There comes a time in every professional’s life where the game suddenly changes, and one is left realising that one is, in fact, winging it. The sheer audacity that lead you to apply for the job that is now yours has evaporated, leaving behind only gut trembling fear, and in this instance, for the very first time, writer’s block.
I’ve never suffered from it in a big way in the past – whenever I have had a bout of what may pass as The Block, it’s really been because I’m a lazy little toe-rag, and couldn’t really by bothered – but now I have it, big time. Just as proper professionals are giving me the nod and saying “Yeah, cool, we’d love you to write for us”, I have run out of words, ideas and courage. I want to crawl into a corner, underneath a large sign with which reads ‘DON’T JUDGE ME’, and scribble away in my own private darkness. Occasionally I will push a piece of writing, in pencil, on grubby lined paper, underneath the cardboard, so that someone can take it and publish it, and I will sit under the safety of my sign, a pair of furtive eyes in the gloom.
However, when writing to editors and begging for work, I can apparently be quite convincing. So I suppose it serves me right to be in this situation now. Instead of the bright but to the point e-mails extolling my virtues, I should have written something like;
My name is Adie Rose, and I’m a bit of a prat. I don’t mean it, but no one has told me otherwise. I can use a full stop to good effect, and would please like to earn some money. Can haz column?
It would have been more honest, is all I’m saying. In any case, I’ve got to go and write three articles that I haven’t a clue about now, so good luck everyone. In six months I’ll either be on TV or down the Jobcentre, and I know which one my money’s on.