I think it's very easy to say what you don't want to do. It's easier to say what you don't like.
Even now I struggle to get out the words "I want to write for a living". It just seems a little, well awkward as parodied by Monty Python. Whenever I think that it's what I should be doing I hear the words:
What do you know about getting up at five o'clock in t'morning to fly to Paris... back at the Old Vic for drinks at twelve, sweating the day through press interviews, television interviews and getting back here at ten to wrestle with the problem of a homosexual nymphomaniac drug-addict involved in the ritual murder of a well known Scottish footballer· That's a full working day, lad, and don't you forget it!So, for the second time, I've tried to go back to teaching as a means of solving a job crisis. And for the second time, it's gone wrong.
I have to remember this now. It's just not for me anymore. And I think the trouble was that it was lurking behind me during my last job search, don't worry, there's always teaching!
I'm not trying to denigrate the profession. I've got nothing against teachers, I married one. Mind you, I think that was part of the problem. We are both natural teachers, we both have a way in the classroom (she much, much, much more so than me). She, however, can do all the other crap too, the marking, planning, preparing, the dedicating sundry hours to the job to get things done.
So I have to make sure the career choices work this time.
Day one led to having an article accepted by a national magazine only for them to offer £75 for its publication. I assumed it was a negotiating position and asked for me prompting the magazine to threaten to withdraw its offer altogether.
It's a start. I have some ideas and I have a couple of regular sources of writing income. It's up to me to make sure that there are more sources. I need to do it properly this time. After all, there's no going back to school. Not anymore.