Lonely Life of a Writer

Writing has always been a solitary hobby for me, one that I conduct behind closed doors, away from distractions and interruptions from the outside world. I'm very much an outcast of society, and always have been.

I had a fantastic time at University. It was a wonderful experience, meeting new people, making friends and getting drunk together. But I realise that most of that life is now behind me, and as I move closer along the path to my chosen career as a journalist, I can feel that solidarity returning.

Weekends are no longer spent socialising and drinking with mates. Weekends are now an extension of my week, my daily routines overrunning into most of Saturday and Sunday.

It's strange: years ago, I would've accepted being this lonely as just a way of living life, my life. But the return of this solidarity has made me question who I really am.

I've learnt a lot about what it means to be a journalist through my training course, and how much you're expected to know about our country, our politics and our laws. All of this knowledge may be secondary to the job at hand (reporting news) but I've started to think recently that maybe my initial aspirations of being a journalist were unfounded, immature and nonsensical.

And there is my problem, also returning to my life: when things get tough, I give up. When failure knocks at my door, I open the door out of some kind of compulsion and welcome it into my life. I'm compelled to believe that I'm a complete and total failure, a waste of space on this planet, another unnecessary human wasting away our oxygen supplies.

And you know the worst part? It feels like I never left this life, my past. It feels like university was just someone else's experiences planted into my brain. I remember this loneliness and it feels like home. It shouldn't, but it does.

Train of Embarrassment

“Rusty C**t Bucket! F**k! F**K!” was my reaction as I missed my train under embarrassingly stupendous circumstances –  thanks to Ari Gold, of Entourage (played by Jeremy ‘Mr Selfridge’ Piven) for that expression of anger and frustration.

Apparently writing a personal blog helps to alleviate frustration, so I’m going to give this a try. Here goes:

I wasn’t due in college until later that day so I decided to take a later train, and tried to practice a mock exam paper for my NCTJ news writing and reporting exam. I arrived in Cambridge at 9.39am.

As I disembarked from the Ipswich to Cambridge train, I saw what looked like my pal Rajat. From behind, it was unmistakably him – the coat, the trousers, the height, hair, and boxer stance.

My first question was what on earth he was doing in Cambridge station waiting for a train to Ipswich – so I proceeded to tap him on the shoulder and ask him.

Embarrassingly, it wasn’t him. Or, at least, it was the Japanese Rajat, looking rather bewildered as he asked me “have we met?”

A facepalm moment, I quickly walked away and was blinded by the sunlight as I trekked across the platform to the small WHSmiths outlet.

I came back out and looked at the overhead electronic timing boards. My train was due to depart at 10.04am, from platform 8 instead of platform 4/1. I hurried across, via the overhead sheltered walkway and stairs.

Sitting there, at platform 8, was a Stansted Express train. Looking again at the timing boards confirmed that this train was delayed, and would leave prior to the arrival of the rusty bucket with wheels that would hopefully take me to Harlow (arriving at 10.40am).

That train eventually left at 10.04am – late. When I looked up at the timing boards, however, the 10.04 train (to Harlow) had vanished from existence (you’ve probably already worked out why!). The posh Stansted Express train had gone, and there was no sign of a rusty bucket with wheels.

I noticed that there was a rusty bucket train sitting over at platform 3, so I rushed back over there, only to find that this was, in fact, the delayed Kings Cross service.

And then it hit me. The penny dropped…

For no less than 20 minutes, I had stood with my back to the Stansted Express (my train, actually going to London Liverpool Street and stopping off at Harlow Town), on platform 8, and had simply waved it goodbye without realising that, that train, was MY train.

(Lots of expletives here, many too offensive to post).

Realising my embarrassing mistake, I went up to the info desk and asked when the next train was – 10.21am, getting me to Harlow at 11am. I would inevitably be 20 minutes late. F**k!

That woke me up. No need for coffee today! Although I did realise, upon eventual arrival in Harlow, that a Wetherspoons breakfast was needed. Probably the only good decision I’ve made today…

P. S. Here’s that Ari Gold quote I used at the start of this post:

Life Improves with Shorthand

Following on from my ‘jobless’ post earlier this year, where I stated that I was feeling depressed and unmotivated, I’ve started an NCTJ Journalism Diploma. I’m now three weeks into the course and thoroughly enjoying every minute. Lectures, work experience, writing articles… the whole damn lot!

Shorthand is hard (I’m not going to deny that!). We have a shorthand lecture every morning, whereas others modules are covered by one lecture per week. Shorthand is almost becoming second nature to us. Almost… I mean, I’m still making mistakes here and there, and some symbols are so difficult to write that it’s probably just quicker to write the actual word at this stage.

My Career (or, lack thereof…)

Life – well, it’s boring. Why? Because I’m full of poisonous ‘self-doubt’…

I have no confidence in who I am as a person. It’s the thing that’s always held me back – both in my personal life, and my professional life. I cannot sell myself properly when light-heartedly flirting with women (thus ensuring 23 years without even a whiff of a girlfriend). Okay, maybe “selling” myself is the wrong word or phrase. Maybe what I really mean is that my lack of confidence when flirting stems from my inability to recognise my own personal achievements.

Also, I want as much as anything to write for a newspaper or magazine as my full-time job. But that’s just it – a JOB. I haven’t got one yet. Since finishing my university degree in June 2014, I haven’t even been motivated towards getting a job. Yes, I’ve sent out a few applications and been to a couple of interviews, but I have other interests too, like volunteering for CAMRA (Campaign for Real Ale).

What I’ve done, is I’ve tried to ignore this indoctrinated expectation that when you graduate, you must then immediately get a job and start earning your way in life. I want to do that, and believe me, I do! But I also don’t want to be pressured into anything I don’t feel comfortable with.

Unfortunately, I feel this has now gone too far, and as a result of my volunteering for CAMRA and thoroughly enjoying it, I now feel left out – seeing my mates get a job straight out of university has made me feel depressed, and I’ve now lost all motivation to do even the simple task of getting out of bed every day so that I may complete yet another application to some godforsaken company to earn a wage.

I was over the moon (quite literally) when I learned that I had graduated from my English Literature degree with a Grade 2:2 Bachelor of Arts with Honours, but I am now facing the music and the harsh reality when it comes to job applications – in the real world, a 2:2 is just unacceptable.

According to all these employers, a minimum of a 2:1 is expected, as stated within the job descriptions… BUT I’m now getting sick of seeing “Minimum 2:1 expected/obtained degree in any discipline” – supposedly, a 2:2 (as in my case) means you’re thick, unmotivated, and not worthy enough for a position at their company. Even though “worthy” accounts for the latter half of my surname!

That’s why I’m stuck writing this blog, and volunteering for CAMRA, and writing articles for a beer magazine on a voluntary basis, and living off my parents’ retirement pensions until I can get a job of my own…

That’s not to say there aren’t ANY jobs out there – there are loads of jobs if you know where to look. I suppose I’ve just set my sights too high. I don’t see the point of working at the local supermarket with all the high-school dropouts I used to see on a daily basis at age 16. I’m now 23. If I worked there, I’m afraid that I’d then have no justification for going to university, enjoying life, studying a subject I enjoy, and accruing £20,000+ of student debts in my name.

But the more I send out applications and receive an email starting “on this occasion your application has been unsuccessful”, and the more time that passes, I get to thinking that it’s the hard life or no life at all…

ITFC signing #1

Confirmation that Tommy Smith has agreed to stay at Portman Road until 2016 #ITFC instagram.com/p/Zp14QLEZsB/
— Ipswich Town FC (@Official_ITFC) May 23, 2013

Poetry anthology is coming along nicely

Hopefully, if everything goes to plan, I'll have a couple more quotes for printing services for the yet unpublished dedication to James, The Poet-Tree: Digging for the Truth. It is an anthology showcasing all our poetry talents, and it seems fitting to publish it now, a year on from the sad departure of our friend James.

It was supposed to be published last year, but as I was the sole contributor and chief editor, things got put on-hold while I got my life sorted out again.

Now, if my university still wants to contribute financially towards the publication, then I will gladly go to the printers and order about 200 copies. If not, then I have considered the possibility of selling it online as an e-book. We shall have to wait and see...

I am an unknown conscious being in the present, recovering from a life lost in the past...

Courage is not something I've had for the past year, and it's only now that I'm starting to feel better. Only now am I re-discovering my Inner Smile, and every day is like a rollercoaster. There was one girl who I must thank for lifting me off my feet, if only for a short while...


Thing is, it didn't last long as I was not ready for a whole bunch of new emotions, on top of losing my grandma, who was like a 2nd mother to me. I haven't embarked on any serious relationships since then.

I don't often 'hate' anything. In fact, I'm hardly offended by anything. I've been called so many names by so many bullies, I don't think there's any more words left in the Oxford English Dictionary that people could use against me. But silence seems to be the new form of bullying, or that's the treatment I've been getting anyway. Maybe its because I pushed people away last year, but still, I feel like I can't talk anymore to my classmates. I'm at the bottom of the pile again, back at square one, waiting for the opportunity...

The day after my grandma's funeral, one of my best mates died. Unfortunately, since then, whenever I've been in conversation, the hurt and the sadness that I have felt for my grandma doesn't seem to matter? For the last year there has been a gaping hole in my life where she once was... but apparently I'm missing the point?

Maybe it has something to do with me not showing up at the funeral for our mate, but I remember on that morning I was dressed up in my suit, shoes polished and gleaming, and I got to the door... but I just couldn't go. I felt light-headed. I was still recovering from my grandma's death. I had 3 essays due in the following week. And I had to deal with a mate's death as well.

I'm sorry if I've hurt anyone. If I led you on, then I'm sorry for that.

Erm, forgive and forget?