iPad oh iPad how I love thee

I have finally succumbed to the cry of the Apple. It has captured me in its technological recipe of cleverness. I swore I would never relent, never give in to the desire for anything "I." Well that doesn't include my little iPod , which is almost prehistoric in comparison to its later incarnations. So what do I think of the iPad Air so far then?

Falling love

I'm only a weekend in, but I'm succumbing slowly to its delights. There are hundreds of apps, many of which are free. Apps that give sound effects, doodle kits, book creators and games, hundreds of games. All easels and books are redundant.

Newsstands

Whatever's your poison the news stand will have it from New Statesman to Vogue, from History Today to The Guardian, all there, some with free trials before committing to subscriptions. It's a brave new world I want to explore, but know I'll still miss the smell of print.

iBooks

Books, books and then more books with clear pages that offer easy reading with the ability to increase the font and size of the page. As with other digital book providers, most of the classics are free. All best sellers are available and all seem reasonably priced.

Air

Yes, the word air is there for a reason and not purely to increase the word count. It's much lighter than its predecessors, although as this is my first one, it matters little.

And the rest...

The keyboard is easy to use, although I can't see my laptop becoming redundant any time soon. But I am slowly falling love with it. Will I reach the point where I cannot live without it. Yes, eventually. Will it replace books, and newspapers - no not just yet, but probably the end is nigh.

I know that androids are slowly catching up with the iPad, but seriously, it still has the lead over its competitors in terms of tablet ability.

So there we are, a whole new world in a metal rectangle of information, for me at least, the world of the tablet has finally reached me, pervaded my world and made me it's slave.

The Sea

A man walks into the sea, he sees the sea and the skyline, he does not look behind, for behind him is the past and home and all that reminds him of why he is here. He has decided to do this because there no more answers and no more solutions to what it is that ails him. Throwing himself into the arms of the sea will make everything better.

The sea is hypnotic in its greyness, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, the white foam of the captive waves ready to embrace all misery, all sadness, and finalise all things. To give yourself into the arms of the sea, to open up your mind and your heart to its power. To relent, to release yourself finally.

The sound of the waves is deafening as he moves closer, deeper into the roar of the waves and the coldness of the water that gradually consuming his misery.

Flatline

My moods fluctuate with such force that sometimes even I don't see it coming. It's like being hit by an express train. I plummet so far down I feel like there's no way back up. I see no point in anything. I feel like parts of me have flatlined.

Thing is, I could feel differently in an hour. Two hours. Later today, tomorrow. Someone else's good news is a slap to the face, then I'm full of guilt.

 I feel the signs over the coming days, sometimes they're easy to ignore. Other times not. I have a low threshold for emotional pain. The world can feel empty sometimes and devoid of love.  A part about of me knows it isn't, but today it feels as if it is.

It's selfish I know, a selfish, self indulgent wallowing in misery. I despise myself and it. There's no fun in feeling like this, in feeling like I could punch my head into a wall till it bleeds.

I want to be alone, I want someone near - I want to be here, I want to be outside.

Who knows I could be really cheerful in an hour.

from In Memoriam, Tennyson

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,
The flying cloud, the frosty light:
The year is dying in the night;
Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,
Ring, happy bells, across the snow;
The year is going, let him go;
Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind,
For those that here we see no more;
Ring out the feud of rich and poor,
Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,
And ancient forms of party strife;
Ring in the nobler modes of life,
with sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,
The faithless coldness of the times;
Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes,
But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,
The civic slander and the spite;
Ring in the love of truth and right,
Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,
The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land,
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

My first year in freelancing

My first year in freelancing or more commonly known as –

 A journey into the unknown

 On the 31^st of December I will have been a freelancer for one whole year. Yes, one whole year. And it’s been one rollercoaster ride of highs and lows. I started with great confidence. I had the website, the obligatory 6 months’ worth of savings and my laptop in front of me. My bedroom having been converted into the little stream lined office I’d always wanted. I was all ready for the exciting life of a freelance copywriter.

 Living the dream, or better known as -

 Thinking you know it all and finding out you know nothing.

I’ve placed my first year in a series of phases, phase 1, 2 and 3.

 Phase 1 is me thinking I have it all sown up, getting up at 11am looking for a bit of work on bidding sites and then relaxing in front of the tv and then reading a bit and then going out and doing a bit of shopping. Also a little bit of soul searching and not understanding why I’m not in demand, and why the phone isn’t ringing off the hook, and why isn’t my inbox chocker block full of emails demanding my services. After all, am I not a well-educated adult with TWO degrees, TWO degrees I tell you! Am I not a short story writer and an ex public sector employee – why isn’t everyone banging on my door?

 Phase 2 is the bit where my savings have all but run out. I’m despondent, and I’m having the worst kind of reality check in living memory. I’ve hit rock bottom with such force it feels like my blood pressure is in my ankles and I’m surprised I don’t flat-line.

 It’s not that I wasn’t working, I was. It’s just that when I look back it seems I was living the life of someone who’d been doing this for years – and I’d only been doing it for a few measly months. Phase 3 is where I revaluate my strategy, start again and work like a Trojan.

 Evaluate, evaluate, evaluate, or more commonly known as –

Find out where you went wrong and rectify it

Time to think

The one thing I’ve realised is that being a copywriter and working for myself at home is not only a privilege it’s something I want to do for the rest of my life. And let’s be clear about this, working freelance IS a privilege. I know because I spent enough time working in a variety of different jobs over the years, some nice, some not so nice that made me thoroughly miserable. I know the meaning of clock watching, I’ve done it enough times to know. With a regular job comes a regular pay check and that brings tremendous security, but with it comes soul crushing conformity and repetition. And it’s not for me. And yes, there’s a certain degree of repetition in all jobs, but if you’re doing something you love then it’s half the battle.

Recession

 We’re in the middle of a terrible recession and people are finding it hard to keep a roof over their heads. Being able to do something you love is not to be taken for granted. So let this be a lesson learned, just give me one more chance and this time, I’ll make it good. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life staring at a ticking clock or standing in a job centre.

Evaluate and get back up

In my short period as a teacher the one thing that was drummed into me during my training was evaluation. Write a lesson plan, evaluate, spend the day teaching, at the end of it, evaluate, at the end of every term, evaluate. Evaluate your strengths and your weaknesses; evaluate your successes and your failures. Evaluate, evaluate and then evaluate some more. And I need to get back into that mindset again. Evaluate my successes and my failures, evaluate my performance and if I see any weaknesses then rectify it with reading or training, or a combination of the two. This time I’m aiming at the top and I’m not giving up.

A period of reflection and strategy, otherwise known as –

Making it work

So what have I learned about being a copywriter, about being a freelance copywriter no less? Well-being a copywriter takes talent, strategy, stamina and hard work, a LOT of hard work. It also includes selling yourself raw, marketing like a demon, putting yourself out there like you’re the best thing since the invention of colour TV. I don’t find that easy, I’m shy, reserved, but it’s no excuse. If I can’t market I’m dead in the water. You can be the most talented writer, copywriter, web designer in the world – but if you don’t market yourself properly, no one knows you exist.

I need to make you believe in me, whoever you are out there reading this.

 I AM GOOD. I AM VERY GOOD

Bidding wars

Also working on bidding sites is all very well and I still have to use them, but at the end of the day, clients go there because they’re cheap. They don’t go there to get the very best, because the very best costs, so if you want something done on the cheap, then you’re not going to go to them are you? You’re going to go to the bidding sites. The bidding sites are like my trip to a cheap hairdresser. If I can’t afford a decent hair cut at some fancy salon, then I’ll go to the student salon run by the college. It won’t be the best but it’ll do, it’ll do until I can afford something better. I AM WORTH MORE THAN THAT AND SO ARE YOU. I don’t want to be that someone you pay because I’ll do. I want to be the someone that you want because I’M GOOD. But words are exactly that, words. Actions take something else, energy and hard work.

The strategy

For 2014 it’s going to be like this – I’ve calculated how much I need and want to earn. It’s not a king’s ransom, but it’s enough to get by, I don’t want to be rich, I just want to be happy.  Market myself ragged. Learn. Read. Train. The training will have to follow some earning, but it will happen, I will make it happen. Watch this space, because I’m telling you now, I will succeed. No slacking off, no tv, no taking my eye off the ball.

If I could change the past 12 months, I wouldn’t, because if I had I would have learned NOTHING.

Here’s to 2014 and all it brings, it’s been a steep learning curve, but what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I’ve done many things with my life, enough to know a good thing when I see it. And this is it. It doesn’t get better than this. If YOU want to be a freelance copywriter then take note and start living the dream, but not until you’ve put the work in.

In Passing/Brian Harris

To be born in Wales,
Not with a silver spoon in your mouth,
But, with music in your blood
And with poetry in your soul,
Is a privilege indeed. 

 

Your inheritance is a land of Legend,
Of love and contrast.
A land of beauty so bright it burns the eyes.
Of ugliness that scars the Spirit
As the Earth.

 

Wales is an old land with wounds
That weep in hills.
They wept before in the bodies of men
And in the hearts of women
And time will never heal them.

 

The stigmata of sorrow,
Of pain and poverty,
Of lonely crucifixion in the dark,
Remain our lives to feed.

 

This Land of our Fathers was built on coal.
Its rivers of mingled blood and sweat
Have forever darkened it,
Relieved only by death.

 

We are a sad people.
Our sadness being wrapped in harps and music
And praise to God,
For the lovely, yearning light
That feeds the Spirit as well as the eyes.

 

1967

Hollywood dreams

"If we bring a little joy into your humdrum lives, it makes us feel as though our hard work ain't been in vain for nothin'."Singin’ in the Rain (1952)

 

My mother collected things, many things. That may not seem unusual in itself, but she was what would now be known today as a compulsive hoarder. There are perfectly good reasons why this was, but I don’t want to talk about that today.

What I want to discuss is one of my mother’s more excellent collections, her film annuals. Growing up I spent an awful lot of time watching old movies with my mother. I was a weak and wussy child prone to infections and bugs and my mother was quite over protective, so as each sneeze or sniffle arrived I was kept home until I was deemed healthy enough to return.

Hollywood dreams

While I was in convalescence for whichever bug I was plagued with my mother would bring me downstairs and we’d watch an afternoon film together. This was the afternoon matinee, usually a black and white murder mystery, or full on Technicolor musical complete with singing, dancing and glamorous costumes.  

Hollywood was a place of refuge for my mother, a place where dreams came true and happy endings were practically guaranteed. We would watch quietly as each heroine sang her way through another crisis or danced her way to success. Her favourites were Bette Davis, Betty Grable, Rita Hayworth, and Jennifer Jones.

Dream weaver

They were beautiful; perfect figures with their corseted silhouettes and tiny waists. Their crimson cupid bow lips and perfectly sculpted hair a revelation. We watched in awe silently until the final credits rolled, sometimes with a tissue handy but always with plenty of chocolate and tea at the ready. They were special times when I felt especially close to my mother and I look back at those times with great fondness.

"That's, uh, quite a dress you almost have on...What holds it up?"An American in Paris (1951)

What it also gave me was an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of Hollywood actors and films of the 40s and 50s that made me old before my time. Most of the actresses and actors had died before my time anyway and while most of my friends were hooked on the latest singing sensation to grace the charts,  I’d be rambling on about Lana Turner’s hair and Mitzi Gaynor’s dancing skills. I must have seemed odd.

 

But they were special; they were so unreal, glamorous and perfect. I wanted to wake up and be Rita Hayworth or Lana Turner, they were a perfect anecdote for my less than perfect life, an escape route from my own misery.

"I just love finding new places to wear diamonds. “Gentlemen prefer Blondes (1953)

We know now that the well-rehearsed picture poses and perfectly written articles that featured in the film annuals of the time were often a cover for their own less than perfect lives. The film studios eager to portray a squeaky clean image for their audiences, made sure their contracted stars looked every bit the Hollywood star right down to hair and make-up. Their private lives had to be above scrutiny at all times with not so much as a hint of scandal.

 The annuals I have go back to the late forties and early fifties each one full of pictures and “stories of the stars.” In the Film Show Annual we are greeted on the inside dust jacket with a promising message “here to greet you are the stars of film-land telling, in intimate articles written especially for this edition, of their moments of heartache and happiness, of their disappointments and successes, of their hopes for the future.” How intimate or how truthful these articles were remains to be seen, but it gave those of us hungry for a taste of glamour, a glimpse of their perfect Hollywood lives.

 I have not only inherited a love of old movies and film stars I’ve also fallen in love with forties and fifties fashion – my favourite vintage period. From the cupid lips to the shimmering bangs and high waisted shorts, the forties were a time of unrivalled glamour that gave the public an escape route from the austerity of World War II.

 

"Well, I'll wear the darn clothes if you want me to - if-if you'll just, just like me."Vertigo 1958

Hollywood saved us all then, my mother, the millions of men and women who made that trip to the cinema each week and me, sat in my mother’s arms watching them dance and pirouette their way into the arms of some good looking hero ready to save them from themselves.

We are all interested in the future, for that is where you and I are going to spend the rest of our lives."Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959)

These film annuals provide precious memories of not only my mother, but my own childhood and the glamorous escape route Hollywood gave us all. 





All I wanted was just what everybody else wants, you know, to be loved.



 

Gillian Jones is a freelance copywriter and blogger. If you want to know more about her services then drop her an email at pandora.77@hotmail.co.uk or visit her site at www.taith.net