Like many people, I had wanted to be a writer since I first learned to read, at the age of five. I’d read every book in our small local library where I grew up in rural Ireland, and writing my own seemed the logical step once I’d run out. But fast-forward twenty years, and I had made little progress towards this goal. I had written on and off throughout university, but I found it hard to keep up with all the essays I also had to hand in. For several years after that I travelled, work in low-paid office jobs, and wrote bits and pieces, veering between journal entries and fiction. I didn’t know how to make progress towards my dreams.
What You Did
By the time I was twenty-four, I had pretty much given up being a writer, without actually trying or letting anyone read my work. I burned with jealousy every time I read about someone getting a book deal. At the same time, I was working my way up the ladder in the charity sector, with the vague idea that if I couldn’t be a writer, I’d try to help people instead. I liked that aspect, but hated having to go to an office every day, the sense of apathy that settled over everyone, the unwashed dishes in the kitchen, all of it.
Everything changed when I got sick, in 2006. I had barely any symptoms, except for chronic heartburn and a sense that I was always bloated. I thought I had just put on weight, or perhaps had some digestive issues. When I finally went to the doctor after months of this, I got a shock – he examined my abdomen, and told me I was either heavily pregnant, or something was very wrong. I waited two nervous weeks for an ultrasound, where they confirmed that I had a huge ovarian cyst, which had turned into stage one cancer.
I was lucky that this could be managed by surgery instead of chemotherapy, but it was a big operation and I was off my feet for months. When I finally felt better, I decided to make some changes in my life. I moved to London, found a better job – I more than doubled my salary in one move – and began to finally work on my novel in my spare time. As it grew and grew, I realised I was going to do what had seemed impossible for years, and actually finish the thing. It took me almost three years and multiple rewrites, probably about 200,000 words and half of them deleted, but I did it. That’s still one of the best moments I’ve ever had in my writing career.
Looking back, it was definitely the illness that allowed me to make these changes, and finally try my luck at the thing I really wanted. Being essentially bed-ridden all summer, back at my parents’ house, spurred me on to seize the day, and try and change my life, and a few years later I was able to do that, and sell my first novel. I’ve never looked back since, and am glad every day that I no longer have to work in an office!
What You Did by Claire McGowan is published by Thomas & Mercer and available now