On Rachel Maddow and Ed Miliband, only not really

I had an epiphany a couple of weeks ago, while I was standing on the side of a busy road with a sleep-deprivation headache, and heavy bags full of grammar books, waiting for a lift from one of my students. It came to me as a question: Do I still want to be doing this when I'm 35?

And then, before I'd had a chance really to even contemplate what exactly I meant by this, I heard myself saying, out loud, but I am 35. Well, not that far off 35.

The this might have been the dependence on other people. Or the hours of public transport in any given day. (Five, on that particular day.) Granted, this could be resolved by the purchase of a car (and a few driving lessons), but I have no money for that kind of thing - which itself may be part of the this.

But the this goes deeper than that. Let me explain.

Just a couple of days after this standing-on-the-side-of-the-road moment, I was listening to the Rachel Maddow show, as is my political-junkie wont, and they mentioned her age: she's in her thirties.

I'm in my thirties.

Then Ed Miliband won the Labour leadership contest. (He's half-Belgian, by the way, a fact which has not been mentioned often enough, or in fact ever). He's forty.

That's only eight years more than me.

Where will I be in eight years' time? And my worry is this: shouldn't I be on my way there already?

I am frustrated. I know that I have the ability to excel at something. That if I could single-mindedly set my course, I could still get there, albeit a decade or two behind Rachel or Ed.

Wherever there is. And that's the nub of the problem. Single-mindedness is, by its very definition, exclusive. It takes, apparently, 10,000 hours to master a skill; that's 10,000 hours not spent doing something else. And I'm one of those people with "too many passions to pick just one": desperate to excel, yet trapped in what feels like mediocrity by the paralysis of choice.

Every week, it seems, a new dream job occurs to me: White House correspondant for the Guardian! Literary Agent! Manager of Social Media for a US Senator! The list goes on, and on.

And I just can't seem to choose one to the exclusion of all the others.

Besides, it's too late, isn't it? It's too late for unpaid internships and three more years of study and depending on the goodwill of people in London or New York or DC to house me for minimal rent. That moment was in my twenties, and I've missed it.

So I feel deeply dissatisfied. Purposeless. And frustrated because I feel like I could do so much more, be so much more, and I worry that I'm wasting my life and my abilities and just getting by.

I'd love to have a great, rousing, optimistic conclusion for you. I feel, though, that this post is just going to fizzle out. Sometimes I worry that my potential is going to do the same. I hope not. I hope that writing really is going to be it, in the end, whether that's journalism or fiction or both.

And the great thing about writing - aside from the excuse to spend a lot of money on funky stationery - is that it can encompass all your other passions. (There's a reason the hero in my novel has curly hair and dimples, and a reason why the heroine, who used to teach languages, and loves books, lives in DC and is a Senator fighting for better childcare laws.)

I loved the novel One Day, partly, I suspect, because Emma could be me. She has a good degree from a reputable university but is adrift in a sea of vague possibilities, never quite settling on what to do with her life, dabbling in teaching before realising in her early thirties that all she has ever wanted to do is write.

And maybe I'm being too impatient. Maybe writing is it for me, the thing in which I will excel, the way I will make my mark on the world. Maybe writing is my this. Maybe I just need to put in those 10,000 hours. But I'm standing at the bottom of my mountain, thinking that sounds like a lot. Looking at the Rachel Maddows and Ed Milibands who have been climbing since they could toddle, and getting discouraged at all the catching-up I have to do. Running to the foot of another mountain and then another and wondering if this one or that one would be more fun, more profitable, more me.

And while I'm running from mountain to mountain, wishing I had the right equipment to climb, time is slipping away, and I am becoming increasingly frustrated.

Belgian English: the top ten mistakes

1. Actually

Actuellement is translated currently. Actually simply means en fait, and rarely adds anything to the sentence.

2. Availabilities

Availability is always singular in English, as in: what is your availability?

3. Interesting

If you mean that something is a good price, then it is a good deal, or a bargain. A book or a film or an idea is interesting if it is something you want to think about.

4. Please

In English, you only use please when you are asking for something.

If you are giving something to someone, then you say here you are, although you often don't say anything.

If you are responding to thank you, you say that's okay, or you're welcome.

If you are saying you don't understand something, you say sorry? or could you repeat that?

5. I live in Brussels since two years

An action that starts in the past and continues to have an effect in the present is expressed in the present perfect. I have lived in Brussels...

Since - with date: I have lived in Brussels since 2008.

For - with length: I have lived in Brussels for two years.

6. Thank you for correcting my English

In English, this construction means "You have corrected me, and I am thanking you for something you have already done". If what you mean is "please correct me", you should say it would be great if you could correct my English, or would you mind correcting my English?

7. Open days

Open day means journée portes ouvertes. We call Monday-Friday business days.

8. Are you there already?

Already is much more narrow in its application than deja. It means "sooner than I expected". So "are you there already?" means "I was not ready for you to arrive yet, and I am panicking."

9. Tea

To a British person, tea is what you call "black tea". Any other form of tea - mint tea, green tea, chamomile tea, fruit tea - is called herbal tea. If you offer us tea, we expect tea! (Yes, probably with milk.)

10. British food is very bad.

While grammatically there is nothing wrong with this sentence, please understand: British food was very bad in the past. Now it's very, very good. We have learned a lot from other nations, especially Mediterranean ones, and we even have a new word - foodie - which describes a person who knows and understands food.

Belgian dog owners...

Is there anyone out there who owns a dog and lives in Belgium, or has done so in the past?

Newsweek has declared Belgium to be the best place to live for dog owners, and I'm writing a piece about it. I'd love to speak to/tweet with/exchange emails/buy you coffee this week if you have any insights or views as to why this might be!

Spiritual lessons from the West Wing: in this White House?

The first episode of The West Wing I ever watched was the one in my flatmate's laptop when I borrowed it one evening: it. happened to be the one where Ainsley Hayes starts work at the White House. Ainsley in intelligent and beautiful (blonde, of course) and fiercely ambitious - perfect in the way that only TV charcters can be. She's also a Republican.

When she's offered a job by Leo, she babbles incoherently (in iambic pentameter, because she's being written by Aaron Sorkin) where the rest of us might be speechless. "Ainsley," he says, "don't you want to work at the White House?"

"Only since I was three," she replies. "It has to be this White House?"

In other words, wow. This is my dream. I just didn't think it would look like this.

And now I'm being offered this position, and it's exactly what I want, but it's exactly not what I want, all at the same time, and so I'm confused.

I think many of us can relate to that. Take me, for example.

Claire, asks God gently, don't you want to be in leadership?

Oh, only all of my adult like.

I just didn't think it woud look like this.

Really? In this White House?

Not married to a Church leader who grew up being discipled by David Stroud and going to Stoneleigh Bible Week? Not married at all, in fact, not with three kids, the fourth on the way, maybe even twins?

Not in a Newfrontiers Church where I'm clear on the vision and embrace the values, where I know what is meant by "church", where I'm comfortable with the way things are done, where I understand what is expected of me and roughly how I should be going about it?

Yes. In this White House. In this capital city. In this Church. At this time in history.

"Appeal to her sense of duty," the President tells Leo. In other words, remind her that what unites us is bigger and deeper than what differenciates us. We all long for great things for our nation.

Ainsley, of course, takes the job. Sadly, Aaron Sorkin then forgets about her and she wastes away in the Steam Pipe Distribution Venue, to be replaced later by the very dishy Joe Quincy, played by none other than Matthew Perry, but I digress.

Since my life is not being written by Aaron Sorkin, I need not worry that such a fate awaits me. I am called by God, here and now, for such a time as this. And while the way my new Church does things is not the same as what I grew up with, while it is not always what I would choose, it is also not as radical a departure from my values as Ainsley Hayes' serving under a Democratic President. And what unites us is far, far deeper than what differentiates us.

Yes, Claire, really. In this White House.

I serve at the pleasure of the King.

One Day: there but for the grace of God...

My first ever guest post on a blog is here.

What I love about Writing

Today's topic for the weekly Sunday evening #writechat on Twitter is: what do you love about writing? Well, I decided that 140 characters were not really enough to answer that, and I know I have a few faithful readers out there who must be wondering if I am still alive, so I put two and two together and came up with the radical concept of a new blogpost, possibly partly motivated by slight panic at the thought that I might otherwise actually be in bed before midnight on a Sunday.

Firstly, and because no blogpost of mine would be complete without a mention of Bradley Whitford, I must quote the great man himself, with apologies to those of you who have read this a million times before on this very blog.

(Pause here for a few minutes while I use this as an excuse to distract myself by googling him, in the interests, you understand, of journalistic integrity. Or something.)

"... Want to write more than you want to be a writer. Life is too challenging for external rewards to sustain us. The joy is in the journey."

My point being, not just that Bradley Whitford is very wise, on top of all his many other qualities, but also that number one on my list of things I love about writing ought to be this:

1. Writing

The process itself. Sitting down with my coffee and my writing music (a mixture of classical music, easy listening Norah Jones type stuff and jazz) and entering another world. And that high you get. You know the one? Nothing else does that for me, though I'm told runners experience this. Is that an external reward? Probably. When I meet Brad I will get him to clarify. (Or he could comment right here...)

I feel like when I'm writing I'm doing what I was born to do. To paraphrase Eric Liddle, "God made me to love words, and I feel his pleasure when I write."

And when you feel you're doing it well, forming beautiful sentences and bringing characters to life, it's exhilerating. Really.


2. It's an excuse for doing all the other things I love, namely:

- Reading voraciously
- Learning new words
- Watching the West Wing (seriously - it inspires me! Plus, it so happens that two of my characters, Brad and Kate, are West Wing fans...)
- Listening to jazz (Brad is a jazz pianist, so...)
- Keeping up to date with American politics (Kate is a Senator, so...)
- Travelling (for research, and also because being in a new place seems to seriously inspire me.)

3, Escaping to another world.

Reality sometimes feels over-rated. My love life is non-existent, and has been for so long I prefer not to keep tabs on it anymore. In the world of my novel, I get to be someone else and be in love with a beautiful man (though I do get my heart broken, which is perhaps not so great).

I admit that this part of it can be unhealthy and that my head-in-the-sand tendencies which were already considerable are now insurmountable. But still, it's a lot of fun.

It's brilliant to create characters and see them come to life on the page, go and hang out with them for a few hours a day.

4. I am never bored.

There is always something to observe, a conversation to "accidentally overhear", a detail to scribble in my notebook.

5. There is the vague hope that one day I might be a published author. Maybe even a famous one.

Yes, yes, Bradley, I heard you when you said the joy was in the journey. However, I can't say that any of these things would be unpleasant:

- Having a fan page on Facebook with more than two members. (It's here, if you're interested.)
- Seeing my name (well, my pen name) in print
- Reading positive reviews about myself
- Maybe making some money

6. Apart from the world of my book, it also allows me to indulge some other fantasies, like:

- Sending it to Brad, and to Janel Moloney (who, in my head, are two of the actors on screen when it's a film) and hearing back from them that they love it.
- Brad saying he wants to write the screenplay
- Generally getting to meet loads of cool, famous people (Yes, yes. They are just people. I know. But.)

I know you're judging me for that right now. The fact is, though, I'd be willing to bet that all writers have those fantasies. It's just that only some of us admit it. Also, some of us allow them to develop further than others do.

7. Bringing other people pleasure

The first (and so far, only) person to have read a draft of Inevitable from beginning to end loved it. She cried! She wanted more! She couldn't stop reading even though she was getting up early the next day! I want to do that for people. I want them to laugh and cry and miss their stop on the tube because they got so caught up in the book. This probably ought to have been nearer the top of the list, but there you go, it's late, I'm tired and if I moved it further up, having only just thought of it, I would feel hypocritical.

8. It allows me to develop all my other interests

This might sound like I'm repeating point 2, but allow me to expand. I'm one of those people for whom the following book was written: "The Renaissance Soul: life design for people with too many passions to pick just one". I am such a person. And I've always felt as a result that life felt a bit messy (although, possibly the, erm, mess in my life also contributes to this). Writing gives me a framework, a reason for all those passions: they can be articles! Ideas for novels! Short stories! They all meet in that one goal and that is oddly satisfying. Anyone else feel like that?

9. It allows me to meet really interesting people

Writers are great people to be around. Possibly because they love Scrabble.

10. A tangeible result

Sometimes life can feel a bit plod, that you're doing the same thing day in, day out, that your business is not particularly growing, that nothing new is happening, that you have no answer to that dreaded question: "what's new?". This is particularly true when all your friends have a nice two-year cycle of Exciting News going: I've met a guy! I'm engaged! I'm married! I'm pregnant! I'm pregnant again! etc.

These days, when people ask me what I'm doing with my life, I acutually have an answer, and although this novel has had a longer gestation period than human babies, it is growing, and doing many of the other things that babies do, like taking over my life and messing with my sleep patterns. And at the end of it, I will have a real, physical thing and I will be able to say I DID IT! And that's quite exciting.


So, there you are. There are some of my reasons, and I've probably missed many out. What are yours?

Happy birthday to me!

A number of things about today have been fab...


- My birthday started a few hours early with a noisy but fun trip to Pizza Hut with my adopted big sis and her family. Apart from the delights of Pizza Hut itself, too many to name here, there were also a couple of waiters who weren't unpleasant to look at - including one of them who entertained us with a brief but spirited rant about the noisy Germans on the table next door. There was also a baby to cuddle and a niece who, out of nowhere, suddenly I feel a lot closer to.


- It was not dignified, but I begged: on Facebook I asked some of my heroes to come and sign my page in honour of my birthday. One of them responded within minutes, which made my day, and the next within hours: "Happy birthday Claire (from everyone ever associated with The West Wing, except Brad Whitford)!" You can probably guess who that was. But it made me smile. As for Brad himself, he is still hiding, and frankly I don't blame him.


- Unrelatedly to my birthday, and yet delightfully timed, was a comment from the first person ever to have read the second draft of "Inevitable", the novel I've been harping on about for about a year now. She loved it! She couldn't stop reading! She said her heart was breaking! She even cried! This was the high point of my day. Possibly I need to get out more, or possibly I've found my passion in life and that is something to be celebrated... Later on she emailed me detailed comments which will be so helpful in writing up the next draft. Amazing.

- I now have, in writing, an invitation to visit a good friend in Colorado. Yay.

- I opened my birthday presents, and shouted "Yes!" when the Studio 60-shaped present in fact turned out to be Studio 60. Only one thing better than Bradley Whitford and Aaron Sorkin: the two of them plus Matthew Perry. (Who, by the way, always reminds me of Brad and vice versa, but apparently that's just me.) I was also really chuffed to get books from my mum and step-dad: they seem no longer to buy me what they thought I should want, but to go, as directed, to my Amazon wish list. It's a ridiculous length, which means that when I get a parcel I really have no idea what it's going to be - and this time it was an intelligent-looking book about the West Wing from my step dad, and two books about writing from my mum, which may be her way of saying she believes in me. More books from another friend, too. Which is useful, since I've promised myself I'm not buying any more till I've read all the ones I've got. (Hmmm. Not sure how long that will last.)


- Time with my dad was great. It's so nice to have such a chilled, and normal, relationship with him. Also, the Chinese restaurant we went to was great. And, he's bought me a coffee machine (useful after staying up till 2 am rewatching my favourite Season 7 episodes). So all is well with the world.


- CQ Politics ran a headline that should not have pleased me, but did: apparently aides are now burned out and leaving the White House in droves. Today I have been asking the birthday fairy for a job in the White House. Coincidence? Didn't think so.


Plus, I'm now back in even numbers of years, which pleases me. I'm a little odd, I know - but I think you'd picked that up by now...