I told myself that my current project — the follow-up to Rusty Star — would be different. Unlike previous novels, I vowed not to grind away just because I had time or to fill my weekends with 5000-word goals, simply to get the project done faster. Honestly, that’s the most challenging part after getting into the characters, their motivations, and their stories. Often, it feels like I’m simply downloading dialogue and information, one big conduit at work. To that end, I have to watch myself so that I don’t overdo things and stretch myself thin.

Currently, on 85000 words, there isn’t that much left for the story. I think it’s at least ten thousand more, maybe fifteen, but until Russell tells me everything is tied up in a bow, it could be a slow crawl to the end. Knowing this, I want to embrace these final days and weeks of the process. Am I drained? Absolutely, but not because of the writing, but from the emotional exchange that happens with certain scenes and situations characters find themselves in.
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​Knowing that the end of the book offers little to no reprieve, with continuous emotional hits on Russell, I took a retreat this past weekend to Tarifa, Spain. There were two vlogs I released in the spring on this little fishing haven and Kite Surfing retreat at Spain’s southernmost point that I won’t repeat, but will simply share below if you're interested in seeing more.

Even though Tarifa is directly across the water —Tangier’s water twin, if you will — they couldn’t be more different. Tarifa is a small village, not even a city in my book, and a transfer point where people ferry across for the price of a Ryanair plane ticket, then take the shuttle bus onwards to Algeciras, and then to Marbella, Malaga, or Seville. Anyway, it’s an overnight stay at best, a pub crawl for the hardy, and for this guy, an energetic shift away from the heaviness that is Tangier. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Tangier’s energy is a blessing to many, but in my case, from the get-go, the area grinds at me more than any other place I have lived. It’s an uphill struggle daily, and like Sisyphus, I climb the mountain and once at the top, I can rest, until the next day, when everything repeats. But as the boulder rolls down the hill, my reprieve is writing, unless of course, I get out of Dodge for a quick recharge.

This past weekend, Tarifa was the place to be. It’s just far enough away that the current and the water flow behave differently. Where you get monster waves and a consistent wind that Wind and Kite Surfers adore, and a picturesque beach that goes on for miles, Tangier has some sand that serves as a rest stop. The water haphazardly comes in for a mediocre hive five and a promise that it might be fun, someday. While there might be a one hump camel or two roaming the sand for a quick buck and Arabian horses for the same, on Tarifa’s beaches, the dogs that visit are on vacation with their owners, basking in the sun no less, and topless nudity appears to be unisex in nature. More importantly, for this guy, the sand and the water, with the wind on my face, and the ability to grab an adult beverage if the need comes, is just what I need to recenter and find the energy to write again, let alone return to a classroom full of energetic wilderbeasts . . . I mean, wonderful children. 

Sometimes, I get too wordy. Of course, I meant wonderful, loving, polite children. That’s how it’s been at every location I have taught the last twenty-plus years. Cherubim and angels, gumdrops, and fairies, right? 

Tarifa, though, is a wonderful place to visit. It’s easy enough to see everything in the old town within twenty minutes. If you want to do the tapa thing, go for it — there are ample food choices to keep your interest, or, in my case, a Lidl with this delicious pecking snack of salted pork and fresh bread that cries out for my attention. 

On my last trip, I pretended to be a grand hiker, eager to see if I could meander my way onto parts of the El Camino de Santiego. Still, alas, I ended up in a cow pasture, staring down the locals, and wondering why an hour-long hike along the cliffs, looking out onto the ocean, was therapy for my soul. 
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It doesn’t matter how long I stay in Tarifa, simply breathing the fresh air, smelling the salt of the Atlantic Ocean current, and taking a moment to sit and rest is honestly the best recipe for any ailment I’m suffering from. This weekend was a welcome reprieve, and I imagine there will be a few more trips in the months to come. 

If you ever find yourself eager to get to Morocco, veer off and check out this fishing spot; you might find a place you didn’t realize you needed. Or when you leave Morocco, take the ferry across and instead of pushing onwards to some ridiculous city that lacks charm and spirit, spend a few hours in Tarifa to see how the locals live and what honest Spanish living is all about. 
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As I stretch out across the couch with the late afternoon sun baking the apartment walls and to the hum of intermittent construction noises in Tanger, I reflect on how every book writing process differs. I should be working on my latest piece, a collection of travel essays from when I explored Poland. 

The topic itself is intriguing and fun to revisit. With twenty-something trips during the school year, I explored everywhere I could in that country. Still, as I put those memories to words, it's slower than I expected without the vlogs to drum up every detail. I fixate on street names when it’s unimportant or focus on random side stories that fellow travelers aren’t going to relate to, and yet that’s okay. 

At this stage of my writing career, the fun is simply creating. I’m 36,000 words in, and that’s a nice amount. While I hoped to be at 40k by the end of the weekend, a rib injury is also draining me of creative energy and the urge to write. I am remiss of that fact, but then again, we have to pace ourselves. 
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With Emotional Spending out, I have been able to focus on other projects, which has been nice. Brindisi and Me, the project of projects, is finally at a point where another read-through will be enough, and then that memoir on time living in Italy will be complete. Here’s the working book description.

Sent to southern Italy to live and teach for two years, this book focuses on Jonathan’s time spent in Brindisi and Puglia. Growing up in New Hampshire, Jonathan had enough preconceived notions to make even him blush upon arrival. While culture shock certainly took over, Jonathan found a connection to the area, the people, and the energy that permeates this part of Italy. Years later, he looks back fondly on his time spent teaching at a small international school, while navigating the ups and downs of being an expat in an area where few spoke English. Culturally, the area is not user-friendly for introverted people, and this was one of the many challenges Jonathan faced head-on.

Serving as part memoir and travel blog, Jonathan reflects on the early stages of navigating the visa process, from first impressions upon flying over the Atlantic to getting acclimated to apartment living, cats, dogs, and siesta times. He delves into the refugee situation, the concept of the good life, and where to find the best, ideal holiday retreats, among other topics. 

This book is intended for expats or those considering a move to Italy, particularly those interested in international school teaching and what to expect, not only in Brindisi, but also in other countries where life differs from our hamlets in the United States.  

In the weeks ahead, as the school year ends, I hope to have another update. Who knows, maybe I can get to 50,000 words next month for the Poland book and give you a timeline for when Brindisi will be ready for your eyes to enjoy. 

In the meantime, here’s my vlog from Tarifa, where I announced the release of Emotional Spending. Even if you don’t feel pulled to the book, the hike has some great views and some ice cream to die for. Till next time.

​JFK

Saturdays in Tangier borderline suck. While all I want to do is just relax in my apartment and chill after a week in the classroom, the owners of the apartment beneath me have deemed Saturdays the only day for renovations. I’m reasonably confident they aren’t even home, but the two or three-person crew appears at the most random times to pretend they are hard at work adapting two or three cement rooms. 

Who cares about the signs in the lobby stating construction noise is only from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m.? That would be too easy to follow and would make sense to any person. No, instead, sometimes I hear the melody of hammers well after eight on Saturday evenings. Lo and behold, today is the exception. This amazing crew loaded up the elevator with tiles and began hammering away at noon. 

Thirty minutes in the choir continues, but I have faith that in all their industrious activities, the lull will begin shortly to continue at thirty or forty minute intervals intermittently. That’s Tangier construction for you. 

The fun part, though, is that Ramadan has now begun. While many are preserving their strength while they fast the daylight hours away, this team of building experts is hard at work while the homeowners are living their dual citizenship dream in Spain or France. A different crew begins their work time melody, and I am off to wonder how Islam’s holiest month becomes the best time for construction renovations and projects. The cafe five floors below has a team working their magic while the call to prayer echoes across the walls and the surrounding buildings.

While I should be busy on my next writing project, I wanted to chime in and share that with March now upon us, Brindisi and Me is done. It only took four years and some additional weeks to fix the initial draft to something that can be shared with others. All told, it took about a month to rewrite each chapter from scratch. Some sections were salvageable, while others needed complete revamping. 

I’m relieved to check this off the writing list, so I can now focus on other projects in between my travel vlogging. My newest book, sharing my adventures with money, will be out in mid-April. There’s one more read-through before I give it the go-ahead to be published. 

If it had been one of my fiction books, I would have sent it to my editor, but nonfiction is a different type of writing, one that I know is part style and traditional form. As for Brindisi and Me, the plan is to release it in June or July. I’ll keep you posted while I dive into my latest book, Forever Poland, a memoir of my time living in the country and several years of extensive travel to all her wonderful regions. I’m even returning in late March to hit a few more cities and spots that can be added to this growing book. 

We will see how long it takes to write this new book, and then I imagine I’ll return to fiction. Enjoy March and the approaching spring season. I will share more updates as they occur. 

Peace,
JFK

This post was supposed to be about my triumphant return to writing - yes, I had intended to do National Novel Writing Month. Last Friday night I even started a new novel. I surprised myself and began the first 1000 words of a post apocalyptic story. The story was dark and had the same brooding as Rusty Star and the Varissian Affair. 

I found the irony the new story would follow this same trend, when I had first considered writing a story about a man returning to the States for a family wedding. As I have not been to a wedding in years - seriously since my ill-fated courthouse nuptials more than a decade ago - I couldn't even tell you the last wedding I attended that wasn't in a Hallmark movie or TV show. It's been that long.

So the whole idea of writing about a wedding seemed a bit off-putting. The entire idea seemed more difficult than writing from a man's perspective on what life would be like if the world was at a turning point - you know only steps away from coming to an end. Throw me in the middle of the woods, in crappy weather, and some unknown power threatening all life for me to find any meaningful words to throw down on the computer.

This motivation drove Friday night, but when time came to start the next words on Saturday, I found myself drawn more to the next travel vlog, my next destination, and frankly how best to spend the Christmas holidays. 

For those looking for new books to read, it will happen eventually. While I thought Morocco would inspire me in multiple ways, daily living has been all that I can handle of late. My celebrations have consisted of waiting ten days for a new fleece blanket to arrive and for a shower curtain to replace the stained and grimy one that was left for my personal use in my overrated water view apartment.

Even pondering that fine move from the end of August, I've only lived in my current apartment for 2.5 months. It seems longer and yet shorter. There are still things I would add to make it feel like home, but due to the location, cost of goods, and motivation, I'm more like will any changes really make the space better? Will adding more rugs truly improve the space when I would rather add pictures to these cement walls. 

The poor finishing touches with sockets and lights bring me pause and yet there's nothing I can do when it takes ten days simply to get any repair done. There is no rush here - at least that's my impression. People are more concerned about daily living and what impacts their bottom line. Out of sight - out of mind. We've done this mentality before, but here in the northern tip of Africa, it seems to ring more true. 

I imagine I'll be back into a writing groove at some point this year and yet I can't tell you when. I'm looking forward to visiting new locations, experiencing Christmas markets once more, and to feeling the cool embrace of winter weather. That's my focal point. As the apartment adds more charms, maybe I'll shift and a new story will find itss way to print or not.