Thanks to post-pandemic-end-stage-capitalism-squeeze, the little micro-business that had been my day job for fifteen years folded in October last year.
While I was sad that something I had created and devoted a big chunk of my life to had died, I figured I’d just get a job and everything would be fine. Typing those words now makes me laugh because I have come to realise ‘just get a job’ is the dumbest, most naïve thought I’ve ever thunk. Things have changed. Editorial gigs have become marketing gigs, and it seems to me that all writing jobs are really sales jobs these days. SEO algorithms are now the audience that matters most, and real, old-school ‘writing good shit for human readers’ jobs are vanishingly rare. At the age of 51 and with years of niche subject journalism on my CV, the job market views me as obsolete.
This has made me think back to a couple of extremely near-to-death experiences in my past. Contrary to what the movies would have us believe, neither moment triggered any sort of existential transformation or epiphany. I suspect my brain is wired up to disregard the past, or maybe I was just young and stupid at the time, but while I remember thinking ‘that was close, I need a beer’ and feeling a bit rattled on both occasions, the experiences never haunted me and I kept doing the risky shit that was putting me in harm’s way. This new long term, future-forward period of financial jeopardy is an entirely different kettle of fish, however. I can feel it changing the way my brain works.
As the weeks without income have turned into months, the space that money anxiety occupies within my mind keeps growing. Every day it becomes a bit more difficult to think about anything other than paying the rent and last week I couldn’t find my way back to the imaginary world I created for Substack stories, and didn’t publish a post. This was the first week I’ve missed and the omission brought with it new anxieties because I have paid supporters whose subscriptions really helped me get through the Christmas period. I don’t want to let those subscribers down, so I decided to publish this little update by way of explanation and apology. I’ll get back to writing about robots, trees, and weird little animals asap.
In truth I didn’t expect Substack to become such a big part of my life when I joined a couple of weeks after I lost my job. I launched a publication with the idea it would give me something to do and keep my writing brain free of cobwebs, but looking back at everything I’ve published, it’s interesting to see how writing posts became a subconscious outlet for my feelings about unemployment.
The stories all take place in a magical forest built by an entity that wants to provide for and protect the people who live there. Whenever I sit down to draw, plants and flowers or cosy buildings and natural growing things appear on the page. I have realised that every story and picture I’ve created for Substack has been an expression of the desire to not be in this situation anymore, to find a safe place where money is not the absolute be-all and end-all of things. I have also realised lots of other people are doing the same thing on Substack for reasons vastly more consequential than money worries. My heart goes out in particular to members of the LGBTQIA+ community who are creating refuge worlds of writing and art because bigots and thieves have come to power. The world has become more hostile than ever towards those who are not rich, white, straight and male, and it sucks. Truly, this is the worst timeline.
Anyway…
At this point I would normally employ the journalist’s trick of ending a piece by referencing the opening paragraph and wrapping the narrative up in a nice little bow, but as this post doesn’t have much of a narrative I won’t attempt that maneuver. Instead I’ll just say thanks for reading, I hope you are doing well, and normal illustrated sci-fi service will be resumed soon.
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