Creative writing is tiring. That’s one thing I wish I knew before I finished uni and got a job in it, like…three days after my final exam. All my other arts graduate friends were partying it up for months on end being unemployed, not having to go into work, living off their parents…and here’s me, all responsible from the get-go.
It’s a great job, don’t get me wrong. But I just stumbled into it and it’s been all cylinders firing ever since. And writing for children is surprisingly hard, as I’ve discovered. Every indoor play centre near Adelaide and across Australia uses my stuff in their entertaining, and while my work travelling far and wide is great, it’s a lot of pressure. SO basically, I get a brief of what the play centre looks like, what equipment they have, how many kids are going to be at the party, all of that. I then have to write a mystery story, or an adventure story, or any kind of story that’ll lead them around the complex and have them solving various clues. Of course, I can’t be there to narrate every single one, so I have to just provide some sort of description of what costume the narrator will be wearing and hope they do a good job.
And I know this sounds like some sort of non-complaint-humble-brag, but I’m too popular. Everyone wants stories, all the time, more and more by the day. Kids come back and say that they’ve already DONE this mystery at one of their friend’s birthday parties, so each play centre needs to have a stockpile of stories that they can whip out at a moment’s notice. Of course, I like to think they share. If there’s even one kids party venue for hire, Adelaide will be flooded with all of my stories. Everyone wants a piece of what I’m creating. And sometimes…that’s just too much. I only have so much creativity in my brain to go around, and all of Australia is quite a lot.