Does age make a difference to the way you write or how successful you are in the writing industry? Clearly, it shouldn’t make a difference – writing is a pastime that can be engaged with at any age, after all. But does our engagement with it differ with age? Are there certain points when we are more motivated by it or more creative or have a greater need for it?
My guess is yes, but the undulations in engagement are probably not universal. They are probably very personal and interlaced with the particular events life throws at you. The reason I’m pondering such things is because I’m on the cusp of a big birthday. I’m all too aware that forty is synonymous with mid-life crises and thoughts of a downward spiral into middle-age, so, to ward off the terror, I’m trying to get one step ahead of it. I’m trying to manage it by making the most of this final year of my thirties, instead of allowing forty to creep up on me from nowhere, a sudden frightening reminder I’m not the twenty-four I still imagine. Some of my friends are there already, and in fact some are fifty and still looking youthful and fabulous, but despite appearances, I know most have wrangled with the concept of entering these decades. Most have at least wobbled, some have felt utterly bereft. Apologies to anyone in their sixties or seventies or eighties or older – I can hear you rolling your eyes – but, you know, forty is enough to contemplate for now. I remember thirty also being a big deal for some. My observations of those who have struggled most are usually that they have been dissatisfied with certain aspects of their life in juxtaposition with their imaginings of how said aspects of their life should be. For example, for some who always imagined they’d be married with babies at thirty or forty, but who found themselves unwillingly single, the jump to a new decade was painful – signifying all the ways they hadn’t met up to their own expectations. Similarly if people want to have bought a house but haven’t or want to travel but haven’t or want to be further ahead in their career than they are, crises at the aging process appear more likely. As that’s my observation, I figure the best way to ward it off for myself is to make sure I’ve tried my darndest to get where I want to be. This is the tricky bit because I also think there is something about having realistic expectations and not setting yourself up for an inevitable fall. The place I really want to get to, at this point in my life, is to a Waterstones store where my book nestles happily on the shelf. However, I really didn’t want to have a ‘I must get published by my big birthday’ aim because the likelihood of me ever realising this aim is miniscule no matter how old I am. I know that the publishing industry is notoriously competitive. Not only that, but there may be an element of luck involved in it actually happening – if, say, you happen to be writing the type of novel dubbed as the next big trend, or your manuscript falls into the right agent’s lap at just the right time etc, etc. What I mean to say is, you do yourself a disservice by aiming for something out of your own control. Of course that leads to a high likelihood of perceived failure. So with that in mind, I decided my aim should be to turn forty knowing I have taken every opportunity that could lead me to my goal. There is undeniably something about a new decade which calls to mind your own mortality, whether you wish to consider it or not. Increasingly I’m of the opinion that it is not this accolade or that success which signifies a life well lived – it’s knowing that you tried your best. You were the nicest you could be, you worked the hardest, you did the things you wanted to. You didn’t fritter life away. This is probably quite a maudlin line of thought but it turns out that brains that naturally tend to ponder such things lend themselves to creative writing – it is never a great leap to conjure bizarre scenarios on paper when they’re happening in our heads anyway. Still, I digress. Back to the not frittering. It seems to me that when people talk about ‘living life to the full’ they generally mean running marathons or skydiving or traversing the planet. I have always felt a little lacking by such standards. But, now, with the wisdom of my late thirties (!), I feel it is much more about doing what you want to be doing. I will never be a marathon runner – frankly I can think of little worse – and perhaps I’ll travel more when the children are older but for now, my passion is writing. And that’s ok. For me, approaching forty, I want to know that I’ve genuinely committed to my writing; that I’ve tried my best to reach that faraway aim I can only dream of. That I’ve worked my hardest. That I’ve enjoyed my day to day. That I have allowed myself to be creatively satisfied (not as easy as it perhaps sounds within the context of other work and motherhood and running a home). Maybe some of this drive comes from discovering writing later than many (though obviously not that late in the grand scheme of things). Though I was prolific in my teenage diary writing, I didn’t ever contemplate I could be a writer until a couple of years ago. It’s still a bit of a surprise if I’m honest. So there is an element of making up lost ground but mostly I have discovered I just really, really love it. And I want to make the most of this passion, now that I know I have it. So, forty minus ten months or so is all about seizing life by both hands – not, I hasten to add, through getting sweaty or taking up circus skills – but through writing and submitting with fervour. So far in 2020, I’ve made forty submissions. That does sound a little excessive, especially as that would lead to 240 over the course of the year were I to keep it up, but I’m only going for journals or competitions that feel right for my writing. It can’t be helped there are so many great opportunities out there. I’m still employing my ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ approach to subbing, which has really helped me to put to continue putting my work out there. The worst thing that could happen is editors might not like it and might say no. But that’s ok. Equally, they just might say yes. So far this year, a few really encouraging things have happened. I have had four acceptances which feels great because I only had three in the whole of last year. Two are in print anthologies which somehow seems even more exciting – nothing beats seeing your words in an actual paper book. The first can be found here: www.amazon.co.uk/love-Nightingale-Sparrow-Literary-Magazine/dp/B084P24666/ref=sr_1_1?crid=1D8ONP14VTJIX&keywords=nightingale+and+sparrow+literary+magazine&qid=1583357585&sprefix=nightingale+and+sparrow%2Caps%2C169&sr=8-1. The next three are upcoming. Competitions have also being going fairly positively too – with long and short listings in the Retreat West micro competition and, most recently, a long-listing in the revered Bath Flash Fiction competition. Apparently this had 1367 entries so to list in the top fifty was massively encouraging. Of course there have been many rejections and many competitions where I didn’t list as well. Perhaps most disappointingly, after working hard to complete my novella-in-flash, it didn’t list in the competition I sent it to. But I’m getting better at accepting rejection and moving on. With such a high rate of subs, there will inevitably be a large number of rejections. And that’s ok. Usually I rally myself by sending pieces straight back out again - another way of seizing the day – the novella included. It isn’t all about the writing – I am intent on seizing the day in all regards. We have booked more tickets for things, more nights away, just got stuff happening. But, sometimes, making the most of a moment means doing less - letting yourself sit for a minute in the sun, really enjoy that piece of chocolate, cuddle your children. I want to know I’ve given everything to my writing, but not at the expense of quality time with my boys. So, here’s to making the most of ends of decades, making ludicrous numbers of submissions and hopefully averting midlife crises. But, I suppose if I do end up having one, all wouldn’t be lost - I could always write about it.
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AuthorNicola Ashbrook Archives
September 2023
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