After the book launch in February I’d expected to spend a few months on marketing tasks before I could resume writing. I knew it would be time consuming, but I wanted to forge connections and develop some useful relationships. Those were the early weeks of running around, making phone calls, dropping-off books to Readings and Rocksteady Records in the city, contacting radio stations and writing lots of emails. However, in the midst of all that activity I received some surprising and very unwelcome news. My weekend job would be winding-up at the end of June. It was the last thing I’d expected to hear. The loss of my only paid work would have a huge impact on the lifestyle I’d constructed, effectively curtailing my writing ambitions. I was devastated.
The weeks that followed were uncertain times. I now had to add job seeking to my list of things to do. Besides the requisite resume preparation and letter writing there’s the added stress of attending job interviews, and then dealing with rejection. All of that chipped into my writing and marketing time, which I didn’t resent if it meant I’d get another job at the end of it all. But I hadn’t realised how much stress I was internalising.
It began to manifest in dramatic skin problems – visible evidence of the impact it was all having on me. Yet there was no let-up. My foundations were at risk, and I couldn’t plan ahead until I knew if I’d have some income. Time was ticking along. Only a fortnight to go. Could I continue to live as a Writer or not?
All of this tension culminated in a dramatic and conspicuous outbreak. I got shingles. On my face, of all places. I was finally confronted with what I’d been doing to myself. Was it worth all this angst?
In the final week of June, at the eleventh hour, I had respite. It was just as surprising as the original news. Within 24 hours I was interviewed and re-hired for the weekend job that I loved. My world wouldn’t have to be deconstructed, and my life as a Writer wasn’t over.
I took a breath, and then another. All of this stress, and all the weeks of worrying – but had it actually affected the outcome? Sometimes that crystal ball would really come in handy.
I try to adopt some self-talk for these things now, and I focus on that age-old phrase, In the end, everything will be alright. Because, if we could fast forward into the future we’d see that our effort ultimately pays-off, and the outcome is rarely as terrible as we imagine.
May and June were memorable. They were crazy months that I wouldn’t want to re-live; and I have the scars to prove it. Shingles scars. They sit quite prominantly on my forehead, hidden by a shaggy fringe at the moment. I hope that they’ll fade in time, but in many ways I feel I’ve earned those marks. They’re a reminder of how fiercely I fought to retain this life, of how much it all matters to me.
Angela J Dawson 