Misc., Writing

What it’s like having many things to write…

It is wearing a ball gown while wading through the thickest waist-high mud for miles and miles

Needing to light a hundred feet tall candle with one little match and no ladder

A thousand bees inside a small, metal box with one coin-sized hole

Seeing the finish line before the starting gun goes off

Trying a particular lipstick and it changing into another shade by midday

Sticky notes that keep falling off the wall and disappearing between the floorboards

Your dad’s heavy denim jacket that you will never grow into

Turning the volume up as high as it will go and still straining to hear the music

Eating until you are full and still feeling like you are starving

Waiting for the knock on the door when you’re sitting in a meadow

It is reaching the other side of the bridge before you have set one foot on it to cross.

I always want to write, every minute of every day, and I always have ideas in my head. Ideas that might be big, and they might last for no longer than two seconds. They’re all still there, and they’re all very loud and blinding.

When they are small, it’s hard to justify the effort to put them onto paper.

And when they are big stories that are bouncing around in my head, that are so complicated, I would need to sit in silence for a week to even grasp them with both hands.

Sometimes there is no motivation to write anything, fictional or otherwise. Sometimes this site goes neglected and unloved for weeks at a time. And sometimes I can’t stop. Sometimes it’s unhealthy when I stay awake until the small hours, scribbling by lamplight.

All to often, the desire to write plagues me but my body refuses. Together, we make the decision not to pick up the pen and notebook. We can’t even use an app on the tablet. But the stories are there. The characters are screaming at me inside my head to let them out, but I can’t always release them.

I have never finished a project. Starting to write so young meant that my language was soft and poor. Looking at it now makes me cringe and I could never submit that anywhere, so it is added to the pile. I’m sure that pile is taller than me by now.

There is a colourful rush that comes with writing and a relief, as though eliminating a headache and making room in my head. I’ll never stop, no matter who comes along and degrades my work, because I write for me and no one else.

 

 

 

 

Advertisements
Life Experience, Marketing, Work

Mind your own business.

My job isn’t a tricky one, it’s not complicated, but it’s not pointless. For those who are super interested, I have the responsibility of maintaining Aesthetic Response’s social media accounts. I’ve been writing tweet streams, posting facts on facebook, writing blogs and updating their website. I’ve also got the pleasure of liaising between various members of the Aesthetic Business Network in regards to filming their events and workshops across the country. Just last week I was in Birmingham and last month, London.

I don’t get paid much, no, that’s a fact. But it’s an internship. They’re not supposed to be paid, but here I am, able to afford my rent for the house that I live in with my friends. But the money isn’t the deciding factor in why I took this job. I’ve been waiting for over a year to get something in marketing; every time I’ve tried, I’ve been let down for ‘lack of experience’. This job is giving me the experience that I need to move on. We live in a world where you can’t just walk into a job straight out of school. You have to shine and be different, while at the same time willing to become a person with no identity, consumed by the company that you work for.

I have another job – it’s part time and it’s stressful and absolutely nothing like the marketing one. It’s at Ness in York city centre and I sell people clothes. I stand in the shop, wearing either my kilt or my stag dress and I convince people that they really need this coat that they can probably live without. It helps me get by. It gives me money for food, money for bills.

I’m working really hard right now and, honestly, I’m drowning. But I don’t care if you don’t agree with my life choices at the moment. Some of the decisions I have made in the last year have been really, really difficult and some I have regretted. I’m not arseing around, not bothering with finding a proper job. I’m trying to support myself so I can live away from home and maybe, just maybe find a career that I actually want to do.

[End of rant]

63a1527f41194030273cc01974d6de33

Life Experience, University

Dear ‘Ruth’

Vulnerable and eager in the early days of September, 2011, I was looking for someone to trust and to befriend, someone that I could shed all my secrets to, someone who could come with me to compare dresses out shopping, someone who was on the same wave length as me. And I found you; quickly and wholeheartedly you introduced yourself into the void in my life.

Dear Ruth,

Over the last year or so, I’ve really changed; I don’t think I’m even the same person that you used to know and you might not even recognise me. It’s been about three years since we last spoke and this message to you, whether you are aware of it or not, is about how you influenced my life. I want to say thank you, Ruth for everything you did, all you contributed in those delicate few months that we were friends. We did have a good run at the start of university but I had to learn the hard way how you could be so affected by a boy and in turn how you could affect the other people around you, people who I thought were also my friends.

I first questioned your personality when you, despite rummaging through my wardrobe on a daily basis, refused to lend me clothes because there would be no way they would fit me. Being a size 10/12 compared to your slight 6/8 obviously meant that I was too large for you and your designer clothes and I forget now how many times you told me I didn’t eat enough humus or lettuce. You were also keen to tell me that my then boyfriend was a bad idea and even though you thought it was funny to flirt with him and sit on his lap, you still found it appropriate to tell me how pathetic our relationship was. It was important to you to one-up everybody, to be worse off, or on occasion, better. Nobody could have anything without you having more or less. Even though I have a cracked bone in my foot, your size 3 feet are more painful because of your 4 inch size 2 heels. You used to take pleasure in telling me that my university course was not as good as yours and that your course mates were just the best, whereas I’m aware that you no longer speak to yours and I still live with mine. I remember going out with my course friends, and finding that before leaving the house you would lock yourself away with the other housemates, and I wouldn’t see you the next day because you’d all decided to take an early shopping trip together, despite knowing I was in the house and not in a lecture.

Ruth, I could have lived with all of this; everyone has flaws, mine aren’t great and I sometimes wonder why people stick with me, but you took it too far. Deciding that your ex boyfriend who you had dated for no more than two months was the be all and end all was not what I would have imagined you to do. Screaming at me in the middle of a nightclub about how my then boyfriend was talking to other women – oh no! – and then leaving with the other girls was something that I will never forget. Screaming at me in a different nightclub for a second time after we had moved into a house together and then leaving me alone in that nightclub is something that I can never forgive you for. You listened to your ex boyfriend who told you that I was interested in him and you abandoned me in the middle of the night, a thirty-five minute walk from a new home in a new neighbourhood that I’d been told was risky at night. You didn’t believe me when I told you that he was lying, but you had made up your mind. From then on you made the next three days in that house effectively hell. I heard you calling me names to the other girls, I saw you hiding and moving my stuff and I remember you leaving the house unlocked while I was sleeping so you could go on a night out. Part of me wishes I had dropped the deadbolt on the door, but what would have been the point in stooping to your level?

Normally, letters to people are full of forgiveness and sometimes blessings, but I can’t forgive you. What I can do is thank you. Thank you for forcing me to move out of the new house to then live with my real friends. Even though I began paying two rents on two houses in that year, I was happy. Thank you, Ruth, for all your malice because, without it, I may not have met my wonderful boyfriend. I would not have gained stronger relationships with people who are still my best friends. I don’t think I would be where I am today without your vindictive assistance and even though you make me shudder inside and make my heart turn cold when I see you, I thank you for all of that. I sincerely hope that you remember everything that happened, but I can imagine that you continue to have your rose-tinted side of things. Brittany, what a bitch who tried to steal your boyfriend and always left you to see her course friends, you must have felt so hard done by. But, in all honesty, thank you for indirectly bringing me to a better group of people, to a better university life because for the most part, my first year was dampened down by you.

You really showed me what some people can be capable of, and you really, really changed my life. So thank you, Ruth for everything. I don’t assume our paths will ever cross again but for the minuscule amount of time that you affected my life, thanks and I won’t ever, ever forget it. If you are reading this, I’m certain that you’ll know this is you even though Ruth isn’t your real name and I sincerely hope you read it with integrity, attention and with an open mind. This letter to you is my official goodbye, and I can safely say that after writing this, I feel a large weight and concern has been lifted from my shoulders and I can continue to stand tall and proud.

Love Brittany.

Education, Life Experience

Little Knockbacks

A kid told me today that he hopes I don’t get another job. Not because he wants me to stay, which wouldn’t be possible on the temporary contract, but because he thought he was being funny. He saw me planning out a cover letter and said I should pay someone recruitment company to do that instead because – apparently – it’s stupid. And that’s how you get a job in this world. I replied saying that it’s actually an important job and his retort was, “I hope you don’t get it,” with a grin.

Don’t take things to heart is what I’ve always been told but it stung me. I feel like the whole world is against me at the moment for getting started on my career. A few comments from people who otherwise have no business in my career aspirations actually go a long way. It feels like every time someone says something, my confidence is knocked back. I am really intent on discovering my perfect job and I feel like I’m so close, but at the same time, so far.