book

This excerpt from The Walrus makes me want to read Gabrielle Drolet's debut memoir on chronic pain, Look Ma, No Hands.

As I started writing more freelance pieces, I was, in a way, living the life I’d always wanted. I was a writer. It was my actual job. I balanced deadlines, rotating between articles and editors. I sent out more and more pitches. I worked late into the night, fuelled by instant coffee and bad music.

It wasn’t enough. The number of pitches I was landing couldn’t comfortably sustain me. And it often took ages for me to get paid for my work. A fully written article might be put on hold—it would sit and collect virtual dust, and I wouldn’t be paid until it was published. I knew I needed more consistent work. I longed for some sort of paycheque I could rely on month to month. My savings dwindled as I paid for rent, pricey physiotherapy appointments, and adaptive tools. I moved to Montreal, where the cost of living was lower, but I still struggled to get by.

Just because we don’t know the future doesn’t mean we’re left helpless; there’s genius and creativity in preparation. Start wherever you are; in a complex, non-linear world, there can be no step-by-step rule book, only an infinite mandate to explore. Approach the future with fervent curiosity, not with an ideology or itinerary but with a methodology that progresses with questions: what do you need to do now? What do you need to be now? What must we preserve at all cost?

— Margaret Heffernan, Uncharted