writing

Intentions for 2022 and beyond

02/01/2022 by Charlotte 2 Comments

To avoid the ‘I’ll be happy when…’ trap

We bought a house in June. It’s great to be here, there’s just lots to do to bring it up to date.

Ever since we arrived we’ve been having rooms decorated and bathrooms renovated. And I noticed early on that when a project has such an endless to-do list, it’s tempting to let your own impatience prevent you from feeling happy with progress.

I had to stop myself thinking ‘If only we could get the bedrooms painted, then I’ll be happy’ and then as soon as that was done ‘Ok, now we need the downstairs loo done, then I can be content’.

If I sign up to that way of thinking, I’ll deny myself happiness… forever? Houses are never really finished, are they.

No, I cannot wait to get the eighties kitchen out and modern fittings in. And yes, toilets made this century will enhance our lives. But I’m not going to hate my house until it’s all done. I refuse to lose sight of how much I love how far we’ve come.

To keep celebrating the little things

For the first six months of 2021, I wrote a list everyday in my diary called ‘Today’s good things’. (We then moved house and had a baby. I’ve hardly had time to go to the toilet since then let alone write anything down).

I’d pick out a handful of reasons to be grateful for the day we’d just had. I did it to boost my morale during lockdown, and to remind me that even when life feels tough, there’s always good stuff going on too.

I felt quite emotional reading it back. I’d noted down so many little things that meant that, despite the context, we were lucky and happy. Fresh air featured a lot, as did cuddles with our daughter. On one day I ended with ‘Just how much we love her’. Aside from mentions of life changing stuff like house move progress and baby scans and kicks, most things were small, everyday moments I wanted to cling to.

It helped at the time and it’s a lovely thing to look back on. So I’m going to do it again for 2022. Our son is already growing up too quickly so I want to write down all the ways he brings me joy. As long as he lets me sleep I’m sure I’ll have the energy to pick up a pen again.

To speak to myself more kindly

Anxiety and I will live alongside one another forever I’m sure. But when my inner dialogue and I work as a team, that’s when I get to win.

I haven’t done so well on that front lately. I found a note I wrote whilst trying to work through a worry which said “Anxiety makes you feel small and insignificant but also massive and in the way”. And that’s the problem. It skews your view of yourself and the world to such an extent that it makes it difficult to have the rational, helpful thoughts that would make it go away.

So I want to keep working on that inner voice.

My excellent friend Alexa Radcliffe-Hart wrote this great blog about selecting a word to guide you through the year. I think I’m going with ‘Deserving’ for mine. Of space, kindness, rest, choice. It’s what I want my children to believe about themselves, so I need to model it myself.

To be truly present when I can, and kinder to myself when I can’t

The combination of being a worrier, planner, and a parent means I find it hard to live in the moment. But I’m definitely happier when I do, so I’m trying to make it more of a habit.

I’m learning to spot opportunities to let go and just play with my daughter or walk at her pace or cuddle the baby. We don’t always have to be moving towards the next thing.

…but we do sometimes. So when I have to keep half my head in the future, planning for the next snack/meal/nap/absurdly large load of washing, I need to forgive myself for it. I’m doing my best.

To read more

This will be my goal forever. I think I read about seven or eight of my books in 2021 (plus 4000 children’s books). It’s not a contest, just something I enjoy so I intend to do more of it. Even just a page a day is worth having.

To keep writing what I feel like writing

If it brings value to you (and it doesn’t hurt anybody) there is value in whatever you feel like producing. That’s what I tell myself every time I sit down to write.

I get so much from writing – whether it’s in a notebook to clear my mind, or published here. So I’m going to keep doing it when I can.

It occurred to me at the end of the year that this blog started as a simple creative outlet, then it became a series of what are essentially love letters. To my husband, my friends, my family, myself, and, more recently, to my children.

I look forward to writing many more.

I hope you will do more of what you love in 2022. Happy New Year, and thanks for reading.

Loneliness and time alone and how becoming a mum changed my relationship with both

20/10/2019 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

Our daughter was born and all of a sudden all those moments of time to myself that I’d never realised were such a big part of my day evaporated. Goodbye solitude, I’ve got company.

You don’t appreciate how many parts of your life constitute alone time until they reduce down to seconds grabbed between feeds, cuddles, and attempts to persuade your child not to dive head first off the sofa.

I look back on all those times I went to the toilet without somebody there to squish my tummy. On all those showers I had where I didn’t feel the need to poke my head out of the cubicle every 30 seconds to shout “ARE YOU OK?” to the little person in the cot in the next room. On all those train journeys I spent reading a book rather than supplying snacks to the small dictator in the pram, perched on the edge of my seat, waiting to see which of the items I’ve selected will be deemed acceptable today. (Fruit, mummy? Really? Try again.) Did I appreciate all that freedom? Of course I didn’t.

Nobody appreciates time until something changes your relationship with it, and becoming a parent definitely does that.

But while I find the lack of freedom hard, having such limited windows to myself has forced me to make the most of the time I do have more than I ever did before.

I’ve learnt to snatch moments to myself, however brief. Ten minutes with Friends on in the background while Leon gives our toddler a bath and I cook dinner. Forty minutes on my laptop on a Sunday morning before everybody else wakes up. Thirty minutes slumped on the sofa on a Friday evening in the gap between my return from work and Leon’s arrival with our daughter after nursery. I don’t mind admitting that I LEG IT home for that sit down. You’ve got to get your rest any way you can in this game.

When time feels so precious, you don’t let yourself waste it. I now know just how much it’s possible to get done in half an hour. Want the house tidied, a tray of brownies baked, and a week’s worth of washing put away? Get a parent whose toddler is taking a nap on the case – and they’ll still have time to negotiate you a new mortgage deal, too. I’ve been amazed and delighted by how the limits on my time have helped me focus my mind and get sh*t done, because I simply don’t have time to fanny about.

I’ve also changed how I think about how I use my days off work. I used to think annual leave had to be used for a holiday or a trip away, or at least for a fancy meal out. And of course it’s great to keep some for those treats, but now I also keep a handful to do the things I can’t do the rest of the time. To sit in a café and write a blog. To go to the cinema by myself. To listen to a podcast with swearing in it without worrying that I’m going to damage the next generation.

I adore my girl and value our time together more than anything else in the world. Being her mum is also the hardest work I’ve ever done, so I do my best to take moments to myself where I can, so I can give her all I’ve got when we’re together.

Because we’re together a lot – most of the time in fact – which is exactly how I want it to be. Nonetheless, one of the other things I’ve found most surprising about life as a parent is how lonely it can feel, despite the fact that you’re in company almost constantly.

It’s the weight of the responsibility, I think. On the logistical front, it’s being the one in charge of deciding everything that we’ll do, when we’ll do it, and what we’ll need to have with us so that we survive the day/avoid significant social embarrassment.

And on the emotional side, the desperation that (when it’s just the two of us) only I feel to get things right for her can feel a bit isolating, too. All I want is to make her happy and to create days that make her feel loved, inspired, amused, interested, and, let’s not forget, sufficiently pooped so that she’ll sleep well, for all our sakes. It’s a lot to be responsible for getting out of a day, and when things don’t go to plan – which is all the time, by the way – it can get you down.

I am of course not on my own. My husband is just as much a parent as I am. But for two days of the week, he’s at work and I’m at home looking after our daughter. And on the days when I do go to work, I do the majority of the childcare around it, because he works longer hours than I do. As a result (and because we live in the society that we do), it’s me who takes responsibility for most of the bits and pieces that keep us going day to day. The meals we eat, the endless supply of milk our daughter requires, the admin that gets our bills paid and keeps the roof firmly over our heads, and so many more things that find their way on and off the ever-growing list that lives inside my brain.

I am incredibly happy and grateful for our life and feel appreciated for my efforts, I just sometimes feel a bit alone in my role, too. I expect we both do.

But as our daughter it getting older (all of a sudden she’ll turn two next month) and she’s getting better and better at communicating, she’s taking an increasingly active role in our time together, and it’s making me feel so much more… accompanied in everything that we do.

She can now express opinions (which, of course, can be inconvenient/tricky to manage, but let’s focus on the positives for now, shall we?), so she can tell me what she thinks of the ideas I have for us. The other day I told her we were going to the farm and she said “Yay! Yarm!” and it made the whole trip that bit more joyous because we were in on the decision to go together.

For a while, parenting feels like something you do ‘to’ your child, rather than with them, because you just have to make decisions on your own. It can be a lonely job, being in charge all the time, so it’s nice to start getting some feedback. It’s most definitely not always positive, but when it’s good, it makes the meltdowns worth facing. And every meltdown teaches me more about how to empathise and communicate with a child who still has so little control over her world.

When you’re expecting a baby, you understand that you’ll probably feel pain during the birth, tiredness after sleepless nights, and a relentless need to go for a wee every 20 minutes for the rest of your life, but you don’t think about what responsibility for your child will feel like in practice. I didn’t realise how much effort I’d have to put into feeling content as an individual (as well as a mum), but I’m glad I have as it’s made all the difference.

Though a lack of time to myself can be trying, knowing that I’m making every moment I do get count helps me feel like I’ve had a break, even if it’s a short one. And when the pangs of mum-life loneliness kick in, I’m lifted by how much more confident I now feel to make decisions for us, to try new things, and to talk about what a roller coaster motherhood can be.

34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34

08/07/2019 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

Every year to mark my birthday, I write a list of lessons I’ve learnt or things I want to say at this point in time. It’s a therapeutic ritual and I recommend it.

So here are 34 things I know about myself and the world now I’m 34 – yet another age that doesn’t feel anywhere near as old as I thought it would…

1. I know that when I sit on the sofa with a drink at my feet and think “I’ll definitely remember that’s there, there’s no way I’ll spill it,” what I’m really saying is: “I look forward to kicking that all over everything in a few minutes.”

2. I know that cheesecake is the world’s most overrated food and I do not apologise for this opinion.

3. I know that there is one person in every group of friends who is in charge of organising get-togethers and who LOVES to complain about how nobody else ever does it and then FREAKS OUT if anybody else ever tries. And hello, yes, that’s me.

4. I know that a solo trip to the cinema is one of the greatest gifts a person can give themselves and I’m just sorry I didn’t realise it sooner.

5. I know that the more energy I put into trying to make somebody like me, the less I will end up liking myself.

6. I know that periods can be a painful, inconvenient nightmare, but there is something undeniably joyful about selecting your biggest, most comfortable knickers to get you through those first, bloated hours.

7. I know that one of the things I find scariest about being a parent is the amount for which your children will forgive you.

8. I know that there’s a huge difference between someone who wants you, and someone who wants you to want them, and that unfortunately it’s not always until you’ve experienced the former that you can recognise the latter.

9. I know that splitting the backside of my favourite pair of jeans open taught me this about clothing: Just because you can do something up, it doesn’t mean it fits.

10. I know that realising I’d done the above just seconds before I left the house to go to brunch taught me you should ALWAYS CHECK YOUR REAR VIEW BEFORE STEPPING OUTSIDE.

11. I know that I sometimes absentmindedly rest my hand on my stomach, trying to protect a baby who now lives out in the world.

12. I know that there will come a point when I have to stop calling my daughter a ‘baby’ and I will get there in my own time. Do not rush me.

13. I know that the way you feel when you see your partner unexpectedly tells you everything you need to know about whether you’re spending your life with the right person.

14. I know that each of us has to take responsibility for our relationship with the internet and to choose to live a life where we feel in control of it, and not the other way around.

15. I know that it’s hypocritical of me to talk to my daughter about the importance of sharing when I find it so very difficult to share her.

16. I know that carrying a yogurt in your handbag is the riskiest game a human being can play.

17. I know that just because you’ve walked into a room and feel like you’re wearing the wrong thing, it doesn’t mean that you are. It’s always OK to dress like you.

18. I know that of all my life goals ‘That I will one day get on top of the washing’ is by far the most ambitious.

19. I know that the more evenly spread the balance of power is between two people, the better their friendship will be.

20. I know that every friend you make isn’t necessarily meant to be in your life forever. It doesn’t mean it wasn’t still worth knowing each other.

21. I know that if you value your time and your energy you shouldn’t even think about chopping a butternut squash. Just roast the bastard for an hour and a half and then do what you need to do with it. Save your blood, sweat and tears for a more worthwhile activity.

22. I know that just because somebody’s on their own it doesn’t mean they’re lonely, and that just because somebody’s in company, it doesn’t mean they’re not.

23. I know that if you want to make a dream a reality, you have to start being able to talk about it whilst looking people in the eye.

24. I know that though migraines are the bane of my life, they have taught me a lot about how much activity, stress, and socialising I can handle. Your body knows what you can take, so listen to it.

25. I know that I’ve never been to an actual swamp, but I have been in the bathroom after my husband has been in the shower, so I’m pretty confident I know what one looks like.

26. I know that it’s always a good time to remind the person you’re spending your life with that you love them just as they are, mess or no mess.

27. I know that you have two choices: spend your time doubting whether there’s space for you and your creative work, or spend your time creating that space by doing it.

28. I know that the gap between what you imagine putting your child to bed will look like (reading them a bedtime story, rocking them to sleep, singing them lullabies) and what it actually looks like (being repeatedly kicked in the face/poked in the eye whilst you lie down with them to help them ‘settle’, saying ‘Yes, that’s a lovely tongue’ when they choose this moment to show you their entire mouth, getting so good at pretending to be asleep yourself that sometimes you do drift off) is VAST.

29. I know that there will come a time when I don’t sit with my daughter in my lap every night, reading her the exact same books before she goes to bed, and I miss it already.

30. I know that we trick ourselves into thinking that we’re working towards an end point in our lives where our achievements will be added up and evaluated. And I know that the older you get and the more milestones you tick off, the more apparent it becomes that that end point doesn’t exist.

31. I know that one of the greatest gifts my daughter has given me is total abandonment of my sense of self-consciousness. I will sing in the street, I will moo, baa and neigh on the train, and I will dance like she’s the only person watching. In so many ways, she has set me free.

32. I know that the moment things go wrong, you realise just how happy your life made you as it was, but that we don’t have to wait till then to notice.

33. I know that at 34 there’s still so much that I want to do, but that for the life we’ve built so far I am grateful.

34. I know that it never ceases to amaze me since we started our family how quickly our time together passes by. And that all I really want for my birthday this year is more, so much more of it.

Creativity: What to do with all that crippling self-doubt

27/08/2017 by Charlotte 2 Comments

What to do with all that crippling self doubt I fell into a pit of despair and self-doubt this week. And I didn’t even see it coming.

I wrote a blog that I was proud of and that I’d been thinking about for some time. But the minute I hit ‘publish’ I felt absolutely ridiculous. Like, who the HELL did I think I was? Who wants to hear what I have to say? I couldn’t believe I’d had the audacity to put myself out there.

I seriously considered chucking it all in – closing down the blog, quitting my writing pursuits, and taking up bird watching or whatever. I just wanted to crawl into a hole and pretend I’d never even tried.

Dramatic enough for you? Well it certainly felt that way.

A few days on, I can look back and see what was going on there. But in the moment it was the most horrific feeling. So for anyone experiencing the same thing – and as a reminder for myself next time this happens – let’s break down why self-doubt occurs and what we should make of it.

At least it proves how much you care

There aren’t many things that bring out this level of emotion in us. I remember feeling a similar sense of self-loathing when being rejected by men. But at least I could tell myself that eventually I’d find somebody else (you know, once I’d got all the listening to power ballads/analysing their text messages/threatening to leave the country, out of the way).

But when it comes to creativity, there is no ‘somebody else’. Writing is what I want to do. I can’t go to a club and meet another calling, can I?! (Just pausing for a minute there to try and remember the last time I went to a club and I can’t. Does visiting a very noisy branch of Currys count?)

But this acknowledgement is a good thing. This feeling means you care because you’re doing what you want to do. The turmoil may feel awful, but it’s a sure sign of your determination to succeed. And that’s something to be proud of. Most people are still trying to figure that bit out.

Creativity is always going to feel audacious

Nobody asks you to put yourself out there. Yes, an editor might ask you to write an article, or a director might invite you to an audition. But they probably only did it because you said you had something to offer in the first place.

Telling the world that you’ve gone ahead and created something is always going to feel audacious. Because in order to do that, you have to believe in yourself. You have to have dedicated real, personal time to a project that you think is worthwhile. And with every creation comes the risk that people won’t be interested in it. There’s no way around it. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t, it just means you shouldn’t feel bad for finding the process scary.

What do you know anyway?

I wrote just a couple of weeks ago (see, I don’t even listen to my own advice) that a lot of the time you’ll never even know what people think of your work. Just because you put something out there, it doesn’t mean people are obliged to respond. Editors don’t have to reply to pitches. Record labels aren’t required to say whether they enjoyed your song. And people on Facebook didn’t sign a contract saying they would always ‘like’ your updates.

But that doesn’t mean your work is bad. Or that people didn’t appreciate it. They may well have done. You might have had the most profound impact on somebody, they just didn’t tell you. And what does it matter if what you wrote/made/sang only touched three people? Is it only volume that makes something worthwhile? I don’t think so. It’s called starting out, and nobody gets to avoid that stage I’m afraid.

Maybe they’re not your audience, but somebody else will be

Obviously we’re not all doing this for fun – many of us need to make a living from creativity – so we have to find an audience for our work.

I’ve experienced a lot of silence recently. I’ve sent numerous pitches and ideas and, in most cases, heard nothing back. And when that happens it’s easy to think it’s because you have nothing to offer and should quit trying. But that’s not true.

I know from experience that a ‘yes’ always comes in the end. You just have to find an alternative target. So your energy should go into discovering who that should be, rather than feeling like a failure for having an empty inbox.

Take that emotion and put it into your work

All that dramatic energy conjured up with your self-doubt needs to be put to good use. So chuck it back into your projects.

Since finally managing to remove my head from my arse and remember why I do this writing thing, I’ve managed to get back on it. For one thing, I’ve written this. One of my favourite things about writing is that it can help make other people who are like you feel better. I don’t know if it will be of use to anyone, of course, I’m not telepathic. But I see value in it, so it’s worth a shot. And worst case scenario, working through this thought process on the page has done me some good. And I’ve had some right nice snacks whilst I’ve done it.

I’m trying to tell myself that if I can just channel all that turmoil into my blogs/pitches/ideas, I’ll be well away. So bring it on, soul-crushing feelings of anguish and distress, I’m going to make my MILLIONS from you (or something like that…)

Remember: Self pity is no use to you

I wrote recently about the excellent book Big Magic and the many lessons Elizabeth Gilbert teaches about how to avoid letting fear stop you being creative. And amongst them is the fact that self pity gets you nowhere. Feeling sorry for yourself because something you wrote doesn’t prove popular, or because your idea gets rejected, doesn’t help you make any progress at all.

Of course, it’s important to take time to feel how you feel – pretending otherwise is even more exhausting than the self-doubt itself. But once you’ve expressed it, it helps to get your eyes back on the prize and to know that only keeping going will get you where you want to be.

Sometimes just meeting your own needs is enough

I need to write, I do. Some people get creative in the garden, other people take on major physical feats, but for me it’s writing that makes me feel most together. I mean, I hate it too. I despise it. Oh my goodness, the to-ing and fro-ing with an article, the hot hot heat of a lap permanently populated by a laptop, the utter disparity between how phenomenal an idea sounds in my head and how it reads on the page. It’s torture. But a torture I can’t live without, apparently.

So maybe that’s enough. If creativity gives you what you need to get by, that in itself has to make it worthwhile. All the better if people read/laugh//listen/watch/whatever. But if it’s bringing something meaningful into your life, you can’t deny that it has value.

So that’s what I’ll be telling my self-doubt when it inevitably sets in again. Probably about three minutes after I hit publish on this blog, the bastard.

Hit the f*ck it button: On finding the courage to just do it anyway

13/08/2017 by Charlotte 2 Comments

One of my very best friends uses an excellent phrase that I’ve been adopting more and more in my everyday life.

She calls it ‘Hitting the f*ck it button’.

You do it when you’re just DONE. Done worrying, done being afraid, and done doing what you think everybody expects you to do. You hit the f*ck it button and find the courage to see where it takes you.

And mate, it’s a great button. I encourage you to bring it into your life.

I realise I’m using it every time something SCARES THE LIVING SHITE OUT OF ME but I do it anyway. Let me give you some examples of where it’s really come in handy.

This one time, I met my husband.

I was NOT in the mood the night I met Leon. But it was a friend’s birthday and the last night of the second year at university so, sure, I went out. My friends had been telling me how great this guy was for ages and I remained cynical. I’d met guys before and they’d not always been so great. But BOLLOCKS TO IT, I thought, I can say hi. So I walked up to him, tapped him on the shoulder and said hello. Such behaviour was profoundly out of character for me, but I’d hit the button. I had nothing to lose and, as it turned out, absolutely everything to gain.

Another time, I buggered off to Australia for a bit.

Two years ago, my husband had the opportunity to go and work abroad for a few weeks. And I was just about to be between jobs so I decided to go with him. It felt insane as I didn’t know what I’d do when we got back, but when else were we going to go to AUSTRALIA? I rang my friend – coiner of the ‘f*ck it button’ – to ask if it was a good idea. She said “Well, you rang me, so you’re clearly looking for a yes because OBVIOUSLY that’s what I’ll say”. (Isn’t it funny how who we choose to go to for advice tells us everything we need to know about the advice we’re looking to hear?). So I found the courage, hit that button and I went. And it remains some of the most fun I’ve ever had.

We decided to try and have a baby.

If you thought too much about having a baby, I swear nobody would ever do it. Like, if you really considered in detail the likely pain and discomfort and the lifetime of WORRY, how would anybody find the courage? So, this is where the button comes in handy. I knew we wanted to have a baby (and that we were in as good a position as possible in our lives to go for it etc. etc.) so I couldn’t let fear get in the way. I told myself I would worry about the detail of the birth and parenthood once the baby was in existence. And now, here we are. I’m 25 weeks pregnant and taking it day by day.

I took up freelance writing.

Sometimes I have lots of work and sometimes I have none. And the only way I can get more work is by putting myself out there. By coming up with ideas and sending them out to people. By gathering the courage to email strangers to ask if they’d like to give me money in exchange for words. And apart from the message I write in my correspondence I have no control over what they think of me. There is every chance that every one of them will think I am a moron. But if I DON’T contact anybody, I’ll get nowhere. So every week I hit that button and I keep on trying.

It really is a marvellous device and I’m proud of myself every time I push it.

Thank goodness for Big Magic

Another excellent woman who encourages similar behaviour is Elizabeth Gilbert who wrote Big Magic – Creativity Beyond Fear.

I love reading books and articles designed to give you the courage to be braver, and this one had the most profound impact. The combination of this book and the knowledge that the best things in life happen when you hit the f*ck it button have given me the courage I needed to be bolder.

Big Magic is about not letting fear stop you from doing what you want to do, and creating what you want to create. I took so much from this book but these are my favourite lessons:

Do it because you love it – everything else that comes of it is a bonus.
If you don’t pursue your great idea, before long somebody else will.
You have to accept that fear will inevitably always be with you. You just can’t let it guide your decisions.
Anything bad for you is bad for your work (with the exception of Jaffa Cakes, I’m assuming).
If you get a no, move on and offer your idea/work/whatever to someone else.
Done is better than perfect.
OF COURSE you have the right to be creative, you have that by just being alive. You don’t need anybody’s permission.
Don’t worry about being original, be authentic.
Don’t actively try to write something that helps people. Just write and if it helps then GREAT.

If you’re following any kind of creative dream, I really recommend reading it. If nothing else, you’ll find you’re suddenly out of excuses not to give whatever you want to do a try.

Fear is boring, because fear only ever has one thing to say to us, and that thing is: ‘STOP!'” – Elizabeth Gilbert

Getting older has given me feel a much greater, more urgent need to be brave. Because with everyday that I’m not, it’s only me that loses out.

So I’m going to keep Big Magic’s lessons front of mind, and I’m going to carry on creating without fear (or at least without paying too much attention to fear). And I’m going to keep on hitting that beloved f*ck it button.

Because life just keeps getting more interesting every time I do.

12 lessons I’ve learnt from six years of blogging

06/08/2017 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

I started blogging because I felt like a writer with nowhere to write, so in the absence of a garden big enough for a shed, I built a blog instead.

And six years on, I’m still here. It’s nice having a record of how I’ve grown up, developed my writing, and got my head around various thoughts, feelings and life events.

People sometimes ask me questions about what blogging involves, so I thought I’d share some lessons. If you have more questions after reading this, please do ask them. All (kind) forms of correspondence are always welcome.

1. People are not that nice

If people read what you’ve written it’s because they want to read it. If they don’t want to they won’t. It’s as simple as that. People might give you a supportive click or two at the beginning to help you on your way. But when you’re a few months or years down the line, no matter how close a friend/sister/pet they are, they simply won’t open your blog unless they’re interested. And that’s a good thing. Pity reads are no use to anyone.

2. Most of the time, you simply won’t know what people think

Unless you’re planning to go door to door, asking all your acquaintances if they did or did not click on the link to your latest post about the highs and lows of using a chemical toilet (a real post I remain deeply proud of), you won’t know. You might get a like or a comment from a keen and kind reader but there’s no obligation for people to give you feedback.

And you’re also very unlikely to get personalised notes from everyone who doesn’t fancy reading your stuff. Anybody who does send you such a note needs to reconsider how they use their time. Speaking of which…

3. A few people reeeeally aren’t that nice

As women messing about on the internet go, I’ve been pretty lucky on the troll front. I’ve only ever had two very nasty comments left on this blog. And although I will remember them forever, I think they did me good. Because if you’re going to write on the regular and put it out there for people to read, you need to develop a thick skin. (If only, most of the time, to deal with the deafening silence that can follow once you’ve hit publish.)

You can’t spend your time being worried about what a troll might say. The post that encouraged OUTRAGE from my bridge-dweller was about why I recommend giving your partner a sufficient number of bedroom drawers to store their pants. He/she told me to ‘PLEASE shut my f***ing blog down’. Sorry, friend. No chance. Where else are people to go for such innovative life advice?

4. Only time will teach you what you’ve really got to say

It’s taken me years to develop my writing style and tone. There was no other way to do it than to just get on and DO IT. I’m not claiming to have nailed it, I just know how I like to write now. And I continue to enjoy experimenting with it, pushing the odd boundary, and finding new ways to express myself. Your blog is your house and you have the floor so use it to get it wrong, get it right, and enjoy yourself along the way.

5. Thanks to blogging, I will never be bored

You know when you used to have to fill in the bit on your CV about your hobbies and scrabble around for something to say that wasn’t ‘Watching re-runs of Friends’ and ‘Debating which are the tastiest members of the Percy Pig family’? Well, now I have blogging. Hanging out in my house on my own is never a problem as I can just grab a notebook or my laptop and see what I’ve got to say. What a treat! Or, equally as fun, I can lie around thinking about writing, and then not actually ever get around to it. That’s when you know you’re becoming a true professional…

6. You have more time than you think

People have different views about how frequently you should blog. I think you should do it whenever you can and you want to. Some people run sites which have advertising and content commitments requiring them to post on a particular basis, but the rest of us can do as we please.

For us it’s just about finding time, and what I’ve learnt is that if you want to do it, you will find the hours you need. Sundays are my usual day for writing, but sometimes I do a little on another day, or I have a whole week off, or I’m inspired to write three posts at once. I think it’s best just not to put too much pressure on the whole thing. Your writing will be much better if you’re doing it because you want to.

7.Your blog may not become your job, but it might help you get other ones

I get asked a lot about blogging and money making, and this is what I say: This blog is not my job, it’s my hobby, it’s where I come to be creative, and it’s also where I store my portfolio, which I use to seek paid writing work. Although the blog itself doesn’t generally make me money (I’ve only ever done one sponsored post with a brand that fitted in with my subject matter), it has helped me get other jobs.

In order to make money directly from a blog on a regular basis, you need a clear niche that advertisers/sponsors etc. can support. Only you can know your motivations for running a blog, but it strikes me that the most successful ones – whether in terms of reads or money made – came about because people wanted to speak about a particular subject they’re passionate about, and then the rest followed.

Don’t get me wrong, I’d be delighted to bring home more dollar thanks to this baby, but I don’t ever want to compromise what the site is for. It’s for honest posts and chats about what it is to be human. (So if you’re a brand that’ll let me chat about that in return for some ££ and a mention, give a girl a call!)

8. You don’t have to be a web designer, you just need patience

Building a blog can be as difficult or as simple as you make it. I started out on Google Blogger as it was free and easy to use, and then as I got a bit more serious about it and wanted my own url, I moved over to this self-hosted WordPress site. It’s not fancy and there’s lots more I’d like to do with it, but it will do just fine, and I can change it any time I want to (read: can find the strength).

You just have to decide what you want the site to do, and then to work away at bringing it about. I recommend having a cushion set aside specifically for screaming into whilst you build. Believe me, you’ll need it.

9. You’ll realise there are hundreds of people just like you

Blogging has opened up a whole new world of people and events I never knew I’d enjoy. It made me realise how much I love writing, learning about writing, and meeting people equally excited about all things pen and paper. I’m part of the Mumsnet Bloggers Network and have been to their annual Blogfest three times (my baby is due in November, when Blogfest is usually held, so unless this year’s event is happening in a maternity ward, I’m going to have to give it a miss). And I’ve been to other blogging workshops and talks about creativity that have taught me new things and inspired the sh*t out of me. And I can’t recommend that feeling enough.

10. Other people will do much better at blogging and you won’t know why

Why a blog is or is not popular can sometimes be obvious and can sometimes totally throw you. I find that if I think I’ve written something good, it’ll fall flat as a pancake. And if I struggle through a post and end up publishing just to justify the hours of blood, sweat and tears I’ve put into it – even if I think the entire thing is pointless and so am I – people will like it. So what do I know.

I think what’s most important is just to keep writing what you want to write. Authentic posts are always the best. Any likes and shares and whatnot they score the writer have to just be a bonus.

11. Writing something people relate to is a high like no other

Having said that, there’s no denying the utter joy of penning something other people can relate to. Something that makes them say ‘This is what I’ve been thinking but couldn’t articulate’ or ‘IT’S LIKE YOU’RE IN MY BRAIN’ or ‘Are you actually monitoring my thoughts because this is so in line with them that I’m genuinely FRIGHTENED’. I cannot pretend that such comments do not fill me up because they do.

12. Writing feeds your soul

I’ve written regularly for so long now that if I take too much of a break, I start to feel uncomfortable. It’s become a crucial part of how I figure out what I think about different subjects. Lots of people say it but it’s true – I often don’t really know what I think about something until I start writing about it. It’s the cheapest therapy I’ll ever undertake and I’d hate to be without it.

This game isn’t for everyone. Most people would rather tear their hair out than spend their free hours talking to themselves through a computer screen. But we’re not most people, are we? This blog may not have made me a millionaire or anything close to one, but it has taught me more about myself and the world than I ever could have expected. And for that I will always be grateful.

So here’s to another year of Nothing good rhymes with Charlotte. Knowing how livid this site’s continued existence would make our darling troll makes each anniversary all the more worth celebrating.

La La Land: Seven lessons you learn when following your dreams

18/01/2017 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

20170114_150307 I don’t always love musicals. I tend to want everyone in them to calm down. But not this time. I loved everything about La La Land: the singing, the dancing, the romance, and ohmyword the soundtrack. (For those in pursuit of joy: it’s on Spotify).

I also loved that this is a film about following your dreams, the ridiculousness involved with putting yourself out there, and the compromises you have to make to get what you want (granted with more dancing than I’d considered incorporating before, but maybe it’d help?).

It’s funny, one moment you’re laughing in the face of inspirational quotes, clicking away from articles offering career advice, and declaring war on anybody who talks about being ‘meant’ to do a particular job, and then all of a sudden you’re every single one of those guys rolled into one. I blame age – it makes the need to enjoy your life feel so much more pressing.

Whatever your aim – mine is writing for a living – you learn a lot whilst trying to make it happen. So for anyone considering chasing a dream, here are some of the lessons I’ve learnt so far, and I’m sure there will be plenty more to come…

1.You have to learn to SAY it.

What do you say when somebody asks what you do? Or when they ask how the writing/comedy/acting/photography is going? Perhaps you’re more naturally confident than I am, in which case GOOD KEEP THAT UP, but if not, you have to find the courage to answer this question properly.

On the inside I’m absolutely obsessed with writing, with being published, with coming up with new ideas, and with getting better at it. But because there are so many people doing it, and so many versions of what ‘good’ looks like, I’m afraid of looking like a fraud or somebody pursuing a pipe dream. BUT what I’ve learnt is this: a) I’m not either of those things and b) Even if you feel that way, you have to learn to act like you don’t. People won’t give you work or recommend you if you’re too afraid to even say what you want, and you won’t feel confident enough to try if you don’t hear it from your own mouth. And anyway, the more you speak to people, the more ideas you’ll get, so you need to do it. People are asking how it’s going because they’re interested, so take a deep breath and have the chat.

2. A ‘Yes’ strategy is a good place to start

You never know where opportunities are going to lead you, so when you’re starting out and you don’t have any or much work, saying yes to what comes your way isn’t a bad strategy. Of course, there are caveats here – make sure it’s something you want to do, that you’re happy with the money, and that you have the space and time to do it. I just mean that it doesn’t have to be precisely what you want to do in the long term from the start, as the experience will still come in handy. At worst, it’ll teach you what you don’t want which is also a useful lesson.

3. Someone in the crowd could be the one you need to know

Yep, I’ve had that song in my head for days and now you will too. Meeting people, speaking to strangers on the phone, and generally going out into the world and saying “You don’t know me but here’s my heart and soul, want to buy it?” is a necessary part of trying to build a business or a career for yourself. Do not be afraid of this. It is 100% worth it and often fun. And anyway, there is simply no way around it; the odds of somebody coming round to your house out of nowhere and offering to pay you to write/act/tell jokes/sing songs for them is very low, and to be honest I’d be very wary of anybody who does.

4. Compromise is very much part of the deal

Films don’t document people working on Sundays when everyone else is out eating roast dinners or walking dogs; nor do they show people hunched over their laptops, typing away into the night because they have a deadline that they couldn’t hit during the day because they have another job. But this can be the reality of dream chasing. It certainly is for the writers among us. I would describe myself as ‘In a serious relationship’ with my desk, my laptop, and about 45 different Moleskine notebooks. It’s OK, they’re all fine with it.

There’s glamour and joy to be had, for sure – a byline, a pay cheque, your face on TV – but most of the time it’s just me, a blanket, my computer and all the empty packets from snacks I’ve inhaled. I’m happy with that, but I appreciate it wouldn’t be for everyone.

5. Patient friends and family are everything

There’s a bit in La La Land where Sebastian drives to Mia’s house and insists on taking her to an audition because he believes in her. These are the kinds of people we need in our lives. People who won’t get cross when we have to opt out of going to a party because we have a deadline, but who will instead make us a drink before they go – because not only do they understand our life goals, but they also take hydration seriously.

6. You have to learn when to rest

Why didn’t you go on holiday last year, Charlotte?

Oh because I was too busy chasing my dreams.

And what are your dreams exactly?

To write for a living so that I can travel and enjoy my free time on my terms.

Right…

Breaks matter. They matter to your health because life is tiring, they matter to your relationships because to have them you need to actually spend time with people, and they matter to your work because you can only create great things if you look after yourself. So you need to get good at figuring out when to work and when to rest. As I discovered early on, if you just wait until you fall over to realise you need to stop, you’re leaving it too late.

7. Comparing yourself to others is NOT helpful

I’ve written about this lots of times before (and most recently in this post), but it needs reiterating to remind myself and anybody else who spends too much time online. It is healthy to look at somebody who has done something you would also like to do and think “How can I learn from them?”, it is not healthy to think “I am a failure because this has happened to them and not to me.” Do you see the distinction? Good, now paint it on your bedroom wall or your phone screen. None of us has enough time to waste worrying about why we’re not somebody else. We’ve got much more important sh*t to do than that.

The small moments of joy that made 2016 more than bearable

30/12/2016 by Charlotte 4 Comments

img_20160817_133724 I don’t need to mention that this year has been… difficult.

But rather than add to the noise about the horror of 2016 – the deaths of numerous icons, the dream of the first female US president tumbling into the abyss, and the opportunity to spend Wednesday evenings watching people make cake whilst eating cake disappearing forever – I’ve decided to focus on the positives.

Because there’s nothing like a year filled with endless news stories of sadness and despair and a, frankly, terrifying political landscape, to make you appreciate the smaller moments that make up each day. So here are a few of the small but precious moments that made this year unforgettable for me. And I’d love to hear yours too.

Halting mid-order at the bar on Battersea Rise to sing emphatically to Blank Space by Taylor Swift with Ceri. Thank you for your patience, Mr Barman.

Sitting in the British Library with Alexa, working on our separate writing projects alone but together, and rewarding our efforts with door stopper sized pieces of cake.

Hearing my brother walking down the stairs saying “Alright then, dude” to his 10 day old baby son, Jack, who he was about to introduce us to for the very first time.

Having a panic attack at St Pancras station whilst waiting to meet Emma, telling her I was suffering, her saying “You know, I don’t expect anything from you” and it disappearing just as quickly as it came.

Receiving my first ever yes from an editor I’d pitched a story idea to cold.

1am Sunday morning, late January. Standing on the train back to Wimbledon with Sarah, covered from head to toe in sweat after throwing everything we had into Shake It Off. People stare. We regret nothing.

Watching Jack fall asleep on Leon and witnessing the precise moment my husband fell in love with our nephew.

The final seconds of Orange is the New Black series 4. *mouth wide open emoji*

Standing in a cramped pub in Hackney, the windows streaming with condensation, bouncing along as my friend Sara played bass in a David Bowie tribute band and having it confirmed that she is indeed the coolest of chicks.

Purchasing a yellow leather backpack under the guidance of my boldest friend, and never looking back.

Sheffield, August. A whole afternoon with Jen, Matt, Jo and Leon. I discover Hendrick’s, tonic and cucumber. Life becomes even more interesting.

The response I got to a blog called Solitude is good for you, loneliness is not. I thought talking about finding social situations difficult and needing time to myself would make me sound weird. But, as always, it’s never just you.

Reviewing my choice of outfit (below) for a two and a half hour hike between the Cinque Terre in Italy and realising once and for all that nobody will ever accuse me of being outdoorsy.

Dinner, La Loggia, Levanto, Thursday 19 May. We are at our best.

Falling out of a bar at 8.45pm on a Friday night with my two favourite drinking buddies, laughing like hyenas and heading off in search of food, any food, to soak up all the delicious, if ill-advised, margaritas we’d consumed.

Every time I did that particular type of sigh I reserve for when I close a book I’ve loved. (There were 16 this year, if you’re interested).

When Leon and I used our Nutribullet to make margaritas and we learnt the hard way what it tastes like if you line each glass with table salt instead of rock. (Not good, bro).

Watching Jack eat the tiny remaining peas from his dinner that he’d spread around his high chair from the tip of his mum’s finger.

Seeing the way he looks at her.

Demonstrating that I know all of the words to Mysterious Girl by Peter Andre at a wedding and feeling not a single ounce of shame.

The look of amused surprise on my friends’ faces at Thorpe Park when they discovered just. how. seriously. we take roller coasters.

Being taken to Budapest for my birthday and learning that the first rule of wearing a hat in 34 degree heat is: keep the hat on until you can shower your hair back to normality.

Spending a day with my five oldest friends discussing everything – from the super grown up world of marriage, mortgages and babies, to the most immature game of GUESS WHAT XYZ FROM SCHOOL LOOKS LIKE NOW! – and managing to empty a pub with our endless guffawing.

Every single commission, recommission, published piece, and positive comment that confirmed that, writing wise, I’m in this for the long haul.

The three hour masterclass I went to on how to structure a novel. I don’t know if I’ve got what it takes, but at least I know how to find out.

Discovering that, in Italy, having a doughnut for breakfast is not just acceptable but encouraged.

A chocolate milkshake with Rachel. It was 50% catch up and 50% “Charlotte, don’t let this opportunity pass you by – I’m going to help you take it.”

Realising that one of my very favourite things to do when I’m alone is to play No Matter What by Boyzone and sing both Ronan and Stephen’s parts. And don’t pretend you’re not now off to do exactly the same thing.

The expression on Leon’s face when he came home to find I was making homemade burritos for tea.

Going to see Frankie Boyle, Bridget Christie, Stewart Lee, Hans Teeuwen and Luisa Omielan and feeling that special type of excitement that only comes from watching really, really good comedy.

A Wednesday night in November. Stepping onto the escalator at Waterloo and smiling because that evening with those two women just happened.

Every other time I walked away from a catch up thinking “I cannot wait to see that person again.”

When the cat that visits our garden came into the flat and sat on our sofa for the very first time and there was an entire five minutes when I didn’t think she hated me.

My younger brother standing on the platform at Leicester station and pointing through the train window at empty seats because he knew I was worried about having to stand all the way back to London.

All the days I managed to continue living my life despite having a migraine every week for six months. You don’t get to win, I do.

Christmas. Every second of it.

Feeling everything on my family’s priority list silently shift and Jack taking his place at the top.

Standing in the upstairs bedroom of what will hopefully be our new home and seeing our future waiting for us.

20 extremely useful writing tips from great writers

26/08/2016 by Charlotte 1 Comment

Notebooks Last night I went to an event run by Grazia called ‘Overcome your creative barriers’ – because don’t we all need help with that. A group of wonderful writers – Jessie Burton, Bryony Gordon, Bridget Minamore, Laura Jane Williams and Elizabeth Day – offered their advice on how to get around the many challenges we all face when just trying to get words on the page.

It was great and, as ever, I wanted to pass on some of the tips and very reassuring words of wisdom I brought home. Hope you find them useful!

1. Just write one true sentence. And then write another. And another.

2. Women are often afraid to take up space – be it in real life or online. Don’t be.

3. You need to find the right balance between self-criticism and self-awareness. You need to be honest about your work, but don’t hold yourself back.

4. Exam-style success does not transfer to creativity – it’s not possible to write something perfect. It doesn’t work like that.

5. If you give yourself to your work it doesn’t matter what anyone else says because you’ve done what you can do.

6. Remember: It took Beyoncé 15 years and six albums to produce the practically flawless Lemonade. It’s a process for everyone, so don’t feel bad about what you’re doing now, feel proud of it.

7. There is not always a direct correlation between social media, readers and success.

8. … but the online community can be an amazing source of work, ideas, audiences, pals…. etc. Some people wouldn’t have their careers without it.

9. Writing is a great way to resolve the unresolved – you often don’t know how you really feel about something until you write it down.

10. “I don’t really do it for pleasure, I do it because I have to” – I related to this so much.

11. “I’m happiest when I’m in the writing – it’s getting myself to the act of writing [which is the hard part]” – YEP.

12. You have to be very, very, very determined to do it. You have to find the time otherwise you will never do it. The secret to writing is writing.

13. If you have a day when you can’t write, at least read.

14. (When writing about yourself) Be fearlessly unapologetically you.

15. Give yourself your own deadlines.

16. Learn all the words to Don’t rain on my parade by Barbara Streisand – it’s not your mistake to make, it’s mine, and I’m going to have a great time trying.

17. The words are not going to come out like you think they’re going to come out. But that’s OK. That’s what editing is for. Give yourself permission for it to be rubbish. A first draft is supposed to suck.

18. (On finding writing difficult) If you were driving into a wall, you wouldn’t keep just driving at the wall, you’d back up. So back up, and see why it’s not working.

19. Play classical music to help you focus. Or listen to something EPIC like a film soundtrack to make you feel that what you’re doing is really important.

20. If you’re struggling to write, find something in the process that brings you joy – be it sentence structure or language or dialogue – find something that makes you feel happy.

Life advice: Stop trying to do everything at once

07/08/2016 by Charlotte Leave a Comment

Be happy This week I finally realised that it’s OK to admit that you’re not capable of doing absolutely everything at once.

This is not a radical discovery but, in a world where relentless multitasking is a way of life, acceptance of this fact does feel like one.

If you’re anything like me, the only way that you will come to accept that you’re not a failure because you can’t manage to be in 55 places, achieving 307 things at once, is if somebody else says it to you.

Sit with a friend or a family member and list all of the things you’re currently achieving, everything you’d still like to do, and then berate yourself for being lazy because you aren’t managing to do it all. Now take a look at their face. They will shake their head. They may even laugh at the absurdity of what you’re saying. And then they’ll look you in the eye and tell you to calm down. You’re doing plenty, they’ll say, have a bloody lie down.

You need to decide what your priorities are, and then to give yourself permission to do those things without feeling bad about it. It doesn’t mean you can’t do additional stuff too, just that the bulk of your time, energy, thought, money – whatever – goes in that direction and you don’t beat yourself up for it. You don’t waste brain space feeling inadequate.

My current number one and two are: freelance writing – doing the work I have, and finding more; and, as soon as we get our sh*t together, attempting to find somewhere new to live in London. I will be doing plenty of other stuff too – eating, sleeping, going to work, eating nectarines over the sink, setting aside time to make incomprehensible notes that might one day turn into a story, consuming passionfruit margaritas, talking to strangers who definitely didn’t ask to hear about my baby nephew… oh, and maintaining relationships with my husband/family/friends/Coronation Street – but these are the life goals that I need to be making most progress with right now.

One of the most useful things I’ve learnt since becoming an adult, working person, is that if you attempt to do too many things in one go, you’ll either end up getting nothing done, or you’ll do all of them badly. Focus is everybody’s best friend; I just wish she’d come round more often than her pals Distraction, Procrastination, and I Wonder What Everybody’s Up To On Facebook? We just have to be strict with ourselves. As I’ve written before, if I didn’t have my egg timer, I don’t know how I’d get anything done.

Even more powerful than not physically attempting to do it all, is giving yourself the mental freedom to stop the internal dialogue that tells you that you’re failing. That voice that says, well yes, maybe you are doing this piece of work, and meeting this deadline, and fitting in some quality time with your loved ones, but how can you enjoy yourself knowing that you haven’t also written a best-selling novel? How can you let yourself have a holiday when you could be auditioning Hollywood actors for the film adaptation of your memoir? OH YEAH YOU HAVEN’T WRITTEN ONE YET – UNPACK YOUR SUITCASE AND GET BACK TO YOUR DESK.

My opinion is this: if you’ve already got so much on your plate, why would you add self-criticism to your to-do list too? This is all about being realistic, and chucking in a couple of hours a day to berate yourself because you’re not Wonder Woman is the precise opposite of that.

So let’s be a little bit kinder to ourselves, shall we?

Great. Well, that’s my allotted hour of creativity done for the day, now onto the next thing. But not before I’ve had a little rest. A girl can only do so much, you know.