Grindstones

“Keeping my nose to the grindstone” to mean “working hard” is a peculiar phrase, even for English idioms. It’s thought to originate in the practice of sharpening blades or other tools on a grindstone, where leaning close gives you a good view.

(My dad used a grindstone with a great deal of confidence, resharpening his kitchen knives with a smooth whisht-whisht action and an occasional spark. I use a handy kitchen device which absolutely doesn’t work, but also doesn’t scare the crap out of me.)

Someone with a lot of tools to sharpen might keep their nose close as they diligently worked through the pile; thus, keeping your nose to the grindstone means you’re putting in effort and paying attention.

But its first recording, in 1532, doesn’t appear to be about diligence. The phrase appears in a work by English Protestant martyr John Frith, “A mirrour or glasse to know thyselfe”, where he says of his opposition: “This Text holdeth their noses so hard to the grindstone, that it clean disfigureth their faces”.

I wasn’t able to find a complete version of the text to get the full context, but it seems to me this particular example isn’t about working hard, but about grinding knowledge or beliefs into somebody, and relishing any suffering that results. On the whole, I would have to say that I am anti-suffering, a bold and brave statement that I hope no one will hold against me.

Deadlines

Nevertheless, I am holding my own nose to the grindstone as I work on finishing the Aphrodite Unbound first draft. I am even ignoring the dishes and the parlous state of my kitchen floor, which is not exactly disfigurement, but certainly produces discomfort.

My discomfort is partly because I have this teeny tiny inclination towards perfectionism. I like this story, and I want to linger with it until it’s all that it could be.

However! I have never yet written a book that is all that it can be, and I’m not sure that it’s possible. What I do know is that I can write a good story that many readers will enjoy, and getting that story out there for them to find is a far more valuable contribution to the world than polishing a gem no one ever gets to admire. (Pre-order now! Just saying.) Good enough is still good! Perfect is the enemy of done! And other things I say to make myself just write the damn scene instead of spending twenty minutes on the ideal phrasing of a sentence.

Practically speaking, I also want Aphrodite off my to-do list, so that I can make a really solid start on the Bespoke and Bespelled sequel these school holidays. (Magic! Haunting! Film sets! Catering!)

I am teaching full time this week and all of Term Three, a choice that is good for my bank account and bad for my time and energy reserves, and I know better than to expect substantial progress from myself during that period.

I’ll still be updating the newsletter weekly-ish, and paid subscribers can expect their monthly Business of Writing exclusive!

Driving

My new job entails driving out of the city a fair distance every morning and afternoon. The commute isn’t appreciably longer than for my previous school, but most of it’s on the motorway, and a lot faster than I’m used to, which means I am paying close attention the whole time.

I learned to drive in my mid-thirties, and I am a fairly nervous driver. I cannot help but be aware of the heavy things going very fast and the squishy and breakable people trapped in the heavy things. I had my old commute down to the point where I’d more or less memorised the stop lights and could safely allot some of my brain to daydreaming and plot details, but it’s going to take a little while before I can relax my jaw on my current route.

I did explore the bus options, but they’re more geared to people coming into town; I can’t guarantee I’ll be on time every morning, and schools tend to get a little worried when they don’t have teachers in classrooms.

But the skies are huge and the country is beautiful, and I drive with the sun rising on my right.

Lightening Days

THANK GOODNESS, THE SHORTEST DAY HAS BEEN AND GONE.

It’s still cold and grey, but there’s a little more light every day. (Sorry, Northern Hemispherers, for whom the opposite is true.) I feel less like I’m dragging myself through every morning, and more as I can open my arms to the day.

Soon we’ll have Matariki, the celebration of light, gathering, reflection, renewal and kai. This year, I plan to use the rēwena recipe I’ve had stuck on my fridge since I saw the excellent play of the same name in March. Nothing like a little kneading and the magic of yeast to celebrate the perseverance of life!

Even with my nose to the grindstone.