I don’t know what to put on my application for the Croydon Post. Kira and Ms Harkness are right, I should apply and see what happens next. But now the question is: what do I say? I’m in a writing rut. And I need to submit this soon: it’s now Saturday afternoon, the deadline is tomorrow and I’ve been working on it all day . . .
The application is a statement on why I want to do the experience, written as a column article.
But I’m blank.
Well, not blank, it’s more that what I’ve written so fardoesn’t sound good. I’ve written about how much I like writing and English. I’ve alluded to the school newspaper, without calling out any specifics. All together the whole thing sounds vague and boring. I wouldn’t give me a place with this! I’ve put Rose Conrad on full blast for inspiration, and still nothing.
It’s not just my work experience application that I’m lacking ideas for. I look at my latest draft for the Secret Sender next week. It’s not good.
Today’s Take:It’s time to take a break
Feeling burnt out? Like there’s too much going on? You are not alone. Winter makes the days feel endless, and the constant pressure of school and deadlines doesn’t help. So indulge yourself, take a break—
I stop reading. It’s pretty garbage, and I know it. This isn’t a unique point of view.
A point of view. That is what I need. Something that is mine, and mine alone.
I sigh and text Ty.
A few minutes later, Ty knocks on our front door.
I run downstairs to open it.
‘Do you want to come in?’ I say, stepping aside.
‘Well, I have walked all the way here.’
‘A long and treacherous way.’ I laugh.
It’s the first time he’s been inside our house, rather than meeting in our gardens. November is truly here, the clocks have changed and it’s perpetually dark and cold.
He takes off his shoes and looks around.
‘Looks a bit different from your home,’ I say, crossing my arms. I’ve not been next door since Ollie left, but last time I was there it had a chandelier in the hallway, not an IKEA lampshade.
‘Yeah,’ he says, following me to the living room. ‘It looks like a real home.’
We sit on the sofa, and I hug a cushion to myself.
‘So why the mystery invitation?’ he says.
I shrug. ‘I wanted to talk to you, and it’s getting too cold to randomly keep bumping into each other outdoors.’
‘What do you want to talk about?’ he says, leaning back into the sofa. ‘I can’t stay long, I have to help Daze with his homework before dinner. Dad wants to see it done by then and long division isn’t Daze’s strong point.’
‘I’m applying for work experience at the local newspaper,’ I say.
‘That’s great, Writer,’ he says, a slow grin spreading over his face. ‘I’m proud of you.’
I sigh. ‘The trouble is, I need to do the application. Like, in a day.’
‘So write it out, that’s what you’re good at.’
‘I need to saywhyI want to do the experience. And everything I write about it sounds rubbish.’
Ty leans back into the sofa.
‘Let’s talk it through. Whydoyou want to do the experience?’
