November 2011 had been a crap month and the start of December turned out no better. It started off with another rejection being flung at me by email from a prospective agent I had approached, and then my bank statement popped its ugly head through my letter box
I had been living on my own means since I received my last pay-packet back in May. I had made cut backs where possible. No holidays in the sun, I started shopping at cheaper stores especially for my food shopping, and I had tried to cut back on my socialising, although I hadn’t been too good at that.
I opened the statement expecting the worse, and I was right, it was dreadful. I was thousands over drawn and up to my limit. I had no choice I had to bring my statement back to zero, and I would have to use my long term savings. When I say long term this was money which I had saved for years towards my retirement, or for a very rainy day.
Well it felt in my heart that a monsoon was lasing against me. I trundled down to the bank (I was no longer hobbling) and transferred the funds. When I got home I knew I had no other choice than to carry on, and try to get published before the money ran out.
I wasn’t let living in poverty, but I now knew how it feels for all those budding artists, be they writers, painters, musicians, actors, or any other type of free spirit who have had to work, and live at the same time with little or no money.
I still had my dream that one day I would make it. This must have been the same dream that inspired all these others as they tried to make a living out of their profession, and I hoped it would be enough to encourage me to the end.
I could have given up. I could have reapplied to my old company for employment, but the urge to carry on was too powerful. I was going to see it through, no matter what hardships financially I would have to go through. As long as I didn’t put my family ay risk I would just have to make further cut backs in my life style. This would mean a lot less nights out at the weekend with my friends and more Friday/Saturday nights in front of the television.
What hell it can be when you have to stay in at the weekend after spending all your adult live enjoying the delights of painting the town red.
The only exception was my regular meeting with Dangerous John down the pub on a Friday afternoon for the reviews of my writing (I had finished my manuscript, but still liked to meet him for his company and a chat) now I could only stay for two pints before I had to head home. I couldn’t endure the T.V so I found myself reading for hours on end.
I have always loved reading, but this time I rekindled a passion for boks which I had lost in some way over the years.
For anyone trying to make it in any artistic form then you will have to experience financial hardship, and if you can’t face it, or aren’t ready, or able to except that commitment then it will be very unlikely you will make it.