Many years ago I began waking early each morning and started writing. At first, there was no cohesion. It was scrawl. After a time, maybe a few days or a couple of weeks, I cannot recall, something odd started to happen. Ideas popped into my head, the proverbial light bulb flashed into life. What started as a means of therapy to find some meaning to my life gradually turned into ideas. I liked writing. Furthermore, I believed I could go somewhere with it. My naivety led me to think I could become a ‘proper’ writer.
I began writing short stories, completed a distance-learning course on writing non-fiction and subscribed to Writers’ News and Magazine. It’s then I realised the harsh truth. Most people believe they are the next international best-selling author and most people fall at an early hurdle.
However, just like I still believe one day I’ll be a prolific songwriter much in demand, I also believe that one day I might, just might, get something published.
When I first began writing, I was working in the IT world developing software. It was not very exciting but paid reasonably well. In my early days of software development I could be quite creative. I designed, wrote, tested, documented software and trained others how to use it. Increasingly though, it became a chore. As the software I wrote became more important to the companies I worked for, they, in turn, demanded stricter control of how the software and the documentation was written. The creativity was taken away. Although this was probably the right course for the companies, I felt starved. That’s why writing in my own time allowed me to explore my ideas.
Then, my life was turned upside down.
Thanks for reading.