I haven’t written on here for nearly a month, which is NOT cool. How to persuade myself to post more? Become a vlogger? I would, if I could come to terms with my wonky tooth (jussssst joking. Not joking about having a wonky tooth – I have a wonky tooth – but I’m oke with that. I just hate vloggers. Sorry Zoella). Post a daily pic of my #OOTD? I would, if my #OOTD wasn’t a week-old, unwashed jumper dress with leggings, on all the days. So what you get instead is infrequent old twaddle. Enjoy!
I presume that somebody was listening when I prayed to not be bored ever again that one time. It was probably a day in the summer holidays when I was eight or nine, kicking around a quarry bored out of my mind – praying for something, ANYTHING to happen – when I sealed my burnout fate forevermore.
I’m so busy, and I haven’t been able to post on here. But I’ve had some really excellent, exciting news in the past seven days that make all the hard sloggin’ worth it. Kinda. Trying to be in so many places at once (both mentally and geographically at times) can make everything feel so fragmented and judder so slowly that everything almost comes to a halt. I’ve tried to push past the biggest to-do list of my life this last fortnight, and everything is – terrifyingly – coming up Milhouse. Trying not to allow cynicism to nudge its way in and just be proud for the work I’ve achieved over the past few months. Happy snaps for me, or whatever.
I’ve also written a gazillion and one draft blog posts in the past couple of months that have not passed draft stage. My mind has not been in any one place. My writing at the moment seems to go off on so many tangents and thoughts that makes me sound irrational, hormonal, and very (soon-to-be-no-longer) teenage, whereas I am in fact a very cool, calm and collected serious woman. Might change my Twitter bio to that, as some kind of self-deluded joke to myself. Tara Lepore, Cool, Calm, Collected, Serious Woman.
I get pissed at myself sometimes that I don’t write on here as much as I’d like to, but then I quickly stop caring. Sometimes the internet, with its billion eyes and sneering opinions, feels like something I don’t want to share anything with. It’s too vast; noone cares.
I still keep my journal and am writing every day, more or less, for ‘pleasure’. What a word-stain, though. ‘Do you write for pleasure?’ Do you breathe for pleasure, PUNK?
The more I force myself to write for pleasure, the more I end up wanting to paint, or go to the gym, or watch every episode of Grace and Frankie. Forcing yourself to do something ‘for pleasure’, or thinking that if I you do it, you’ll feel better as a result – is a bit like eating an entire tub of ice cream when you’ve been throwing up all day. Sometimes you don’t want to do something for a reason.
I’d tried to convince myself to post everything I write, whether it’s ‘done’ or not, with the argument that I shouldn’t be ashamed of churning out shitty writing – and tag it #formative #writing – no matter how bad it is – in the hope to be seen as a more prolific writer who can prove that they’re constantly writing, rather than scrolling through Twitter or watching every episode of Grace and Frankie.
We’re encouraged to share everything we have to share on the internet, but I’m no longer going to beat myself up for not writing on here for sometimes weeks at a time. I am writing anyway. Some of the things I’m working on at the moment, alongside my day job of editing a magazine for 3,000 coach drivers every month (not a joke), include:
- I’m working on a longer version of a short play I wrote last year (with some exciting plans to maybe do something MORE with it! With a proper company! MORE to FOLLOW! MORE SOON (guhhh) !!!) Woohoo! MORE MORE MORE!
- I’m thinking about writing a 10-minute piece for the radio. Thinking about writing is basically the same thing as writing. Am listening to lots of radio drama to try and get the ol’ brain cogs working, and delightfully surprised at some of the gems out there (particularly the huge archive of Steptoe and Son radio adaptations – such as this episode where Harold joins the local am-dram society and worries about his inexperience/says loads of things about class divides re theatre. There’s too many quote-worthy things in it. If you’re curious, have a listen.)
- Seriously really want to produce another zine this year, following this tweet from Kanye West. Pronounced Zeen short for magazine. A lot of people pronounce it wrong. I’d love it to be on paper, like this one was – but I’m mad into the idea of getting some contributors on board too. I will let this bounce around in my brain for a while I think. Perhaps it’s something for the autumn.
I’m trying to be a little more realistic with what I can achieve with the time that I’ve got. I’m too quick to get involved with every SINGLE thing that excites me the slightest bit. I found myself looking at a job as a Trainee Camera Assistant on BBC’s Eastenders the other day, like: “Ooooh, better brush up and adapt my CV!”
It’s like, yo, girl – you can be excited that something like Eastenders is a thing that exists, but you don’t HAVE TO BE INVOLVED WITH IT TO APPRECIATE IT AS A CULTURAL PHENOMENA! Let someone else do it man, you’re too busy!
In other news, I was in Manchester for a few days last week and had a lovely ol’ time. I had a few pints, bought some CDs, went to the Museum of Science and Industry and slept a lot. I love the North of England; it has my heart.
I bought Courtney Barnett’s first double-EP-turned LP, A Sea of Split Peas, which has lyrics like “The paramedic thinks I’m clever cause I play guitar/I think she’s clever cause she stops people dying” on Avant Gardner. I also bought Station to Station, cause I didn’t have it previously, and can now hop around my room pretending to be the Thin White Duke at all times.
Until then,
T.A.L x
