I’ve had a tough month here so have taken some time to explore another creative angle I’d been mulling over. But now I’m feeling a little better and I’ve had a good week of desperate writing. Some times you need to do something totally different to clear your head.

I’ve been thinking a lot about my definition of success, something Joanna Penn writes about and something I had never really considered properly. Naturally I’ve dreamt of agencies fighting over me, declaring me a literary wonder (haha), being offered a lucrative book deal and earning world renown like that of J. K. Rowling (haha x100). But that’s not realistic.

I’m a part-time teacher (currently only working one day a week). Easy, right? Well, my free time is measured by nap times. For that one day a week, I need two/three nap times to plan and prepare for my four classes. Then add in the club I help with and our playgroup day and you pretty much have my week. Oh and I mark in the evenings too. Not much time for creativeness. This will change as my daughter grows up but I don’t want that to be my life. I love teaching, but I want time to enjoy my little family. Which leads me to my new, more realistic version of success.

Success to me is now earning enough from my writing to allow me to support and enjoy my family; I want to connect with readers and (hopefully) learn how they have enjoyed my books; I want the freedom (i.e., the time) to be as creative as I want to be.

End of common decency?

As Christmas approaches you’d expect people to be more caring to strangers, more thoughtful, more decent.  Sadly I haven’t witnessed much when out and about.  Take yesterday for example, when arriving at the parade of shops close to my home I discovered a small moped parked in a parent-child space.  This probably doesn’t seem much unless you are a parent and know how annoying it is to have someone with no need for the extra room these spaces provide parking in them.

This has happened a lot since becoming a nother and is quickly becoming a pet peave.  Being a writer I wrote a note.  After navigating across the busy car park with my pushchair I stopped at the space (which backs safely on to the pavement) and began to put my note inside the helmet only to have the owner of the moped, a petite young lady, arrive so I gave her my note and explained what I was doing.  I pointed out that her moped certainly didn’t need the extra space and that a normal space would give her the room she wanted.  She did look embarrassed and I congratulated her for not parking in a disabled space and asked if she could show parent-child spaces the same respect.  However she brazenly declared “You can’t change me doing what I do!”   I did point out that I couldn’t but our sense of common decency should.  

My only revenge?  One day she’ll need a parent-child space and one won’t be available for her.