. . . interrupted
The title of this newsletter is a callback to Girl, Interrupted, which was a poignant memoir written by a seriously mentally unwell woman played by Winona Ryder. Is it therefore appropriate that I, a lightly mentally unwell woman played by Margot Robbie, should appropriate its name? Steal its valor? This is a question that I will have to leave to historians.
But, in my defense, I’m constantly interrupted. The last time this (personal) newsletter came out was nearly a year ago, because it got interrupted by my press, which took up all of my attention and my entire newsletter subscriber list.
Furthermore, the thing that interrupted me then (my press) is itself interrupted by the stuff that HAS to get done, the day to day of ferrying children to places and making sure they have food and clothing and trying to combat their urges to act contrary to their own best interests (for example, by pretending to go to bed but in fact watching Netflix all night long instead because they’ve cracked the Screen Time code). Interrupted.
The last thing I wrote in a personal (non-press) capacity was about productivity, but I have recently been interrupted by so many things that I’ve left various texts and emails and WhatsApps and Messenger messages on read/unreplied, which has caused two separate contractors to think I’ve fired them (less than 24 hours after their messages were initially sent!) So even as I’m interested in Getting Things Done, I keep getting interrupted.
But don’t you think it’s a little strange that two separate, unrelated contractors both had significant concerns after having sent a message and not received a reply LESS THAN A DAY later? Is an immediate response really a thing? Nobody ever gives me a wretched immediate response to any damn thing. I’ve been waiting on a response to one particular thing since early December.
One guy sent me a text at 6pm (that’s when I’m cooking dinner, bathing my children if they will allow it, forcing them to go to bed, reading them a story, turning out the light, fielding further requests for water or Audible books, sending them back upstairs when they come down saying they want crisps or can’t get to sleep, finally believing they’re in bed, having a bath, and sending myself to bed), which obviously I did not reply to. Then the next morning started (that’s when I’m waking the children up, getting them dressed, sending them off to school, getting dressed, eating breakfast) and immediately after all the kid stuff I went to an all-day thing I scheduled last week.
The upshot is that I got a second text from him at 1pm (19 hours later, at least 12 of which were definitely “family” or sleeping hours) saying that he’s doesn’t think I want to work with him because I haven’t replied, and therefore he can’t do the work for me that we have discussed in detail since October (for which we have already agreed a start date and drawn up a significant plan of action that also impacts two further contractors).
Like, why not a follow-up text? Or a phone call, or an email (yeah, everybody hates those options, but sometimes they’re helpful especially IF YOU THINK YOU’RE GETTING FIRED). Who is to say that I am not on a plane? Or just, you know, exhausted?
Anyway, what I really need is more interruptions, so I’ll be managing the First Novel Prize again. The last time I managed it, in 2019, two of the novels I picked out as part of the longlisting/shortlisting process ended up getting sold in 6-figure deals. Not to me, or by me, or in any way that could profit me, mind you, apart from the emotional profit of a job well done.
Yours in interruption,
Angel