Why do I write?
Why put myself through this torment? Of forever learning the craft of writing? Because it is my way of joining up the dots of life – mine, yours, everyone’s. I don’t paint, I don’t shout my truth from the rooftops or a soap box in the village, I write. I am currently fascinated by the journey of women towards finding their own truth. That said, the work in progress centres on a man’s journey (that needs lots of research – hooray!!) The point of his journey though is towards his self-discovery. I guess we are all human, man or woman, preoccupied with similar anxieties, celebrating similar joys. Men bury their emotions deeper than women do – thanks society!
Sometimes one needs to write to find out what one wants to say. Some writers have it all mapped out. Some, like me, need to write to see what happens along the way. I once read that every novel you are struggling to write has already been written. The job of the writer is merely to get the words onto the page, that the writer is merely the mouthpiece though whom the story will be told. That makes it sound so much easier.
Did I start writing late in life? Not really. Writing has always been my go-to solution but, like many women, my own wants, needs and deep desires were put on the back burner while I willingly raised my family. Now they are grown it’s my time to be selfish, to pull that pan of writing to the front burner where it can burst into flames. It’s never too late, girls. Say what you need to say. And publish – just do it!
