The end of August and early September have felt particularly
depressing this year. My Birthday falls on the 29th August, and
September 1st marks a year since my last ‘proper’ job ended. Another
year older and a year of unemployment/temping/attempting to get things right
(write?) seemed a good time to reflect.
For a recap (or introduction) my fixed term contract ended
in September last year and I vowed, 2 years on from my PhD not to take another
job ‘just because’ and to try and focus, and actually get something of a career
going. To that end I decided I’d temp until that happened. Short version: I’m
still waiting, still temping.
Long version a lot happened in between. Some good some bad. I
started that period with a vow to just job hunt sensibly and hopefully be in a
new ‘proper job’ by say January. What actually happened was in January I got
another temp job that knocked my confidence, my self worth- which were already
struggling- entirely to the ground. More about that is here and as much as I
joke about it now, it did a number on me (TLDR version: I got hired doing admin
on Murders for the Council, they fired me for thinking I was ‘too good’ for it
and tweeting about Hugh Jackman).
In January I hit rock bottom. A few times I said, ‘I wish I
were dead’ and honestly came close to meaning it. Not just off the back of that
job (though it certainly didn’t help). Just too many years of being beaten down
by endless fixed term and zero hours contracts. Of jobs where as much as I
tried I just didn’t fit the mould. Of failing to get any jobs I really wanted.
And of course, coming out the other side of academia as a failed academic, and
wondering what the fuck now.
And so, in January I hit pause in a manner. I took a couple
of weeks off. Then picked myself up and signed up to a temp agency again. I
needed the pause, but I also needed to work somewhere, anywhere to prove I wasn’t
completely broken. Or unemployable.
Then, I took the pressure off myself and stopped job hunting
at all. I decided a few months surviving my way through a temp job and giving
my writing the best go I could was the way to go.
And that’s where I still am. Still temping there. Still
writing like a demon. Some days thinking it could be worse (and terrified to
find out if it is). Others wishing, I could be anywhere but here.
And the writing. At once I’ve got so much done. So much more
than in years. It is in part a time thing, but also a confidence thing. I’ve
spoken before about how much the PhD broke my confidence in my writing. And I
struggled to do anything.
That in this year, I’ve gotten a book proposal done (and
accepted), various bits of drafted book. Two drafts of one play from scratch,
and a redraft of another play. That’s something. That’s huge in fact. And I’ve
proven I can not only physically make myself sit down and write, but also do
stuff I’m pleased with.
Of course, with it comes issues naturally. One play is
currently, if I’m being ‘dramatic’ as my collaborator says, a disaster. Either
way it’s not where it’s supposed to be. And having put most of my time and
energy in recent months into it that’s a blow. And I won’t give up, and I still
think it’ll be something…but still.
Meanwhile I feel I’ve been pushed out of the theatre criticism
I do a bit (at least locally). And despite still knocking on doors, despite
knowing I’m good (that’s one area I am confident in) I feel like somewhere doors
closed to me. And that makes me sad.
And the Angels book. Well the ‘other’ Angels book, from a
big fancy publisher came out just as Angels transferred. And it felt like
everything I’d ever done on the play, everything I’d done in London, got
erased. I’m not fancy and connected. And because my book won’t have (despite
believe me some very big effort) interviews with famous actors in it, I won’t
be promoting it with Lin-Fucking-Hamilton-Guy doing interviews, then why was I bothering.
And it hurt, and it stopped me writing, because I love it that much. So much
that I find it hard to communicate what it means, and how this is so much more
than an academic book to me. And I spent nearly ten years clawing my way to writing
this book. And I feel like I got there a year too late.
I know I’m not special I’m not unique in these setbacks. And
I know I’ll pick myself up and keep going. I’m scrappy, I’ve got this far. But
there’s always the element of comparison. Of imposter syndrome. Anyone who says
they don’t get it is a liar. Or possibly a white middle class man.
I made a list on here, then I deleted it, because I felt
like people would read it and say ‘yeah and?’ as if it wasn’t enough. But as
much for me, looking back in another year, this is some of what I’ve done in
that time.
·
Articles
and critical work: I’ve actually been paid for critical writing on theatre.
From a couple of publications (including the BBC). I’ve been commissioned and
paid by a theatre for writing of that sort.
·
Dramaturgy:
One massive project that dropped in my lap. Which, at this point may either die
a quiet death or be one of the most exciting things I’ve worked on (yes I’m
that wanker). But either way I was PAID for it, and had a fancy lunch out for
it. (Writers love a free lunch).
·
Musical:
That’s right, I’m writing the book of a musical. It’s exciting, it’s
terrifying, it’s got Lesbians! I love it.
·
‘Don’t
Send Flowers’ (it was called something else then. I’m not allowed to talk
about my terrible title skills). Being produced by Clock Tower Theatre Company
who are wonderful people and this has been utterly the joy of my last couple of
months. I am in love with this play I wrote a lifetime ago all over again and I
remember why I did any of this for a moment.
·
Big Play
of HIV (as I call it) Fell into my lap two weeks after my job ended. I’m
not a great believer in fate but something keeps me hanging onto this one.
·
Book :
Oh yes the book. The bloody Angels book. It’s there. I’ve just had to ask for a
second extension because well *gestures wildly to the above* and because there
was a certain amount of emotional investment, along with constant press from America.
Like the original proposal it needed a
little space. Now I’m ready again.
Oh and I started roughly planning academic books 1 and 2.
And submitted an abstract for another book chapter. I can’t quite give up this
academic nonsense (on my terms).
So, there’s a lot. A lot a lot. And it’s scary and
overwhelming and it’s a question of ‘how on earth do I do all this’ In fact I
spent the week before my Birthday in tears of frustration about it all- not
just tears sobs. Because as much as it was useful, the temp job is killing me
now, and it functions on a rota that the writing it was supposed to be flexible
and allow to happen doesn’t. And the writing that is supposed to help me move along
from it can’t happen, so I’m stuck there ….and it’s all a terrible Catch 22.
So, what do I want for the year ahead? In the spirit of
lists, let’s look at it that way.
·
To finish the book. If nothing else, if this was
some dramatic death bed ‘want’ it would be that. I put too much into it so far
not to.
·
For ‘Don’t Send Flowers’ to go well. Honestly,
this one is my baby. And if one person tells me they were moved by it, that it
meant something, as cliché as it sounds that’s enough. If it continues to be as
wonderful, even better.
·
A job that feels like I’m doing something. It doesn’t
have to be the career to end all careers. I just want to feel I’m putting some
of me to good use.
·
To go on a date. Ok this one isn’t actually
career related. But I feel like I’ve ‘faded’ in this last year. That’s really
my way of saying I want a life back as well. To feel like a normal 30-something
for a moment.
And actually that last point is really important. The last 8
years, since I started the PhD have been so driven by work. All consumed at
times. And because people don’t see it as a ‘proper’ job, they don’t see that.
I regularly work 12-14 hour days (day job and other job included). I say no to
social events so I won’t ‘lose’ an evening’s work, or a weekend’s. It’s a
constant juggle. I just want to feel normal sometimes. As much as I’m willing
to make sacrifices, I think in a year’s time also, I need to be able to say,
sometimes I felt like I had a normal life too.
And so in January we’ll see. And next September we’ll see.
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