I have always liked writing, ever since I was young enough to scrawl a proprietary "Katie" on every page of my "Chicken Licken" Ladybird book at four years old. Writing has always been a way of extracting and pinning down some of the words and thoughts that bubble up in my mind, distracting me from my everyday tasks. It hasn't always been easy, sometimes the brain-hand interface gets blocked, either by words pushing and jostling to get out so that they clog the exit and I can't choose between them, or by words refusing to leave the comfort zone of my brain because their sentences "just aren't ready". Many times, my written words have been bundled up into diaries, re-read maybe only once or twice before they were destroyed to keep them away from prying, fraternal eyes. Other times, I would fill page after page when writing to friends, while I was away at boarding school. Everything that I was unable to say to the girls around me could be poured out onto paper, up to ten pages of A4 paper at a time.
I wrote a story once, at school. At least, I started writing a story but it was met with such scornful hilarity that I was reluctant to share my words for a long time after that. Better to keep the words to myself than allow them out, to be ridiculed. For many years, I was content to keep the words inside, for their (and my) protection, letting them whirl and tumble in my mind, churning away in timeless daydreams, consoling myself that "one day" I would write a book.
My Forties have triggered something of a mid-life crisis, forcing me to examine all that I have done, am doing and will do, and making me realise the potential for "one day" to slip away from me if I don't grab it soon. But how will I write, if I never actually do any writing? The realisation that I have to get on with it, if it is going to happen, has prompted me to start blogging. My words still only reach a small audience but it is practice, it is giving me confidence and the act of writing is helping me to sort out some of the thoughts that have been stashed away for years in the junk room of my mind. My recent health problems and lack of energy have made me think about what I actually can do, rather than what I would do in an ideal world - and I have realised that writing still fits in the can-do box so I want to make a go of it.
My plans were inspired by a moment, a few months ago, when I was walking past the local bookshop and I realised that I actually want to see my name, on a book, in that window. It was a bit of a shock, I have never had any ambition so clear before in my life. At last, I know what I want to do when I grow up...and it is time to grow up and do it. Of course, real writers get writers' block from time to time and it was a bit disconcerting to walk straight into that wall the moment I decided that I wanted to be a writer. Feeling desperate to do something can sometimes be counterproductive. I realised I didn't know exactly what I wanted to write; novels? short stories? magazine features or journalistic articles? childrens' books? the story of my struggles with depression, fibromyalgia and autism? The words stopped flowing and I was left feeling a bit like a superficial "wannabe", talking the talk with no writing to back up my claims and intentions.
I knew I needed to do something and just get on with it, so when I saw a notice for a writers' workshop in a local community centre I signed up for it straight away. I discovered that I am much the same as the other writers on the course, with a little less experience than some, but not all. Given the task of writing a short story, I found that I had an idea within a few hours and it took just a few hours more to actually write it. I finally felt hopeful. Getting on with the task had shown that I can do it and the ideas started to flow again. I realised that writing is hard work but it is something that I can do when I sit down and put the effort into it. My stories are forming now; I may not have reams and reams of manuscript lying around the house but I have years and years of daydreaming scribbled in my brain, waiting to be extracted and pinned down in type.
Most of all, I have realised that I don't want to write in order to create best sellers, I just want to write so that I can show what I have done with my time; I want to say "there, look - I did that!" My stories will take a few years as there is a lot of research to be done now but I hope, in the meantime, to practise my writing with blog posts and short stories, with a smile on my face that says "This is me, this is what I do and I am having fun!"
