Standing in the Crossroads (trying to avoid the trucks)

So here I am, distracting myself from the blank page of my current novel by instead channeling my need to write into what will be my first ever blog post. It’s a surprise to me to realise that, unlike the ‘what should I write?’ of my novel, I am now contemplating ‘what shouldn’t I write?’ in my blog. It seems that there can often be a thin line between where the writer ends and the writing begins (spoiler: there’s a lot of me in my work), but I suspect that people don’t want to read a blog that’s a microcosm of my life. There’s a full time commission for a therapist right there in that last line, but I must avoid digression just as soon as I work out what that looks like in a blog.

So, I have never been one of those people that know what they want to do with their life. I honestly envy those that do, those that have had a clear idea of what they want from the get-go. Not me. I have grown up with a good sense of propriety and that you should work hard, with diligence and integrity, but I was raised in a time where there seemed to be so very little in the way of options and pathways than there are today. Not just the pathways themselves, but the concept of wanting to travel on anything other than the standard, ‘normal’ pathways.

I remember being at school and having to answer some questions about myself so that they could be entered into some sort of computer system to work out what I was best suited for in terms of employment. I am kicking myself that I cannot remember what the computer said was my ideal career, but I do remember being utterly bemused by the result at the time. I suppose that I’ve been fairly bemused by this area of my life ever since.

I mean, it’s not like I didn’t give off signs to my teachers.  Even back then I liked writing and even bought my own exercise book from the school so I could write stories.  Money that could’ve been spent in the tuck shop, so yes, I must’ve been keen.  I wrote what I thought was a great war story (I still have it and I actually do think it’s great for a ten year old – I will attempt to get it on my ‘Archives’ page).  I was surprised and not a little pleased to have this acknowledged by my teacher who, by way of a ‘prize’, allowed me to help organise a cupboard.  These days I would like to think that teachers in this position would encourage this flair by guiding children through free courses and competitions etc.

So what was the early blooming of an interest in storytelling was then lost. I didn’t write or even read for many years after that. I recall telling people trying to get me to read fiction that I didn’t have time to read anything that wasn’t instructional or vocational. In a similar way, my love of fitness training ended up the same; back then, there was none of the personal trainer avenues that are abundant in every fitness centre in every town now. I wanted to spend my time in and around gyms, but that simply didn’t fit in the ‘normal pathway’ of things so I went back to college to study something acceptable – computers.

Then something happened whilst I was investing my time and energies into the IT industry, a book was published that you may have heard of: Harry Potter and the Philosophers’ Stone. My sister was very keen that I should read it and I did my best to avoid doing so. I didn’t ‘have time’ for reading fiction. And yet, somehow, I did find time. And thank the story gods that I did. Now don’t get me wrong, it took a bit of getting into; during my self-imposed hiatus from reading fiction, I did read another series that you may be aware of: The Lord of the Rings, a story that I absolutely loved. But TLOTR was set in a completely fictional place, whereas Harry lived in modern day England, passing into fantasy like someone walking through the wrong door at the back of Starbucks whilst looking for the loo. This was a weird concept at first but the foil of the dour modern world against the comparative freedom and adventure of Hogwarts et al was intoxicating and influenced my writing ever since because yes, it awoke the storyteller in me that had slept, dormant for far too long.

But through a heady mixture of self-doubt and my rigid conformity to ‘socially acceptable’ employment, my writing stayed something in the background, something that I flirted with and indulged whenever I could.  And this despite that I had finally found what I wanted to do with my life.  Tragic, really, but highly likely not unique in the world.

And then something even more tragic. My lovely sister, a great writer and my writing ‘buddy’, passed away and took my muse with her. For several years this stopped me from doing what I should have done – write. She would’ve been sad at the thought of my abstinence, and it’s that realisation that eventually help to slowly turn the cogs again.

Cue the other tragedy: Covid. I guess that I was lucky in that my job in IT continued unabated during this tough time, made even more intense due to managing an infrastructure and workforce that was being forced to operate in a way it had never done before. This pressure and the, frankly long overdue, lack of help in the role meant that things to came to a head with my boss. A lack of understanding later and I was unemployed after seven years of hard work.

And there it was, looming in the middle distance: the crossroads.

I had already signed up for a part-time, distance learning Masters in creative writing. Partly this was to settle a score with an unfinished MA in IT, but also I wanted to try to hone my skills and differentiate myself when submitting to agents and publishers (did I not mention my hundreds of rejections from the afore mentioned?) I had enough money stashed away in my notice period to survive for a number of months, should I contact the university and change to full time instead? Really push myself, finally, into the ‘path not taken’?

It’s at times like these where you really listen (over listen?) to the subliminal messages and voices in your head.  Should I get straight back on the horse and find another IT job?  Certainly it would help the household income, which is surely fair on the family?  How can I justify spending all my time on a subject that I have had nothing but rejections in?  It’s just pure selfish indulgence, surely?

There’s a lot of question marks in that last paragraph.

With encouragement from my wife, I pluck up the courage to at least enquire into the possibility of a late change from part-time to full-time.  It’s with a small amount of contrition that I am slightly disappointed that the response is ‘sure, no problem.’  Those writing gods are really doing their best to steer me down the road where my heart, and not my head, lives.  Damn them, maybe I should change my ‘religion’?

And there I was, looking at the email from the university, asking me to confirm my choice. Part-time or full-time? It was a question with more weight and meaning than the sender could ever have imagined when tapping it out. I read it and read it again. I hovered my finger over the ‘reply’ button. I retracted it and instead opened up the job-search page, scanning the results. I could feel the hot, angry breath of the gods on the back of my neck. Time to steady the nerves. I take a deep breath and click ‘reply’.

“Full time, please.”