How Not to Be a Beer Writer
The below is a (probably) day to day exercise in sanity, while attempting to navigate a world replete with rejection, AI, and general disinterest. I originally segregated by week. As the dates, and frankly, the days, are irrelevant, I chose to keep this as a running page.
Thursday
When I sat down this morning, I immediately got stuck into a piece on the effects of adding fruit during fermentation. Contrasting the effects of such a regime against the post fermentation additions so common to the canned sours gracing the warm shelves of the LCBO. Strangely, I was ejected from the rabbit hole in which I regularly find myself beyond lost, and onto The Exchange Brewery’s site. I got a little carried away and now am expecting a large box of complex and complicated beers sometime tomorrow. I am mildly concerned about fridge space. Order placed. Back to the keyboard.
Friday
I woke up an unfathomable number of times last night without an inkling as to why. Nothing seems to be consistent and my thesis on the phytomelatonins and precursors in cherries is now out the window. Perhaps I need to switch to kriek. I’m surprisingly functional with less than six hours of sleep today, but I’m thankful in a way that my gym partner is suffering from gardening induced overuse symptoms, and it’s a day off from lifting.
I open up my pitch target and tracking spreadsheet, and the sea of red and light red highlights is less than encouraging. Red is a full reject, light red indicates zero responses seven days from the third follow-up. I believe this is referred to as ghosting. There are currently fifteen unhighlighted rows, which means they are still out there and potentially viable. So there is a sliver of hope.
I finished the rough draft of the fruit piece and decided to make my way outside to assess the general condition of the back yard. The garden is growing strong, and I was vastly outnumbered by the bee population. Always a good sign. The raccoons seem to have come to terms with the fact that I would prefer they did not use the outdoor furniture as a latrine. How they came to this understanding we will never know, but it certainly alleviates some stress. The level of fly activity by the basement stairs however, leads me to believe this is the newly selected outhouse. I am correct.
I’ve also reminded myself that it is Friday, and I shall be visiting La Fromagerie, and rewarding myself with some delicious cheese and beer this evening. It’s not all bad.
Saturday
Saturdays are french press mornings. Quick, easy, gets me out and to the grocery store right as it opens. A deep scan of the LCBO site revealed that they released la Vermontoise Saison, brewed by Brasserie de Blaugies, Dour, Belgium. I rode over to the only location that seems to carry it, and returned, successful. This is a rarity, with inventory management and the website not exactly seeing eye to eye.
I paired some douanier with a NEIPA. Not a particularly happy marriage, but not all bad. Unfortunately for me, this was the cheese I wanted and this was the beer I wanted. Cleaned it all up with Willibald Dreamy IPA, which is one that I am really into right now, and went to bed. I just drank that one. Sure I sniffed a bit, but I hung up my tasting hat for the night and took no notes.
Sunday
After two parties, afternoon sun and a fragmented sleep, I am tired. I’ve been roped into world cup fever, and have successfully wasted several hours so far this week. None of this has anything to do with beer, or writing, or the lack thereof. Well maybe the lack thereof. Luckily I have a lot of ammunition for some reviews, a discipline with which I am heavily conflicted. Beer reviews and wine reviews are vastly different. First off, the wine is not oxidized and rendered undrinkable before the review makes it to print. Second, the wine is usually still available when the review hits the press, and thirdly, wine reviews, as peculiar as it may seem, have the ability not to sound corny and snobbish. Perhaps it’s the writing itself, or the writers more accurately, or perhaps it’s because of the status wine holds. I think that the available language is more diverse, a bigger pool from which to pull words likely leads to a less pretentious output. All beer reviews start with “it pours a -insert colour here-”. It’s like a dinner party where everyone has a similar story about tipping the luggage handler, or something like that.
Monday
I appear to have slept, although alertness seems to be lower than ideal. If coffee fixes it, then the case upon which rests my entire caffeine position is rendered null. Looking at the sheet I see there are multiple pitches who are in need of a follow up. I have six reviews to write up, and a couple new pieces to start on so that should take my mind off the plethora of rejections and no-replies. Last week’s editor feedback was less than stellar and although the battle continues, the allure of exclusive self-publishing is strong.
When I worked in capital market, an industry littered with insecure and manipulative people, I became quite accustomed to irrational rejection. “You aren’t trading our stock enough”, an issuer may tell a banker. Once we became the number one transacter in said security, “ you trade it too much” would become the rebuke. No win. I’m feeling a bit of that now. When told that one idea is too basic and the next idea is too complex, well that seems like a set up. I doubt it is.
I finally gathered the courage to ask an editor what they actually wanted. Awaiting me, in my inbox, is dust.
Tuesday
I’ve decided to make this one running page. The dates likely don’t matter, the subject matter is suspect, and the exercise is in the exercise. I got three reviews done yesterday, used the phrase “it pours” precisely zero times, and spent most of the time trying to convince software not to display megalithic images on the posts. I seem to have finally optimized some of the settings, which should allow for a lot less manual hair removal.
Unlike most Mondays, which are for the most part uneventful, I received a request for the accompanying photos for a submitted travel piece. Although non-conclusive, this indicates some interest. The remainder of potential transmissions remain in radio silence.
When I could not locate either of my passports, which I was convinced were on my desk, I decided it was time for an office clean up. Spoiler alert, they were both on my desk. My Canadian passport is in need of a renewal soon, hopefully tomorrow I will saunter up to the photo shop and get things organized. The delivery came at the most opportune moment. Having been sucked into the Portugal-Uzbekistan game, the doorbell rang at precisely the moment the final whistle blew.
Wednesday
A peculiar set of dreams set me off on a piece on the fallacy of beer reviews. Coffee in hand I proceed to bang that out in very rough form, start to finish, one go. I then proceeded to write another review. My fear of storage space has come to fruition. The fridge downstairs is in no condition to host the rather large recent acquisition. Large in quantity and bottle size. Nice problems to have I suppose, but rather inconvenient as some are now laying horizontal in my wine fridge. Not so ideal for beer, but hopefully, temporary. The roasted sesame paste and gochujang may need to find another home shortly.
I see that Bellwoods has a few new releases. These guys churn out more new beers than anyone who comes to mind. And they are all good, and it’s a short walk, and even shorter, albeit harrowing, bike ride from my house. Damn them.
A note from the lads indicates we won’t be lifting today. This means I can get more work done earlier and perhaps, if the weather cooperates, get some additional reading done, out of doors. I’m currently navigating the acid trip that is Ulyses, fully identifying with the remarks of praise from the likes of Hemingway, Eliot, and Burgess. We shall see.
Thursday
I missed the 12:30 wakeup which has become, if not exceedingly frustrating, standard.
Senseless wakeup was transposed to 4:30 am, which seemed a bit less worse. I assumed it was 4:30, because once I realized my attempts at re-engaging in slumber were not taking hold I checked the time. It read 4:45. The beauty of having a profession, or lifestyle, or both, where one does not require an alarm clock, is that one does not require an alarm clock. I wake up when my body decides its time, or when the early morning summer sun beams into my bed, accompanied by a symphony of songbirds. Or when the cat decides, in some perverted WWE fantasy, to leap from the window sill and on to the bed, rarely missing my legs. That being said, I wear an apple watch to track my sleep. So I am able to see what time it is, should I choose to. Four Thirty is not an unreasonable time to get up, but I didn’t really want to. I fell back asleep, had a melange of insane dreams including one whereby I was dictating entire articles on fruited lambics whilst attempting to wash lipstick off an oversized Fin Du Monde chalice type glass. A shape, to the best of my knowledge, which that beer’s logo has never graced.
Now that I am up, I have changed the filter on the vacuum syphon, which as menial an accomplishment that may sound, makes the coffee brewing experience significantly faster, and am now sitting down writing run-on sentences about coffee filters.
To work. It’s my daughter’s high school graduation today. I have been instructed to wear pants and a shirt involving a collar and buttons. As such I need to get all my writing done earlier. I say this as I expelled verbal diarrhea into this section instead of actually writing. Such is life. No emails of note, spam empty. The pitch tracker indicates that a few articles are now ripe for self publishing. I have another couple reviews to finish up too, so it will be a productive morning, regardless of success. I’ve also learned that the LCBO has released an oud bruin, and it’s only six kilometers away, so out I will go, navigating the random pedestrians, glued to phones, wandering into the bike lanes.
Friday
Back to the midnight wake up. Perhaps I came by it honestly, as sleeping with the window open tends to expose one to inclement weather. We had a rager of a thunderstorm last night, and the constant illumination of the room followed by ear shattering claps might have contributed.
I have two new reviews to write up, which seems to be my new thing while all these pieces are in limbo. As a graduation celebration we ate at said Korean restaurant. The beer choices, aside from some Ontario craft, Sapporo and vitamin G, were two Korean beers and one Japanese craft. The Korean options were pale industrial lagers, and though I would have had one just for the checkmark, it was not that kind of night. While recognizing the sensitivities of ordering Japanese beer in a Korean establishment, I reconciled with the fact that they stock and serve, and it’s on the menu. Review coming shortly.
Saturday
I seem to have absolutely nothing in the hopper. The wheels ceased to turn, and so I shall make my way back downstairs, finish my coffee outside and perhaps read. I am almost through This Side of Paradise, and I can’t wait for it to be over. Hopefully I can knock that off and get into something either with a plot, or some beautiful writing.
Monday
Sleep, or the absence of, being what it is, my fingers are missing a lot of keys so far. I have some reviews to polish up, Calgary piece is still outstanding, and more followups are in order. Although it does coincide with logic, or it tracks as they say. Longer trips seem harder to write up. A big part is trying to strip out the minutia of travel. A hard task to accomplish when dogs use the airport lounge as a latrine, or cities shut down over a dusting of snow. School is done for the year, which means that my house is again populated during the day. Strangely this makes me think I am on holiday and my brain ceases to conjure up new ideas about which to write.
Tuesday
Weather and world cup and weather saw me reading in the back yard and coming in for glimpses of the action. Got nowhere. I awoke to an email. Or rather, once I was awake and checking emails, I read that a proposal for a presentation at a summit has been accepted, which means making the decision shortly as to whether I can attend. Excellent news I would say.
Looking at the pitch sheet, the time to expiry on several articles is nigh. This is of course good and bad. Mostly bad as paid publication is slightly important. Good only because I can now self publish, if that’s considered good.
The light roar of thunder and an ominous forecast leads me to believe I will be productive today. At least I’ll be inside, sitting here, hoping to meld a mind-finger connection.