I grew my hair out all summer so that I could wear it up in a high and slightly off-centre ponytail. Gone was my chin-length bob that framed my round child face, that I was sure made me look chubby. I wasn’t chubby — easy to see that now — but a steady campaign of taunting had made me believe I was. I thought that being fat was the worst thing I could possibly be.
I work in communications, which essentially means working to make written content better for people who aren’t experts in doing so. It’s good work, diverse and challenging, and I enjoy it. It allows me to dive into different companies and organisations, to learn a lot about a topic I don’t know anything about, and to explain that topic to different types of audiences. But, of course, some of these topics are… well, boring.
I quit my sales job, leaving my great salary, car allowance and yearly bonus behind. I didn’t have a new full-time role to go to. I knew I wasn’t going to be making as much money or have any of the perks of my old role. But I also knew I would be doing things I liked during my work day, and for me, that was worth more.
This time I’d like to return to longhand. It slows you down and makes you think differently; it forces you more into the character’s head. I hope it will improve the voice in this next project. Of course it will be more laborious: the words have to make it onto the screen at some point. But uni days have made me adept at copying from the page to the keyboard, and this has an advantage in itself; when you’re writing your own words again, you can see them more clearly than reading them over.