10.56 a.m. It is hard being a successful author. The thing that people don’t understand about my profession is that it is not just about writing stuff.
On Friday I had an emotional breakdown. I was so busy and everything got a bit too much for me. There was so much to do; post quotes on Facebook, tweet motivational stuff on Twitter, pin inspirational affirmations on Pinterest, take photos of a shaft of sunlight from the window, which was shooting across my empty writing desk, for Instagram, browse through all my newsfeeds and make myself endless cups of tea. Writing didn’t even make it onto my ‘to do list’.
Luckily Keith, my partner, phoned home during his lunch break and calmed me down. I was a sobbing mess. There were not enough hours in the day to do everything. It took him a good half hour and the promise of a Chinese takeaway later to get me to come to my senses.
We both came to the conclusion quite quickly that I need an assistant. Sometimes in life you are forced to turn to others for help. I am not afraid to put my hand up and say “I need another pair of hands to help me on Twitter!”
After a bowl of Chicken Soup (Keith’s suggestion, he says it works wonders for troubled souls) and a nap (my suggestion), I sat down and wrote out some ideas on my requirements for an assistant:
- Cannot afford to pay an assistant so I am looking for someone to do it for free / for the love of literature.
- Ideally I need someone who is good at tweeting, pinning, posting, browsing, taking photos, writing and who makes an amazing cup of tea.
When I ask the universe for something it delivers most of the time (obviously book sales are an outstanding action for the universe).
During Keith’s mother’s Coffee & Cake Morning yesterday an assistant materialised.
Pamela, Keith’s mother, likes to recruit people for all sorts of things; coffee mornings, cake baking and charity sponsored events. Keith always says that if Pamela decided to join an international terrorist group we would all be in trouble!
So, I was busy consuming a large piece of carrot cake, when Keith informed Pamela that I was looking for a volunteer to help me with my busy literary career.
Pamela certainly has her finger on the volunteer pulse. Without a second thought she turned to Beryl, rumoured to be enjoying the dating scene, to say “Beryl you clearly have time on your hands with all those trips to the seaside with that nice, rich gentleman with the flash sports car. Why don’t you give Tina some help?”
Beryl made a face, involving a roll of the eyes and a twisted mouth. Pamela took that as a green light. I was struggling to swallow the huge piece of cake in my mouth and could not quiz Beryl on her social media skills.
Pamela kindly made the decision for me. Beryl is my new assistant.
I am currently waiting for Beryl to arrive.
11.09 a.m. Beryl and I are sat on the sofa running through roles and responsibilities.
As Beryl knows next to nothing about social media and has just admitted she won a writing competition, when she was a child, we have agreed that she will work on my book draft. I will take on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and general online browsing.
12.34 p.m. Starting to think I have got the bigger job as Twitter has gone crazy with the #amwritingbestseller hashtag. I can’t stop tweeting about ‘Beautiful and Kidnapped’.
Beryl on the other hand is giving my draft a leisurely read through to get a feel for where she can add value. I have not seen her tap out a single word.
1.05 p.m. I wish Beryl would hurry up and write some of my book. Twitter is hungry for my work.
1.34 p.m. I have gone into social media meltdown. Someone on Instagram liked my photo of the sunlight hitting the writing desk. I am currently frantically snapping away at an old rusty typewriter found in the garage. If readers see that I have an eye for arty shots they will flock to my political thriller on Amazon.
Beryl is still reading my draft.
“I am desperate for a cup of tea!” I exclaim, before wiping my sweaty brow and adorning the typewriter with colourful flowers.
“White with two sugars please Tina love!” coos Beryl, with a smile.
1.56 p.m. My assistant has been gazing longingly at Mr Thompson over the road, attending to his flowers.
“Beryl how are you getting on with my draft?” I ask.
“Still reading through!” murmurs Beryl, with her eyes fixed on Mr Thompson.
“Which part of my book are you up to?” I ask.
“Still reading the first chapter Tina love!” says Beryl, clearly distracted by the man across the street.
I can feel myself getting agitated.
Here am I slaving away over social media whilst my new assistant seems desperate to nip across the road to help Mr Thompson prune his bushes. I am an author not a matchmaking service.
I am not sure whether Beryl is right for me. She doesn’t make cups of tea or helps me write my book.
14.09 p.m. Beryl has clocked off for the day. She apparently had some urgent business to attend to, which probably involved Mr Thompson.
I am laid on my sofa exhausted and in need of a nap.
As I said earlier it is tough being a successful author.
photo credit: Stocksnap