Now that people actually read my blog (or so I’d like to think), I’d like to make a few points. First of all, thank you for your overwhelming support re: My Last Post. I’ve had over 1,500 people from all over the world read it, and I’ve people tweeting me to say thank you, or how informative it is, or similar. So that makes me glad. I look a little bit like this 😀

The second point may splinter into various other points, and it’s hard to summarise in a sentence, so I’m just going to jump into it.

I want to write. I have always wanted to write. Just like the feeling of “knowing” something bad would happen, I always “knew” I would be a writer. At my secondary school, we were pushed into various career pigeonholes. My work shadowing was with the legal profession – a profession of which I have no interest, have had no interest, and will have no interest. Still, we all had to report back. My very begrudging, half-hearted report was delivered with the absolute knowledge that this meant nothing to me: I was going to write.

Then I went to university. I once wrote such a blinder of an essay, it was put in my department’s prospectus. The world was at my feet. It’s tricky, describing university. At times, I would feel almost euphoric. I was living with fabulous people! I woz righting gooder than b4! I lived in Italy! Of course, it couldn’t last forever, and I was eventually transported from my cosy university bubble into the Real World, via the Priory.

That was a pretty low point, but at least I was getting good ideas for future books. Characters were writing themselves; scenarios were appearing before my eyes; everyday was a new level of inspiration. I left, into the world of work, confident that my book would magically appear.

…That was six years ago.

I am not published. In fact, I don’t have a book. At all. All I have is this blog. Still, I will persevere.

(Don’t ask, but) I was reading the Femail section (a longstanding guilty pleasure) in the Daily Mail, when I came across an article called “The Complacent Generation”. It detailed the life of a 23 year old blogger, described as “unemployed and living with her parents”. It turns out that she hopes to make a living from blogging, which is actually achievable, especially in her line of writing about beauty. This, predictably, was treated with all the inimitable derision only the Daily Mail – which itself employs people to write rather tedious, catty, or vacuous beauty articles – can muster.

I have since visited said blog (awaywiththefairiesblog.com, if you’re interested – I’m sure she won’t mind my sharing her address with you) and it’s all very pleasant enough. Good luck to her. Of course, the Daily Mail readers who can use a computer are all very scathing:

“All aboard the reality train! Fares please!”

“Their parents should kick them out once they reach 18 if they have no prospect of a job, harsh but if they want reality then they can get it straight from the hip, then see how they fair. There are still jobs in the armed forces, did me alright over a 30 odd year career. The only one who will disagree will be soft hearted mum”

“We have created this generation of wannabes, it is no-ones fault but our own.”

Rather sorrowful, I’m sure you’ll agree. But then there’s this:

“There is nothing wring with having a dream or a goal. When I was young I had them too. But I left school at 16, got a job in an office, and I went to night school, a year later I moved to a job with Computers, I went to Day Release and I worked hard both at college and at work. Sometimes I would go to college from 9am to 4pm, having only finished work at 3am, then go back to work and do a shift until 3 or 4 in the morning. I worked hard and I climbed the ladder, had a good wage and looking back a great life. It wasn’t the one I imagined or the career I wanted, but I did well and I enjoyed it. My Mother told me dreams are okay but don’t let your life pass you by while you are waiting for [them]“

…which is exactly what I’ve been doing. I “knew” something bad would happen, and it hasn’t. I “knew” I would end up a writer and I haven’t. Maybe, just maybe, I’m wrong about my untold knowledge. It pains me to say this, but I have been lazy and coasted along, expecting success to fall in my lap.

No longer.

Expect more posts.