OK so here goes nothing on my first ‘personal’ blog post. I feel like such a wannabe millennial for even attempting it… pause for a moment to consider how even using the ancient term ‘wannabe’ clearly highlights the fact that I am most certainly not a millennial. I am, as the title of this blog page implies, an ordinary thirty something woman…. girl! I am not special, I am not talented or gifted and I doubt there are very many people out there that are at all interested in anything I have to say. I have often thought about starting a blog, I love to write, I love to jot down my thoughts and I run a constant inner monologue that means putting pen to paper (or finger to keyboard as it were) really helps. I have never written from a personal point of view before, I have only ever produced content for other blogs. I have written content and marketing copy professionally and although I have always wanted to give this whole ‘writing as me’ thing a go, I have always stopped myself with a ‘I am not Lady Gaga’ attitude. Like, why would anyone want to read my blog? I have however, today, decided it’s time. I want to write. I want to ‘Be a Writer’. So here goes. This is MY BLOG. I am writing for me. I will not worry myself with whether or not anyone reads it. All I hope to gain out of this is to practice, to have an outlet and to be my distinctly average self.
I am recently out of work. I left a job that I enjoyed but was unhappy in for reasons that don’t really matter now. Whatever has lead me here, here I am. Unemployed and thanks to my husband having a fairly swanky new job, I am in a position to take the time to be what I want to be. I will have to make sacrifices and we will be feeding off Tesco value food but hey, here I am at the bottom of a ladder that I want to climb rather than part of the way up a ladder I don’t wish to be on. I have decided, with the support and encouragement of my family to start a career as a freelance writer. I am capable, I am sure…. But, like most people, I suffer the unbearable affliction of anxiety. I know, how dull and typical of an ‘ordinary thirty something’. I hate saying that I have anxiety… It is something people need to talk about more but my own anxiety just pisses me off, it feels like another label I don’t need. I have already had enough of those in my life ‘teenage mum’ ‘single mum’ ‘school refuser’ ‘depressed’ ‘thirty something’. For that reason, I shall from this point on refer to my anxiety simply as ‘Steve’… No offence to anyone called Steve. I swear, that’s just the first name that came into my head, no significance. I have zero self belief and my confidence is often non-existent. It takes weird bursts of confidence and sass for me to do anything, like in this moment as I write this first blog (blog – cringe), I am having a burst. I can do this, I can write. Step aside Steve.
I started by creating a ‘Freelance Writer’ business page (seriously, who am I kidding) in an attempt to find work. That page is in it’s infancy, I haven’t filled it with the content needed yet. I have written it, but of course, the idea of putting it out there for people to see and ultimately have it rejected when I fail to get any work causes Steve to have a tantrum, pull my hair, spit in my face and call me a dickhead. The worst part about creating this page was having to write the ‘About Me’ section. Oh God, I can’t blow my own trumpet, how utterly embarrassing! Even if I wanted to, I am so shit on paper. I know I can take on clients and I can produce work that they would be happy with if they take a chance on me. I have the experience and the background but I don’t have the big fancy English degrees or a professional portfolio of work at prestigious companies. So I start to write my piece….
I am a delusional, under educated fuckwitt, completely seduced by the idea of being a writer. Like having a page that says so will automatically make me Carrie fucking Bradshaw. My painfully unimpressive professional background, moderate intelligence, abhorrent lack of achievement and distinctly average skill set means that I can produce work to adequate standard and subsequently convince myself momentarily that I am bloody brilliant. Despite my uninspired efforts and due to a strained upbringing and a childhood in which I constantly sought the approval of just about anyone, I create wild delusions of grandeur with ease. The inevitable disappointment that follows the realisation is often devastating but still, I persevere. I am a writer, Please hire me.
Seriously, Fuck you Steve. This is of course only the first draft… it has developed from here and is now a little more appealing and fit for purpose 😛
So anyway, I’ve harped on enough now for a first blog post. I am only writing this for me (am I repeating myself?), but should someone stumble on this page then ‘Hi, welcome to the blog of an ordinary thirty something’. I am not brilliant or special, my opinion matters no more than yours but I am sharing it anyway. This page begins my journey (how cliche) to becoming a writer. I will use this place to talk about me, to talk about food, films, writing, love, relationships and random thoughts…. like why do Mums and Nans have their own colours? We say pink or blue whereas they say cerise and cobalt… Cracks me up and that’s the kind of crap you can expect from the average, run of the mill woman behind this post 🙂