Working at maximum Cinquecento velocity means we certainly aren’t bored.
I remember talking to an old friend who is in the software business about the precise moment when we freelancers hit maximum velocity. He runs a software engineering company with many people on staff, and I run a creative company of one (me)—and often, co-run a company of two (with Kirk).
But fundamentally the issues of being entrepreneurs are the same for my friend and me—the trials and tribulations have been a robust topic of conversation for 40 years now. Early on in our careers, when both of us were working at max velocity, he talked about being in Italy for a vacation and seeing tiny old Cinquecento cars—can you picture the cute-as-a-bug Fiat-500 car I’m talking about, a ‘micro car?’—driving along the Italian Autostrade.
The Autostrade speed limit in Italy is higher than it is in Canada: 130 km. These Cinquecentos would drive the max speed on those highways—probably over—literally vibrating. It was as if at any moment, those tiny cars would just fall apart. My friend likened those micro-cars, driving at that speed, to our max velocity entrepreneurial lives. That’s when, he said, you know it’s time to change something, because that tiny car can’t keep going at that gear, and that velocity, for long. It’s time to change to a different vehicle, one with improved capacity and efficiency. How could we move to the next entrepreneurial level without having our metaphoric car fall apart on the highway?
I feel a bit like Kirk and I are at that spot now. We are firing on all cylinders. We just got through managing a wonderful month-long tour of The Knitting Pilgrim in BC, while also doing a rewrite on a screenplay that is placed with a producer, and doing rewrites on Spycraft, our next play, which goes into production in the fall.
Now we are mid-The Knitting Pilgrim tour in the UK, meeting wonderful people who have both booked us, and also those who are attending our shows, but we are also, just a tiny bit, like that Cinquecento on the road, vibrating as we try to drive the Autostrade at top speed. Kirk is interviewing with radio and other media about the tour, he’s knitting test swatches for Spycraft, exploring how to knit code into lovely patterns for the wardrobe of the show, I am managing the social media promotion of the tour, working on new movie ideas, rewriting the pilot and bible for the TV adaptation of my book, At Last Count, and beginning to think about the sequel to Lost in France.
Always, I end up at this spot, wishing we had an assistant, but not having the funds to pay one. When funds do appear, we end up spending them on the more pressing issue of the moment, whatever that may be. And so we are stretched to the limit, writing grant applications, doing creative work and trying to prioritize that work (the only quadrant we really want to be in), and just generally managing life. So I guess we are still that tiny determined Cinquecento on the Autostrade, driving at peak velocity, so happy in the busy, stimulating, creative life we have chosen, but wishing that we could gear down for just a bit.
“Well, we certainly aren’t bored.” That is what Kirk said to me a few days ago. That for sure is true.
To double down on the car imagery for a moment, I took driving lessons when I was 21, and my Young Driver’s of Canada teacher said to me: look where you want to go, not where you don’t. In other words, if there is a bag of nails on the road, don’t stare at it—you’ll end up driving right toward and over it. Instead, see the bag of nails, and then look at the place where you want to go, the happy, open road—and you’ll go there.
While we certainly aren’t bored, I don’t think I ever imagined that I’d be this busy at this stage of my career and life. Sometimes it’s hard to remember that it’s a good busy, because we are pulled in so many directions, and it can feel like we’re fraying at the edges.
So it’s occurred to me, like my driving teacher advised, to look at the place we want to go, focus on that, and avoid the bag of nails on the road.
Here are a few of the wonderful things on our Knitting Pilgrim Tour I’m focusing on at the moment, big and small, that come as a direct result of writing:
1. All our bags survived a two-plane hop across the ocean and arrived in Manchester, UK
We fretted (okay I fretted while Kirk knitted) that all 13 bags wouldn’t make it onto the connecting flight from Heathrow to Manchester. They did.
2. Seals on the North Sea beach, Cullen, Scotland
Our first show of the UK tour was booked through NEAT (North East Arts Touring) in Portgordon, Scotland, on the coast of the North Sea.
When we rounded the corner to settle into the cottage where our kind host Alistair was putting us up, in the nearby village of Cullen, there were seals, just relaxing on the beach. Seals!
The lovely people of Portgordon even offered tea and biscuits, and held a raffle, after the show.
Here is the Portgordon village hall at night, where we performed.
And Portgordon village at night. Gorgeous.
3. Cullen Skink in Buckie, Scotland
The day after performing The Knitting Pilgrim in Portgordon village hall, we had lunch with the head of NEAT Moray, Leah Rossvoll. Kirk and I decided to enjoy local delicacies. Kirk ordered Scottish stovies with oatcakes, and I ordered Cullen Skink. Stovies is a stew of potatoes and often leftover meat--whatever you happen to have on hand. I asked why stovies is plural, when a stew is singular. No one could answer that question.
My Cullen Skink was a smoked haddock chowder. The internet tells me that this is one of Scotland's most famous dishes from Cullen, the tiny seaside village (I think the population is somewhere around 1400) where we stayed overnight. Skink is the Scottish term for a knuckle, shin, or hough of beef, but when people in northern Scotland were unable to find scraps of beef due to economic strains, they turned to fish. The meat stew became a fish soup, and the name skink stuck. Delish.
4. Tomnaverie stone circle outside Tarland
After our show in Tarland, Scotland, our kind hosts Carrie and Ian took us to the Tomnaverie stone circle just outside of town. It’s a recumbent stone circle, a kind of monument found only in north-eastern Scotland. It features a large stone on its side, flanked by two upright stones, surrounding a burial cairn dating to about 4,500 years ago. It might have been used for astronomical observation, who knows. And it had a spectacular view of the mountains all around. It was a thrill to see it, as night fell. Pure magic.
5. Mark Lisgo, our projection operator and driver
We struggled to find a UK-based projection operator and driver for our tour, which as you can imagine was anxiety making. So we thank our lucky stars to have met Mark Lisgo, who has done it all, working all over the world at huge conferences, sporting events, cruise ships—and now The Knitting Pilgrim. He has solved a lot of problems for us on the fly, is calm and composed, and has driven us and the show all over the UK.
He has also introduced us to a few interesting UK-ish things we had not tried before. When we were in Scotland, he bought us IRN-BRU, an orange pop that is yummy.
Those are just a few great moments on the road paved by writing. I will focus on those and the many other delightful things as our little Cinquecento lives go forth at maximum velocity.
Claire