We're all clinging on by our fingernails

(It's not just you)

I spoke to a friend the other day.

‘How’s work?’ I said.

‘Oh you know,’ she said. ‘Just plodding on. Same old, same old.’

This friend has a normal job; a job with a salary and a pension and sick pay and holiday pay. A job where if she does a project and it doesn’t turn out right, she gets paid anyway. A job where there’s a payscale and a promotion ladder, and experience is very much rewarded.

‘What about you?’ she asked.

I cannot think of a less appropriate phrase for my writing career than ‘just plodding on’. The phrase that comes to mind most often is ‘clinging on by my fingernails.’

In good times, I’ve clung on to my sanity through a packed events schedule. I’ve battled exhaustion and sore throats and a lost voice. I’ve met my deadlines even if that’s meant squeezing writing in between lit fests and school visits.

In bad times, I’ve clung on to hope that yes I WILL get another book deal; that this book that currently isn’t working WILL somehow turn out ok in the end. That I’ll eke out one more year, two, three as a full-time writer.

I’m coming up to book 60 now (comes out in April). You might think that means I know exactly what I’m doing, I get every book right and I always get new book deals. Um. No. I might work on a book for a few years and NEVER get it to feel right. Or, I might love my story but find my agent doesn’t connect with it. Or even, we both love it but it doesn’t fit into a publisher’s list.

Book 60!!!

Will I ever reach the ‘just plodding on’ stage? Will I ever feel ‘Ahh I’ve made it. NOW I can relax’? Even all these years on, this career is still such a roller-coaster. And I think that’s par for the course when you depend on income from a creative job.

It’s scary that if our project doesn’t get a deal, we won’t be paid (or thanked!). Nobody will say ‘I know I SAID we wanted an adventure thing with ninja-dinosaurs on a space-train but Sales and Marketing are now saying our list is full for that. I recognise that’s kinda my fault and we totally used up your time and energy so do please bill me.’

I tried to explain to my friend how weird this job is. And - how much I love it anyway! It’s bizarre. I’m not a thrill-seeker at all. I’m quite sensible. I like routines and structure and predictability. But I’ve chosen one of the most roller-coaster careers, one where I’m never sure how long I’ll be in business.

I can’t imagine working in a normal job now. I’m too addicted to working whenever I like, to making up worlds in my head, to knowing that the thing I’m creating (whether good or bad) is something only I can create.

The Guardian interviewed Tracey Emin recently and she said:

“There’s something about making something from ourselves which is beautiful and otherworldly as well. And we need all of those things right now to remind us that we can be good-spirited, that we don’t have to make corruption, we don’t have to make greed, we don’t have to make power. Making a beautiful painting isn’t about making power. It’s empowering yourself to feel something, and then if you’ve done it correctly, other people look at it and feel something, too.”

I love that. It makes all the stress worth it. And there is NOTHING that can compare with that feeling of when you finally get your book right, your agent loves it, a publisher takes it and, years on, a parent writes you a thank you email.

This arrived last week. Parents will never know how much these messages mean to us.

So I’m still here.

And I’m clinging on by my fingernails.