Perseverance & Planning

Plans. They make you feel more organised - more focused, don’t they? Maybe I’m slightly OCD about things like this but when I’ve got a checklist of things to do, or things to achieve with little check boxes to happily tick away, I swear my productivity soars.

There ain’t no stopping a girl with a plan…

Let me explain. Last week after researching my next steps after graduation - my baby steps into journalism if you like - I reacted somewhat melodramatically upon my discoveries. Postgraduate study is nowhere near as easily funded as Undergraduate study, studying in London is impossible unless I find a stash of money hidden in that hole Bailey’s been digging in the garden, and living back home whilst I study might be necessary if I actually want to still be able to eat for a year… This might not seem so bad, I’m still left with options after all, but to me it seemed like yet another mountain of obstacles in my path. Without a safety rope to climb over it, I did what any individual in despair did. I sulked for about an hour. Then I got upset for a further half hour. Then I gave Bailey a cuddle and thought about it all again. I spoke to a few people, did a bit of digging, a bit of writing and HEY PRESTO! With the help of my unbelievably supportive parents, I realised it’s not so bad after all. So what did I do?

I came up with a plan.

So now you’re wondering what this magnificent plan I keep banging on about entails right? Well, the first step is experience. Despite spending two weeks on a blogging internship this summer which I loved, I still need to get some media experience, so for ages I’ve been trying to get a contact or even get in contact with someone at a local paper to apply to spend a week there. But without success. For the Postgraduate Diploma in Journalism I want to do next year, you need some physical experience at a local/regional newspaper or magazine to even get looked at seriously when you apply. It’s a basic necessity. Yet, for an awful lot of local papers and magazines, you need to already be on this course to even get looked at for the experience. As a local journalist quite rightly pointed out to me, it’s a vicious circle. I took numerous rejections but in true journalist style I persevered. I phoned and emailed my CV everywhere I could think of and…I might have to wait until Easter but I’ve only gone and nabbed a week at a local paper! That’s a tick in box number one I think!

Secondly, whilst doing this I also sent some theatre reviews in to some local publications. I’ve hence transformed from dreaming of getting my name in print within a local paper to actually achieving it. I am on the website for one local paper (http://www.worthingherald.co.uk/lifestyle/entertainment/arundel-festival-s-shakespeare-season-the-taming-of-the-shrew-1-4205184) and in print for another local paper  (The Littlehampton Gazette)- published this week! Tick in box two, perhaps?

So that leaves me to my next step -locating where I want to study journalism once I’ve graduated from Nottingham. Ambitiously my first thoughts were of the bustling centre of London or the familiar yet lively city of Nottingham, but once I looked into the details I realised I might have to become a home girl once again….But to be honest, Brighton’s really not that bad is it?! Especially when the sun is shining!

So as I sit, awaiting numerous prospectuses to be delivered through the door, it feels like now I’ve identified what qualification I need to get and managed to book some experience in, I finally am moving on again in my progress. I can still apply for graduate schemes and internships etc, but for the time being my mindless floundering through the murky depths of journalism is at an end. I have joined the throng of dedicated writers, armed with nothing but a mind, perseverance, curiosity and a pen. I suppose it is true, if you want something hard enough you just need to keep trying until you get there.

So, after spending a minute doing a well-deserved victory dance in the style of Zingy – that little orange blob on the EDF adverts – I say bring it on. 

For I am a determined girl with an ambitious plan.
Watch out world.  

An Ice-Rink, A Swimming Pool and Africa.

Although the title might suggest otherwise, I haven’t actually spent the last week travelling across the sahara on skates before jumping into the red sea. But I have been busy.

~ "Get your skates on..." ~
I conquered my fear and went ice-skating. Let me explain.
When I was about 12, I went ice-skating. I'd been before but I had never fallen over so I began confidently venturing nearer the middle of the rink. Then?
BAM!
A bulky ice hockey guy collided into me and i was knocked off my feet. Not in a romantic way either. I awkwardly got up, laughed nervously and attempted to skate off with a numb bum and a bright red face. I decided to get out of the middle of the rink (AKA the danger zone!) Then?
BAM!
Another guy, this time showing off, knocked me off my feet. I haven't quite mastered falling over gracefully, so I clumsily landed on my wrist....which fractured. (On the plus side, I got some pretty funky colours on that plaster cast...)

Since that, I’ve only been skating twice. Once was a fleeting experience with school - when I realised that my partner felt more fragile than me I decided this probably weren’t going to help my confidence levels much. The second time was somewhat better but I’m slightly hazy on the whole experience because it was back in high school and that seems like so long ago! Unless pure fear just blanked the memory out...

But last weekend I went ice-skating and I loved it. Genuinely. Even better? I’m still in one piece and avoided spending an afternoon in A&E! Happy face! :-) Perhaps it’s because this time I went with an ice hockey player rather than colliding with them. Yes I had a few wobbles, but I did it and it was fun! Maybe I will go again... or maybe that will be tempting fate..?


~ "No bombing..." ~ Either side of this skating adventure, I went swimming. My aim was to do this in replacement of the gym - gentle exercise considering I was ill last week and my stomach was angry. However, I have slowly become something of a fitness fanatic and I don’t think I can still term my swimming sessions as gentle, relaxing exercise. 40 lengths per swim resulted in some aching legs and a much needed rest-day - this gives me all the evidence I need for that statement. But what’s a bit of aching in the grand scheme of toning hey? No pain, no gain y’know...



~ "The pen is mightier..." ~

I have had an explosion of writing.
Someone told me once that if I wanted to get on in journalism I should use my student years to write for free, getting my name everywhere and anywhere. So, I’ve submitted another Huffington Post blog, finished my columnist application and managed to nab a news article for The National Student by responding to an email from the editor.  
Ok, I’ll admit, I didn’t know that much about Sudan when I replied. In fact, \all I really knew was that there was a humanitarian crisis in Darfur, courtesy of a volunteering stint at Oxfam. Now?
Now I know all there is to know about it. I know why the civil wars started, when South Sudan became independent, why so many refugees have fled and from where, and, crucially, who the president is. It looks like not only did i manage to grab another article to write which is now online (http://www.thenationalstudent.com/News/2012-07-18/the_situation_in_sudan.html) , but I also managed to get up to date with current affairs. Sometimes, I impress myself.



Now, I must love you and leave you as I'm staying up to do some more writing. I popped off to watch a play this evening, being the cultural critter that I am, and I have a very important review to write.
Watch this space.

Love Thy Neighbour...or something like that.

Last week, for me, was a week of mini triumphs. Not only did I get some pretty damn good results from university, but I had an informal one-to-one chat with a lady who used to be a journalist for Nottingham’s local paper. We mulled over our Costa latte and cappuccino, chatting for about an hour during which she suggested new directions and ideas I could chase that I hadn’t even considered. Everything suddenly seemed that little bit more in reach, just a little bit more possible. That day I suddenly felt more driven, more focused, more optimistic and more determined that I can make progress towards my dream.

Writing for a living.

So determined in fact that the next morning, despite having a day off, I resisted the temptation to wrap up in my cosy duvet and blissfully ignore the outside world. Instead, I got up and walked to the local Sainsbury’s and bought a paper.

I did the brisk, early morning, paper-fetching walk. Oh yes I did.

I then proceeded to make myself a cuppa, opened a packet of digestives and flicked through this paper like the budding journalist I am. One news story in particular happened to catch my eye and, dare I say it, provoke a little giggle.

The Independent had a filler article entitled ‘2012 Olympic ‘segregation’ for warring nations’.  The more I read the more bizarre yet obvious this story became. It addressed an issue I never even considered within the Olympics.

Athletes from conflicting countries having to live in close proximity to each other within the Olympic Village.

Well, of course they won’t be borrowing each other’s butter will they?  How silly of me.

Yet, whilst the issue seems obvious, it also seems slightly ridiculous. Can these individuals not put up with it, just for the duration of the Olympics?

One man seems to be going to extraordinary lengths to keep the peace.  Chris Hale, who is in charge of the Village for the InterContinental Hotels group, told The Independent his plans. Israel and Iran will be housed at opposite ends of the Village, Team GB will be far away from Argentinian athletes following the recent tension over the Falkland Islands, German athletes will be distanced from the Greeks after protests erupted in Athens in response to measures forced upon their country by Berlin…and so on. (Needless to say, any friendly nations remaining will be given the same apartment block.)

But this isn’t all. Oh no.  He also has to consider that no one wants to be near the Brazilians who are renowned for being the biggest party goers, and the athletes don’t want to be anywhere near the swimmers who finish in the first week and spend the remainder of the Olympics having fun.

And there was me thinking the Olympics were a chance for the world to unite over sport. How naïve. How amusing.

I don’t know why but this story just struck me! It’s a side of the Olympics no one tends to consider, because the minute that an athlete starts running, a gymnast starts to somersault, or a swimmer jumps in from the starting block, conflicts and wars seem to fade away. The sport, the thrill of the competition, and the buzz of winning takes over.

Yet the real world continues elsewhere.

It just goes to show…’love thy neighbour’ is so much easier when you actually get along.