How I dislike being old. Maybe it isn’t age. Maybe it is just that I’m forgettable.Maybe there is something about my lifestyle that means people don’t remember me. Am I too self sufficient? Are my husband and I too exclusive? ( We don’t mean to be) Do folk think I don’t need help and encouragement? (they are wrong)
For months I put all my creative energy into writing a pantomime, casting it and recording it. Then I waited to hear what people thought of it. Did I get any feed back? One person, a friend, said they liked it. Nobody let me have a copy of it so I couldn’t let others listen to it. Copies were given to the cast at an event I couldn’t attend. I listened to it on line and it seemed OK but , oh, how I wished I had some CDs to show to people.
Eventually I asked if there were any for me. Oh no, all those that were left were thrown away! It was like having a story that I had written pulped before I could see the finished product. Everyone else had heard my baby except me! Not one of them had thought to save me a copy. I was forgotten, ancient invisibility was at work, out of sight, out of mind, the curse of the volunteer. Another example, like stay-at-home mums, that if you don’t work for pay you don’t count.
Next time I write anything – it won’t be free!