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Chapter Two, Paragraph One


When life hands you a fortieth birthday, you gotta make... fortified wine? Or something along those lines. 


The above statement, while clearly not the best introduction to my writing skills, is pretty much the substance of this blog. I turned forty last year, soon to turn forty-one, and have come to the realisation that I am facing the second half of my life (with a bit of luck - if I can dodge Covid, and Donald Trump doesn't decide to 'go out in a blaze of glory'). I've written for most of my life, on and off, but I've decided it's time to take it seriously, spend some actual time on it and produce some work that I'm proud of. The gold star would, of course, to be published in some shape or form.


I've always felt the pull of writing. When I was a kid I used to write stories for my family, binding the chapters up with a hole punch and a bit of string, annoying everyone when I gave up after Chapter 7 and they never found out what happened to the evacuees that got sent to live in the haunted mansion. I created earnest magazines about being eco-friendly and distributed them around school for 20p each. I even ventured into comedy, writing a very uncomplimentary fictionalisation of my brother's birth, culminating in my parents discarding of him via a kitchen blender. We didn't get on.


University was a bit of a writing black-spot. Mostly because my course was very demanding and not even remotely involving the arts, but also because I discovered boys and booze. Both of those led to some very embarrassing poetry that I made the mistake of showing to some English-student friends. They were very polite but I suspect they had seen better.


Then came the working years, marriage and kids. I don't want to bore anyone with the details of my job, but suffice it to say it is clinical, mentally-draining and has probably been my single biggest barrier to writing regularly. On the plus side I meet a lot of people through my work, and I'm sure some of my best characters have been inspired by quite a few of them. The kids part is also a challenge, although this is getting better. When they were babies it wasn't so bad - I even managed to complete a couple of online creative writing courses on maternity leaves - but the middle years were impossible. I'm sure some writers are great at dashing off a short story while simultaneously tying ballet shoes, ordering an online shop and helping the eldest with their maths homework, but I am not. Now they're a little older and are more likely to text me from their bedrooms asking for me to authorise Play Store transactions than to need 100% of my time, I've felt the balance swing in my direction again.


Somehow, about a year ago, I managed to complete a 90k comedy romance novel and even dared to submit to a handful of agents. Unsurprisingly, I had no luck. I know that you must be tenacious and sometimes send out dozens or even hundreds of submissions, even if you are a hugely talented writer, but I think I knew deep down that the work wasn't quite good enough yet. So, that manuscript is staying in the drawer for now and I've recently started a new project which I'm excited about. I really hope this one reaches the 90k mark too, instead of running out of steam at Chapter 7 like the poor evacuees.


So, now that I'm over forty, I'm going to make an effort to see some return on all the words I write. I want to treat it like a genuine second job, setting aside time and energy for it, making an effort to put my writing in front of other people's eyes (whether they like it or not). I've entered some short story competitions, although short stories aren't my strong suit, and I'm aiming to write regularly here too. Then one day I might even be holding a book of my own in my hands -  I might even dedicate it to my brother as an apology for the blender stuff.


LJ



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