Recently, going through papers my mother had kept over the years, I found my first novella. I was surprised to see it as I was sure it had ended up in the garbage at some point when my parents moved. But no, Mum kept it. Thanks Mum!
I started writing at the age of 9. I woke up early one morning and was bugging my mum to get out of bed so we could have breakfast. She told me to go back to bed and read. It was a Saturday. I said I’d read all my books. She suggested I have a go at the poetry book someone had recently given me. I told her I’d read that too. Her response: “Well go write something then, I need another half hour in bed.”
So off I went and returned half an hour later having written my first poem.
So, all these words that I have been producing over the years – well the fault can be laid at mother’s feet for giving me the idea to write.
Stories and poems poured out of me and filled an old leather satchel that had belonged to my dad. Then I started high school. My dad was a fan of westerns and so my first novella was a western. A woman travelled west to join her husband on his new ranch. She brought along their first child who was only a baby. Somehow, I managed to include life on the range, a range war, bad guys and a devastating fire in that novel.
And you wonder why I am a writer?
My dad was in pathology and also loved crime and spy books. If he were alive today, I am sure he would enjoy my crime/mystery novels. I wish he were around to enjoy them.
So why am I a writer? Blame my parents! And bless them for encouraging a creative child who loved stories.
