A sincere apology and a serious rant

Okay, I've not been the best. Certainly for someone who promised, PROMISED to keep up with this blog. A gap this big is unforgivable and I will understand if you choose not to forgive me.

The thing is, it's a lot harder to keep this going than I originally thought. A few entries a week? All about my own selfish thoughts? Pah! Easy! Or so I thought...

The thing is, although I'm thinking, thinking, thinking all the time, I often don't have enough time to put my thoughts down on paper... or indeed in a word document (that's how we seem to roll these days...)

Either that or I'm too exhausted with the struggle of trying to make it that I neglect the one thing that is essential to me making it: this blog.

But you see it's so very, very hard to keep your ambitions alive. Every morning on my way to my next placement - where I know I will be working harder than anyone else there yet earning nothing, sometimes not even a byline for my troubles - I pass someone opening up their shop in the morning or simply sweeping the streets and I think: wouldn't it be so much easier if I had no desire to write at all? I could get a job in a shop, open it up in the morning, chat to customers, before coming home to a nice glass of white wine and a warm bed. When I worked in a department store I met so many women who were happy with this life. People automatically think that if you work in a shop or you're 'just' a waitress that means you have no ambition. But ambition doesn't necessarily have to be work related.

I aspire to be loved. I aspire to love. I aspire to make more friends. I aspire to keep the friends I've got. I aspire to having the most perfect Cath Kidston guest bedroom. Essentially, I aspire to be happy.

Which is what the ladies I met in the department store were.

Unfortunately for me, I know that even if I get the Cath Kidston bedding, I keep the friends I have, I continue to love and be loved that I still won't be happy unless I am doing this. Writing.

Yet, when trying to be a writer writing is something you rarely get to do. Captions, nibs, headings, 40 word reviews... these are the bones I am given in between filing, answering the phone, making tea, fetching things from the shop...

And then I return home, exhausted. And I know the next writing task I have is to write cover letter after cover letter and by the time that's done this little blog remains sad and untouched. And I feel guilty. And unfulfilled.

It sounds like a moan. And I guess it is. But at the same time this whole process of finding your dreams is exhilirating. I enjoy making the tea! I enjoy putting the files in their special folder! I enjoy carting post up and down stairs! Because I look around and see the buzzing magazine office and I know that this is where I belong.

A little thing I try and remember each time I feel down about myself is how I felt when I first received the email from wahanda. How excited I was! How I knew that this was the beginning of something phenomenal.

And it is... it still is...

My Dad has started to write in his blog everyday, just something small, something he has thought about. He doesn't try to make it perfect, he just tries to make it represent who he is. I might try that. And if I don't, I expect an allmighty telling off from my followers.

All five of you.

Absolutely Flawless

To improve my own blog I am trying to read as much of others as possible. The idea behind this is so I can learn from their writing styles, see what it is like to write from other view points and well, be as nosy as possible. However, when I read other people’s writing all I get is self doubt. Mean thoughts about my own ability fill my mind:

Why can’t I write like that?

That was funny, I wish I was funny, how can I become funny?

That person’s grammar is so much better than mine!

I’ve recently gotten over the hurdle of letting other people read my work. As you can tell from my ever-so-secret, won’t let anyone know about it blog, it is not something I enjoy. Though I feel I can take their criticism pretty well. In fact, the more of it the better. What I can’t take, like so many before me, is their praise.

How can these people whose writing I respect and is so amazing be blown away by mine?

Do they not see that some of the sentences don’t really make sense and that I tend to get carried away by one point that is interesting to no one but me?

Oh yes, I know my flaws and this is supposed to be a good thing. I’m supposed to learn from them until I am flawless. Yet I don’t. I know I should check, check, check again yet how many times have I only just check, checked only to click ‘publish’ and find a million mistakes. I know my grammar isn’t up to scratch and I have several books lined up on my shelves so that I can improve it, yet they remain unopened. I’d choose the latest Marian Keyes any day. And knowing these flaws, yet not improving on them just makes me all the more paranoid that ultimately my writing is terrible.

However, I do like to think that whilst I clunk my way through life I am learning. I try to face my fears (though not daily, who has the time or nerves to handle that?!) For example, after admitting that I find talking to my very friendly boss terrifying (it really is a silly fear) I try my best to say something witty/embarrassing to him every morning.

The book I’m reading at the moment (why the tree loves the axe) has a very distinctive writing style which in the eyes of a grammar Nazi is flawed: the author doesn’t use quotation marks ever. But that makes it kind of beautiful as you really feel you are living the life of the main character- after all going about our daily lives we never envision punctuation. Maybe this is the kind of writing style I should learn from: the kind that makes its own rules, the kind that will never be flawless yet that’s its charm. A bit like me.
Maybe I will let the world know about this blog, flaws and all…

Rejection

An emo title there sticking with the blog stereotype. I had a job rejection today, actually not even a job rejection- a free work rejection. I had emailed a free magazine in Edinburgh asking them if they needed a helper for over the summer period and the editor was lovely and asked to see my CV which she really liked.She then asked to see my work so I sent her four of my favorite pieces. I then get a reply saying they don't need someone at the moment and don't have space.

I felt like I had got a low mark back from an essay all over again. She seemed keen, she liked my CV yet when I sent her my work she didn't want me.

I know I have to get used to this, keep my head up no matter what, keep faith in my writing.

'They really didn't have space' I tell myself over and over again. 

But that little nagging self confidence demon keeps muttering 'it's cos you're shit'

I really need to silence him. Any tips?