My writing life, January 2024
The highs, lows, and chaos of my writing life
Discussions with literary agent x 1
Publishing deal x 0
Submissions x 4
Rejections x 4
Job interviews x 2 (for the same job)
Radio appearance x 1
Cheeseboards x TOO MANY!
Week one
Day one
January 2024. A new year. A new start. I spring out of bed for 5am writers’ club, feeling excited at all the possibilities. This year, I want to write more and hopefully finish and publish more books. I’d love to get an agent, a book deal, a new job. It begins as it always does, at my desk with a cup of tea, bashing out the words.
Day two
I wake before my 5am alarm, get up and write. If I keep this up, my productivity will rocket in 2024. I’ll be bashing out 20 books a year and people will call me prolific.
Day three
Realise it is cold and dark and January and abort 5am writers’ club in favour of sleep. Winter is the season of hibernation. Rest and recovery are essential.
Resume eating cheese. After indulging so much over Christmas and for the sake of my arteries, I’d promised myself I would cut down, but a delicious cheeseboard really brightens up a dull January day.
Day four
As part of a business mentoring course I’m on, I am encouraged to become the person I want to be. Therefore, I should imagine that I am an internationally bestselling author of fiction and memoir and blow my own trumpet on social media.
I am not a showoff. Blowing my own trumpet does not come easily. But for the sake of my writing career, I take to social media, telling myself that all authors need to market their work—except Maggie O’Farrell, who has someone to do it for her. Remind myself I am not Maggie O’Farrell.
Day five
I submit a job application, then meet my niece, sister and brother-in-law for a game of adventure golf. The last time I played mini golf was in Gran Canaria in 1997, when I hit the ball so hard it flew out of range, hitting a poor unsuspecting woman on the head.
Tonight, I surprise myself by being quite good at it, beating my competitive and naturally good at everything brother-in-law and not injuring anyone. If the writing doesn’t work out, maybe I should consider a career as a professional golfer.
Day six
Mum calls. ‘We’ve put a new bird feeder in the garden,’ she tells me. ‘We’ve been watching the birds. It’s all we’ve been doing.’
‘That’s nice,’ I say.
‘It is, but a squirrel is taking all the nuts. Your dad is having a stand-off with it. He claps to scare it off, but it claps back.’
I’m not sure what else to say.
Day seven
We take Mum and Dad for afternoon tea at Leeds Sky Lounge. After all the cheese, it is good to be back on the cake.
‘When you finish work, we’ll go shopping and have lunch,’ Mum says.
‘I’m not retiring,’ I tell her.
‘No, but you can have a day off.’ She stares out of the window. ‘January is so grim.’
I am not a shopper but agree to a shopping trip.
Mum’s face lights up. ‘Lunch on me,’ she says, which is just as well because by the end of the month, I will no longer have an income.
Week two
Day eight
My lovely friend messages to wish me good luck in the Yorkshire Emerging Writers programme, as the shortlist is announced today.
My name is not on it.
I try to think positive thoughts as the opportunity to work with an editor from one of the biggest publishing companies in the UK passes me by.
‘As one door closes, another opens,’ Mum says.
My friend also offers some words of wisdom from his mum. ‘What’s for you won’t go past you.’
I take comfort in another cheeseboard. And submit a story to BBC Upload.
Day nine
After four years of happily working from home together, my husband returns to the office today. I will miss him and all the cups of tea he makes. If left to make my own, there’s a possibility I might dehydrate.
Mum phones first thing. ‘You’re all alone,’ she says. ‘Chris at work. And no dogs or rabbit anymore.’
I didn’t need a reminder about all my dead pets, but it’s there, anyway.
Thankfully, I enjoy the time on my own and have remembered how to make a brew.
The presenter from BBC Upload calls to say she enjoyed the story I sent in. She interviews me and says it will be on air on Saturday.
Mum calls again in the evening. ‘There’s no sign of the squirrel. It’s gone missing.’
I spend the rest of the night worrying about what might have happened—it’s a dangerous world out there.
Day ten
A literary agent I pitched in November contacts me to say he likes my idea for my running book.
‘I’ve probably got too many clients,’ he tells me. ‘And I’m up to my eyeballs in reading. But if you’re prepared to wait, I’ll take a look and give you some feedback.’
The last time I had a conversation with an agent, she promised to call and then ghosted me. But something about this one makes me think he might be genuine.
Day eleven
I return to 5am writers’ club to check my chapters before sending them to the agent. I press send and then spend the rest of the day dreaming about having my book published.
That night, Chris and I have a date night at Wagamama, but for most of the night, I’m thinking about another man (the agent). The food is good, though. Afterwards we visit Waterstones. In the sports section, I spot one of the agent’s books. He likes sport. We could be a good fit.
I go to bed, hoping he’ll say yes.
Day twelve
He says no.
But it is the kindest, most encouraging rejection I have ever received. He liked my pitch and said he was impressed with my writing, but has too many clients and wants to give them the time they deserve and, honestly, he is more of a cycling man than a running man.
‘I could take up cycling,’ I think. ‘I could cycle around the world.’
I ignore the voice in my head, reminding me I was the only student in school to fall off during my cycling proficiency. I do some quick research into cycling books and discover that one of the agent’s clients has already cycled around the world and has a book about it coming soon.
Forget the cycling. I have a horse. I could horse ride my way around the world and write about it.
‘Are you up for that?’ I ask Blaze, my horse.
‘Neigh,’ she replies and looks at me as if to say, ‘I’m retired. I almost died at Christmas. I am not leaving my stable.’
The agent tells me to keep going, keep doing my Substack and gathering my audience one reader at a time. Keep submitting to competitions, keep at it with agents.
Just keep at it…
My first reaction is to cry, then I pull myself together and take comfort in a cheeseboard.
Day thirteen
In the evening, my interview is broadcast on BBC local radio in Yorkshire, Humberside and Lincolnshire. They play an extract of me reading my work, putting it to music and speeding it up so it sounds quite good.
Then they play the interview, and I talk about getting back to the gym and why fitness is good for mental health. And it all goes well until I confess to overindulging in cheese over Christmas.
‘Why did I mention that?’ I say to Chris afterwards. ‘Why can’t I go two minutes without mentioning cheese?’
‘We’re like Wallace and Gromit,’ he says.
I enter my novel in another writing prize, reminding myself to keep going no matter what.
I have a cheeseboard to celebrate.
Day fourteen
I write a long piece about my experience of bridesmaid dress fitting and body shaming. I hope it will spark lots of comments about body image and positivity. Maybe it will even go viral.
I share it on Twitter (now X) and the Women Writers Network (my friends) say it’s a witty piece.
I share it on Facebook, and no one likes my post. Perhaps the algorithm is playing up. I share it again. Still, no one likes it. I don’t want to be that person who has no likes, so I reach the all-time low of liking my own post. Hopefully, that will nudge the algorithm into believing this is a must-read piece of content.
It doesn’t. Still, no one reads it.
Except my sister. ‘What do you mean, you might not fit into your bridesmaid dress?’ she says. ‘You’ll ruin my wedding. Stop. Eating. Cheese!’
Week three
Day fifteen
It is Blue Monday. Everyone on social media is saying that it doesn’t exist. In our house, it is very much a thing. As if a rejection from a literary agent isn’t bad enough, we’ve now finished the cheeseboard and the cheese.
I finally receive some comments on my body positivity piece. One suggests I should shed the cheese layer I’ve gained in weight by working somewhere cold, like the garden shed. Given the amount of cheese I’ve consumed, the garden shed (if I had one) would not be cold enough. The Antarctic would be better.
Day sixteen
Our next-door neighbour messages to say they are having their garage converted this week. There may be some banging and drilling.
I have an interview, my first in years. It is online on Teams. The banging is bearable, but, an hour before the interview, the drilling starts. I cannot hear or think. I don’t want to be a complaining neighbour, but in the interests of my career, I text my lovely neighbour and ask if she can stop them drilling—just for the 45-minutes of the interview.
Drilling pauses and the interview begins. Having done lots of meetings on Zoom, I’m very familiar with the screen dimensions, so all my clutter and piles of papers are out of shot. On Teams, however, it’s like a different world with much wider angles. The interviewers can clearly see the papers, stacks of books, and all the creative chaos that is my office.
I avoid mentioning anything about being organised because they can clearly see that I am not.
When the interview is over, I pop next door to thank the builders for their silence.
‘No problem, love. And if you want your garage converting, give us a ring.’
‘I will,’ I say, thinking it would be nice to have a downstairs library as well as my upstairs book room. I could relocate my clutter.
Or I could just tidy up.
Day seventeen
Submitted my tax return. What a joy! And submitted to two more agents.
Mum calls. ‘Please come for a cup of tea. All we’re doing is watching the birds on the feeder. January is dull.’
We go round and join my parents, drinking tea and watching the birds.
Day eighteen
I’m hosting the Women Writers Network Twitter chat, which I love doing. The only problem is that because I’m a ridiculously early morning person, by 6pm (the time of the chat), I’m so tired I can barely put a sentence together. I try to compose thoughtful, interesting and informed answers, but by the time I’ve thought of anything in the slightest bit thoughtful, interesting or informed, it’s 7pm and the chat is over.
Day nineteen
Every month, I have a creative catch up with my friend, a writer living in France. We talk about the highs and lows of the writing life, set priorities for the month, and cheer each other on. Today, we spend a lot of time talking about cheese. Being in France, cheese is very much a part of my friend’s daily life.
‘Forget the garage conversion,’ I tell Chris. ‘We’re moving to France.’
Day twenty
My niece has organised a family party to celebrate the birthdays of her two dogs. Mickey, the monster puppy, is one, and Monty, the lovely old boy, is nine.
When I was a child, if I had suggested throwing a party for my pets, my mum would have told me not to be ridiculous. For my niece, however, she says no such thing. Instead, she buys presents, cards, balloons and even helps plan the party games.
I win pass the parcel, (a bar of Crème Egg Dairy Milk) which is without doubt the highlight of my month.
Day twenty-one
‘Have you written your weekly thing?’ Mum asks, referring to my Substack.
‘Yes. It’ll be in your inbox.’
‘I look forward to it.’
I am delighted to have at least one reader.
Week four
‘Is January over yet?’ I ask Chris.
‘There’s still ten days to go,’ he says.
Thankfully, Mum calls with exciting news. ‘The squirrel is back. It came this morning to steal the nuts.’
‘What a relief,’ I say, genuinely meaning it.
I receive not one but two rejections from literary agents. One says my book has a good premise, and the writing is promising, but it’s not a fit for them. The other says it’s not for her but she wishes me success with it.
Day twenty-four
It’s my father-in-law’s birthday so I book a table at a nearby restaurant, which because it’s January is offering half price on mains. It should be a good evening, but as soon as we sit down, my father-in-law shares his news.
‘I’ve had a fall,’ he says. ‘I slipped getting out of bed and couldn’t get back up. I was on the floor for about two hours.’
‘Oh no,’ Mum says, and then bombards him with a thousand questions about how he fell, the position he was in on the floor, which body part was weak to prevent him from getting back up. Why didn’t he call? What is he going to do to stop it from happening again? And what is the plan if it happens again?
I turn to my husband. ‘It’s worrying,’ I say. ‘It’s like A Cream Cracker Under the Settee by Alan Bennett; have you read it?’
Chris shakes his head. ‘There could be a cream cracker under our settee after all the crackers we’ve had at Christmas.’
Day twenty-five
My friend has launched a book club, and tonight is the first meeting. We are taking it in turns to host but, not being much of a hostess, I worry that when it’s my turn, I’ll have to rustle up food when I haven’t been near a kitchen since 1993.
Thankfully, my friend puts me at ease. ‘I’ve bought and buttered some scones,’ she says. ‘But that’s it.’
I don’t need to worry about catering. A few hobnobs and a bag of Doritos will be fine.
We have a lovely couple of hours talking about The Keeper of Stories by Sally Page. It’s one of the best evenings I’ve had for ages.
Day twenty-six
We have a weekend in London to see Sarah Jessica Parker and Matthew Broderick in Plaza Suite. Even from the cheap seats at the back, SJP is amazing.
The only problem is that Chris has developed a cough. It’s keeping us both up all night and probably prevented everyone in the upper circle of the Savoy Theatre from hearing the play.
Week five
Day 995
Head home for week five of January. Week five! Will it ever end?
Day 996
I make £7 in book sales, which is £7 more than last month. My social media marketing must be working. I consider calling Mum to tell her I am retiring after all, but don’t want to rush into anything.
Last day of the month
After my first interview, they invited me for a face-to-face interview. It’s in Manchester and the trains aren’t running. I drive two hours there and two hours back and spend an hour trying to find somewhere to park, and when I eventually find a space, it costs more than my mortgage.
I run to the office, give a presentation, answer questions, and complete a written test, all while locked in a small room with the heating at 35 degrees. I’m so sleep deprived from Chris’s cough that I struggle to remember my name, never mind examples of when I’ve done amazing things at work.
I drive home feeling disappointed that it didn’t go as well as I would have liked. But I’ve done it, and January is over. Surely, that’s worth celebrating.
A cheeseboard is calling.
I love this post, Liz! Definitely a lot of chuckles, and I related to a lot of it. (Your sister's remarks also made me laugh.)
You've had some really great successes this month! Keep going!
Curiously, I'm now craving cheese...
What a fab post - I love your writing! Keep going - remember I had 46 rejections!!