that. James is gone on you. Still. He's just trying to be less of a prat about it. I promise the inside of his head is every bit as ridiculous for you as he ever was. Thinking about giving him a chance?"

Lily tightened her grip on Sirius' middle. "If I don't die today on this motorbeast of yours, I may ask him to go to Hogsmeade with me. What do you think?"

He turned around to face her, his gray eyes filled with more sincere emotion than she'd even thought he was capable of. "I think it's brilliant. You're brilliant, Jamie's brilliant, and together, your brilliance will outshine the damn sun. I also think I need to be extra careful not to land us in the hospital wing. It's a lot of pressure, taking your best mate's girl on a motorcycle ride when your best mate doesn't even know he's got a girl yet, right?"

Lily laughed. "What if instead of 'his girl,' he's my boy? How do you like that?"

Whatever Sirius said was lost in the sound of the motorcycle's engine revving to life. She was glad of the muffling effect of the helmet, and extra glad of the firm grip she had on his waist when the machine suddenly lurched forward. Both of them swore, and Lily had to stop herself from using her magic to ensure their safety.

A moment later, they were tentatively moving forward, only slightly jerkily. They did a slow circle of the block, and then another as Sirius became more familiar with the controls. Lily had to admit that he appeared to have done his homework. He knew the names of the parts and was making good headway on smoothing the transitions and increasing their speed. When they pulled into the Evans family's driveway and turned off the motorcycle, Sirius couldn't help giving a quiet (for him) whoop of joy.

Lily's mum met them in the driveway, smiling. "Well, look at the two of you! I could hear you coming - that thing is awfully loud. Come inside, get comfortable, both of you!" She looked at Sirius, then back to Lily, then to Sirius again. "I'm so glad that Lily's brought a friend home to meet the family. Sirius, is it?"

Sirius smiled politely. "Sirius Black. Thank you for inviting me to join your family for dinner, Mrs. Evans. It's so nice to meet you."

Again, Lily found she barely recognized the polite boy who stood beside her. "Let's go in. I'm so ready for your pot roast, Mum! I've missed it."

Sirius followed Lily into her parents' home, his stomach suddenly tight with anxiety. He had never been in a Muggle house before, and he didn't want to slip up and say something ignorant or upsetting. His internal monologue wasn't helping. Right. Don't fuck it up. I always manage to fuck things up, and this is no different. I'm a disgrace. Mother was right ...

He looked up, startled, when Lily touched his arm, directing him to the chair beside her. Mr. and Mrs. Evans were already seated, as well as a sour-faced girl he assumed was Petunia. She might have been pretty if she hadn't seemed so very determined to look at both him and Lily as though she smelled something foul. Something about her reminded him of his cousin Narcissa, and that was enough to kickstart the manners that had been ingrained into his subconscious since he was a small child. He pulled out Lily's chair, waited until she was seated, then sat down himself, his posture perfect.

The Evans parents seemed impressed, but Petunia sniffed and pointedly ignored them.

"It's good to meet you, Sirius. We're very glad that Lily is getting on well at school and making friends," Mr. Evans said, offering Sirius a smile. "I'll admit, Lily's er .... gifts ... are still a bit of a mystery to us, but we're glad she's thriving. Lily tells us you two are in the same house and have some classes together?"

"It's quite nice to meet your family as well, Mr. Evans. Yes, your daughter and I are both in Gryffindor House, and she's known to be one of the brightest students at the school. You should be very proud."

Mrs. Evans smiled, patting Lily's arm affectionately. "We're quite proud. Now, how did the two of you become friends? I'm very curious, as I've heard a few names over the years - Mary, Marlene, Severus, and Remus, mostly - but how did the two of you meet?"

Next to him, Lily was starting to blush. "Mum!"

Sirius took it in stride. Of course her family might think they were more than just friends. After all, Lily was every bit as gorgeous as he was. Any parents, with the exception of the bigoted, abusive set he had lucked into, would have thought they were a lovely, well-matched couple. He knew the Potters would have thought the same thing, and probably Remus and Pete's parents as well. He explained calmly, "Lily and I met as first years when we were eleven, but I'm afraid my best mate and I didn't make a very good first impression. It wasn't until this year that I - well, I had some problems, and your daughter may have actually saved my life. I was ... hurt, you see, and no one was around, but Lily was making her prefect rounds, found me, and got help. After that, she kept checking up on me to see that I was doing all right, and now we've become good friends."

Mrs. Evans addressed her daughter, "Why have I heard nothing of this heroic deed, darling? Surely if you saved a boy's life, the first person you'd tell is your mother!"

Lily was squirming uncomfortably, and her gaze kept darting to her sister. Petunia looked like she wanted to stab Sirius and Lily both with her fork, possibly in the eye. Lily was clearly desperate to get her parents' attention off of herself and onto her sister, but the Evans parents were too blinded by pride to see what was going on. It was a different dynamic from Regulus watching as Sirius took all of the blame and punishment for the both of them, but those experiences had made him very aware of sibling dynamics. He felt for Lily and even a little bit for Petunia, despite her sour expression and the mean things he knew she had said to her sister. He caught Lily's eye and gave her hand a quick squeeze under the table.

"I must say that it's lovely to meet you as well, Petunia. Lily speaks of you often," he said in his polite-est, most House of Black voice.

Petunia seemed startled to be addressed, and torn between being impressed by the possible status hinted at by his accent and manners and disgusted at the idea that he was one of them. For his part, Sirius honestly could not have cared less, but the relief on Lily's face was reward enough. He wondered idly why all families couldn't be like the Potters, who wouldn't have minded if James fell for a Muggle, a Muggleborn, or anyone at all, so long as it made him happy?

"Does she?" Petunia replied, somewhere between incredulous and resentful. "I rather thought that awful Snape boy was her only friend. Lily has always had a tendency to be rather exclusive with her few friends."

Sirius laughed. "There is where you and I have a bit of common ground, Petunia. I can't say I'm terribly sorry to see her friendship with ‘that awful Snape boy’ come to an end. Did you know that he's quite bigoted against those students born to Muggle families? I personally can't imagine why someone would choose to be a bigot about attributes one has no control over." He gave Petunia a pointed look. "Why, that would be like if your family decided to hate all wizards based on pure ignorance."

Under the table, Lily stepped on his foot, signaling that enough was enough. He knew he'd pushed a bit, taking a shot at both Snape and Petunia, but she didn't look mad.

"That's right, Tuney. I was telling Mary and Marlene about your engagement, and how happy I am for you. They asked me about your taste in dresses - they're very interested in Muggle fashion, you see, and I told them that it was all quite new and that I knew your favorite color was green, and that you favorite simple, classic lines. Was I close?"

Petunia glanced at her parents, whose attention was, for once, on her, and smiled, albeit a bit tightly. "Quite close, only Vernon's aunt does hate green, so I think I may consider pink or lavender."

The conversation continued, with Mrs. Evans and Lily enthusiastically asking about possible venues and other wedding-related isssues, and Sirius internally sighed with relief. The pot roast was delicious, and he was hungry, even after their hot dog snack earlier in the day. With the attention off of him, he was able to eat and allow himself to relax a little bit. There was a motorcycle outside, a Muggle motorcycle, and it was his. All he had to do was get through this dinner and he would be on his way to the Potter estate, where he could house and tinker with his prize. He couldn't wait to show the rest of the Marauders. He knew that James would be willing to help him and ride with him, but part of him hoped that Remus was at least a little bit impressed with it. James was going to be so happy he might actually explode when he found out that Lily was planning to ask him to Hogsmeade. He was looking forward to witnessing that reaction even more than he was looking forward to showing off his motorcycle. Well, maybe not quite as much, but it was definitely close.

[paxveraque]

Revisiting my favorite moments in ME1, Part I

As some of you know, I have been replaying the original trilogy in anticipation of Andromeda. Even 10 years later post-production, I am still struck by the subtle things ME1 did to draw people into the universe: subtle shifts in facial animations, the foreboding first shot of Sovereign hovering over Eden Prime, the inspiring music as the Normandy first approaches the Citadel. The other games improved on ME1 quite a bit (here’s looking at you combat--I never could understand the motivation behind making it difficult for my combat-hardened, war hero, infiltrator to hold her sniper steady for 70% of the game), but people regularly cite ME1 as having some of the best storytelling. I think a large part of this is because ME1 managed something beautiful in its world building. When Kaidan mentions he might’ve originally joined the Alliance for the romance--to secure mankind’s future in space--I believe it because I’ve been wrapped up in that sense of romance all game. Every moment of my first playthrough of ME1, I wanted to see more of space--even if it meant being frustrated with the Mako’s overly responsive controls.   Even now, after, uh, let’s just say several, playthroughs, there are moments when those feelings of awe bubble up. Moments that I know are coming, but still strike the heart strings. I’ve tried to capture some of them through screenshots that I intend to make art projects of, but some moments, including this first one, don’t quite fit that format, so I’m going to post the shots instead. The first universe-building moment, the one that still strikes me to this day, is the reactions of Anderson, Nihlus, and Shepard to the images of Eden Prime. The three are all combat veterans. They are soldiers we already know have seen their share of violence. And yet, they all have such visceral reactions to the carnage on Eden Prime. And each of those reactions tells us a little something about the character more than words ever could. (I wish I had any ability to make GIFs, but alas, simple screen shots will have to do): 

Captain Anderson

In the span of about two seconds, Anderson shifts quickly from surprise to disgust. His widened eyes narrow, his upper lip curls. His posture--squared shoulders and raised chin--remains unmistakably that of a man in command, but the shift in his expression shows what his body language does not:  whatever is happening on Eden Prime disturbs even him. 

Nihlus Kryik

Nihlus’s reaction is even more subtle, so subtle even, that I don’t think I properly captured in any of my screen shots--of the three, it most needs a GIF to embody the change--and so I’ve grabbed one from the internet for a proper illustration: his mandibles twitch, ever so slightly. We’ve never, at this point, seen a turian. We don’t know how they express emotion. The mandible twitch should be something entirely alien, and yet, in comparison to Anderson, it becomes almost human, or at least universal: Nihlus is experiencing shock. 

Shepard

Shepard’s reaction is my favorite, and not simply because she is mine. Her brows wrinkle in a way that becomes familiar throughout the game (I will post other examples later). It’s a hardened expression that mixes disgust with determination. What’s happening on Eden Prime is unbelievable; it’s terrible in scope. But she’s going to be the one who enters ground side. She’ll be the one fighting through the mess. And she’s ready to put an end to the slaughter.

It was these three simple reactions--probably five seconds of actual game time--that first drew me in to the story ME1 was about to tell. Looking at them today, they remind me how wonderfully Bioware adds details to its characters; details that might be missed initially, but that contribute deeply to the overall storytelling.  I look forward to seeing how those details play out in Andromeda.

[plantsindubai]

John Elway a long Journey That Never Ends

John Elway earned popularity as a quarterback, fortune as a specialist and regard as a general supervisor. In any case, he will never be fulfilled. Not when the general concept of an agreeable life feels like passing. Envision John Elway dead.

John Elway has an insatiable drive to win

John Elway has been a champion as a quarterback and an executive, but he keeps risking his legacy, year after year, because he's addicted to the competition. Seth Wickersham reports.ELAINE THOMPSON/AP PHOTO

Elway has. He's imagined it, pondered about it. He's in his office on a June day amidst a terrible and individual contract debate with the authoritative Super Bowl MVP. He has supplanted a future Hall of Fame quarterback with the creator of the Butt Fumble and two folks who've never played, and he's reasoning rehash. His correct knee harms; getting up is harder than it was even two years back. He has thought of himself two storybook endings, both as a quarterback and a general supervisor, and he could leave with his heritage secure and spend whatever remains of his life flying to fairways. Be that as it may, the general thought of an agreeable life feels like passing. Elway knows he will be a geezer one day, his body surrendering to life the way it surrendered to football, however the organic objective, the impulse to win, will at present be there, caught in an irreversible senescence. It's his destiny. Thus he inclines in finished his work area, uncovering that commonplace smile, and articulates possibly the most Elway thing ever: "I've generally thought I would kick the bucket ... with a scoop; on the off chance that I woke up, I could uncover my direction." His eyes enlarge. "It's never finished over until it's finished." TO HEAR HIM talk about death as an obstacle, a challenge, a deterrent to clear like first-and-98, influences me to consider John Elway and, well, a waffle creator. It was January 2011, the primary day of Senior Bowl week in Mobile, Alabama. Not long after 6 a.m. in the eatery of a downtown Hampton Inn, scouts swarmed around the breakfast buffet before taking off to rehearse for player measure ins - the snort work, the stuff no one needs to do. Out of the entryway lift, barrel-chested, bandylegged and pigeon-toed, came John Elway. He was under three weeks into his new activity running the Broncos. He wore a cowhide coat. Work area representatives gazed. Scouts gazed. It resembled Springsteen had appeared for open mic night. Elway moved toward the waffle creator, poured the hitter and clasped the irons. The red light didn't go ahead. He flipped it over. Nothing. He tinkered with it. As yet nothing. At that point he got that look he gets when he's forcing his will. Forehead wrinkled, tongue embracing his upper lip. The look from when he tossed the projectile that topped The Drive, the look from when he propelled himself into three Packers close to the objective line in Super Bowl XXXII. A look of high stakes let free on a breakfast buffet, bringing up the issue: Why, precisely, would he say he was here? He earned a fortune in football and a fortune in the auto business. He endured a separation and the passings of his twin sister and his dad. He won an Arena League title running the Colorado Crush. He hit the fairway and voyaged. Presently he was slumming with the scouts, losing to a waffle creator and getting once more into the shred when Joe Montana was developing grapes and Dan Marino was working a cushy studio work. Elway was the main individual in Mobile who didn't need to be there. But then he had to be there. It was the main way he knew. HE'S STILL GRINDING at his work area on a June morning over five years after the fact, draftsman of the protecting Super Bowl champions. His telephone flashes with writings. He's in a red polo shirt and white shorts, hair iced light and marginally diminishing, confront lined and worn. He moves a considerable measure, realigning an old football body, however he's fit as a fiddle, the aftereffect of a recently discovered fixation on cycling. Covering one divider is simply the profundity diagram, where Elway regularly loses himself, gazing, envisioning conceivable outcomes, allowing himself a grin when his eyes achieve the corner where one of his little girls wrote, "Hello there, Dad, I adore you." On the opposite side of his office is a deck sitting above football fields. His burgundy work area is amidst the room, and the business cards stacked there fill in as tokens to guests, similarly as the amusement balls and pictures and trophies covering the back divider improve the situation Elway. The day preceding, Elway and the greater part of the Broncos were at the White House being regarded by President Obama. A pleased Republican, he declined to go to the Super Bowl-champion functions with President Clinton in the late 1990s. Presently he was in the Rose Garden, tweeting, giggling at Obama's jokes, posturing for pictures on the South Lawn. At the point when did you turn out to be such a f - ing p - y? his companions asked later. Elway had no clever response. He's 56 years of age, and nothing is ensured. At the White House, Von Miller reposted a photo of himself and a couple of colleagues on Instagram - and edited out Elway, who was remaining on the edge. The slight was a piece of their now-settled contract debate and part of what is by all accounts a yearly custom amongst Elway and a star player. A couple of his companions clowned that the yield work was something Elway himself may have done once upon a time. Mill operator's camp speculated the Broncos had been attempting to disgrace the linebacker into settling by spilling subtle elements of their agreement offer, and at the ring service a couple of days after the White House, Miller asked Elway for what reason he had enabled their impasse to turn open. "When you sign a long haul bargain, you'll forget about everything," Elway answered. Specialists started to contrast consulting with Elway with consulting with the famously hard-line Patriots, and a couple of football journalists opined that he was frightening off great players from Denver. Presently Elway sits alone in his office. He won't enable himself to get "candidly required" with players and even most staff, for fear that he wind up cutting them one day. Obviously, all GMs say that stuff. Be that as it may, a lot is on the line with Elway and not on the grounds that he debilitates his notoriety for being a player - "most noteworthy locker room quarterback," in the expressions of his previous mentor Mike Shanahan - with each front office move. He says he just adores "contending and accomplishing," yet as he gazes at the profundity outline and clarifies moves, he goes further. Turning into a granddad several years back made him mindful of his mortality in a way the finish of his playing vocation had not. "You require the highs and the lows," he says. "Since in the event that it arrives in such a state" - he draws a level line noticeable all around - "it sort of feels like you're not by any stretch of the imagination doing anything." HE DOESN'T LOOK like he's doing anything a hour later as he watches hone. He remains on the field, moving weight off his awful knee, once in a while on the sideline with the players, different circumstances alone on the opposite side of the field. He watches to perceive how the folks get along, how they solidify as a group. Elway is a standout amongst the most celebrated GMs in NFL history, yet when he took the Broncos work, he had the dividers of his office supplanted with glass so staff members would feel good ceasing by. He gives representatives a chance to leave the workplace early on the off chance that they have a softball game to mentor or a commemoration supper to design, and amid the occasions last December, he orchestrated top of the line retailers to visit group central command to make Christmas shopping simpler. He makes light of his distinction inside the association yet isn't reluctant to use it remotely. A NFL GM who grew up as an Elway fan had an arrangement with the Broncos abandoned by his group's administrators since they dreaded Elway was fleecing their person, suckering him with a hard tally. For snickers, the managers left it to their GM to break the news that the arrangement was off, and he was so propitiatory in doing as such, a portion of the Broncos' staff members on the call pondered whether it may end in a signature ask. Elway gets eager at training and envisions himself out there, taking snaps, making peruses. The hardest thing about being a GM is its stillness, lounging around watching film. He never needed to be a mentor since he couldn't clarify his own endowments - the act of spontaneity amidst catastrophe, the standard cross-field tosses that sent armies of copying secondary school quarterbacks to the seat. Some of the time despite everything he feels the tingle to give one fly, a chance to regardless of whether his body never again permits it. "Until a couple of years back, despite everything I figured I could play," he says. In any case, it baffles Elway when individuals consider him a muscle head in a front office gig. He needs to remind individuals that he didn't simply play at Stanford, he graduated Stanford with a financial aspects degree. Be that as it may, he additionally kind of acknowledges the fuel it gives; sign on a fire. In 2001, exhausted following two years in retirement, Elway approached Shanahan for a vocation with the Broncos. Shanahan said there was no activity for him. The following year, never going to budge on demonstrating he was not kidding about prevailing in his second demonstration, Elway purchased a possession stake in the Colorado Crush, an Arena League establishment. He went up against the part of GM and showed up in mushy advertisements with Jon Bon Jovi, proprietor of the Philadelphia Soul. He wasn't simply loaning a well known face to another group. He was granulating, adapting each aspect of running a football group. "I took a gander at it as my MBA," he says. "Individuals didn't think it was a major ordeal. Yet, it was to me." At the point when Pat Bowlen requesting that he return and run the Broncos in 2011, some in the association figured Elway may be the second happening to Marino, who famously kept going three weeks as a Dolphins official in 2004. They didn't realize that Jack Elway, a school football mentor in the 1970s and '80s, had brought up his child to love rivalry as well as to utilize it as a methods for self-realization, starting in third grade when he'd challenge John to set a world record getting his shoes. Rivalry finished for Montana and Marino when their professions did; for Elway, it closes when life does. He needs to play night golf to tire himself out and keep the TV on to quiet his psyche to rest, and all things considered, he'll frequently wake up amidst the night, nearly as though he's naturally constrained to contend. More than the fervor of winning, Elway is snared on the "energy of not knowing" what's conceivable, what he's prepared to do. He was never invulnerable to weight the way Montana was. When he ran onto the field late in the final quarter of Super Bowl XXXII, with the amusement tied 24-24 and a little more than three minutes left, he didn't search for John Candy in the stands. He peered inside. He thought what each watcher thought: This is his entire vocation ideal here. His power isn't for everyone. It wasn't for John Fox, who did numerous things well after Elway employed him as mentor in 2011, incorporating winning 46 recreations in four years. Elway's questions started after Fox turned traditionalist on offense and his guard blew scope in a January 2013 playoff crumple against the Ravens. The following year at the Super Bowl, following seven days of disrupted practices, Elway had a terrible inclination. The morning of the amusement, he woke up at 3 a.m. in a dull frenzy in a dim New Jersey lodging room. He knew his group wasn't sufficient. He wasn't adequate. His companions say the offseason after Denver's Super Bowl XLVIII misfortune to Seattle was as hopeless as any in Elway's life. It harkened back to being mortified as a player who had lost three Super Bowls. Elway gets calm when he's in a terrible state of mind, arranges another drink, turns internal, reprimands himself, jokes in a nonjoking path about hopping off a building. "When you get more seasoned, you have an inclination that you're getting more brilliant," he says in his office. "You ought to be better. You should know more."

Elway wishes he had spent more time talking with his father about life off the field. "We had so many talks, but usually it was about football, how I can get better playing, rather than philosophical things," he says. PAUL SAKUMA/AP PHOTO A rising absence of teach under Fox incited Elway to now and again shout at the group since Fox wouldn't. Before a late-season hone in 2014, Fox swung to a couple of individuals on the sideline and asked, "Isn't winning the division enough?" half a month later, after the Broncos turned out level in a divisional playoff misfortune to the Colts, Fox found his solution. THE BAR STOOL is barely noticeable. Within Elway's steakhouse in the Cherry Creek neighborhood of Denver is generally dull and swarmed, and the stool gets moved around a considerable measure. Be that as it may, on most evenings, at the edge of the bar closest the terrific piano, sits one gold bar stool in an ocean of red ones. It's in memory of Jack Elway. At the point when John sits on the stool with a Dewar's stones, it shreds him that his father isn't there with a martini, envisioning, plotting, chuckling. Jack gave John the first and last exploring reports of his profession. On the principal day of ninth grade, he dropped him off at school and asked what position he'd play. "Running back," John said. Jack shook his head and moved the Impala into stop. You're not as quick as you used to be, Jack let him know. "After fifteen minutes," Elway says, "I escaped the auto a quarterback." Decades later, in May 1999, Jack and John sat at the bar in Elway's home. Following 16 years in the class, Elway had everything except resigned in his psyche, tired of the torment and granulate. Yet, he required a last judgment. John had stopped a game just once, when Jack revealed to him it was OK to resign from the wrestling group in eighth grade after a match with an adversary who noticed. Presently Jack could recognize easily that the amusement wasn't as fun as it used to be. Now is the ideal time, he said. John called Bowlen that night to break the news, and father and child remained up all that night exchanging old stories, praising a vocation that neither of them could have anticipated in the stopped Impala. "It'll take five years," Jack dependably said. Five years to get over the opening left by football. Elway got ready for it, even before he resigned. He ran his auto dealerships. He dove into golf. Companions say he went to such huge numbers of competitions he was home in retirement not exactly in his playing days. In any case, it felt discharge. "I required a concentration," he says. Shanahan let Elway into the draft space for half a month in 2001. He sat close by his father, at that point a Broncos scout, talking ball. On a Friday without further ado before the 2001 draft, Jack escaped to Palm Springs, California, for the end of the week. He passed on of a heart assault two days after the fact, on Easter morning. Presently when Elway contemplates his father, he wishes they had invested more energy discussing life past the field. "We had such a significant number of talks, yet as a rule it was about football, how I can show signs of improvement playing, as opposed to philosophical things." His mom, Jan, once said that John developed to be more similar to his father as he matured. Elway's basic to win at all undertakings increased with age instead of dispersed. He construct his way to deal with exploring in light of Jack's brilliant control: "Search for heart first." When Elway assumed control over the Broncos, numerous near him pondered whether he was sufficiently savage for the activity. Jack was "faithful to a blame," Elway says, and was let go at Stanford in the 1980s since he declined to flame his associates. In February 2015, when he requested that Peyton Manning take a compensation cut, John Elway contemplated his father and thought about how to measure the insightfulness required in the activity with the expectation of satisfying the standard set by his dad. "Such a significant number of times, I say, 'alright, what might Dad do?'" he says. Elway dependably had confidence in Manning. He put stock in him enough to exchange Tim Tebow after a playoff win in 2012 and to give Manning a $90 million contract when the future Hall of Famer could scarcely toss an inclination. He adored Manning's hard working attitude and exchanged amongst beguilement and irritation at his controlling identity. The two contended about issues as moment as how the Broncos would illuminate players they were being cut after the group had yanked a couple of players off the field amid training warm-ups. At that point, in their 2015 playoff surprise of the Broncos, the Colts hit Manning low and hard on his first pass, square on his torn quad. Keeping an eye on tossed a great deal of blur courses whatever is left of the diversion, the favored go of a quarterback seeing phantoms. In the wake of the misfortune, Elway asked the 38-year-old Manning to do what Elway himself had done at age 38: take a compensation cut, allegedly from $19 million to the $10 million territory, the vast majority of which could be earned back in rewards. Elway guaranteed to utilize the cash to fortify the list.

He needed Manning to hone less and rest more, to pass less and hand off additional. The vast majority of all, he needed Manning to confront reality. "All the immense competitors, they would prefer not to concede anything," Elway says. He was more limit than vital with Manning, as he regularly may be, and the transactions wound up tense. Keeping an eye on told staff members he didn't think his manager saw how much year-round function he put in to help his body. Elway told individuals in the building he was set up to proceed onward to Brock Osweiler. The arrangement turned into a trial of Manning's will to win, and of Elway's capacity to close. In 2012, he had sold Manning on the Broncos by promising to enable him to end up "the best quarterback ever." Now he took a stab at addressing Manning as Jack would, to be "a man of his statement" who "had the capacity to request that the correct inquiries find the correct solutions." Elway could see the phantoms Manning proved unable. He knew Peyton would be afloat in the wake of leaving. He knew the wiring that helped him accomplish statures in football would plot against him after he resigned. They both knew Super Bowls are the main thing individuals recall. "Would you like to be viewed as superior to Brady?" Elway inquired. "Titles will be the sudden death round." They settled at $14 million. Elway utilized the cash to support the hostile line, marking protect Evan Mathis. He was unobtrusively assembling an extraordinary group by endeavoring to satisfy his dad's heritage. What's more, his own.

John Elway might have more job security than anyone in the NFL. But he knows this will likely be the last meaningful job of his life, and he knows the iron rule of football is that it always ends on its terms, not yours. A few nights earlier, Mike Shanahan walked with me down a long hallway toward the trophy room in his home. "I never come in here anymore," he said, turning on the lights. Two Lombardi trophies sat in a showcase on the wall, glistening but somehow cold. Nobody could touch Shanahan when he won those Super Bowls as head coach of the Broncos in 1998 and 1999. But he's since been fired twice and recently lost out on the 49ers job when San Francisco opted for Chip Kelly, the younger guy. "It's OK," Shanahan said. But when the business of winning and losing is the essence of your life, a part of you feels like you're dying when it's taken away. "The line in the NFL is this thin," Shanahan said, holding together two fingers.

Now Elway looks at his favorite memento in the office -- a picture of his toddler grandson wearing an orange No. 7 jersey -- and says he feels "officially older" in a young man's game. Ask him how long he'll remain in this job and he says, "I don't know. ... Once I get to be 65, 70 years old. How am I going to fulfill that urge to compete?"

He twists in his chair. His voice lowers.

"I think about it all the time."

ON A FRIDAY morning in June, the Broncos' facility in Englewood is dark and quiet. Most of the staff is off, given a three-day weekend. At the end of a windowless hallway in the main building, there's a white glow.

It's Elway's office.

“So many times, I say, ‘OK, what would Dad do?’”

- JOHN ELWAY

He's been here for hours. His eyes are pink and worn. He looks sallow. He yawns. There's a quiet desperation to life in the NFL. What's often romanticized is actually mundane. Long hours staring at video of yesterday's practice. On another TV in the office is live coverage of Muhammad Ali's memorial service. Elway watches practice, zipping through plays from different angles. He's distracted by the service. He didn't grow up an Ali fan. In 1979, Jack told John to get his ass down and register for the draft and he did. But he seems drawn to Ali now in death, as a cultural touchstone, as people debate his impact. It seems to briefly make Elway reflective. How will he be remembered? How does he want to be remembered?

A staffer peeks his head in, reminding Elway of a coming tee time. Elway glances at the clock high above the door. "Thanks," he says. He doesn't get up. He shifts his aching knee and fixes his eyes back on the practice film. A rookie fullback snares a high pass. Elway rewinds. Replays. He seems pleased, energized. He moves to the next play.

The tee time comes and goes. The Ali coverage ends. All that's left is John Elway, alone and looking alive.

[mikeyd1986]

MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 56, June 2017

On Monday morning, I heard the terrible news that Jodie’s mum had passed away and so the Healthy Cooking on a Budget course was forced to be cancelled. Mum and I decided to buy her a lovely sympathy card and gave it to the staff at Balla Balla Community Centre to pass onto her. She truly is a wonderful chef and cooking teacher and I feel blessed knowing that she helped me to improve my skills in the kitchen. Hopefully she returns in Term 3 after she’s had time to grieve. http://www.ballaballa.com.au/progra...

On Monday night, I had my Strength Training session with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness in Berwick. Suffice it to say, it was a really bad session for me. My “I’m not good enough” tape was playing so loudly inside my head that I couldn’t switch it off and suddenly my depression got triggered off. After Luke asked me what I was on my mind, I went to pieces and started getting teary in front of him. I couldn’t keep all those emotions buried any longer.

I just feel socially inadequate and depressed. I was really struggling to connect with anyone socially tonight. I get myself jealous when others can easily start or contribute to conversations and I can’t. My social life is practically non-existent. I don’t know how to fit in with friends or the other trainers and coaches at UFT. At least a few people said hi to me so that’s something but it didn’t feel like it was enough. Unfortunately, I couldn’t seem to explain why I was feeling this way to Luke and resorted to replying with one-worded answers.  https://www.facebook.com/breakawayf...

WARM-UP...Because of how I was feeling inside mentally, it really affected my performance tonight. I did 3 rounds of 15 back extensions. I was struggling heaps especially when I got passed my 10th rep. My knees and lower calves were on fire and I had to stop and rest. It was absolutely embarrassing. I just felt so shit about myself. Next, I used a small rubber ball to release tension from my hips and upper back. This is also known as SMR (Self-myofascial release) or rolling out.

DEVELOPMENT...Tonight I had to do 5 rounds of 8 dead lifts. I honestly felt like I wasn’t doing my best tonight. I was overthinking and unable to focus on getting my posture and technique right. Still, I didn’t give up even though my brain and my negative thoughts were trying hard to make me fail. I believe my weight was around 60-70kg.

We ended the session by playing a game of spike ball. You basically have to hit a soft rubber ball into a round trampoline-like net and return the ball back on the full. I’ve pretty much sucked at ball games all my life and so I knew I was gonna be terrible at this. Still I gave it a go and though Luke was trying hard to encourage me, I just couldn’t execute it properly and the ball flew in random directions. Overall, I just wasn’t myself tonight and I found it hard to be positive about my session.

On Tuesday morning, Mum and I went to the walking group at Narre Community Learning Centre. It was quite a large group today with about 30 members participating. I was a little daunted meeting all these new people at once but everyone was so welcoming and friendly towards me. We ended up walking down to at Fountain Gate Super Centre and had a coffee at Cafe Oreo just outside Spotlight. I was a little too cluttered for me and so I found myself avoiding eye contact and tracing the wood grains on the table. But at least I was around positive people which is what I need. http://narreclc.net.au/neighbourhoo...

Around lunchtime, I brought my Mum along to my counseling session at Piece Together Counselling. I was a little nervous but thankfully the session went smoothly. I touched upon some of my social difficulties during Kindergarten. I remember doing some creative craft activities inside when all the other kids were playing outside. I was very much an introvert from early childhood and fitting in with people was always going to be a struggle for me.

Ruth also discussed the idea of joining a meetup group and finding like-minded people to associate myself with and also getting another cat. I do believe that having companionship is very important for somebody like me. She reminded me of how independent and courageous I am, engaging in social activities such as going to fitness classes, cooking classes, local gigs and the gym. These are all things that I should be proud of.

The absence of having a Dad in my life has had a significant impact on me. I’ve noticed that I look to male figures for comfort, reassurance, validation and praise. This is the massive black void within me that I just cannot fill. It’s the reason why I sometimes come off as desperate, wanting others to verbally say the words “I’m so proud of you Michael”. But I am truly blessed to have such a close relationship with my Mum and a lot of supportive friends in my life to get me through tough times. https://www.piecetogethercousellingnarrewarren.org/...

On Tuesday night, I went to a Restorative Yoga class with Kim Lousada at Now, Yoga.. My yoga practice this term was been very irregular due to having financial issues and life generally getting in the way. It’s been a tough few months for me but I’m determined to start making yoga a weekly practice again next term once the dust has settled. After last night’s emotional episode with Luke, I knew I really had to go tonight. http://nowyoga.net.au/

Kim began the class by talking about the inner guru and the silent observer. Basically it’s about letting go of your thoughts, feelings, doubts, worries and anxieties and focusing on your breath. It’s also about nurturing and being kind to yourself or being non-judgemental. We did a variety of different supported poses including Child’s pose, Fish pose, Mermaid pose, Butterfly pose and Seated Forward Fold. The idea behind a restorative yoga practice is to hold poses for longer and yet doing so in a gentle way using several props including blocks, blankets and bolsters. https://www.yogajournal.com/poses/t...

We ended the class by doing a long Yoga Nidra meditation which left me feeling lighter like I was about to float out of the studio. I made a Sankalpa (Positive intention) for tonight which was “Everything is going to be okay for me”. After some deep breathing, Kim guided us through the Rotation of Awareness, a body scan of sorts from the right side of the body to the left. And finally, we did a visualization exercise which involved creating mental images of various scenes such as a full moon, a sunset, a doctor’s office and a temple on a mountain. http://www.abc.net.au/health/librar...

On Thursday afternoon, I decided to treat myself to a full body Chinese massage at Top 1 Therapy in Cranbourne West. It’s been about two months since my last massage so this was long overdue. I’m slowly letting go of the false belief that “it’s selfish to have a massage” and that “I don’t deserve this”. Both of these thoughts are bullshit. Self-care is so important and honestly it’s much better to seek the treatments I need rather than be proud and suffer in silence.

Of course, I was a little anxious approaching the Asian sales lady and trying hard not to be too awkward but it was all good. The obvious language barrier was not a deterrent for me. In fact, I was grateful for the silence and the calming music in the store. It meant that I could focus on relaxing even with my mind racing with thoughts. I’m still not a fan of the thumping and chopping style of massage but at least it didn’t take up the entire session.

I was very tense and sore across my back, neck, shoulders, thighs...pretty much everywhere and whilst I was feeling a bit sensitive today, I managed to relax enough to enjoy the massage. And at $39, I’m certainly not going to complain about the service. I will definitely go back there again. http://www.top1therapy.com/

On Thursday night, I had my second Strength Training session with Luke Davey at Breakaway Fitness in Berwick. To be honest, I was feeling a bit nervous after what happened on Monday night but I tried really hard to be as optimistic as possible. It was good to see that Luke was really caring, asking me if I was doing okay after Monday. I didn’t feel like confiding in him completely but enough to explain myself. I have to remember that Luke’s not my therapist and he can only do so much to help with my issues. I just wanted to focus on getting through tonight’s session.

I recently learned that sometimes it’s better to just focus on being myself rather than trying to fit in with everyone else. I have enough self-awareness to realise that I’m not narcissistic, I don’t have a large ego, I’m not obsessed with all things Crossfit and I really don’t care that much about how much I can lift. My sense of achievement comes from making the effort to show up to training and being able to give it my all. Numbers aren’t a motivator for me. I’m still learning to be okay with all of this and eventually I will be. I don’t have to be like the others.

WARM-UP...I started my pushing the side of my body, underneath the armpit, into a long stick leaned into the wall on a diagonal. Next I did my usual 12 reps of resistance band stretches into both arms and then 2 rounds of 15 bench press bar raises.

DEVELOPMENT...Today I did a slightly different weight routine to what I’m used to, doing 10kg bar bell presses on the bench (5 rounds of 8 reps). It was a lot harder than it looked because you had to keep the bar bells steady whist pushing them upwards and into the middle. I did gradually improve over the four rounds though. I attempted to do one round of 20kg bar bell presses but it ended up becoming to difficult to lift.

WORK-OUT...Honestly this was easily the hardest workout I’ve done in weeks. It started with a 12 round EMOTM (Every Minute on the Minute) ride on the assault bike doing 6 cals per minute. My first attempt on the assault bike was dreadful to say the least but this time I was determined to do better.

My knees were starting to burn about halfway through and for some reason I was pedaling backwards on a few rounds but in the moment, I really didn’t care. In the last round, I had to reach 10 cals so I decided to close my eyes to block out any external stimuli and just focus on pedaling as hard as possible. My legs were like jelly stepping off that bike.

The second part of the workout however was even worse. 3 rounds of 12 ring rows and 20 Russian twists with a 10kg plate. I was panting so much and no amount of controlled breathing could stop it completely. Luke was trying hard to motivate me but my body was slowly caving in to the fatigue and the pain so I had to stop several times. However, I wasn’t feeling weak nor ashamed about myself. This was a fucking tough workout and yet I’m somehow getting through it.

I thought that I wouldn’t be able to finish the workout but Luke made sure I crossed the finish line. I literally collapsed onto the foam mat as I was so breathless and exhausted. It’s clear that Luke pushes my hard and there’s a part of my brain that absolutely hates it but in reflection, I know that he has good intentions for me. He could have given up on me after Monday night’s session and tossed me into the “too hard to deal with” basket but he didn’t and that truly means a lot to me.

On Friday morning, Mum and I went down to the Dandenong Market to do some shopping. We visited the usual regulars including the greeting card stall, the Marketto Cafe, the florist and local green grocers. The only thing I don’t like about the Dande market is the crowds. My anxiety levels tend to spike up whenever I’m in a high traffic area with people trying to pass each other and I have to be gentle with myself. Literally, breathe through the anxiety. But otherwise, I enjoy spending time with my Mum there every month.

On Friday night, I went to my RPM class at YMCA Casey ARC in Narre Warren. It’s been about a couple of months since my last cycle workout but I was ready to jump back on the bike tonight. I had to be mindful about how hard I push myself considering how intense last night’s assault by workout was but I still gave it everything I had in the tank. We’re up to release 75 which consisted of some short sprint tracks and high intensity endurance tracks.

I was hitting around 60-70 RPM on the uphill sections, 80-90 RPM on the flat easy ride sections and 100-130 RPM on the sprint and race sections. I actually felt really good walking out of the class tonight because I really gave it everything. http://w3.lesmills.com/israel/en/cl...

On Saturday night, I decided to treat myself after work and went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Men Tell No Tales at Village Cinemas Fountain Gate. Honestly, I thought this was a really solid entry in the franchise. It was certainly much better than the bloated and boring third installment (At Worlds End) and the incoherent mess that was the previous film (On Stranger Tides). This film is very much a return to form, going back to the roots of the original with returning cast members, over-the-top fighting and chase sequences and plenty of entertaining moments.

The basic storyline involves Henry Turner (Brenton Thwaites), who is the son of Will Turner (Orlando Bloom) and Elizabeth Swann (Keira Knightley). He is in search of the fabled Trident of Poseidon, which if found can break the curse that his father is currently under. He believes that finding Captain Jack Sparrow (Johnny Depp) will be the key to locating this hidden treasure. But of course an old foe in Captain Salazar (Javier Bardem) has been reawakened. Captain Hector Barbossa (Geoffrey Rush) forms an unlikely alliance with Salazar in order to hunt Sparrow down.

Directors Joachim Ronning and Espen Sandberg successfully steer the ship (so to speak) into much clearer waters. Johnny Depp brings his usual charm and humour to Sparrow, who is still a drunken, careless and now crew-less pirate. He steals quite a few of the scenes especially during his execution with Scarfield (David Wenham). There are still moments where the dialogue is as wooden as the Black Pearl and some supernatural star gazing requires major suspension of disbelief.

But overall I thoroughly enjoyed this film. It has an interesting plot, great characters, plenty of action and lots of funny moments. It even managed to tie a few loose ends together before the credits roll. If this happens to be the final POTC film, then it goes off with a squash-buckling bang. Make sure you stick around after the credits for an extra scene. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1790809...

“You’ll be knocked out, come around, shot down, shatter on the stony ground. Yeah take it from me, it’s how it’ll be...But if you crash land in the quicksand, I will pick you up, I’ll pull you out. And if the world shakes, your brittle heart breaks, we will patch it up, we’ll work it out.” Tom Chaplin - Quicksand (2016)

“Oh I see it now, see it now. Look back and see. From shadows the loneliness reaching for me. I will give it a home so it’s never alone. It was buried so deep...Now there’s nothing to fear, I see it so clear.” Tom Chaplin - See It So Clear (2016)

[ihavecolorfuldreams]

How to be More Prolific Than Van Gogh on Viagra

The word “prolific” comes from the Latin prolificus, which means, “to make offspring.” Which, if you think about it, is exactly what you do all day: Give birth to your creative brainchildren. The cool part is, the more prolific you are: The more profit you earn. The more love you spread. The more gravity you defy. The more legacy you leave. The more people you touch. The more purpose you fulfill. The more change you inspire. The more wisdom you amass. The more worlds you conquer. The more fans you accumulate. The more significance you realize. What did you create today? Whether you’re an entrepreneur, writer or ad agency art director, here’s a list of how to be more prolific than you ever thought possible:

1. Whatever you want to become, you can start being that thing (today!) by creating as much as you possibly can, as fast as you possibly can. Otherwise, if you put off being prolific until the right people stamp your creative passport, you’ll consign yourself to burning in the purgatory of wannabe. Remember: Being prolific beings with the mindset that you already are what you want to become. Are you acting as if? 2. Metabolize your life. That’s the singular source for informing your art. As Anne Lamout, author of Bird By Bird once said, “Art is whatever remains after the fire.” My question is: Does your life burn? If so, you’ll be more prolific than you ever imagined. As long as you focus on translating all that you experience into something more expressive. After all, art is nothing but the residue of a life fully lived. Screw being a great artist – focus on being a great human first. Bring all of who you are to your creative work and trust that the art will come. 3. Right isn’t as important as right direction.  Either way, when it comes to being prolific, what matters is that you simply get something down – every day. Maybe it sucks. Maybe it rocks. Maybe it’s just okay. Fine. Awesome. Perfect. All you need to remember is: When you put pen to paper, you have the power. When you put finger to keyboard, brush to canvas, blade to clay or reed to mouth, you have the power. Just begin with what is – you can make something beautiful out of it later. Are you willing to plunge forward planless? 4. Extend literary latitude.  That’s what prolific people practice: You don’t have to like something to learn from it; and you don’t have to get it to get something out of it. Sometimes bad work is exactly what you need to inspire good work. Your mission is experience what you experience with a posture of openness and possibility. Because if you give yourself permission, you can become inspired by everything in sight. And that’s when you start to crank out volumes of work that matters. Are you a mental omnivore? 5. Be a brilliant fixer. Whenever I’m reading, I’m writing. In my experience, it’s just too hard to separate the two. For example, when I’m not underlining passages, jotting down transient ideas, documenting adjacent thoughts or questioning the author’s arguments – I’m fixing. The cool part is, many of my best ideas came from something as simple as changing or adding a single word to an existing sentence. Examples: “A mind is a terrible thing to chase,” “A penny saved is an opportunity burned” and “All the world’s a page.” Your challenge is to incorporate some form fixing into your own creative process. You’ll find that it’s fun, challenging, energizing and the raging river of raw material never stops flowing. How are you improving on everything that’s wrong with everything else on the shelves? 6. Be careful not to slide into complacency. Yes, remember your victory dance. Yes, take pride in your creative victories. But don’t over celebrate.  Never trust the prosperity that accompanies prolificacy. Instead, regularly reinstate your humility with the birth of every new brainchild. As Starbucks CEO Howard Schultz reminds us, “Seek to renew yourself, even when you’re hitting homeruns.” Remember: The arrogance of past victory is the aerosol of future failures. 7. Get good at recognizing beginnings. The reason prolific professionals are masters at starting, progressing and executing their projects – is because they’ve perfected the art of seed spotting. They estimate movement value early. They see everything with the eyes of the future. And they take action on those concepts without delay. That’s the mark of prolificacy: Lots of irons in lots of fires. Working on multiple projects simultaneously. Doing so helps you create thought bridges, subconscious connections and unexpected integrations between (seemingly) unrelated ideas. As a result, you will automatically notice natural relationships and structures in your work. What’s more, your creative efforts are more productively deployed when you start multiple projects simultaneously. Yes, it requires considerable self-regulation to pursue multiple projects concurrently. But by shifting between ideas as circumstances dictate, you never get burned out and always execute without remorse. What did you start today? 8. Become a master of your disinclination. In the documentary I’m Your Man, songwriter and poetry legend Leonard Cohen reminds us, “You gotta go to work everyday, knowing that you’re not going to get it everyday.” The secret is cultivating an acute sense of when disinclination is around the corner. Personally, if I don’t get anything good after about an hour – I go back to bed. Sometimes for twenty minutes, sometimes for three hours. I’ve followed this rule for eight years and have never, ever failed to come back to the page refreshed and reenergized. What’s more, I almost always go on to pound out something amazing. Lesson learned: Discover what frustrates your ambitions. Know when you’ve got it, known when you’ve lost it, know when there’s no way in hell you’re going to get it, and know when you’re going to have to take measures to get it back. Hey, it happens. Resistance can be a feisty little bitch. Don’t be afraid to let her win every once in a while. Create around the constraint. It demonstrates humility for the process and motivates you to return with strength. What’s your policy for managing compositional paralysis? 9. Let less happen. Increasing your capacity to execute isn’t just about what you do – it’s also about what you avoid, what you stop doing and what you stop thinking. , I began thinking about my own ratio. And it occurred to me that one of the reasons I’m so prolific is because ninety-eight percent of the work I do every day, matters. No wonder I just finished my eleventh book at the age of thirty: Distractions are at an all-time low; execution is at an all time high. Better enjoy it now while it lasts. Lesson learned: Excise every ounce of fat from your process. Discard the irrelevant. Then throw your shoulder into the work that matters. Be lean or be left behind. Is what you’re doing – right now – contributing to your body of work or your ulcer? 10. Keep the reservoir full. Whether you’re a painter, entrepreneur, wood carver or throbbing-member-trashy-novelist, prolificacy – that is, cranking out killer work consistently – is a function of volume. As a writer, for example, I built my own content management system. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s certainly more sophisticated than a box of colored folders filled with ideas scribbled on cocktail napkins or random scraps of paper. Currently clocking in at about 75,000 items, my creative inventory is meticulously organized by topic, date, use, audience, etc. And every single day, I add more water to the reservoir. Some days more than others. But I do it every day, without fail. Which means my inventory is indepletable. And that’s the secret behind building your reservoir, regardless of the medium in which you work: It equips your daily practice with creative rations long before the artistic famine strikes. And when I say famine, I’m referring common distractions such as: Resistance, boredom, disinclination, laziness or that annoying fluffball Westie from next door who does nothing but yap-yap-yap all day long. How much water did you add to your creative reservoir today? 11. Insulate yourself from interruptions. Tolerate nothing. Even if you have to put a sign on your door reading, “Quiet. The art is coming.” Whatever it takes. This is your creative time, and it deserves to be approached as sacrosanct. Resist the temptation to be squeezed by your surroundings. Otherwise you become muddied by triviality, swept into the undertow of inconsequentiality. And that’s a surefire recipe for low productivity. The hard part is stockpiling enough self-control to be able to look at your most seductive interruptions – square in the eye – and say, “Nice try. But I’ve got work to do. Peace out.” Email is the worst. You have to close the window down or else you’ll never execute anything that matters. What interruptions are you afraid to ignore? 12. Never lose your ear for what’s happening around you. If being prolific has historically been hard for you, I’ve got some bad news: You problem isn’t writer’s block – it’s hearing damage. That’s all creativity is, anyway: Active listening. And it’s easy to screw up. Like Voltaire said, “Never let temptation pass lightly by – it may never come again.” Lesson learned: People who are prolific listen. And they do so with their ears, eyes, minds, hearts or whatever other body part is available. Lose that skill and you forfeit the entire game. Keep it healthy and you’ll never stop creating. What did you hear today? FINAL THOUGHT: Let’s turn to Cicero, philosopher and uber-prolific writer. In his book, On the Good Life, he explained the following: “Philosophers must not be judged by individual utterances they may choose to offer. They must be judged, instead, by all their different statements put together and by the degree of consistency and coherence with this whole body of doctrine displays.” KEY WORD: Whole body. Because you’re not just creating one piece. Or one song. Or one book. Or one project. Or one website. Or one piece of art. You’re contributing to an ongoing, smokin’ hot body of work. Because that’s what prolifics do. With or without Viagra. LET ME ASK YA THIS… How prolific are you? * * * * Scott Ginsberg