It’s not difficult for me to write. It never has been. I’m the type of person that can’t write a letter on one page of stationary – I need more.
In fact when I travelled around Australia in the mid 80s my poor mum and dad would often receive eight page letters. I’m sure I bored them so much they fell asleep before they got through to the last page. How much can you say about 20-somethings partying around the country (and party we did)? – eh Leesa?
Anyway I continue to write because it makes me happy. I enjoy the process from planning it in my head to getting it down on paper and then finally typing it up on my computer (though I’m writing by keyboard at the moment). I like how I can start with just a wisp of an idea and turn it into a story. I love telling stories. So I guess a blog is a perfect extension of that.
This blog, however, is different to my bookszeus.wordpress.com blog because I am free to be me (outside the restraints of a working environment). At Bookszeus I do talk about writing but I also include marketing and publishing and the format is to engage the Zeus writers to fully understand how the industry works and hopefully to encourage others to get published.
Here, frankly I don’t care. I want to rant if I like. I want to pour my heart out and cry if I feel like crying. Believe it or not that is what makes me happy. I want to tell you how I feel about Elephants and why they need help. I want to explain how sad it is to send one of your children to war. I want to gripe about 15-year-old boys. I want to tell you the best ways to relax in a bath. Possibly I’ll bore you as much as those old letters to mum and dad but maybe not.
Writing is part of me. Funnily enough it’s taken a long time to embrace that. Being a writer (if you don’t already have a swag of published novels or non-fiction books to your name) is scoffed at as not a ‘real profession’. To me it’s not even about vocation it’s about being – being a writer.
My husband (long-suffering Bevil, who just tried to get my attention away from the computer by dancing naked in front of me), my children (Kris, my step-son; Joel 18 and Blake 15) even my dog, Boss, know I am a writer – even though they don’t get the reason for my compulsion.
My mum, Valerie, has always encouraged me and my dad did also (when he was alive). They raved about my first little story about ‘The Mouse with the Musical Ears’ (I guess that was in about second class) and I was hooked on the encouragement ever since.
But encouragement aside, writing is a solo endeavour but maybe that’s why I like it so much. I’ve always cherished my OWN time. I wrap myself in my imagination and off I go to the fantasy place of my choice. To me that’s happiness but I have plenty of other ways to be happy and I’ll share them soon.