In Which I Am Flustered

At least this one’s coming along nicely…

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything, but the confidence needs to come back quickly.

In the last episode of Life as I Know It, Travis had been promoted to Director and was doing really well. The only issue with the company, however, remains the owner.

The owner of the company has had a rough last year. He lost his father, decided to move his mother back to Turkey, where she would receive subpar healthcare in comparison, who then sadly passed too.

While trying to reconnect with his eldest daughter, he neglected his girlfriend and youngest child to the point where the girlfriend left him.

During the pandemic, he spent a lot of money he didn’t have – he took out a couple of bounce back business loans to finance his coke and crack habits, not to mention his petrol fetish (I’d guess at an average of £200 per Bentley trip) – and had everyone working while on furlough. He turned pretty crazy, texting one employee a load of sexually harassing filth followed up by death threats. He’s not the smartest man on earth because, let’s face it, if he had half a brain he would have made sure his threats were in a non-recordable format, but hey ho – as he would tell Travis, “I’ve had 20 businesses!” (And as Travis would respond, “And where are they now?”)

After admitting to having thought of driving into oncoming traffic to get out of working with him any longer, Travis finally walked out. While psychologically it’s for the best, so far his interviews have come back with a “thanks but no” with little detail as to why.

I, in the meantime, have been looking for some weekend work – I can’t really commit to weekdays if Travis gets something conventional – and the first discussion was Duxford Airport. Unfortunately the positions I’d found have apparently been filled, so that’s disappointing – I was rather excited about the prospect of working for the Imperial War Museum, especially one where at least 10 Spitfires are based. Incidentally, I love the area where we live – we get stunt planes flying overhead, and being as close to Duxford as we are, it’s pretty common now that lockdown’s ended to see WWII bombers passing.

The next one I found was picking flowers. I’m not a fan of flowers, but it’s easy enough, right? Wrong. As Travis pointed out, my ever disintegrating anatomy would not cope. Could I do 10 hours a day picking flowers? Right this second I would say: “Yes, I can, now why is an ant walking across my phone?” Come this evening, the answer might well be no. Plus, I’m English enough to know our increasingly hot summers are a hazard since I now have a tendency to want to be in the sun and then suffer with a touch of sunstroke. Joy of joys.

Then came the kicker. I found a remote position as editor for Screen Rant. I almost applied. And then I discovered that I’ve not got my confidence back. Could I write articles now? I considered things. I want to get back into the swing of things. I really do. But do I want a job with that much responsibility? I write for me. I don’t write for others unless it’s a bit of entertainment. But where am I going with that? What with Travis on the laptop all day with his job searching, and Freyja taking ownership of my phone (or, as she calls it, “Freyja pone”), I don’t have the access to my work when I have even the slightest brainwave. Handwritten work’s out of a question for the simple reason that my pen becomes “Freyja pen” and my writing page becomes her Scribble page, on which she’ll draw a lovely picture of Rosie.

I’ve got two short stories available on Amazon. They’ve sold a bit – not much because I’m not big on advertising and the folks who bought are friends – but not enough to make me think I can do it. My problem is me. I am me. People accept I exist, but that’s pretty much it. So unless I can become someone else, where do I go?

Simple, she says thoughtfully. I will become someone else. Get into that mindset and write. Completely reinvent my invented persona and go to town with it.

And with that in mind, I’m going to wait until shortstuff is in bed and then I’m going to write my heart out.

That’s all, folks!

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