It has always bothered me that in this society, we are confined to one dream and one career path. Nowadays, you have to select your vocation from primary school age and follow it through adolescence into adulthood. For me, this has always been just about as possible as swimming on Jupiter and living to tell the tale. I cannot remember all the jobs I have wanted to do in my life, because that would take far too much time, probably bore you, and ultimately give me a headache; none of which I have a particular desire to do.
I have recently achieved a 3 month position as an intern with the Wimbledon BookFest. This is a job that I now hope will lead me into a career into publishing. At the same time, I hope it will improve my personal writing. The arrival at 'publicity assistant' was never my intended career path. Who sticks with their intended career path for 20 years? Lucky so-and-sos, that's who.
The Wimbledon BookFest is currently run from the mezzanine of one of their sponsors: Marcus Beale architects. When I walked in for my interview, past a small ocean of iMacs, clean white desks, maquette models of buildings and towns, watercolour paintings and those cool slanty desks architects use, I was reminded of a career dream I had in year 8. I remember year 8 because I recall asking my year 8 RE teacher, a brilliant gent called Mr Linnane (spelled correctly, he hopes): how long you have to go to school/university for to become an architect? The reply: 7 years.
Now, at the time this was an insurmountable amount of time for me to spend at university. This is rich, considering that only a few months ago I had my heart set on doing a Ph. D in English Literature; a profession I now realise I do not have the money or time to take on. I'll be honest, parts of English criticism annoy me. Another blog for another day, but I believe that 3 more years of that was not the right path for me. Nevertheless, quite by accident I was more than prepared to do my 7 years of university.
So I could have been an architect I hear you say. However, I gave up on that dream for another reason. I love art. I always loved it at school, I still love drawing and painting and anything of the sort, but at AS Level I did Art with 3 essay subjects and almost drowned under the workload. Needless to say I gave up Art, and with it that dream.
Then there's the other problem. I don't like to be told what to do. Watchers of Lost may imagine John Locke screaming: 'don't tell me what I can't do!', but I assure you, my story is quite a bit less dramatic.
So I have always written. I have always dreamed of being published, making a lot of money and being rescued from the rat race. Hence my also spending amounts of money I never had on the lottery throughout the 7 years subsequent to my turning 16.
A fear of work maybe? I'd agree with you, but I currently study on a Master's course in Children's Literature, write a book, work as a receptionist in a library and also work at Wimbledon every Thursday and at author events, so that's not it. It's not a fear of work, it's a fear of being stuck. Stuck in a place I don't want to be.
It took me a while, but I soon realised at some point in the last two years that I needed a good job, a realistic job that will give me money and time to do what I liked to do most with my life. Read books, write books, watch films, watch plays, paint paintings, bake cakes and spend days in London in assorted Caffe Neros with the missus. With all of these things, things that I'll never lose or give up, no matter what my job is, I'll never feel stuck. But with that thought in mind lay the question: what am I good at doing?
I arrived at this point after deciding to become a teacher because everyone else was (returning to this idea recently as it appeared I couldn't do anything else). I don't want to be a teacher. The teaching profession is one I respect hugely, yet I know it's not for me. It's like knowing I'm not gay. I have zero problem with homosexuality. I believe, wholeheartedly, and pray the day will come soon when freedom has reached a certain level where the world is not narrow-minded enough to disapprove of things like this. I would do anything to fight for this cause. However, in my heart, I know that isn't me. I respect teachers, but I could never work in such a pressurised, authoritative environment, controlled by the controlling forces *cough* Gove *cough* who make the job damn near impossible.
I was once going to apply for graduate schemes, only to find that they may send me to the far ends of the earth. I love holidays, but I'm not a traveller. I never will be. I am one of the folk of our not so green and pleasant land who is quite happy to stay here, and finds an odd sort of beauty in the oily sheen of a rainsoaked M23.
I arrived at publicity assistant because of luck. Because I found an MA at a lovely London university with a temping office, and was lucky enough to have gathered adequate experience to lead me to Wimbledon. I love meeting authors and thinking about book festivals, and talking to people in the business I have craved since I was 6 years old. Being in the business is good no matter what your entry point, and this is a wonderful dream for me. In the meantime, I very much enjoy my job as a receptionist. To paraphrase Transformers (stay with me), I want the job after this job, but you still have to do the first job first. There's no point in whining about that simple fact of life.
I will never be an architect. I will never be an artist. I will never be a photographer. I will never work in a zoo, learning about fantastic creatures and making friends with elephants. I'll never be a high flying film journalist as I was lucky enough to experience for 11 months last year. Maybe I will experience these things in small ways throughout my life, but my life has told me that writing is my calling. Maybe I'll teach creative writing at a university one day? Maybe I won't. Maybe I'll be published? Maybe I won't. The fact of the matter is I write and continue to write. That's enough for me.
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