I've been thinking a lot about productivity and the art of getting things done, and what that stuff is all about.  It's funny how what should be simple gets awfully complicated very, very fast.

First up, there's one simple way to get things done: sit down and do them.  As far as that goes, you really can't get around it.  If you look on Hacker News you can find a million feel-good articles on how to achieve, but you'll spend more hours reading them than actually doing things.  They all boil down to the same message: You just have to do it.

You can't just sit down and do things though, can you?  There's always something stopping you.  I know all about that.  I think that the main barrier is the idea of failure: by starting something, you open up to the idea that maybe you won't finish it.  That's a scary prospect, and yet, it's completely made up by you, in your head, at that moment.  No-one else cares what you're doing with your life.  The Cult of Done Manifesto tries to answer this one with a few ideas about how to give up on the idea of not finishing and just focus on the act of doing.  The theory is, if you keep hammering out ideas, it won't matter that your ideas are incomplete - you'll find achievement in just doing things.  The whole concept of 'done' goes right out the window and doing takes charge.

What about running out of ideas though? ZeFrank calls it Brain Crack: the theory that if you hold on to those ideas, you'll live with their potential, telling yourself that if you ever get round to them, they'll be great. You sidestep the idea of failure by never starting at all, but instead just telling everyone about all the genius ideas that float around in your head.  "I run out of ideas every day", says Ze.  What a wonderful thing to aspire to.

Another problem that I've run up against is what Kevin Smith and Scott Mosier talk about in one particular Smodcast episode (#154 Smundance) - the risk involved.  Sometimes you don't start things, or you abandon things, because the next step is something risky.  It might be that you have to sink money into it, or you've hit a critical point where people might reject your idea, but for some reason, you stop and think.  That wall is the good bit: that's where stuff gets interesting.  You have to commit at that point.  I can't repeat everything that Smith and Mosier talk about here, but there are some great comments in the podcast.  They point out that it's not the end of the world if your project fails, that it's just one part of your life.  They talk about how you would feel if you didn't take that risk, and how you'd always wonder.  They also say something that really struck a chord with me: there will always be waves.  Sometimes stuff is plain sailing but you'll always hit waves once in a while.  The thing is, do you want your boat in a paddling pool, or out in the ocean?  It's a bit cheesy, but I know the feeling: loads of my ideas get stuck in dry dock because I'm too afraid to push them out into the open waters.  Ok, ok, I'm stopping now.

There are a lot of ways to get over the fear.  Some will work for you, others won't.  I think that the most important thing is to just keep starting stuff, even if you never do finish it, because one day you'll start something that you love enough to keep doing.  Set tiny goals, achieve often.

You can tell I've been in the middle of a project for a while, can't you?

On sunday (well, on Saturday and Sunday, technically) I had a first go at making bread.  Baking absolutely terrifies me - my girlfriend is a wizard when it comes to the art, but I can't make head nor tail of it.  I am an approximate cook - I like to do things by taste.  I hate measuring, despite my scientific tendencies, so when I cook everything is done using the universal measurements of "That looks about right" and "Just another pinch, I think".  Baking is all about precisely measuring everything, mixing it together, and then putting it in the oven and hoping, so it doesn't really fit in with my style.  No knead bread, on the other hand, is different, because it contains very few ingredients and gives you quite a bit of feedback as you go.  Baking for the less precise artist, I suppose.

Cups are a deceptive measurement, though, aren't they?  Especially when the recipe calls for 5/8's of a cup.  That isn't a real measurement at all.  And so, as is my way with things, I ended up making an incredibly runny dough which was a nightmare to work with.  A whole lot more flour added saved the day, but I am still washing the dregs of the mixture out of the teatowel.  I ended up with a very flat, heavy, but successful loaf that I am immensely proud of, even if the crust is rock solid.  The next batch is already in preparation.  I think I could get into bread making, especially if there are more ways to do it as easily as this.

Well, look at that.  Daylight is here again, streaming in through my windows at unheard of hours like 7:30am and 5pm.  I love this time of year because while I'm not sure I'd pass for an SAD sufferer, I definitely get a lot more deflated over Winter.  Every year Kristy and I try to come up with ways to beat the blues, which have this year involved amazing hot chocolates, baileys, hot toddies, and for me, a hell of a lot of programming.  I've written three major projects since the nights began to draw in and I'm really proud of them all, and we've cooked a lot of good stuff, too.  I think the greatest find was Nigella's Mexican Lasagne (from Kitchen) which is a lasagne made up of cheese, beans, salsa and tortillas.  I think we'll be cooking that one a lot.

Anyway, enough of that! The light is coming again! Every day we gain over three full minutes of daytime to swan about in!  By the end of February I'll be getting home from work in daylight, and in March the clocks change and suddenly everything will be ok again, I'll be coming home to cocktals in the garden whenever the weather allows.  Fantastic.  This is what I spend winter waiting for.