In Need of a Life Plan

I often find it hard to sleep. Going to sleep is not a problem; staying asleep is the thing I find tricky. Thoughts amplify at night; they swirl and gather in corners. But those dark early hours, while the world slumbers and urban foxes bark beyond the window, are the best times to think of plans. In fact, the Grand Author Plan. (Oh yes, I haz one.)

I haven’t been writing much recently and it’s been worrying me. So far, since October, I have written three short stories (more about one, later), fiddled a bit with the novel, and thought up some ideas for more. That’s it... and it’s not enough, not nearly enough. My energy levels dissipate when I commute a long way and work full-time; this time last year I could do it – work during the day and write in the evenings – but now I come home and am fit for nothing. I try to stir myself to be creative but it is like stirring a pot of treacle, and the tired part of me wants to be left alone.

So what are my solutions here? As the dark night does throw me a bone, sometimes.

It seems they focus around my job – take that away, and the creative energy levels rise (as the money falls). But take it away and bang goes my chance of buying a property – mortgage providers love freelancers. In fact, take it away and can I afford to rent my own place, even? It depends what I swap the day job with – another full-time job closer to home? But would that a) pay as well, or b) be viable – the industry I work in is still shaky from the recession. And is swapping like for like worth the effort of change? It might buy me some commute time, but would I be just sticking a plaster over a still sore cut?

Or there is the freelancer route – which sounds attractive but is equally hard work - more so, when bills loom and you have to make it all happen. My experiences of working as a freelancer is like playing the Spectrum game ‘Pitfall’ (anyone remember that?) – desperately swinging from rope to rope, always looking for the next one to grab in order to save you from falling into the pit. I never felt I could relax – even when engaged on a contract I’d be thinking of the next, and the next, and what happens after that one, and this one.

I guess what it comes down to is that I’m scared of just going for it. Eep – I’ve admitted it. I’ve taken risks in the past with my writing – twice I have jettisoned everything in order to follow my dream, and twice I’ve crash-landed, to be honest. The first time I lost sight of my goal and settled for a job with the illusion of writing; the second time was beyond my control – personal circumstances and the recession meant I pretty much lost everything. I guess it is natural then to feel scared about going for it a third time (third time lucky?). If I was in my mid-twenties I probably wouldn’t be feeling this way, but add ten years and suddenly things like security look a lot more attractive.

I actually don’t know what the answer is. But maybe none of us do. It could be that I find somewhere to move to that is closer to the current day job, and this cuts out some commuter stress. As don’t get me wrong, I like the current job – it is probably one of the nicest full-time jobs that I have had. But time flies when you are busy doing something else. I think this is what scares me most of all.

Finishing fears

I am two book reviews short for April and May but if I leave updating the blog until I have scanned the covers and written the reviews, then I fear it will get very dusty around here, and that is no good as I now have 150 lovely folk who have chosen to make my day and click the ‘follow’ button! Woohoo - welcome, friends! The tea is poured and Twirl chocolate bars are on me, in a non-kinky way, you understand. And while there is a happy rustle of wrappers, I shall make a mental note to add the two missing book reviews to June’s book worm post (which will probably make an appearance on this blog in August). Time management, you see. I am having a problem with it of late.

My blog post of a couple of weeks ago was full of joy that I had managed to finish the majority of redrafting and was now on the grand read through, but since then the world has clicked on a few gears and suddenly I have been racing along trying to keep up. Those metaphorical plates have been spinning (and crashing) recently, leaving me feeling rather wrecked. Of course it could have been to do with the free bar at a recent party... All I am saying about that night is being woken by the guard on the last tube home is never a good look. Oh dear. Hic.

It has felt harder recently to click my head into writing mode. I think this is down to the closer I come to the end, the harder I feel it is to let go. This story has been a long term project for me (five years so far) and I guess, silly though it sounds, I am loathe to send it away to seek its fortune. Actually is loathe the right word? Terrified, perhaps? I know potential rejection of the story is not potential rejection of me as a person, but it feels very hard to separate at times.

I have to get my head over this stage and embrace the next – how do you feel towards the end of a project / short story / novel? Are there any techniques you adopt to get over this bit? I do try and focus on the positives and am deep down excited to finish, but also am annoyingly reluctant!

Thumb-tied

Did some evil pixie come along in the night and nick my ability to write? It’s the only thing that can explain my difficulty in stringing words together of late. I’m still on chapter 19, despite all and sundry urging me forwards. It’s like the more I am urged, the more I hedge. The more I hedge, the more I stall. The more I stall, the more I just sit here eating chocolate, whimpering.

I actually think this condition has a name. It’s called The Fear of Finishing.

It is, of course, the fear of sending this puppy away to frolic alone on an agent’s desk. I worry that it will stumble and fall into the wastepaper bin. I am worried it will drool and appear unseemly. I am worried that despite all the research, the agent will not like puppies. I am also worried about this strange puppy analogy – where did that come from?!

This fear is not helping my writing one jot. Every time I try to add more to chapter 19 it seems my vocabulary has reverted to Ladybird Reader style. Florence can run. Max can run. Let’s all run together!

And then there’s this blog. Sometimes I think, well, if I cannot write on the story I will write here instead. But I find myself horribly thumb-tied over here too. And then I feel guilty for spending too long over here thinking about a post when I should be over there pulling my hair out over chapter 19. I keep thinking that sometime I will find a balance with all this – that everything will start to effortlessly fall into place, and I will be able to comment on others, sort out this blog, follow more people, pretty it up a bit, write my story, go to work and back, and all will be smooth-running. At the moment it all feels like plate spinning.

I also think part of the Fear is a self-confidence thing. I’ve never felt that special as just myself, and ‘being a writer’ is the thing (the only thing) that makes me feel that there is a point, my raison d'être. Sending this off is almost like me asking timidly whether I am special or not! I know it shouldn’t be like that, and I shouldn’t think like that… but it is amazingly hard to change the way you are wired. I do try to think positive – it’s like a constant internal battle – sometimes negative wins, sometimes positive.

The thing I am trying to concentrate on now is that everything really is win/win. If I send it away and they like it, fab! If it is rejected, send it again! If it comes back every time see if it can be changed. If not, put it away for a while, congratulate yourself for completing a novel, and start the next one. If I have to believe writing makes me special, then the ambition to keep going can be what makes me special too.

Mired in Gloop

I guess this shouldn’t surprise me. Without revealing too much there has been a change in the status quo this year, and it would be unnatural for it not to affect the way I feel about myself and my creativity. Having my own space in January was like being given a little safe haven, free from worries, of reminders, of anything that squashed my spirit. I felt at peace and full of energy, and it showed in my redrafting – I rattled through six chapters in the evenings and weekends, and improvement showed in my words. Whoop-de-do, I thought.

But back in the same old, same old, and it sadly shows. Being at home for me feels like being trapped in a soft cage of my own making… It is hard to explain without being too personal. I know the door is open; I know I could walk through and out at anytime, and yet I can’t. Perhaps I want to be Rapunzel. Perhaps I am Rapunzel.

Hm. Maybe it is time for a haircut.

But back to writing. The only time over the last week when I felt truly inspired and enthused with my writing was working on my query letter. I’ll probably do another post about that at some point, as the query is such a daunting prospect that it needs a category all of its own. It is slowly coming together though, and mainly the thing I am working on is a short 150 word ‘punchy’ synopsis of my story to go in the letter. Bloody tricky! In truth I would rather lick the road than write a query letter. It has taken me A LOT of chocolate to get this far.

The other thing I have been enthused on recently is expanding the 150 word synopsis to a full page. Some agencies ask for a one-page synopsis, and I want it to be ready just in case. Oh I wish I did this at the very beginning, instead of scribbling a plot that went something like ‘beginning, blankness, end’. Next time…

This brings me neatly to the main thing that is worrying me concerning writing. Have I told the right story? Honing the synopsis has revealed to me another story I could have told involving these characters, and I am really panicked about whether I have plumped for the right tale. The other story idea is basically how this tale is introduced… so it’s not like it could be a prequel or a sequel – I only get one shot at an introduction. And it bothers me, as the other way is also good… (Note the word ‘also’ – how lovely that my subconscious believes in my story better than I do!)

And then alongside all that, I have reached chapter 17 of the redraft, and am planning a coup. It doesn’t know this yet, but chapter 17, 18, 19 and 20 are going to be totally restructured. They are going to be brought into the present tense if it kills me (my writing loves the past tense and is happiest rolling around with the word ‘had’). There is a new bit going in, and it is all going to be fun to write. I keep telling myself that, as the rest of me is unconvinced. The overall plot and ending will not change though – this bit will just make it better. Maybe I need some cheerleading pompoms.

Why can’t I just be happy?

It’s a beautiful winter’s day outside the window. I watch the dog-walkers use the small alley cut-through to the park, and let their dogs off the lead a safe distance within to gambol joyfully in the pale sunshine. The nearby junior school lies deserted, its playground empty, the primary-coloured climbing frame shiny and solitary in the sun. A cat slinks belly-low along a neighbour’s fence, and two sparrows flap startled into the air from the bare branches of a tree.

I watch it all from behind clear glass, the central heating cushioning me from the pale sun and the cool breeze. I want to go outside but I have nowhere to go, not really, not at this time of day. This time of day is for shoppers, children with pocket money, people on a mission, people in a hurry. I have no mission, no hurry. I am nothing much.

I stare ahead, but am not really seeing anymore. My mind is where it always rests, back with the novel. My thoughts whir and skitter between paragraphs, while the words ‘get a job’ bubble up from the depths like noxious gases. Everything collides and is simultaneous – my characters, my finances, my future, my story, my fears, my dreams. Underpinning everything is the hum from the hoover being worked downstairs, and the radio set to old-time classics. My mum sings, and I enjoy her happiness, even as I feel stuck in time, and somewhere out there is another me on a mission in a hurry.

I wonder what she looks like, this other me. Taller, somehow. Graceful. She looks like she is someone as she goes about her day, a real person, not a shadow. She has nice hair. I wonder if I will ever be that girl. The way to being her is through this story, I think. So here I sit, and turn away from the pale sunshine. It’s not for me today.

Staying Cheerful

It’s a tricky thing, staying positive at the moment. I’ve started calling jobs Applications of Joy instead of Doom, giving the whole process a more upbeat feel, but it still doesn’t change the fact the future is as murky as paint water.

The main problem for me is being back at home in my childhood bedroom. It hasn’t changed since I was a teenager. I left the majority of stuff in it when I moved out (Stuff R Us should be the family motto, apart from it sounds less toy shop and more taxidermy than I’d like), and so here I sit, in a room that by and large hasn’t changed since I was 15. It feels, well, sort of odd. It has an air of melancholy, like the young me was pickled in a jar ages ago and is still here somewhere, starry-eyed about the future. Yet here I am, and here I sit, and nothing feels right, not one bit.

You know it is bad when I start rhyming.

But then I try to stay positive, as the good thing is no bills m’lord, and that is exactly what I need right now, at this moment in time. I say ‘no bills’ – well I do pay my mum a bit each month, and then there is the cats insurance, and a myriad of other strange small amounts – but nothing like the big hitters – flat rent, mortgage, electricity - those are the hard ones. So – all good, right? If only moods were so easy!

I can sense my cheerfulness is slipping of late; I get uptight easier, over-react to silly things, more cynical with bigger things. Nothing sits easy with me – I’m constantly thinking about what the hell am I doing? Am I doing enough? Am I letting life slide? Am I opting out? I worry I’m not being a good enough friend, girlfriend, or daughter as I feel so overly occupied with my internal analysing. I find myself doing more childish things – reaching for books I last read while in school uniform, running through old shows and theme tunes on youtube – I’m probably just riding a wave of nostalgia being back here, so maybe I should enjoy it! Or I’m taking comfort in these memories… or of course it could be I am regressing into a small childish blob. *lobs analysis out of the window*

Still – more Applications of Joy coming up, and I promised I’d cook mum and J dinner tonight. This may have been a trifle foolhardy, since I basically agreed I’d make the equivalent of mushroom pasta and know full well there are no mushrooms, and possibly no pasta. So this means a stomp to the corner shop to pick over whichever road-side vegetables look still vaguely edible, or I ask J to buy his dinner in its natural raw state and bring it to me, where I can boil it to within an inch of its life. If you get the impression I'm not a natural born chef I'd say you were very astute.

The Worries that Wait behind the Door

And so they’re back! From out of space! I just walked in to find them here with that panicky look upon their face! I should have changed my stupid story; I should have thrown away the pen, if I’d known all along I’d start worrying about it again!

I met up with good friend I last night who hasn’t read my story, as I wanted to pitch it to her and see what parts of it hook her in. It was an interesting experiment, firstly for me in talking about it and thinking of what sounded the most captivating (and then wondering if the bits I was disregarding needed to be in the novel at all), as well as seeing her instantly like the sound of one of my main characters.

I have had such a good response with him with everyone that has read this (and there’s not many – a few friends basically), the character is fun, interesting and you care about him – my pal last night was asking me all sorts of questions about him, some of which I guess I hadn’t pondered, as perhaps my attention was more on the main female character. This led me to wonder whether I should increase his role slightly, as god-dam it, he is a very fun character to write, which is not to say the female character isn’t, but perhaps he is just as important as her, in a way.

I think it’s because I use him as a foil for the female character, they are complete contrasts. The female character is based in reality and her situations are very real human ones, hence research into different historical decades, and being careful with details. But he – well, he is more free as he is not confined to reality so I can just play with him, and I guess that shines through the pages.

So now I am all worried again, as I feel I should capitalise more on him and perhaps change a few things… oh it’s a long slog this, as anyone else writing a book out there will no doubt know!

Little Boxes, in the Hallway

Once again I am back at my mum’s surrounded by boxes full of books, or full of cats, so it seems. I spent all weekend pushing and pulling them (the boxes, not the cats) around like some weird Krypton Factor game – and succeeded in shoving them all into the spare room and shutting the door on them. Be gone boxes!

Little boxes in the spare room
Little boxes held with sticky-tacky
Parcel tape, sticking to everything
Little boxes, all the same.
There's a brown one and a brown one
And a brown one and a bro-wwn one
And they're all made out of sticky-tacky
Parcel tape just the same.

Being back at home has its plus sides (mum’s lovely, hard to get her to take money for rent, save lots), and its down sides (being the oldest teenager in town, not so convenient for work, being one of those sad adult children that return to the nest type statistics). But it’s only for a short pause, and a bit of breathing space, and then onwards and upwards! I am ever optimistic...

... which is more than I can say about the title of the novel. I finally set up my computer again (no Internet, but one shall suffer through) and looked at the title, and was suddenly struck by the age-old question - 'is it any good?' Agh - the indecision... can I see it on the shelves? (Yes). Does it sum up the novel? (Yes). Is it too girlie? (Sigh, maybe). Is it 'too' clever? (No). Is it clever at all? (A little, ish.) Will it make you choose it from a shelf? (I don't know!) Will it make an agent like it? (I don't know!) Will it make a publisher go for it? (Agh!)

So I spent all night worrying at it and trying to come up with another title, but everything I was thinking of didn't quite match the story. So maybe I had a night of unnecessary panic. It's staying as is now, unless the tube ride home reveals something magical (an 'on-time' train the other end would be a start).

Passing out before pay day

So there I was, back in the swing of commuting, working all the hours and attempting to further the redrafting today, when I decided to see how the bank account was holding up. I just checked it online and it’s plunged me into the pit of despair, a nasty gloom-ridden pit which currently is to be found circling around my chair in the spare bedroom. I still have two weeks to go before the first pay packet, with the certainty that it won’t be a full month’s wage, and the grim belief that I’ll be on emergency tax, and the rent is due in nine days and I’m £400 short.

Sadly J is pot-less as well as his new job doesn’t start until mid-August, so I imagine his first pay packet won’t be anything to write home about until the end of September. We’re doomed I tell you, doomed.

I can’t extend my overdraft any further as the bank won’t let me (tried it, computer said no), and the only option is to possibly get a credit card and hope against hope that will work, even though it will be yet another thing to which I owe money. This really has been a shit year for timings. I hope J has a cunning plan… can’t think for the life of me what it could be, though. We’ve had an electricity bill that is so red it practically glows, there will probably be another threatened court case via council tax in the not so distant future – and in the background I’m supposed to forget all this and happily write my novel! Oh it’s a joke – honestly, if this book ever makes it into the public then it has been written on the back drop of adversity, there has been so much angst in this past year I’m amazed I have even managed to write anything at all.

And the worse thing is my working week starts again tomorrow – only one day off this week so today has felt like a badly cooked half-baked Sunday. Time enough to do the weekly washing and iron a shirt, then you’re back in it, only of course with no money for lunch. I've had it with today, I'm going to bed…

Squeak

Due to various reasons out of my control, I am still waiting for an invoice to be paid and while the invoice itself is now taking on mythical proportions, the very real problems it is causing by its non-appearance are starting to manifest in a series of bank charges. It is another race against time, and I am powerless to speed things up this time, which is a frankly worrying state of affairs.

I emailed the company and was told that it will be paid next week, however, the way it is being paid is akin to a banking equivalent of the game Mouse Trap – it seemingly has to go through a lot of hurdles (eg an umbrella company for VAT purposes) before it reaches its home with me, where it belongs. And I have no clue as to when next week it will be paid to the umbrella company – will it be Monday? If it is, and if everything moves well in a BACS / CHAPS arrangement, this may mean I (DING!) only get fined a £35 bank charge for non-payment of my mobile bill on Wednesday. However, I reckon that nothing will be showing in my bank account until the week after which means I (DING!) get stung another £35 for Friday’s non-payment of broadband / phone / television. I don’t even want to think about the rent that is due on the following week. Or the charges that can possibly be built up on the original charges – I am just praying this invoice gets through to me, as that then takes care of the rent, and most of the bills, and if I am very lucky it will pay for my travel costs to interviews. I haven’t got as far as thinking about food yet, and as for next month? Ha.

I may sound flippant, but this is a very real problem, and I have been very lucky in my life to have never faced it before, and now I am there, I never want to go through this ever again. Never again will I take for granted the ability to buy food in a supermarket, to buy new shoes when the old ones wear out, to buy new clothes when the jeans give at the knee. I cannot imagine what this feeling must be like when you have people/children that depend on you. Bloody hell is all I can say… I went for a few interviews last week, and am through to a second interview next week. It’s a slow process though, and I am starting to wonder if by the time and grace of God I get through, whether I’ll be able to afford the travel. And if a new job pays in lieu for the first month, then that is game over really. This is, of course, if I get any of these jobs – I have been trying to dredge up charm from the bottom of the barrel, but it is a hard thing, especially as the situation is more crucial than the interviewers no doubt realise.

I have put off the benefit route, as I just didn’t think it was fair for me to claim while others really need it… and the depression I get through applying for it negates any positives. I tried it years ago, and the act of going in, taking a number, sitting on a screwed down plastic chair, waiting to shout your troubles through a plastic screen – I came out more depressed than ever, and with the feeling I was technically useless. I didn’t continue with it, luckily for me I got a job without needing it, but the association with depression stayed with me and now I know if I go down that route I will think this novel idea has been a total waste of time, I’m not skilled with anything tangible, and I’ve basically f*cked up. So I’ve been hanging on, hopeful of not needing to go there, and hopeful that something will turn up, and now I just wonder have I been really stupid again?!

Ah well… Saturday night blues. Me and J looked at each other today and said we’d probably look back on this tough time in two months from now and smile. That as maybe, but I don’t think I’ll ever forget this feeling, and that’s not such a bad thing I guess.

Let’s face the music and dance

Why do worries seem to loom that much larger at night? I awoke at 4am and promptly spent the next two hours stressing over everything I could think of, and then made up a few non-existent troubles to ice the worry-cake. There are no solutions in the darkness; every route your troubled mind follows slams a door closed with an unfriendly ‘No Exit!’ sign glaring at you. So I decided to get up instead.

I made a cup of tea and sat staring out of the window, watching the dawn rise and sun lick across the sky. And, amazingly, a few answers did spring to mind – little things I can do that may help. I can try and get an invoice paid early, no harm to ask. I can try and contact a few places I have worked at before, and see if there are any copywriting jobs on offer. I can cancel a payment and put it on hold for a month. There are definitely things I can do, rather than lying in bed and going through the mental equivalent of ‘eek’. Or perhaps ‘squeak’…

That decided, it seemed so much easier to start editing – yes, slightly over the Wednesday self-imposed deadline, but the three chapters are nearly done. I hope I have improved them rather than over-complicating them, but I have tried to approach this as if I was subbing for someone else, and that does help to see things more clearly.  I also need to crack on with the synopsis – which I will share with you when it’s completed. Then I need to think about the perfect introductory letter – luckily The Writers’ and Artists’ Handbook is very good for tips about that. Oh blimey! Lots to do…

Rain or shine

My week can easily be described as one of rain and shine, regardless of the weather. The sunny up-side is I do have such lovely friends – ‘I’ took me out for a coffee and cake on Thursday, ‘R’ bought me a top yesterday, and ‘J’ is coming to pick me up today and we are going to spend time poking around a Cold War Bunker (perfect for a sunny day!). They are all so sweet to me, especially as I am going through the ‘rain’ type crisis of no money whatsoever.

It’s all getting a bit… close.  I have to finish the editing, at least of those first 3 chapters, as otherwise this whole venture will have been for nothing – and it has always felt right that I do that, finish it, and then get a full-time job, as opposed to the odd bits I do here and there. That is like the natural order of things, and if I don’t do it that way I shall jinx myself. I know that is rubbish, but it’s become a sort of mantra in my head.

I am hopeful of getting the editing done by Wednesday, and then can go into every agency under the sun – but even then… I’m not sure we’ll be able to keep our flat. And selling stuff off on eBay? I was semi-joking about that before, but now I really do think a car-boot may be in order – not sure I can afford the packing / postage for eBay – that is how serious things have got. This wouldn’t have necessarily happened – as it was I did have money saved for a rainy day, but there have been so many unexpected costs over the last two months that I should have saved for a torrential downpour the likes of which were last seen when Noah went for a sailing trip.

I am still bizarrely optimistic, I have no idea why – not quite sure what I expect is around the corner, so far it has been more rain. The flat is nice, but the flat is cold – perhaps a smaller place would be better. My lovely books are fantastic, but they are bloody heavy to move about – perhaps if I sold off some of them I wouldn’t have to carry them. It’s a strange ‘glass half full’ life at the moment – which is remarkably unlike me, but I am welcoming it. Wish I could keep this optimism going - as soon as the sun goes down it is a different story - worries come back at full force to circle around in the darkness, and my little beacon fire flickers and fails every time.

But today? The sun is shining, and I am going to forget about it for a while. Must finish editing! Must send it away! That is my mission between now and Wednesday.