I have so many thoughts running around my brain in the moment, and have had for quite a few weeks/months now. Hope you don't mind my indulgence here, dear readers.
I've had some amazing news recently; first, the novel I finished in April (my first) has led to me signing for official representation by the first agent I contacted. When I listened to them talk at a university event, my impression (and reason for contacting this particular agency, their amazing client list aside) was that they genuinely care about the writing and writers they represent, and my experience so far has backed this up. This week, my novel is being considered by four publishing houses. I've been warned that the process/response can take months (years, in some cases!) and, of course, the state of the publishing industry is dire, and rejections are rife, so it's time to direct my attention elsewhere, think of other things and start new projects.
The thing is, as occurred to me yesterday, I am now, at the age of 24, at the first ever point of my 'career' being entirely independent from my education. I started my novel as part of my Masters degree in Creative Writing last year and it grew from there into a full-blown project. Where will the next novel grow from? 'Myself', is probably the answer. I suppose 24 might sound quite old to be only just feeling this particular type of independence, but you have to understand, I've been in education my entire life. I LOVED school; I was reading independently at the age of 3 (I have a vivid memory of my Mum taking me into school to read to a teacher, probably to ask whether I was some kind of freak, or at least whether I should start school sooner than I was due to; I think I read something in the Peter and Jane series, sitting on the grassy bank of the school path as the summer holidays were due to start). I read Roald Dahl's 'Matilda' at the age of six in one day. I have absolutely no idea why I was never bullied for being such a school-lover; I wore glasses, had a frizzy mop of hair (no change there, then!) and apart from being chucked out of my form at 16 for preferring half-an-hour's sleep over registration, and told off by teachers most days for my love of jewellery and non-regulation clothes, I just wanted to learn everything I possibly could.
It took me until the end of university, around two years ago, to realise I could call myself artistic. My best friend at secondary school was 'the artistic one'; we were a great team for school projects (I would do the words, and she would draw beautiful pictures), and I think it's too easy to define yourself as what you are not and to fit yourself around the other people you encounter (identity is not fixed, after all). Now, this friend has a successful career in the sciences, while I float around within artistic-based fields. Even with my music and dance, I never thought I was artistic as a child; the idea had never occurred to me. Even now, as I write this, I have to fight off a bit of an inner cringe at describing myself as being creative, while recognising that I have always been an idiot, really, for imagining I wasn't.
So now, I am between projects; it's an exciting time, and my boyfriend of six-and-a-half years left yesterday night to be a boy adventurer around SE Asia for 3 months. I had thought I'd be going with him, and had cleared my schedule for some exotic adventures from September onwards, but it turns out that it wasn't meant to be something we do together. I want to travel before the end of the year, though, and have been looking into alternative ways I can do some of my own - I've been looking online at things like dance retreats and intensive french courses. I haven't found anything yet, but I think I'll be busy, and have had some amazing modelling offers over the last week or so, let alone there being the new novel I want to start researching for. I also want to take some time just de-cluttering my room(s), reading some amazing books and writing some good-old-fashioned lists (I'm cool like that). But it's a strange feeling when someone who has been your best friend and lover for your entire adult life so far takes himself off for a while. We're both aware that it feels unnatural, physically painful and as though we are going against nature in ripping apart something that has fused itself together, but that it's also, objectively speaking, a very positive thing for us to do, future-wise, and a stark reminder that we are individuals; by the time he's back I think things will feel clearer, one way or another. Anyway, I've always been very goal-orientated, and I hate to feel as if I'm not making the most of my potential, skills and interests, so these next few months are going to be interesting. Beneath the flux and change, and while winding around the unknown, I feel calm, deep down, and have felt stronger than ever in my faith in myself and the reality around me.
I suppose what it comes down to is this: I'm sure that, whatever happens, I'm already in the right lane and I'm giving way to the right.
...And here's the advert for a CD with my face on, photography by Patrick Allen at www.operaomnia.co.uk. I think I look suitably wistful. :-)
