So, here I am, fabulous and fifty as one kind friend put it or, still plugging away as another (not so kind) acquaintance observed, poised to begin my battle to become a published author. Twenty years ago the notion of beginning a new career at this point in my life would have been unthinkable but, as Bob Dylan so kindly recorded for posterity, the times they are a-changing and, as with all change, some of it will be good; some of it not so wonderful.
I have always read books at addiction level (I have actually been known to suffer mild panic attacks at the thought of running out of reading matter!) and, naturally I suppose, I began to write at a very early age too. True, my efforts did seem to feature a great many loyal collie dogs of the Lassie persuasion and even more equine heroes who would come thundering to my rescue at the drop of a hat allowing only me to find the way into their broken horsey hearts. Sad stuff you might think but all things grow from the most basic beginnings. Over the years my writing matured, I began to understand character, plot and the construction of a great story as opposed to simply a good one. It was books that taught me those things; reading them for myself and for my children as they grew up and noticing why one writer might stand out over another. Such things are subjective of course but reading – proper books as opposed to magazines – is what fires imaginations and opens up the boundaries of the mundane.
Since I am a newcomer to the art of blogging I thought it might be advisable to follow the oldest rule in the writing handbook and start by writing what I know. In the next few weeks I will begin to delve into the deepest, darkest recesses of my memory and share the books which started my love affair with fiction. I am due to become a grandmother for the first time in the next few weeks and already feel the urge to begin collecting the age old classics I loved and enjoyed so much as a child. Many have been usurped by Gruffalos and Very Hungry Caterpillars these days but I live in hope that Alice and Winnie the Pooh (the original not Mr Disney’s version) might stir the same delight in my grandson that they did with me. Already I am looking forward to The Wind in The Willows, The Owl Service and The Legends of King Arthur; actually I am salivating at the thought of re-reading them in the near future for this blog!
Books are a habit which modern society has allowed to lapse; one of my dearest hopes is that, through my books and stories, should I be successful in getting them into print, heroes and legends will live again and stir the spirits of those whose minds have merely forgotten their existence and need only to have the door opened so that they might welcome them back in.