Lifting my spirits (pun intended)

The past week and a bit has been all about cocktails. I’ve been working at the bar more than usual and have also been doing my fair share of copywriting for my peops in the approach to the Copenhagen Cocktail and Spirits 2012 bonanza that ran over Sunday and Monday. Only its second year, the show has already garnered a strong reputation and in a town this small, with a community this small, it was bound to wind up being a big shindig for the lot of us. It was...oh yes! It was! Random Girl felt more than at home amongst a collection of both new and familiar faces – my new peers, it would seem – as we criss-crossed the exhibition hall to attend masterclasses and seminars, and was especially happy to see some familiar faces from my London days. 

But what a whirlwind it has been. I’ve had to digest (and ingest!) quite a lot in terms of new flavours, new ways of combining them, and new ways to describe them. I’ve been privileged to meet (over the years, not just in Copenhagen) a number of those individuals deemed influential in this circle, but in such a wholesome and spontaneous way so as not to create some artificial, sycophantic atmosphere, but a place wherein it’s easy to share a laugh with peers and mentors alike. Imagine a room full of high-fives, hugs and, well, highballs! Looking at the many different specialty areas and specialised individuals, I am attentive to the fact that I am witnessing, and now participating in, the start of a new epoch in Copenhagen’s drinking culture. This industry is still very young here. It’s exciting as hell and at the risk of sounding smug, damn cool being a part of it all as it begins to pick up momentum! 

I have always found this creative community to be, in equal measure, inspiring and humbling (at least insofar as the London and Copenhagen sets go). Most of the people I know who work in cocktails and spirits, while incredibly hard-working, maintain an ongoing awareness that there is always more to learn, more to do. No one, even those at the top of the game, seem content to rest on their laurels. They all want to learn more, develop and expand. It keeps things pretty cosy. And if you have a genuine interest in what these people have to offer, you are welcome. For my part, while a newcomer still, I do feel I have something to contribute to all this. What’s more, I’ve got the time, opportunity and inclination to identify the best ways that I can.  

It has only made a satisfying job even more so that I am able to exercise my writing skills in addition to enjoying the more interactive aspects of the job. I have been adopted as the token English writer/editor at my work and enjoy the challenge of distilling (pun intended, yet again) my words aiming to pinpoint the character of any particular drink, for example, as I continue to develop my palate for different tastes and aromas. I have been able to share in my process (from a writing point of view) with my colleagues as much as they have shared their process. I’ve also had the benefit of interacting with a cross-section of creatives who have visited us as guests, who share a love of ‘the craft’ of cocktail-making, and the joy of cocktail drinking (of course!).

So here it is plain and simple, for any doubters: being a cocktail waitress in a renowned bar is an awesome job. It has presented me with a multitude of benefits and opportunities, not the least of which is a growing kinship with an amazing group of Copenhagen's finest. I never imagined this would become my life, or that being good at something like this would instil in me such a strong sense of personal value and that I would get such satisfaction from it. I have seen once again how little things done well, and with passion, can have great impact and I am truly uplifted by the thought. An honest endeavour still has value. A sincere commitment to others still carries weight. It’s the little things that have counted here and they really have made the difference in the bigger picture for this random girl. 

I feel I’ve waited a long time for such ideas to manifest themselves in a way that was satisfying both spirit-ually (that's the last one, I swear) and practically. Love where I am, love where I work, love who I work with, and love how this has all enriched my life. Most of all, I love that this change is one I had not imagined for myself and that suddenly - with the help of a small leap of faith from myself and a few others - time, place and opportunity are all in alignment (and probably for the first time ever!) They say we're all only one or two degrees off our true path. I'll drink to that! Skål!

Random Girl 

Writing is HARD (and other excuses...)

Ah, so THIS is winter in Copenhagen. The snow lines the bicycle paths, the canals have frozen over and my hands are cracked from the cold. Then again, winter is blasting Europe with vehemence at the moment and everyone is seeing the big freeze. I’ve biked when the snow was dumping. It left me looking like a snow-woman on wheels as the giant flakes clung to my parka. It didn’t strike me as odd to be on my bike in what would elsewhere be considered ‘you’re-on-your-bike-are-you-nuts’ kind of weather. That I didn’t think it was odd was odd in itself, but then I don’t plan to make a habit of that either.  A taxi home from work the other night made a whole lot of sense. 

Random Girl is also battling a head cold. It has floored me somewhat leaving me feeling a little forlorn and a little useless. Much like the appendix; that useless flap of skin attached to the large intestine. It just hangs there, relevant only if it becomes infected and requires surgical removal. But I am just feeling sorry for myself. Being ill and unmotivated only highlights to me how lame-o I have become with my writing. I have written, but not half of what I thought I would by now. I am Random Girl’s unwritten play/novel.  

There are many excuses lined up in my head but the only real answer is lack of focus. I have not fully committed myself to the process. I’ve allowed myself to be too distracted by the ‘new life’ I’ve built for myself here so far, though to be fair, I have drawn much more from life here than I ever could have anticipated. But a more industrious person would be documenting that more effectively than I have, I believe. I've sat down and stared at the screen until my bum cheeks were numb. I've scribbled ideas on post-its which are strewn about my table and in my handbag. I've had moments of great clarity and many other moments of anxiety, fear and despondency with regard to what I had originally envisioned would be my 'process'. A part of me still believes the whole thing will ‘kick in’ soon and I’ll one day find myself tied to my computer for three weeks, word vomiting like Kerouac did with On the Road. Three weeks of non-stop typing (and as legend has it, a lot of pea soup) and that classic was born! Maybe that’s where I’ve gone wrong thus far...not enough peas in my life. 

That is not to say I have not benefitted from the efforts I have made so far. They have in fact yielded a great deal (only not in the form of fiction – dammit!). Writing is cathartic after all. For many, it is the best form of therapy and this probably holds true for me as well. Still, for my eight months away, I have ultimately found it difficult to take myself to ‘those places’ wherein I am withdrawing from a bank of memories, some painful and others difficult to extricate from the recesses of my psyche. To revisit those places - to take myself to that emotional place – I find difficult to do in long stints. So I work in short bursts and find myself unable/unwilling to go too far into myself for too long (for fear of not being able to pull myself back out). Thus, what I do get on paper is limited. It is a painful process for me. Some will say the only thing that makes writers write is a deadline. For me, writing is not fun. It is, however, a compulsion and I cannot lie, I KNOW I will need to get this done. Eventually. I actually feel that the only way I'll find satisfaction with this process is when I find the strength to endure those 'difficult' places (or become an alcoholic?) long enough to get it all down in writing. Ah, there's the rub!

I imagine this must be so common amongst fledgling writers. Finding a rhythm, finding a discipline. I saw an interview with Philip Roth recently who has written some 30+ books. I am Random Girl’s dropped jaw. I look forward to breaking through this crippling adolescent phase in a writer’s life when the need to exorcise one’s demons or to dissect the minutiae of everyday life remains the main motivation. I long to find that place of pure creativity where ideas just come from the blue. What I write will always be a composite of real people or events, sure, but it will be good once I get to that place where it needn’t be so personal in order to be purposeful. I would like to find that level of expression, if it’s possible for me, if it exists. I wonder whether that form of creation is a purer art form or not to that which is more directly drawn from one’s life. Maybe it doesn’t matter a damn.

I suppose it’s time to get angry. Anger is a great motivator, to be sure and truth comes too readily when I’m at my most angry. I do often ask myself why I should be so compelled by this notion of speaking the truth, when so many others feel that silence is golden. Random Girl is still working on that one. Sometimes it seems that most people will opt for whatever’s easy over whatever’s true. That’s a discussion for another time perhaps. But it does make me doubt from time to time whether there is a point to any expression of truth when people seem to embrace the other so readily. It doesn’t take long for me to answer that for myself though. 

All I can do is persevere and try to find my motivation every day. I wish the best to anyone else out there who is in a similar situation. Perhaps you could forward me some pointers? 

The rest of my life here in Winter-hagen has rounded out quite nicely so far, so now I feel I must pull up my socks with this. In the meantime, I just have to try to stay warm, see out this cold… and stock up on some pea soup. 

Random Girl