On Tuesday I handed in my final piece of work for Uni. Today, I voted for the first time in my life. And tomorrow, I attempt to actually earn a living.
I figure, if I write down my attentions here, plain and simple, where at least a few people are going to see it, I’ll be far less likely to get complacent. I might have taken a bit of a back seat of games writing for the past month or so due to Uni work, but I’m planning on moving forward full throttle, like some kind of thirteen year old with his first driving game. ‘Brake? What the fuck is a brake? I just want to go fast.’
I just spent £22 on magazines, and that’s my source material for the next few months. I’m going to study them, cover to cover, and attempt to find myself a niche. I just need one fucking opening, a tiny little sliver of space to slip myself into to, just get myself through that fucking door, and I’ll be ok. I’ve been floating around in this safety bubbly provided by Uni, that means I can take this whole journalism thing at my own pace. I can’t do that any more. I don’t have the government propping me up, or my parents understanding of my own little whims. Right now, if I don’t make this work, I’m doomed to being forced to do something I sure as hell don’t want to do, which is pretty much anything that isn’t games journalism. I know, I know, I’m hardly making things easy for myself.
But it’s not all desperate hope; I’ve recently started having talks with some guys I really, really respect in the business (I mean, apart from the guys I really, really respect who I’ve been talking to for the past year or so), and that’s giving me a lot of encouragement. Get some work from these chaps, and that’ll be the first step into a proper career. I can’t rely on anything, though, and I need to be proactive. As much as others will tell you so, being good isn’t quite enough; you’ve got to be good and willing to work your arse off to get noticed. Until I have a bunch of people who just know who the hell I am, I’m not going to get very far.
So. Five months. That’s my self imposed deadline. My ultimatum. My countdown.
Five months, or, more specifically, September, is when my current tenancy runs out. If I get a job before that runs out, I don’t have to go stay with my parents. I can’t go home to stay with my parents. There’s an element of living hand to mouth where I am at the moment, the fact I have to buy food, pay bills, etc. that is going to drive me. The instant I get back in that soft bed in my parents cozy house with my mum’s lovely cooking, I’ll be done for. So, five months. That’s how much time I have to find a job that’s going to keep me alive for the near future.
In case any editors just so happen to be reading this; please hire me, I make a great cup of tea.
Something like that, any way.