Will I ever...? A writer's life. 1-5 July.
MONDAY
Cherished friendships.
Went for a pub lunch disguised as a dog walk (an excellent wheeze I must employ more often) with my bestie today. We became friends because we sat next to one another on the school bus aged 11. Still friends several ice-ages later. Posted a vid of her two Labradors having a whale of a time swimming in the river, and this post was liked by another close friend I met on the first day of Primary School, aged 4. Was commiserating yesterday with another chum about his investment-purchase tribulations, and he’s someone I’ve been mates with since I first worked in London 20+ years’ ago. Made me reflect upon how lucky I am to have these enduring friendships (and several other similar ones) – terrific individuals who’ve stuck by me through all life’s ups and downs. Was sobering to consider how much I’ll miss them all when I go abroad, and how fortunate I am to live in an age where lovely Skype puts me right back in their living rooms at the touch of a button. Big-up the boffins for making it possible. The charge so often levelled at the internet is that it’s poisonous, and vacuous – and so it is – but it also has the potential to bring people together across thousands of miles. I’m personally very grateful for that.
TUESDAY
Slovenly.
Washed and hoovered out car today. Can’t recall the last time I did this. Deliberately don’t use the car much – for hippie reasons – but suspect I haven’t cleaned it this year.
It was so disgusting, it took me virtually the whole #BBCWorldService podcast about the assassination of Benazir Bhutto to get it looking respectable again. Delighted that what I thought were two chips on the inside of my back window actually turned out to be large clumps of mud stuck to the glass.
The inside’s always more vile than the outside. In my other non-writerly life, my mate and I run an off-road motorbike training company. I’m only supposed to push the paperwork, but I still seem to spend a lot of time outside, much of it covered in mud. That mud works its way into my car and, well, you get the picture…
It was worth the work. The inside is gleaming, and it doesn’t smell funny any more. The dog got in and looked around, wild-eyed, as if unsure she was in the right place.
WEDNESDAY
Massage my ego.
Another US agent rejection today. That’s three. Of course, they’re sending the standard ‘rejection email’, but they seem so much softer in tone than their English equivalent. This one even said, ‘…we know you’ve poured your heart and soul into this…’ Damn right I have – and do into every book I write, as we all do. You live and breathe that situation and those characters for six-odd months until it’s done.
They’re still not going to take the thing on. It’s still a rejection. They’re still tossing my stuff overboard, but it feels much gentler on the bruised ego to be supportively encouraged down the plank to your undignified exit, rather than forced along it at cutlass-point.
THURSDAY
The year of Never Befores.
In a previous life, I used to lead runs for a local Jogging Group. One of the ladies I met there recently turned 60. She’s not suffering it; she’s embracing it, embarking upon a series of challenges. Every month of her 60th year will see her attempt something totally new to her. Some of the Never Done Before’s so far include an immense US road trip, running the London Marathon, and walking across the top of the O2 building in London. I find her seizing of the day a true inspiration. I’m cheerleading her all the way, and trying to take a big leaf out of her trailblazing book. It’s your head that says you can’t do things, not your failing body, your empty wallet, or your overcrowded diary.
FRIDAY
Stuttering motivation.
Can hardly put one foot in front of the other today. Sometimes, doing what we do, it’s hard to stay motivated. When I’ve just completed a book, there’s a definite slump in oomph. I’m mentally drained from the last few months of intense concentration, and yet I know there’s a new sales and marketing mountain to climb, and I’m not sure I’ve got the energy or inclination. I also feel incredibly directionless and guilty when I’m not stuck into a MSS. What am I doing mooning about the house not achieving anything? I should be writing! I need to learn to cut myself some slack. Every machine needs a reboot now and again.
I know this lack of enthusiasm will only last a few days and I’ll be raring to go once more, but while it lasts, I question everything. 1. Am I any good? 2. Will I ever get where I truly want to be? 3. What if no one likes my new MSS? 4. Should I just go back to writing marketing copy for proper money?
I flail around, plagued by self-doubt, and then something nice happens, like an email from a reader telling you how much they love what you do; how it made them laugh, cry, gasp aloud in astonishment on a crowded train at an unexpected plot twist…and all the uncertainty magically vanishes. I CAN do it. People LIKE what I do. I can’t please everyone, but if I enjoy doing it, and complete strangers relish reading it, surely that’s justification enough to slog on?
Annie Holder writes pacey thrillers, twist-filled crime novels, and unconventional romances – set all over the world.
You can find out more about her books at www.annieholder.com, and follow her on Instagram www.instagram.com/alhwriter/