What I Did Over Summer
One day, I want to be a writer. Full time. I want my career to be scribbling, writing, and typing onto a page. It took me a while to realise this, and I’ve only just gained the confidence to label myself a ‘writer’, but an accumulation of childhood memories alongside the amount I enjoy that serenity when I sit down with a piece of paper, informed me that I shouldn’t be so naive to what has become such a huge part of my identity.
I was five when I moved into my second home, a semi-detached just a couple roads down. I remember it so clearly because I have a diary of how that event went, full of developed digital photos of me standing beside mountains of boxes triple my height. I took that diary into school, a couple sentences scattered here and there. I was ridiculously proud of it, considering most five year olds learn to read and write at that age. What was probably just a series of illegible scribbles read like the perfect story book to me. Not just the birth of my works, but the birth of memories becoming physical on a page in a sequence of letters and punctuation.
Whenever we had a ‘what did you do over summer’ task to complete, I’d grab my pencil (or pen once I got my pen licence) and think to myself “this is my time to shine” describing my holidays or days out to the park, unashamedly testing my use of adjectives.
In year three, we started doing projects called ‘learning logs’ which meant we could do pretty much anything for homework, as long as it related to the topic we were studying. I’d decorate my pages with creative writing, drawings, poems, homemade quizzes. Sometimes I did three or four activities at a time. I loved the freedom and ability to express myself in something like homework!
In year four, I wrote my first story and my teacher walked me to the headteacher to show him my work, flaunting more sophisticated vocabulary and an early use of similes and semicolons. In year five, I was told I could only go to Berlin during term time if I did a holiday diary to keep it educational. “This only makes my holiday better,” I thought to myself after becoming a pro at travel writing the previous year in Florida. It was as though retelling the sombre story of visiting the Berlin Wall, or eating bratwurst in christmas markets, enlightened me to seeing the world through a writer’s eye. I was an observer, paying close attention to the culture, people and sights, a habit I now can’t shake out of my system.
In year six, I wrote in my leavers book that I love to read and write and want to be an English teacher one day. In secondary school, I took my writing online and started my travel blog (www.flightstruck.wordpress.com). “This would be the perfect career for you Amy,” my mum suggested on a canal boat in Amsterdam. “You can actually get paid for this?” I responded in both astonishment and excitement. I began journaling, keeping a daily diary, bullet journals, poetry books and of course continued with logging my holidays on pen and paper.
How do I remember all this? Because I kept it all. I am a memory hoarder. I just can’t find it in me to want to throw away all my journals and writing. All my old school books are kept in a box in the garage as a physical depiction of my growth and development as a writer. I don’t tell you all this to brag, but to prove the point that I absolutely love writing, and here I am now. My obsession with memories is possibly why I love it so much. I treasure the permanency of my thoughts that exist as soon as the ink stains the paper, being able to reflect on who I was at different periods in my life. Not that I look back at it much.
Writing for me is also therapeutic. Whenever I was sad I used to write all my negative feelings down and shove the paper into a pillowcase. Whatever I was thinking, I’d sleep on it (literally) and feel so much better about it in the morning. I became oddly attached to this pillow of negativity; full of my secrets and feelings I thought only I would understand. One day I realised it was pathetic and snuck into the bathroom and wet every single piece of paper so that the ink would bleed and I’d scrunch the paper into a small soggy ball of misery. What was the point of keeping a sad version of myself and memory that I simply didn’t want to exist anymore? I cut, ripped, and even burnt some of the paper just to make sure all those feelings were gone for good and would never be found or read by anyone.
From then on, I only wrote positive things to highlight the people, places and opportunities I am grateful for. Yes, that does mean my writing isn’t always entirely honest, but I am working on that. Natalie Goldberg states in her book Writing Down the Bones “we think our words are permanent and solid and stamp us forever. That’s not true. We write in the moment.” What we write does become permanent, but it doesn’t permanently represent who we are and I think that is something I forget. What you write simply represents what you feel or think in that moment and that doesn't define you for life. So I suppose I will get back to doing that reckless, honest writing again and if I ever feel the need to soak, rip, tear or burn my work then so be it.
During summer 2020 I decided to practise my writing more. I rebranded my travel blog and produced some more content for that, then almost spontaneously applied for the position at PILOT thinking nothing of it. As soon as I applied I knew this was what I wanted to do. Writing about travel, career, mental health - yes please! The ideas started generating instantly and working with like minded, talented individuals was mind blowing. To think how much I have grown in such a short amount of time is euphoric. Writing articles started taking over and I felt even more passionate about wanting to be a writer. Oh, and I decided to write an eighteen chapter short story during lockdown, reimbursing my love for creative writing.
Again, my point here is not to brag and scream “look at my achievements!” from the rooftops. It’s to encourage you to explore and practice your talents too.
I started university just two weeks ago and fell in love with a module called ‘Acts of Writing’. My homework is a grown up version of ‘what did you do over the holidays?’ having to write during mundane activities to practise writing more. Yep, my homework was to practise writing for the week! Now my obsession has taken over me and for most of my day I am thinking about when to get my daily dose of writing. Last week I went and sat on top of the hills on the side of campus. It was a bright Autumn day, sun shining on the shards of grass and causing an eerie haze around the miles of trees. It was the hum of a wasp and rustle of leaves that woke me up to reality that I am actually here, existing, with my head buried in a journal or notepad, hand and wrist aching from the grip of a pen. I have always found it hard to label myself a writer but the more I say it, the more I accept it and the more I believe it. This is what I mean when I say take control and own your passions. If you don’t know what your passion is, you can either find it or just wait for it to come to you. I always knew I loved writing, but it wasn’t until lockdown and coming to university I realised I want to do this full time.
The ‘learning logs’ I treasure were just me starting out, testing the waters, getting that ballpoint on a piece of A4. The writer that created those was excited and eager. The early stages of my travel writing was by an author who wanted to seem cultured, mature and educated. Wandering under the Brandenburg gate and wondering how to really depict the ancient monument. The writer with her secrets shoved in a pillow was just exploring emotion and authenticity. The writer I am today is inspired and proud of her work; the writer I am today is different to the one I will be tomorrow, or the day after that. Writing for an audience, or even myself, definitely has more challenges and certainly no housepoint rewards, but with every leap of faith as I delve into a page or an article, I fill a void. With every void filled, I am faced with different types of rewards. Housepoints and trips to the headteacher suddenly seem like a runners up prize.
I still have a long way to go. This is just my first big step in a very long journey, especially as I am the biggest perfectionist I know. As I grow more patient, non-aggressive and honest, I think I will eventually get there. Whatever it is you want to do, so will you.
Thumbnail Image Credit: Paul Rousteau