Writing. It has always been a part of who I am, running through my veins like ink through a biro (well, code through a computer- pen and ink is a romanticised past-time now I'm in my twenties). Arguably, writing, above all my other hobbies, has defined who I am, my place, my worth. It's what got me through school and cemented me as 'the academic one' in my various social groups. It's what got me into and out of university, what helped me hone my voice and opinions more than any other practice. It's what got me through coronavirus as I wrote letters to now far-away friends- a comforting return to analogue in the face of an increasingly virtual existence. It's what brought me to London after hours spent on cover letters and CVs before I landed a job within the charity sector.
And, if I'm being 100% honest, it's what's kept me feeling like some semblance of a human being during my first year in the 'real world'. As the days darkened, anonymous faces merged together on the tube and in the streets into one hostile globulous mass in front of my tired eyes. I'm sure it threatened to consume me and everything I ever was completely whole. New adult life, as it turned out, entailed being eaten away at the edges by the sheer weight of responsibility for my own future. Whilst messing around on my ukelele in late September I wrote this hook:
'Is this getting older? It feels like the world is on my shoulders.'
I still haven't finished that song. I don't believe I had the energy.
Please don't get me wrong- I was surrounded by immense warmth and support, emitted from glowingly giving individuals (many old, many new). But it's like only you live in your brain, if that makes sense, and sometimes it's difficult to feel completely understood by others in the way you understand yourself. Not in a sad or anxious way, just sometimes in a way that's a little bit lonely.
I hope you can relate. But if not, that's okay.
I graduated late in September 2021, a year after I'd officially completed my undergraduate degree in the midst of lockdown (camera pan to me slumped over my desk, sweatingly pressing a button on my laptop and marking three years of personal growth with an unsatisfying 'submission received' screen). After that summer, I was surprised, actually, with how much I missed writing. The necessity to create words had come to define so many of my days that I thought a break from compulsory creation would do wonders for me. Give me a chance to work on the Street Smarts I'd been severely lacking in.
By that September time, I'd been at my current employer for just over a month, and was struggling to come to terms with the fact that the 'after-university' period, once seemingly so far off from the comfort of my desk, was now very much my present reality. I sometimes still feel every next day of my adult life lays before me like an Alice-in-Wonderland style row of cards- one knocks down to reveal another, and another, and another ad infinitum, each nearly identical in its nature. I missed the idea of an end-goal, an 'Oh, I'll just get to the end of this essay, this term, this exam, this year, my degree, and then I'll be done'.
So I returned to what I knew. I started to write again. On the train back from graduation I made a plan, a goal aside from work that would keep me sane and structured in a way that felt familiar:
One month to think and plan.
Two hundred words a day.
Five days a week.
In just under a year, I would have a book.
I took inspiration from a piece of creative writing I'd spat out on a whim during one particularly low lockdown moment as a starting point for my novel. And the rest, as they say, was history.
One month ago I finished my first draft. I won't go into describing the details of Breathe A Little Longer (working title obviously) in this post- I think we have lots of time for that later. My novel is far from finished, and is currently going through its second round of edits (ick), so I have yet to reach a point in my writing where I feel comfortable referring to myself as an 'Aspiring Author'.
I do want to be, though.
My ex always used to say she could see me as a writer. It's strange now to think that she knew exactly what I wanted before I did, but I guess that goes to show how well she knew me. Or how completely ignorant of myself I was.
And that, stranger-friend, is what brings me to blog.
I can't call myself an aspiring author, not having yet made the jump into querying or agents or calling my draft a 'manuscript', but for now being an aspiring aspiring author feels just about right. And the first step to removing that extra adjective is through what was always there to begin with: Writing. I'm going to intermittently place my thoughts down onto paper (screen) as a form of writing practice aside from editing my draft. I'm going to alternate these posts between bloggy bits like this, and exerpts of creative writing. As a famous teen pop star once said, you'll get the best of both worlds [that way]. Hopefully through this site I'll get a clearer sense of who I am as a writer, and maybe I might work through some tough feelings along the way. So, without further ado: Hi, my name's Charlotte (Char to my friends, Lottie to my mum), I'm 23 years old. I was born in Slough, raised in my beautiful home of West Wales (a two-sheep village by the name of Caerwedros for those in the geographical know), and I currently live illuminated by the bright lights of London. I like softness, films by Studio Ghibli, and the Scott Monument (more on that to come, I promise). I don't like words with too many 'S' sounds in them, because of my lateral lisp, and I really don't like it when people do things carelessly, without thinking of others' emotions (including when I do it too- I'm trying to get better at that though). I like finding magic in the everyday, and want to keep it alive through sharing and stories. I love my friends and family. But most relevantly, I love it when I read a sentence, or hear a lyric, or see a feeling captured in art, and I get to experience the following emphatic thought: 'Wow. That's exactly how I feel sometimes. Maybe I'm not so alone'. ... Maybe it's vain of me to entertain the thought that someone else could feel that way about my writing. But I'm a big believer in living without leaving behind regrets. So a girl's got to try. I hope you like the things I type, and any feedback you have the time to give on my work is much appreciated.
Whether you stay for a single post, or become a regular visitor, you are always welcome here. Keep safe, keep swell, keep smiling. All my love, Char, an Aspiring Aspiring Author
Is there life after graduation? Feels like mine is just beginning...
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