Friday, 12 July 2013

I was never going to be a writer... Seriously.

I don’t know if I was fated to writing, if you believe in that sort of thing or whether I just had a propensity for storytelling, I certainly was not born with a pen in my hand and regardless of my fascination with the world of make believe, I was definitely not going to be a writer.

It seemed even from the time I was a very little kid I had a fascination with making up my own stories… I mean I liked reading (once I learned to do it) but sitting on a swing in the backyard and telling myself my own story was one of my most favourite things to do.

But I was never going to be a writer.

In primary school I loved the opportunity for creative writing where I got to think up and write down a story in school time… Hey that wasn’t work that was playtime for me…
But I was never going to be a writer.
I remember spending much time on a short story assignment at school which turned into quite the novel… I had a story to tell and by Jove and I was going to tell it! Pages and pages of hand written words with spelling mistakes galore and twisted grammar, must have been a pleasure to correct and grade… I’m sure my teacher was real impressed!

But I was never going to be a writer.

Maths class in high school became my time to write… with my head down busily, my teacher was impressed by my studious attention to work besides my low grades… there I wrote stories about my friends… romantic student dribble that they could read and devour at lunchtime, looking forward to what would happen to them in the next chapter, when I would have time to write more.

But I was never going to be a writer.

A friend liked to test me when we were bored in social studies, she would give me a couple of inanimate objects or a place and character and my job was to come up with a story… Considering myself another Hans Christian Anderson of sorts… I would tell her a story about them…

But I was never going to be a writer.

I enlisted my younger sister who had been learning to type at school to type my stories on dads good old typewriter (yes i was born in that era) while I dictated them.

But I was never going to be a writer.

I was chosen as one of two from my year seven class to attend a special gathering where children my age from schools in the area got to meet and rub shoulders with published authors. They each had an opportunity to speak, letting us in on the secrets to writing, giving us a chance to learn from those who had succeeded in the industry. After a scrumptious lunch on the beach, we were given the opportunity to write our own stories and submit them to the organisers of the event so they could turn them into a book of short stories… I never finished mine (smack head with palm of hand)… but hey… I was never going to be writer anyway.

Truth is, carrying a story around in my head full time was just me… just this quirky thing I did that I’m sure WRITERS of all people can relate to… but I wasn’t going to be a writer… seriously… that sounded like a whole lot of hard, painful work… which it really is at times… But I guess what I needed was someone to give me a hard shake and say…"wake up girl! This is your destiny!"

That shake came one day in the form of an overarching desire to create… Having not written a word in years, I found myself at the computer, busily typing away… First with a simple idea in mind for a scene… Then a full blown trilogy emerged from my mind and I finally realised I needed to write. I needed to write, write, write until that story was told… for myself, If for no one else.
So here I am… Having given into whatever force that had been pushing me towards writing… I have finished the first book to my trilogy. Now, i ache to write and long to sell my books and have people come on the journey with me.

But I was never going to be a writer.
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