Hiatus

I Didn't Get The Job

But I'm not too down-hearted, or even particularly surprised - after all, it was my first job interview in 16 years! I had some very helpful coaching from a highly experienced person, and I think the interview went reasonably well. I was able to answer all the questions, and felt as if I'd established a rapport with the three interviewers. I haven't had feedback yet but, unless I've completely misread the situation, I think the panel would have concluded I was appointable rather than a complete no-hoper. However, evidently someone else was a closer match for their requirements. I wouldn't be surprised if they had an internal candidate, perhaps someone who had volunteered for the organisation, and they're always hard to beat. Apparently there were zillions of applications, so I did well to get an interview. And I've got two other applications in, and another almost ready to go off next week, so with luck I'll get another interview soon.

I've learned a lot from this process, and one thing I've learned is that from now on I'm going to keep quiet about any future interviews. This time round, I needed all the advice, encouragement and cheer-leading I could get, so thanks very much for that. But it's too depressing telling everyone I didn't get the job! Yet it's been a positive experience, overall, and the next interview won't be nearly as daunting.

A Smidgen Of Good News At Last

I've got an interview for a job!!! I don't want to give specifics here, but it's a job for a national charity, with real social value, as well as being part-time and home-based, so it's exactly what I want. Of course having the interview does not mean I've got the job, but after trying so long and getting exactly nowhere, it's a real boost. Also I'd written this one off because they said 'if you haven't heard within three weeks you've been unsuccessful', and the three weeks was up today. But the woman who rang said the shortlisting took longer than they expected; they probably had a gazillion applications, like everyone else.

Which means I'm dead clever, doesn't it? ;-)

My Paramour and I are taking a spontaneous midweek flyer to the pub tonight, to celebrate. Rejoice with me, lovely blogfriends - I'm all excited!!!

Why I Haven't Been Blogging Much

Since 1999 I have been making a comfortable living as an independent social researcher. 'Independent social researcher' means I am self-employed, researching social issues such as parenting, poverty and drug misuse, with clients who are mostly local authorities and charities. 'Comfortable living' means the approximate equivalent of a gross salary of £25-£40K, varying from year to year with the ups and downs of the business, but overall enough to make me feel rich.

However, since the spending review, my work has dried up. In the last six months, I've had one contract worth £1,250. Which doesn't even cover my business expenses for the period (telecomms, stationery, heat/light, insurance etc) let alone providing any money for me to live on.

Luckily I have a supportive partner; also self-employed, but in a different sector with steady work. We decided a while ago that I should start applying for part-time temporary jobs - my PhD means I can apply for work in academia, and my social work and voluntary sector background means I can also apply for work as a practitioner. So I've been doing loads of job applications, as well as doing tenders for research.

I haven't applied for jobs for 14 years, and it's a dark art. I'm getting great support from my brother-in-law, who is development director of a charity, and from a friend who is an academic. But each application, and each tender, takes me days to write.

I am having to use all my mental energy trying to generate some income, and I simply don't have the headspace for my own writing. I don't know when I will. I'm surprisingly unbothered by this. I suspect a break will do more good than harm. I'm not giving up or anything - but I've been working so hard on my writing for so long, yet making so little tangible progress, that it's a relief to have a reason to put it down for a while.

I'm still getting nice rejections, but now for jobs and tenders. The job market is quite alarming. I am applying for jobs where I can demonstrate ample experience against every point on the person specification, but I'm not even getting interviews. This seems to be because of the sheer numbers of people looking for work. For example, I applied for a part-time job with a national charity, and got a lovely letter today saying that while my experience was a good fit for their needs, they'd had over 200 applications and found someone whose experience was a perfect fit. I recently met a woman from another well-known charity who told me that they're getting 180 applications for every admin job, including people with PhDs.

But I have to keep trying. So that's what I'm doing. It's why I'm not around much online. Don't waste time feeling sorry for me, though. I'm unsettled, but I'm not depressed (any more - I was for a bit). I do realise that I'm so much luckier than most people: I don't have to worry about where my next meal is coming from, or how to pay the heating bill. I don't have an aspirational lifestyle, and I know how to economise - my family never had any money when I was growing up, and I was unemployed for two years in the mid-1990s, so I have lots of nice lentil recipes.

And: this too shall pass.

That Pesky Second Draft

Woke up dis mornin', got the second draft blues.
Woke up dis mornin', got the second draft blues.
Looked at my MS, wasn't nothin' but bemused.
It's as much fun as a bruise.
I would rather have a snooze.
Etc etc etc etc etc.

Progress is being made, but it's sooooooooo slooooooooooow and I'm very impatient which is a terrible combination. I'm pleased with my first draft; it's not bad, as first drafts go, but of course it still needs a hell of a lot of work. It takes me such a long time to really get to know a character; to fully understand their motivations; to distinguish their voice from the voices of the other characters and from the voice of the book. My lovely mentor Debi always tells me that 'marinating time' is essential. I know she's right, but it doesn't make me any more patient.

I also know about 'bite by bite eats the elephant' and all that. But there's a part of me that thinks, for goodness' sake, all I need are the right words in the right order. It's not so simple, though, is it?

Why did I want to be a writer anyway? Could someone please remind me?

Accidental Resolution

I didn't intend to make any New Year's resolutions this year.

In my young adult life, I made the conventional kind of resolution - eat healthier food, take more exercise, become a tidy person overnight - and, like most people, I dropped them in the first few days of January. As I hit middle age, I got better at the whole resolution thing. Mostly I stopped making resolutions, and when I did, I made only resolutions that I could keep and which would improve my life.

I remember two in particular. The first was that for a whole year I wouldn't buy any black clothes (not including underwear). This came about because I opened my wardrobe one day and realised it looked like a funeral outfitters, and around the same time I realised black didn't suit me as well as it had when I was younger. I had fun changing my shopping habits, and by the end of the year my wardrobe looked like a rainbow.

My second, and best, resolution was to take a sensible amount of time off from work. This came after years of building my own business, doing postgraduate study, and working through most weekends and holidays. I decided I would take weekends off unless I had an urgent deadline, and that four weeks' holiday a year would be 'a sensible amount'. This resolution saved me from becoming a complete workaholic.

This year I didn't have anything in mind, but in the first few days of January a resolution crept up on me. I'm not entirely sure why, or where it came from, but I'm loving it. And here it is: I resolve to be easier on myself.

I'm a great one for internal self-criticism. If I want to spend Saturday morning in bed with a novel, there's a little voice which says things like, 'You shouldn't be so self-indulgent, what about all the housework, and you haven't phoned your mum in ages, what makes you think you have the right to lie around reading novels?' If I fancy a glass of wine on a weekday evening, the voice pipes up again: 'You have no self-control, you lush, you know you shouldn't, it's bad and wrong, and what's more you'll be an alcoholic any minute and then where will you be?'

This year, I plan to give up destructive self-criticism. And so far, it's working, mainly because I've stopped listening to the little voice (which, frankly, after all these years, can sod right off). I'm not planning to give up the constructive kind, because I don't intend to lose my self-discipline - I need that as a writer and as a self-employed person - but I'm learning to tell the difference between self-discipline and self-flagellation.

My new mantra is 'I can if I want to', which sounds rather Violet Elizabeth Bott, but I'm finding it helpful in working out what I really do want rather than arguing with myself. After all, I'm mostly quite nice to other people, so I don't see why I shouldn't be nice to me.

Writing, Not Writing

So I'm having a month off from fiction writing. And indeed I have written nothing but a few jotted reminders in the first couple of days after I finished the first draft. But my characters are still being very lively in my head and I don't seem able to stop getting to know them better. I guess this is a good thing, on balance. It's helping me to see aspects of the story more clearly. So I now understand, for example, that event X causes person A to have an entirely understandable sense-of-humour bypass until event Y, which helps her regain the ability to laugh at herself, and that changes her relationship with B and C because they didn't know her before event X so to begin with they thought she was a humourless git. Which all seems very logical now it's written down, but came as a proper revelation when I was idly playing with ideas in my head while my body was busy on the cross-trainer.

And next week, all other things being equal, I get to start editing. I can't wait!!!

You Said What???

I have a mild hearing impairment. Not as severe as Debi's - but enough to make some similarly amusing anecdotes. Here's one for you.

My dear friend Lauren was having a New Year party last weekend, to which my Paramour and I were invited.

She rang me in a slight panic the week before Christmas. 'It's got a bit bigger than I expected. Any chance you could do a veggie chilli?'

'No problem,' I said. 'How many people?'

'Thirty or forty,' she said.

Right, I thought, I'll need to use my biggest stockpot.

So I spent the afternoon of the 30th making an enormous vat of veggie chilli. Well, it's always better the next day, and it didn't matter that the stockpot is too big to fit in the fridge as it was sub-zero outside.

When I arrived at Lauren's, staggering under the weight of several kilos of chilli, she boggled at the size of the stockpot. Good, I thought, she's suitably impressed by my Herculean efforts.

By nine pm there were only about a dozen people at Lauren's. This seemed odd to me, as here in the countryside the whole late thing isn't fashionable like in the metropolises.

'What time are you expecting the others?' I asked.

She consulted a list on the fridge. 'It's only Tim and Anna, they should be here any minute.'

'But... how many people did you say you were expecting?'

Lauren looked at me, surprised. 'Thirteen or fourteen,' she said.

My veggie chilli, though I say it myself, was excellent. Which is just as well, as there is rather a lot of it in our freezer.

Bye Bye 2010

Some of my friends had a terrible year in 2010, but for me it was OK, overall. And here's the evidence.

I submitted my memoir to 20 agents (eighteen rejections so far, including several very kind personal ones) and, later, to 10 publishers (four rejections so far). I wrote 12 short stories, submitted at least 30 and sold one. I finished the first draft of my fantasy novel.

Work was variable: plenty in the first half of the year, much less in the second half due to the spending review. I'm hoping it'll pick up early in 2011.

I had fab holidays. A long weekend in Antwerp, Amsterdam and Brussels in January; ten days in a ski chalet in the French Alps in June; another long weekend at Shrewsbury Folk Festival in August; and a third long weekend in Bishop's Castle in Shropshire in November, to celebrate 15 years of wonderful partnership with my beloved Paramour.

Health was good, although I had one miserable week in November when I was diagnosed with arthritis in my hands AND got my first pair of varifocals. I'm not old enough for either of those! Except, apparently, I am. Oh well.

I was given the long slow dump by one old friend, which made me sad and angry for a while, but I'm over that now. After all, I've made so many new friends recently: at least six this year, four from the Internet and two from real life. So there's no point trying to hang on to old friendships with people who have lost interest.

Nobody close to me or to my Paramour died in 2010. My family are all well and happy: my beloved nephew started university after many difficulties and is loving it, and one of my favourite cousins and her delightful partner are due to have a baby at the end of March.

I confronted my long-standing fear and loathing of maths and science through three OU short courses. The bookkeeping and accounting was grim, although I still scored 74%, but the maths was surprisingly enjoyable (except for scientific notation which did my head in) and I 'achieved' all eight sections ('achieved' being the highest possible score). I enjoyed most of the science, too, except for the chemical formulae which never did balance, and I gained a score of 92%! I'd like to do more OU maths and science courses, and will, when I can afford to; in the meantime, I've rewarded myself with Alex's Adventures In Numberland which I'm loving. I'm also over halfway through a non-fiction writing course run by the London School of Journalism, and getting good feedback from my tutor.

So there we are. Not a bad year. Nothing spectacular - but lots of fun, interesting, enjoyable times. If 2011 is as good, I'll be happy. And I wish a most excellent New Year to all of you.

I Guess I've Finished The First Draft

Although definitely with a whimper, not the bang I was hoping for. The odd thing is, most of the way through this draft I've been sure about how the story would end, but when I got there it didn't work as I'd expected, it just faded inconclusively away. I think that's because, as with most of my first drafts, the story isn't yet pulled tightly together. It's also shorter than I really wanted it to be, but I'm not particularly worried about that because I always underwrite in first drafts.

I stopped writing in the middle of last week and felt flat and frustrated for a few days. But now I'm getting used to the idea. The prospect of a few weeks off writing fiction (I won't be writing shorties either) really appeals, which is unusual for me, so I reckon I need a break. I can also feel a flicker of excitement at the thought of printing out, reading through and starting a proper edit. That'll be in mid-January.

I'm even, slowly, beginning to feel a little bit proud of myself. Looked at one way, I have a first draft which is a bit rubbish. But then, most first drafts are a bit rubbish. Looked at another way, I have a world, a cast of characters, a central storyline and 87,000 words which I didn't have nine months ago. And actually, I think that's pretty good.

Bad Blogger

Apologies for the lack of posts, but I'm concentrating on my WiP. I'm determined to finish it this side of Xmas, which is possible (barring calamities) but only if I stay focused. And anyway, I don't have any news! I'm trying to keep up with reading and commenting, at least, and will post again when I have both time and something to say.

Resources For Short Story Writers

I've had some lovely rejections of my memoir. Excerpts include:

'I was very impressed with the professional way you present this material and I enjoyed the chapters too.'
'I do like your title and I do like what you've sent me so thank you.'
'You write well and have an appealing, warm style.'

So far, so encouraging, but there's always a 'but', and it's usually that they don't feel confident of being able to place the book with a publisher. So I've decided to see whether I can do that myself. As a result, I've been researching publishers to see who might be interested. Yesterday I was checking out Tindal Street Press (fiction only, boo hoo) and I discovered a page on their site with resources for writers of short stories. Ten of their authors have each produced a short essay, covering an aspect of short story writing, which are free to download. I've read them all and they're good: well-written, readable, informative. The only thing I didn't like is that they call them 'masterclasses' which seems a bit poncy. There aren't that many how-to books which cover short stories, so I was pleased to find these essays. They seem to be aimed at literary writers, but the advice they contain is equally relevant to commercial stories. Here's the link: if you're interested, go look!

Edited Highlights

The last two weeks have seen me in something close to perpetual motion, but what stays with me are a few moments of stillness. Looking at spiderwebs in my garden one morning:


Taking five minutes to have a shower at my parents' house, and appreciating the view (I do like a shower with a view):


Walking in the Lake District on a beautiful sunny autumn day:


Edinburgh is a visual feast, with its beautiful buildings, alleys, bridges, castle and hills, but I didn't take my camera. My strongest memory is walking over the bridge where Inverleith Row crosses the Water of Leith. I glanced over the parapet at the river. To my surprise, only a few yards away, standing in the water was a grey heron. Seeing this beautiful wild creature in the middle of the city was an astonishing experience.

Another good moment was when I hit 50K on the novel yesterday. Halfway!

Where Did That Week Go?

I can't believe it's a week since I posted about writing 1K a day - and then I made no progress for the rest of that week! I wrote a short story, though. It seems I can't do both at once, at least not when I'm at the first draft stage of the novel; I can only invent one set of characters and their situation at a time. This is a continual dilemma as I long to keep going with the novel but I also enjoy, and learn so much from, writing shorties and getting feedback from my wonderful online critique group. Anyway, I'm back on the novel today, and this will definitely be a 5K week. I'm off up north this morning to spend time with my family till Friday afternoon, so I may not be around much on the interwebs, but I'll read and comment on all your blogs whenever I get the chance. Have a good week, y'all!

40K!!!!!

Look at my word counter! *points to sidebar* Finally, I've hit 40K. The last 10K has been tortuous and interminable. I do hope the next 10K won't be so arduous, because then I'll be halfway.

I hit the mid-30Ks and floundered to a stop. Part of the problem was realising I didn't have enough plot for my intended word count. I needed quite a bit of mulling time to work out a load more plot, but now I'm happy with my story again, in fact I think it'll be a whole lot better as a result of the new sections. So I'm back to churning out the words - 1K per day, most days - and, if I don't stall again, I might have a first draft by Christmas. Here's hoping.

By Special Request: The Pope

OK then, seeing as you were all teasing me in my comments box, here are my considered views (as opposed to the ill-considered ranty ones you would have got if I'd written this a week ago).

I was brought up as a Catholic. I'd like to say I was born into the faith, seeing as my parents were both observant Catholics at the time, but the church doesn't allow that, newborn babies being full of sin and evil as far as they are concerned. Needless to say, I'm not a Catholic any more - I parted company with the church in my early teens, and tried a couple of other religious/spiritual identities before settling down as mostly atheist with a side order of agnostic.

I have no quarrel with any individual Catholics - or individuals of any faith, come to that. Some of my family are Catholics, and I have friends of many faiths and none. I would never deny anyone the right to the happiness and comfort that faith can bring. However, I abhor many of the Catholic church's policies, such as those on women, gay people, condoms, and secrecy.

The Pope is not just an individual Catholic, he is the head of the church and its abhorrent policies. I have no objection to him coming to England - he is the spiritual leader of some of the people on this island, and they have every right to a visit from him. Also, I'm entirely in favour of freedom of speech. I do object to an expensive state visit. We don't extend this privilege to other heads of religious bodies, so I don't see why we should for the Pope.

I wish the Pope hadn't chosen atheists as the current enemy of the church. The whole atheists = Nazis thing has been covered extensively, so I'm not going to bang on about that. What worries me is that it seems the Catholic church always needs an enemy: infidels, Jews, Muslims, witches, Protestants, Communists, the list goes on. Just this month an official Catholic blogger was writing about 'the enemies of the Pope' and 'the enemies of the State'. Perhaps I have no right to say this, not being a Christian myself any more, but it doesn't seem very Christian to me to declare enmity on whole swathes of the population.

(Which reminds me of the Milton Jones gag I caught on TV the other night, which went something like this: A man at a festival sees a stall, run by Christians, giving away burgers.
Festival-goer: Can I have a burger please?
Stall-holder: Are you a Christian?
Festival-goer: Do you have to be a Christian to get a burger?
Stall-holder: Yes.
Festival-goer: How Christian is that?)

The official atheists aren't helping by embracing the position of enemy. I'm no great admirer of Richard Dawkins, and he made me really cross when he described the Pope as 'an enemy of humanity'.

So much of this seems so knee-jerk and un-thought-through. Which, of course, is one of the Catholic church's specialities. The church doesn't want its adherents to think about things, it wants them to follow its rules. Sadly, this also seems to apply more and more to the state we live in, at least if our education system is anything to go by (and this isn't a lone view: for example, the Society of Authors is so worried about the extent to which children in schools are taught by rote and procedure these days, that they are preparing to engage with the Secretary of State to advocate that children should once again be taught to think for themselves).

The media, of course, has a key role in all this. And they do think. Oh yes, they do. They think about how to sell newspapers, increase viewing/listening figures, and attract more advertisers. Fat lot of help that is. Yes, there are some excellent journalists and broadcasters, and at least we've still got a BBC which is independent of some influences. But most of our media is commercial, and commerce is its primary driver.

I am noticing more and more discontinuity between the messages from organisations which claim to speak for people, and my own experience of life in our society. I've blogged about this before in relation to the Government. It also applies to messages from religious organisations. It's not only the Pope who is positioning atheists as the enemy: the Archbishop of Canterbury was quite happy to join him there. Yet I'm getting on with my family and friends, of Christian and other faiths, as well as I ever have. I don't feel like anyone's enemy; do any of you feel like mine? Or anyone else's?

I'm not sure what is going on here, but I am sure I'm going to go on thinking about it, and that we all need to form our own views, discuss them with others, refine them and think again. And really, however unsatisfied I feel at times with the pronouncements of political and religious leaders and with their official policies, the good news is that I live in a part of the world where I can express my views without fear of repercussions in the name of religion or the state. That makes me very lucky.

Mostly Good News

Remember my lovely nephew and his pre-university woes? I'm delighted to report that he started at university last Sunday, had made friends by Monday, and was generally well settled in by Tuesday. He's busy and happy and generally loving the whole experience. Hurrah!

I've been writing and editing: not my novel, or short stories for my group (naughty me), but other stuff, some perhaps for publication, some for competitions. And I've been enjoying it enormously.

Life has been rather busy, what with one thing and another, and pleasant for me, but not all that interesting for you to read about, I suspect. MOT fail leading to a new car, quick trip to London leading to a possible new client, OU assignments leading to a new course... yes, quite a bit of new stuff, but not new new as such; each a new version of something I'm familiar with. So, nice, but not particularly exciting.

I decided I would blog again next time I had something thought-provoking or entertaining to say, or simply something I want to get off my chest. But the days rolled by and it hasn't happened. So I thought I'd just pop in and say hi.

Hi!

How are you?

(and don't get me started on the Pope, OK?)

A Teeny Weeny Rant

You know something that bugs me? When non-religious people say, 'It was meant to be.' Because that statement almost always seems to be evidence of lazy, sloppy thinking.

I'm not trying to pick a quarrel with people's beliefs. Some people believe in a Grand Designer Of The Universe (other titles may be used) who has a Plan for Everything. I don't believe that myself, but I'm very happy for other people to hold such beliefs. They may be right; I don't know, and I don't mind not knowing.

However, I often hear the 'it was meant to be' refrain uttered by atheists. And I think, hang on a minute, what are you saying here? 'Meant' by whom, exactly?

For example, I recently came across a woman, at an exploratory business meeting, who I'd known socially some years before and who I knew to be an atheist. As soon as she saw me, she clapped a hand to her heart and declared that the business would definitely go ahead because 'it was meant to be' (presumably, in some kind of not-very-atheist mystical way, because of our previous relationship). In fact, the business didn't go ahead, because she decided to work with one of my competitors instead. So what was 'meant to be'? I submit, your Honour: nuffink.

I think what people may be saying, when they use this phrase, is something like: ooh, look, a coincidence, maybe even a pattern. We are naturally good at recognising patterns, and have been describing them in terms of fate, destiny etc for centuries, so perhaps the phrase isn't so surprising. But it still grates. 'Meant to be.' Not for me.

Shrewsbury Folk Festival

So, from Friday at 8.30 am to Monday at 8.30 pm I was away at a festival. The website said there would be full wifi coverage, so I decided to blog from the festival, but in the event I couldn't get on the Internet for more than a couple of minutes at a time. So here's a rundown from very recent memory, using Carol's 'six senses' approach. Imagine me sitting in the food tent (like a huge marquee with no sides full of rectangular eight-seater tables and folding chairs) in a grassy field surrounded by morning sunshine, tempting food outlets, interesting people, enjoyable music, and wasps.

I can see:

Stalls advertising all kinds of food: Thai, Indian, a couple of excellent veggie outlets, baked potatoes and baguettes, Welsh, English, Mexican, ice-cream, paella, fuffle (a very sweet confection between fudge and truffle), and the awesome Pie Minister.

A short queue of relaxed people, chatting happily with each other, at every stall.

A portly man in a straw hat, orange shirt, creased dark green linen shorts, black socks and black Morris shoes, talking on a mobile phone.

An boy of 11 or 12, riding a unicycle slowly, with one hand on the saddle and a look of intense concentration.

A lively little blonde girl aged four or five in a pink fairy dress and fairy wings and bare feet, dancing on the grass.

I can hear:

A trio behind me - accordion, fiddle and flute - practising tunes steadily and well (the little blonde girl is dancing to their music)

Three wasps buzzing around my breakfast plate

My eco-friendly wooden knife snapping as I try to cut a fried egg

Chat and laughter

The whirr of a mobility scooter passing by

I can feel:

The heat of the sun on my left shoulder and the cool of the shade on my right thigh

The warmth of the good intentions of other festival-goers

Love for, and from, my friends who are here with me, even the ones who are still asleep

Excitement about the dancing I plan to do, and the gigs I intend to see, today

Everyday cares dissolving in the festival solution

I can touch:

The smooth formica top of the table in front of me

The familiar keys of my laptop

The eco-friendly wooden cutlery, strangely rough to my fingertips

My own smooth sun-warmed shoulder

The wasp taking a swim in my orange juice, if I want to flirt with danger

I can smell:

Barbecue smoke from someone's home-cooked sausages

The brown sauce I poured onto the edge of my veggie fry-up

Shampoo from the freshly-showered head of a passer-by

Bacon frying from the Welsh food stall (free range of course)

Fresh air

I hope that's given you a sense, in a very real way, of my experience. It's a tiny fragment of an enormously stimulating whole. I could tell you so much more: about the delight of exchanging banter with my friends under their gazebo on the bank of the Severn as stately swans floated by; learning Cajun dancing with a good friend (although I have to say the Crippled Chicken nearly crippled me); how glad I was that my Paramour had encouraged me to pack a hot water bottle (I will never camp in England without one again); baked potatoes with goat's cheese and caramelised onions; Gilmore and Roberts and Chuck Brodsky making me cry; Belshazzar's Feast and Chuck Brodsky making me laugh; pogoing in the mosh pit to Bellowhead. It's hard to come down from the festival high and return to everyday life.

A Tale Of Woe With A Happy Ending

Last Thursday was a remarkably stressful day, even though I don't have any children.

The first distraught teenager was on the phone at 8.30 am in floods of tears. She knew from the UCAS website that she hadn't got good enough results to get into either of her chosen universities. 'I don't know what to do,' she kept wailing. I managed to calm her down and convince her that she couldn't even start thinking about what to do until got to school and found out what her results were. As it turned out, she'd missed it by a whisker, getting A*, A and C instead of two As and a B, and she soon found a place through clearing at her second choice uni for a similar course to the one she'd originally chosen.

The second teenager was very upset because, despite being a diligent student, she only got a B and two Cs. Luckily this was enough to get her into her first choice of uni so she was easy to console. The third, despite getting two As and a B, wasn't happy because he needed three As for his first choice of uni (Leeds), and is now waiting for a remark on the B because apparently nobody from his school got an A in that subject even though several people were predicted to.

By late afternoon it felt as if I'd been fielding phone calls all day, but by then all necessary decisions had been made, resilient youngsters were coming to terms with their situations, and it seemed I could relax. But then I got the worst phone call of all.

Background: my nephew J didn't have an easy time in education. He is an only child and since he was 8 years old he has been a carer for his mother, my sister, who has a long-term disability and until 5 years ago was a single parent. J was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 11; struggled through his secondary school years with undiagnosed coeliac disease and dyspraxia, both of which were finally diagnosed when he was 16; managed to get three good GCSEs (English, Maths and Chemistry), but couldn't cope with A levels at the same time as coming to terms with the lifestyle changes required by his multiple health problems. He's now nearly 24 and has been working for the last 6 years, the last 4 doing shift work in a video rental shop, and over the last 2 years has done a part-time access course at a local FE college. Earlier this year he got a place at university, with an unconditional offer, and at the beginning of last week he left his shop job to concentrate on work experience and academic preparation for going to uni next month. A room in halls had been reserved for him (he needs one of the larger ones, because he has to have a fridge for his insulin) and his step-father had secured it with a deposit of several hundred pounds.

Then on Thursday, just after he'd received his welcome pack in the post, the university rang to say his unconditional offer had been withdrawn because they'd had too many applicants.

J was devastated, but - luckily - determined to fight. He persuaded the administrator to give him a stay of execution, and wrote her a heartfelt email arguing his case. She said he'd get a definite answer within a week. Then on Friday she emailed him to say a letter was in the post, and on Saturday he got the letter. It said the extended foundation course wasn't running this year so he couldn't attend - but that wasn't the course on which he'd been offered a place.

By this point he was both upset and angry. 'I probably shouldn't be, auntie Queenie,' he said. 'Actually, I rather think you should,' I said, feeling pretty damn upset and angry myself. I suggested it was time to email the college Principal, setting out the whole situation and asking her to intervene. He was reluctant at first, fearing that he could be labelled a nuisance before he even got to uni ('if I ever do get there,' he said), where he knows he will need extra support. (This particular uni is very good at that - one reason he chose it in the first place.) But in the end he agreed, and worked on an email through the weekend, with input from other friends and family, until it was really impressive: mature, enthusiastic and business-like.

He still didn't have much hope, and was getting really stressed out. The email was finally sent at about 7.30 pm on Sunday. Within an hour he had a response from the Principal saying she could see there was a problem and would investigate, and giving him her phone number. That was reassuring - at least she was taking him seriously, and was on the case. But it was another 24 nail-biting hours before he got confirmation that there had been an 'administrative error', a full apology from the Principal and the administrator, and an assurance that the place was there for him after all.

Huge relief all round. But it left me thinking, as these situations so often do: what if he'd just accepted the administrator's word in her phone call last Thursday? A different person might well have done so. The papers were full of tales of people not getting into universities, so it seemed quite plausible that his place could be withdrawn. There was some small print on his offer letter which said 'subject to availability'. We tried to console him by saying 'next year', but he said gloomily (and accurately) that it will be even more competitive next year. He could so easily have given up and spent the rest of his life feeling as if he was a reject, on the scrap heap, worthless. I know he's already struggled with those feelings throughout his education for a whole variety of reasons.

I'm so glad he decided to fight for his place. In fact, his refusal to accept rejection is something of an inspiration to me right now. He has a bright future ahead, and I'm very proud of him.