Stuck. Frozen in perpetual frustration, the moment my eyes look at my blank manuscript, littered with a sparse outline masquerading as something substantial. This is every time I open a personal scrivener project. For six years, I’ve felt the cold chill in my bones of writing something that might become a book. Finding myself as a writer on this scale
I never would have thought that I would actually be a career writer. I never had that dream as a young girl, reading all those books and dreaming of spending my days clacking away at fiction. In fact, I thought I was good, but average at best. To be completely honest, I still don’t feel like my writing is anything
About three years ago, I wrote Advice from a Failed Startup Founder. Back then, life was very different for me, and I was determined to paint another picture for you: the rarely ever seen picture of failure. You see, most people only ever speak about their successes because they are ashamed of their failures, or they are afraid of the
How does Asbestos end up in makeup? It’s a very surreal thought, having a material as dangerous as asbestos in makeup, the stuff we put on our skin, specifically our faces and around our noses. A more stomach-dropping thought is that in 2017, asbestos was found in children’s makeup products… Imagine someone playing with makeup as a kid and suffering
Marketing is my thing. Like this is what I sell to my clients every day. And I’m so impossibly shit at doing it for myself; it’s really pathetic. So, what did I do today? I planned to rectify this situation a bit. Let’s just say that I’m my worst enemy sometimes, and my harshest critic. I am terrified of social
Stop on your way to work for 30 seconds and look around you. What do you see? The postman is out delivering mail, people are rushing past you on the busy street to get to work, Amazon delivering a midnight order of nappies, construction workers continue to toil on, a child is throwing a tantrum with a frustrated parent, cyclists
I believe that everyone who writes professionally and has a full time job has this issue with writing on a personal level. We just don’t have the time or energy or willpower for it. So the passion suffers, and then the work suffers because the passion is suffering. It’s a chicken and egg scenario, really. We work because we have
Every single day, without fail, two sides of me are at war. I’m programmed, be it by society or my own high standards, to want to build a successful business and that is supposed to make me happy. Just that singular thing. But there is a whole side of me that just wants to breathe and relax and enjoy life,
I spend my life in a state of not-satisfied, not because I’m not content, but because I am afraid of getting comfortable. I’m always working. Nothing is ever good enough. My best work is ahead of me still. There’s still more to be done. But I am very grateful. Always grateful. This blog post is to remind you, and myself,
My life never settles down; I literally live in a state of movement and discomfort. Over the years, I’ve learned to deal with it, but the last six months have been insane. I’ve had my first ever car crash, which totalled my car, I’ve met someone, moved, finally opened the UK marketing agency, and dealt with a host of post-crash
As far as I can remember, I’ve always struggled to make friends. In school, I had a couple friends, only one of whom I really stayed in frequent contact with; checking in on each other every week or so, until a couple months pass and you’re like “Where the hell have you been, update time”. I never really made friends
I love failure. Yeah, you read that right. I love failure; I live to fail. I enjoy every moment of it. But I wasn’t always like this. I hated it and I allowed it to consume me to the point of paralysis once. Never again. This is what I’ve learned… If I received a penny for every time I failed,
It sounds like an oxymoron, but I am an immigrant in my own home country; a native immigrant. When I left England at the tender age of seven, I would have never imagined the twenty year journey I would have to embark on just to get home. I’m not from a war-torn, drug-infested, or communist country, but I had so
For years, I’ve been at war with myself, fighting to get my head to believe that my heart beats to the sound of prose, and not one of a cash register. I’ll admit that I’m materialistic to a point; and we all are. You need food to survive. You need a roof over your head. You need internet, a smartphone,
Eight years ago, I started writing this blog. Year after year, I’ve found myself repeating like a broken record, “I need to take my writing more seriously” or “I need to write more consistently.” Last month, I made the decision to write 2000 words every day. Guess how many I wrote? Possibly about ten thousand words. Across the entire month.