I’ve been creating stories for as long as I can remember. As a child, I would borrow my father’s video camera and tell stories, often with props but always bossing around my younger sister (aka the lead actress and stagehand) and my impressive range of made up words like ‘blustery-er’.
It wasn’t until I was eleven and knocked out a novel, seemingly from nowhere, that I knew I wanted to be a writer. It was called The Protected and has never seen the light of day because it’s simply atrocious. It’s now password protected and in the deepest folder I can bury it in on my computer. But it showed me I can do it, if only I really put my mind to it.
In the meantime, however, life happened. I went to Royal Holloway University and did Classical Studies. I now work in television production as a Coordinator, which isn’t a job which leaves you with a lot of free time.
I know I can write. That’s not really the issue. I have to write. It’s that or go mad, or explode. All the people and places and strange happenings I think of all has to go onto paper or risk leaking out of my ears. What I’m lacking is the time and skill to write something that has a hope in hell of being published.
So, I’m starting a blog. My hope is that being forced to write knowing it’s going to be seen by a wider audience than my long-suffering family will hopefully force me to up my game. Perhaps writing to deadlines will help me manage my perfectionism. Maybe I’ll even write something that speaks to someone, who knows?
I’m sure of one thing at least… there goes the last of my free time.