Freelance Life

Wow, three months since my last post? Quite a lot has happened since then. So quick update:

I went from wanting to rent a place to buying one, then realised how expensive buying a house was (a few thousand just for the paperwork, then borrow the deposit off the bank of mum and ad) I felt I wasn't ready, so then I went back to the idea of renting. Found a perfect one bedroom flat in a nice area in a converted mill building. Fully furnished including TV and the white goods. Good all round deal except the sofa is truly truly past it. I mean it's on its last legs, it's saggier than a middle age WAG who's missed her botox appointment cos her hubby was cheating again and she's has to go court on her allotted spar days, but I digress there.

So I've moved out, sort of officially an adult now, got bills and rent to pay. I can arrange my collection of vintage floral mugs in whatever order I want. I mop up every little crumb and stain after every meal and cup of coffee I make. I am all about getting this nice place nice. My social life is slowly improving, I can entertain and have people over for coffee without having to get called onto the bar at a moment's notice. I have a fancy coffee machine that dispenses freshly ground coffee. And it's red. It was half price, I can't be too fussy. 

My freelance writing work is pretty steady, it's a tough lesson learning to answer to a boss via email, and imagine his harsh tone when over the phone he's very pleasant and nice. Freelance deadlines are much much more stressful than uni ones. Not just a good grade but also future work and money hang on the quality of my work. On the whole my days are free, so I have to fill in the lance bit. I'm learning about how to search out new clients, even if the pay is a little low, it's all about adding to my portfolio.

I can't really define myself as truly freelance yet, I take in the term that I am working remotely and  whilst I am not technically employed by the company, they are my main source of work at the moment. I still work two part time jobs to cover rent and bills, so I do have a back up if the freelance does dry up. Moving out has been a gamble, but this is my chance to really start making a career. 

I actually have one, a career. One I've got on my own without pulling any favours.

Now excuse me, I think my coffee machine is calling me. I'm going to need my fix today. 

Moving Out!

Shortly after my last blog post, I decided to make plans to start moving out. The writing job is giving me that little extra help and with extra hours at my other job I can afford rent and bills. Might be a bit tight at times but I think the time is right. I won't be far from home, but far enough to have a life and get more time for my writing. 

Coming through the haze

I graduated this week. It was a good ceremony, and what made it more fun was hiding in the toilets for half of it with my friend Marian, and then trying to make our way back to our seats with no one noticing, which is difficult since we have curtain tassels hanging from our ridiculous hats. It was cold, so cold that peep toe shoes weren't the best footwear for the weather. Once my feet defrosted, it was a good day, we had lunch in a nice pub, had drinks and I went home rather tipsy.

The next day I was blessed with a mild case of tonsillitis and a bad cold. I was planning on cracking on with some writing, but bad colds just leave me feeling totally and utterly useless and brain dead. Lying on the sofa napping all of yesterday has helped a lot, and the haze seems to have lifted this morning, which is a good thing because I really do have to crack on with some copy writing!!

Time to Gamble

The writer looked nervous. She sat with her hands clasped together, thumbs and fingers wiggling and twitching like ugly worms. Her breathing was deep and even, as if she was making the conscious effort to appear normal. No sweat ran down her face, but she licked her lips several times.

    Opportunity grinned at her, tipped his hat forward to cover his eyes. With an air of bored grace, he stuck his hand in his pocket and with something clasped tight in his hand.

    'It's all a matter of getting the right combination,' Opportunity grinned. 'I know you don't really want to be here, but it seems life pushed you my way.'

    The writer shifted in her seat, as if trying to think of something witty to say. Opportunity grinned, then placed his hand flat down on the table. He did it smoothly and quietly, as if not to startle the writer and scare her away.

    'Everyone comes to see me eventually, whether they're ready or not,' Opportunity tapped each finger on the table. Then he placed his other hand on the table and spread out his fingers. His hands were surprisingly under-adorned, rings or ugly tattoos decorated his skin.

    'You, most definitely are not ready.'

    The writer mumbled something, not looking up from her clasped hands.

    'Pardon?' Opportunity laughed.

    'I'm ready,' the writer whispered. 

    'Good! Let's get this show on the road!'

    The writer looked grim faced and then nodded firmly.

    Opportunity lifted both his hands, then placed them behind his head and reclined on the seat, utterly as ease, like he was sunbathing on a scalding hot day.

    Nervously the writer reached out for the item. Her hand closed about the item.

    'All you have to do is roll them, and get a good score.'

    She nodded, and rolled the dice around in her hands.

    'Some prefer what I like to call the cocktail shaker method,' Opportunity shook his hands near his head like he was busy barman. 'Or the thinking too hard method.' Here he shook his clenched hand near his chin, like he was contemplating his place in the world.

    The writer shut her eyes, breathed in deeply, and then smiled. She produced a hammer from her pocket, and placed the dice on the table, still covering them with her hand.

    Opportunity lifted an eyebrow. 'Breaking your fingers for luck?' he laughed sharply.

    'Not exactly,' the writer replied with a sweet smile.

    And at that, the writer brought the hammer down on the dice several times. Opportunity let out a single strangled cry. He was quivering under the table when the writer knelt down to look him in the eye. She threw a handful of bits at his feet.

   'Thanks for the chance, but I'd rather not gamble this one away, I like to make my own opportunities, it isn't always a matter of luck,' she grinned, and patted him on the arm. 'But don't worry, you'll be back in business soon.'

   Opportunity quivered like a child under the table, and watched as the writer left through a different door.

Writing, writing, writing!

I'm currently sipping at a black coffee (new years resolution, skim a few calories off my diet!) and sat in a coffee shop being the sterotypical writer who has nothing better to do other than gaze out of the window thinking artistic thoughts.

Expect I'm thinking about how much I hate hub gears, even if I don't fully understand how they work. My luck has finally turned, and I now find myself with my first ever 'proper' writing job. To say I was pleased as punch until I got onto trying to describ a hub gear. Overall it's taught me a lot about deadlines, and that I MUST MUST keep in touch with the people I'm working for. It's a part of me, I can go quiet, even with the ease of sending an email. Strangely in person I'm chatty, probably far too chatty, but with the internet I like to keep quiet.

I have a new writing position on an online magazine, Heart of Glass. I found it through the NaNoWriMo website, a user had been a writer on there. So I thought why not. It keeps my writing in shape, and I get to share my opinion with the world, happy days! Just wait until the comments come in disagree with me though! 

I'm down to my last two pieces for the writing job. I can't quite call myself a copywriter yet, I think I need a little more experience, but I've got my foot in the door at least. And how my fingers are hurting a lot more these days, too much writing, but it's want I want to do. Maybe Apple will invent a robot to do it all for me, and something to put my socks on too. Those will be the days.

Rejection and Opportunity

I had my first official rejection letter today. It was a short story I sent to Woman's Weekly, but I felt special because the address was hand written. I can only imagine the cramp the poor person gets, and how bored they must be to do nothing but write addresses on letters all day. I wasn't overly bothered, so my skin must be getting thicker. A few years behind a bar taking crap from drunk people must be having an effect at long last. It does mean I need to be submitting  more suitable stories to magazines, but that's a step at a time.

Opportunity wise, I feel a little more confident as someone has emailed me back about an internship, so fingers crossed it will be a good opportunity. I need to shake my life up again, I'm getting too settled into an easy life. Anything will be better than living above a pub!! 

Novel wise, my novel from Nanowrimo has slowed down a lot, but the ideas are still jumping out at me, I think I need to start carrying a tape recorder around so I don't forget my ideas! It's rather appealing to be saying: 'note to self' when inspired.

Why a cut finger is a good excuse not to write

Well, it's not really a good excuse, and not a very impressive war wound to show my friends. I'm just taking it because trying to type is painful. See the cut is just in the wrong place where I tend to touch the keyboard, and everything else beside. I've been changing beds with gloves on and and gritting my teeth and waving my finger in the air as if I'm at the stock exchange and a really really cool offer has come up.

This week has been proof of life and duty getting in the way. A comment someone made to me last night has opened my eyes too. They said I was more my own person now than I was a year ago. And it's true, I feel more comfortable in my skin, when I look in the mirror, I think, yes, that's me. I was putting the feelings down to rebellion, which they are, but at the age of 23, I'm tired of paying my dues to the family business. So much of my life is wrapped up in the stupid dramas of a pub. I'm feeling ready to let all of this go now. It's a matter of putting my writing first for a change and finding a job related to that.