Can I tell you a secret? I’ve drafted and re-drafted this opening section a dozen times.
Turns out that I can write long essays on baby loss, grief and identity with ease. But, a pithy opener to a year in review? That’s beaten me.
Here’s what I’ve been trying say in a nutshell: I like numbers.
I like knowing which songs I’ve listened to most this year (here’s looking at you, Spectre). I like it when Gousto sends me an email shouting about my 2024 ‘foodie personality’ (speedy chef, if you really want to know). I like working out how many words I’ve written on Substack (5,624 so far).
So, grab a cup of something festive and let’s take a (statistical) whirlwind tour of the year that was—milestones, mishaps, and all.
104 writing sessions in cafes, plus 1 retreat
At the start of 2024, I wrote my second memoir—exploring motherhood, disability, and the transformative power of music—in three months. It fell out of me. I normally push back against the idea that life writing is therapeutic, but I felt something shift when I put those stories of being a parent carer down on paper. Haven’t a clue what’s going to happen to it, but I’m proud it exists.
I convinced myself that I couldn’t make the switch to fiction. Then Rebecca Schiller told me that I could. So I wrote c15k words of a novel a couple of months ago. I have no idea if this will be the novel, but if not there’s always the tale of obsession in women’s professional wrestling that lives at the back of my brain…
I submitted five pieces of flash fiction to competitions this year. I was shortlisted for the Bath Flash Fiction Award and longlisted for the Motherhood Uncensored competition. And roundly rejected from the rest!
I wrote nearly everything in cafes and co-working spaces. Shout outs to (up North) Cullercoats Coffee, Tiny Tiny, and (when I’m away) Citizen M co-working spaces and Foyles. Large parts of the memoir were written at the Mothers Who Write writing retreat in Wales. My second time at the retreat. Not an exaggeration to say that place saves me.
22 podcast episodes
My husband and I started our TV and film review podcast, The Honeymoon Period, in 2020. I’m always delighted—if not surprised—to say that we are still going strong. We recorded 12 episodes this year, which I dutifully edited and sent out to the world. Five year anniversary next year.
2024 was also the year Maid for TV was launched. Co-hosted by me, and top TV critics Sarah Kennedy and Dawn Glen, this podcast came out of our collective desire to shine a light on television written by and featuring underrepresented groups. 11 episodes this year, although I had to sit one out because I needed to care for my son, so I’ve not counted it.
I’m acutely aware that this sounds like an advert for my podcasts. It’s genuinely not. I’m writing about it because podcasting is hard—and I don’t think people say this enough. You actively lose money. You don’t know if anyone is listening, or cares. It takes so much more time that you ever imagine. Seriously, if you do a podcast, give yourself a massive pat on the back. I’m always a smidgen away from jacking it all in.
55 medical appointments
My son is profoundly disabled. He’s had 55 medical appointments this year. This doesn’t include telephone or video calls, or emails.
I had an appointment free week earlier this year and I planned to do things purely for myself. By the end of the Monday I’d already had two calls during work and—yes— another appointment booked in for that week. That’s parent carer life.
I do wonder sometimes what it would be like to write without the appointments. Or what I would be able to produce if I was able to enrol my son in summer camps or take advantage of some other form of childcare beyond school hours like many people with non-disabled children do. But then I remember that I started writing because of him and that if that alternate world existed for me I wouldn’t be here now, typing this to you.
96,024 words
Fun breakdown!
Instagram: 24,701
That second memoir: 49,415
Flash fiction, sent to competitions: 1,074
Novel: 14,511 (proper sentences—did not include my random notes about swimming pool disembowelments)
Substack: 6324 (including this)
This post has been, from start to end, tortuously difficult to get out. I have come back to it multiple times, changing sentences, adding words, fiddling about then reversing decisions. I think my brain is tired. I think it is time for a rest. See you on the other side!