There’s two things you can do when you are
down, one, is to stay there, and perhaps sometimes that is the correct way to
react. The other thing you can do is get
up and fight back. Dealing with literary
agents and publishers really is like wrestling oiled snakes but I wasn’t giving
up. As far as I was concerned I had
followed one of the classic routes to becoming a professional writer, and I had
succeeded, well; almost. I couldn’t be
sure if some sixteen year old intern had been put in charge of rejection
letters and I had simply been rejected without anyone using a functioning brain
looking at my letter. I decided to
research Carol Anne’s agent and present myself once again, but to make sure that
I was communicating with the agent and not the person who wipes the organ
grinders brow.
Rejection is a huge part of a writer’s life and
from the beginning you are warned to be ready for it. My first rejection letter affected me for
about three weeks. I kid you not, if you
have worked on a project for a year or more and someone says no, we don’t even
want to read it, I promise you it hits deep.
It’s hard to say exactly how I felt, yes I was angry, with everyone,
even myself, I was hurt, embarrassed, afraid,
I think it would be fair to say that I experienced almost every negative
emotion possible. My second rejection
hurt just as bad but not for so long, by the tenth rejection I was building up
quite an immunisation against them. I
read somewhere that you should wallpaper the walls of the smallest room in the
house with your rejection letters rather than hide them away in a file. It would be like displaying your battle
honours on your ensign. And so I did
actually begin to plaster the walls of our downstairs toilet with my rejection
letters and I honestly do think it worked.
Every time you went to the toilet you became more determined to succeed.
I was back at work at TPT and only had a week
or two left before I would leave the course.
I was asked to have a meeting with the two directors from Action For
Blind People, who were coming down to see me.
They asked that no one be told of the meeting and that we have the meeting
in a public house next door to TPT. A
very strange request as TPT would shrivel up and die if it thought any member
of staff, or student for that matter, was consuming alcohol during the working
day. Although I have to admit I sort of
broke that understanding one day. It was
the build up to Christmas and it was announced that the staff Christmas
function would be held one lunch time at a local public house. So now that you know they were holding the
staff Christmas function one lunch time, will probably tell you what sort of
fun loving people they were.
I would spend meal times and break times with
the bricklayers, motor mechanics and carpentry instructors, the real people. It was generally accepted that not one of us
would attend the Christmas function as there would be no mistletoe and no photocopiers,
there would be no fun either. Just a
bunch of people, sitting around, telling each other how fantastic they
were. The senior managers and one or two
wannabee staff had signed up for the Christmas function and this was accepted
as the status quo. On the morning of the
function I brought my RAF number one hat in to work, the peaked cap type of
headgear. I wore it on my morning run
and pretended to be a chauffeur which the Wobblies loved, but at lunch time
when we had all finished our meal I brought the Wobblie Waggon around to the
dining hall and suggested to the guys that we go and join the Christmas function
for a game of pool and a beer or three.
Once again, with my chauffer hat in place, I
drove a Wobblie Waggon full of cheering bricklayers and carpenters, with the
odd motor mechanic thrown in, and we set of to join our staff Christmas function. The staff and managers already there, were
surprised to see us, well; horrified would be closer to the mark. I of course was driving so couldn’t drink
alcohol, so I didn’t, I just stuck to beer.
We had such a giggle and actually did enjoy ourselves in fact we enjoyed
ourselves so much we arrived back at TPT forty minutes late. I explained that it was all my fault as I had
misplaced the keys for the Wobblie Waggon and therefore was unable to return the
staff on time. They couldn’t really say anything to me, or punish me, as I was
leaving, so the matter was forgotten about, no more was said.
And as for the meeting about which nothing was
said I wondered what Action For Blind People were up to. I wandered over to the pub and waited. The two guys arrived in a taxi and I was
amazed at how easy they made walking in to a pub look, for a blind person who
had never been there before. They sat
down at my table and ordered lunch and beer, did I say they were nice
guys. We talked about the course and my
successes and they were very pleased with what I had done but concerned as to
why I was leaving. I seemed to be happy
in my job so what was the problem? I explained
that I had done a little research on the subject and discovered that TPT were
only paying me fifty per cent of what I should be getting paid. I further explained that I had asked that they
increase my salary to what the current market rate was and they refused so I had no
choice but to leave, I wasn’t anybody’s mug.
The two guys were a bit taken aback as they
assured me they had given TPT enough money to pay me the full and correct
salary and they thought I was getting paid appropriately. I then explained that TPT were simply money
grabbers playing at being businessmen, they had no interest in the individual
only in showing that they could make a profit.
The two directors assured me that they would not allow the course to run
again with TPT. In fact they already had
their suspicions about TPT and were considering using the local college to
promote and host their course. I
explained that in my opinion the local college was just as bad as TPT, in fact
they both, for me, fell under the NAAFI banner of No Ambition And Feckall
Interest.
We continued talking and it was nice to hear
them say that they didn’t want to lose me as they thought I was a great benefit
to the disabled community. It was very
nice of them to say so and I thought that the meeting was just a simple way of
saying farewell and thanks, but there was more.
The senior director then tells me that he has a job for me, if I would
be interested. How would I like to go to
Northern Ireland and represent them as Head of Operations? This is one of those situations where you are
looking for the Candid Camera stunt team.
The question encouraged the standard response from me of, “Are you
taking the piss?” I now found myself
being presented with a perfect job.
Action For Blind People had no presence in Northern Ireland, I was to go
there as Head of Operations and set up a base.
Any person in Northern Ireland who was
registered unemployed and disabled was mine.
I could meet people through their local job centre or unemployment office. I was to be given a budget of five million
pounds but would be expected to raise another five million, the salary was
nudging towards the obscene and once again I was sitting wearing a smile like a
dozen village idiots who have just peed themselves and are enjoying the warmth.
I accepted the job offer there and then
and the three of us went back to TPT. We
were in the office I used when John, a friend from the air cadets and a manager
at TPT came in. John began to say how
sorry he was that I was leaving but the two guys stopped him in his
tracks. His face dropped when he heard that
they would not be running the course again and all the colour drained from him
when they explained that I was off to Northern Ireland for them as Head of
Operations.
It was nice to see his disappointment, especially
now that I knew that they could have paid me the going rate for my job, and
should have paid me the going rate, but instead were playing at being businessmen. John left us and we began to discuss some of
the options I would have in Northern Ireland.
Once I had established a suitable base they would pop over and offer me
support now and again, so although I would initially be on my own, which I was looking
forward to, I wouldn’t be that alone. Of
course I should have known how sad and pathetic TPT would be about the whole
affair. John came back in with the TPT general
manager, informing us that they have had a quick chat about the situation and
they felt that they should coordinate and control the Irish operation; they
could provide me with complete admin and managerial support. Unfortunately the two blind guys couldn’t see
the look of horror on my face, and I do not think it was any surprise to them that
I explained that if TPT had anything to do with it they could forget me. I think TPT took my suggestion as an
opportunity to make a profit as they could employ some other person for less
money, so it was lovely to hear. “No. Peter’s in charge and what he says goes.”
No comments:
Post a Comment