A friend asked me a few days ago:

‘why do you write?’

In itself a simple question and a simple answer ‘ Because i enjoy it’

Though as always it is never that simple.

When i was a child, i would not write for all the tea in china. I hated it with a vengeance, i was however good at retaining information in my head which is partly why i managed to pass my GCSE’S without my book i had written in, which resided out side the window after someone had chucked it out! 

So where exactly i got the “writing bug” i dont know, i did not start writing till i reached 14 and then there was no stopping me i just loved it. I can still remember the first story i wrote.

It was about a group of bears, teddy bears if you will, that were going to a party and i seem to recall one of them got drunk!   I know not the makings of a new J K Rowling granted.  My next story was about vampires living in a windmill! Getting slightly better but still a mental story line.  However strange the story may be it was something i liked doing, i realized even then that the one thing i wanted, was to escape and these stories would provide me with the means to do so.  I soon began to write strange apithanies ( bet thats not spelt right- even the spell check is stumped!) thoughts on my surroundings on life, on the world, and on me!  I will publish some of these in the next couple of days, but i had got a feeling for the pen in my hand and ever single night i would write a new poem or thought, just so i could feel…. different! It was almost as if a new world had opened up and in this world, i made the rules because i made the world!

I Still thought that writing was for ( Meaning no offense)  boring people with nothing better to do with their lives. Then i started reading!

The best thing anyone can do is to read a book, and once i had read my first book ‘Harry potter and the goblet of fire’ everything came together. The love of words, the love of a story and the love of another world.  How i wished i could be wizard, fighting dragons and being taught at magic school. Yes i may have been 14 but with my bullying at school, i just hoped for anything, even wizards may take me out of it!

When i learned that i could write me english teacher helped slightly, but thought it was more of a whim than anything else and it would soon pass, five years on and the passion for writing is burning even brighter.

Whether i am writing about a love so spectacular, it makes my heart dance, or whether it be a poem about an image so sharp, it sticks in the mind, or even if it is a thought that i have and wish to share it, the passion is the same.

I want to write, and all those people that have laughed at me for doing so, well i never listen anymore, for i have learned that in my life i have spent too many years listening, and not enough years doing!

I will write and for many years to come, until my fingers are no longer able to use a pen or use the computer and even then i shall use my spoken word. I will write in my dreams, i will write in my spare hours for it is the one thing that is mine and no one can take it away from me, no one can make my world into their image. For my story shall begin and end as i wish it to, and it features, whether land or people, whether hero or villain will be my own and no one elses.

I am a writer,     What will you be?