A Basic Guide to Demystifying the C-word (Commercial Awareness)

Before I entered the Aspiring Solicitors Commercial Awareness Competition, I had zero understanding of what commercial awareness was, or what it meant. The thought of being asked about it at interviews was daunting and picking up the Financial Times to try and become more “aware” (whatever that meant) was overwhelming. But by the time I reached the competition Final in March 2018, all the muggy confusion had melted away and I finally ‘got it’. So, for those of you who feel like I once did, here is my basic guide to demystifying the c-word!

What the fudging-popsicle does Commercial Awareness even mean?

Commercial awareness is the understanding of how industries and businesses work. It’s about knowing what’s going on in the commercial world and understanding the way in which those things may impact on a particular business, sector and company.

Commercial awareness involves:

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Brunching for the soul because sometimes the food isn’t enough

The 18 months preceding March have been terrible. A few spots of joy (bestie’s wedding, Jamaica, top module grade, vac scheme offers), but mostly terrible. Terrible. And that’s it. That’s all I will say without being hyperbolic. Going to events, whether social or professional, has been a chore. A lot has been happening and I’ve been dragged along with life’s current, so by the time the new year rolled around I decided I needed to take back control. And it started out well, but as the end of the first quarter of the year approached I knew I was running out of steam.

When I saw that The Five Es was hosting a brunch around goals and momentum, the empty-but-optimistic part of me wasn’t prepared to just miss it. I see events like this often, but I’m selective about which of them I attend (Shoutout to Black Girls’ Bookclub). I have to like what the brand is about, I have to believe in the person(s) behind the brand, I have to connect with the message and see that the target audience is made up of the kind of people I’d voluntarily choose to be around. Like I said, events are a chore, so I, typically, only go when I know some disassociated part of me will reap a benefit that the everyday part of me is ambivalent about. It’s complicated.

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Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry

Salut, folks. Long time, I know. I was working on this piece a while ago and sat on it because I still haven’t managed to get it right. Before it was too vague, now it seems too obvious, one person didn’t like the names, another disliked too many paragraphs starting with them, yada yada yada. There was good feedback too, so i’ve said f*ck it, just put it out and maybe the literature lovers and fellow writers among you can help me refine it. Plus, NaNoWriMo is coming up fast and I have been challenged to participate, so I’ve decided I both need to get writing and stop worrying about perfecting because I’ll never be happy. Besides I won’t know if any of it is any good if noone is reading it, so enjoy.


 

The glass slipped in slow motion and shattered on the marble floor of the kitchen. “Fuuuuuccckkkk” curdled out of Kemi’s throat as she frantically pushed the falling pots and plates back onto the dish rack. She froze, listening, waiting to make sure the avalanche of dishes had stopped, then, muttering under her breath and holding the dishes in place with one hand, she began safely piling the haphazardly stacked dishes on the side. Continue reading “Hush, Little Baby, Don’t You Cry”

Brilliance II – Mediocrity’s Anger: An Ultimatum

As I approach the end of my degree, almost 4 years have passed. One day I’ll write about the demons this journey conjured, for now I simply share part two of my soliloquy. You can read part one here.

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My Brilliance had changed so much since the last time I had seen him from the window, staring over his shoulder at me with sorrow in his eyes. Taller, curvier, happy, now, before me, my brilliance stood confident and sure,

“You’ve suffered long enough,” she said.

Crouching before my huddled form seated at the top of the stairs where she’d left me, and cupped my face in hands the same as mine, staring into my eyes, the same as hers, and she smiled that smile of mine.

Wide-eyed at the transformation, I looked at this new vision before me, that is me, drinking her in.

“It’s you,” I said, to me as much as to her, “you came back.” I could not breathe, so overwhelmed with hope.

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Daddy’s Girl

Callie’s eyes popped open. Her head jerked upwards. The darkness was broken only by the dull shine of the glow-in-the-dark stars dotting the ceiling of her room. She tried not to move. ‘It’s just a game,’ she reminded herself, ‘It’s just a game.’ She lay still for a moment longer than usual before she began twisting her head sideways. The hand, clamped across her mouth and pinching her nose with its calloused thumb and index finger, firmed its grip across her face. She bucked her body and kicked her legs, tugging at the fingers across her face. Her eyes widened in the dark as she struggled to break free, to breathe. Her chest tightened. She could hear the blood rushing through her ears and feel the pressure building behind her eyes. Tears coursed down her temples. Her resistance weakened and her blink grew laboured. As she passed out she looked at the ghostly green stars and wished to God that she could hide among them.

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From the Archives: Ants

This one is old, but it reminds me of the work still to be done on my writing. Leave your comments below.


He took offence easily. She was perplexed. The question had been legitimate enough, and she hadn’t been rude. She had said, “Excuse me, sir” and “could you please tell me”.

She rested her head against the window pane and saw-without-watching the fields of greenish-brown and yellow blur past. She never understood why men wore tan brown shoes. Or why their trousers were never long enough to close the gap between their shins and ankles when they sat down. ‘Did it cost extra to make trousers that long? Did no-one else notice that tan shoes were ugly? Ridiculous?’

When she had asked Tan-Shoes those questions he had called her impertinent. Whatever that meant.

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When writing isn’t writing

*peeks over computer monitor*
Taking a cheeky 5 mins to update while no one is around. This blogging thing hasn’t been working out as frequently as I’d hope. I guess it was rather ambitious to think I could manage a full time job, a degree, two twitter accounts and two blogs while still being a functioning human. Then I saw a meme on my timeline admonishing me for being an utter failure because – and I quote – “you have the same number of hours in a day as Beyoncé”. F**kers.

So this is me getting into Formation. I have a few entirely unfinished short drafts of…what I don’t think can be called anything more than ideas really…but I’ll post the scraps falling out of this inundated brain of mine. Y’all can probably help me get something worthy out of it!