Why do I write? I have always been a storyteller. When I was a child I was always making up adventures in my head. For years my imaginary friend was a squirrel called Patch, and we had all sorts of adventures on Farmer Brown’s farm. I was, and still am, a dreamer, a creator of worlds and people.
I get bored easily, I’m smart, and I am cynical so I suppose storytelling is an escape, a way of doing things I could never really do. My late grandmother would tell us stories about ‘The Duchess’ and my late father had some really quite dark tales about various household implements that would go on the rampage, have adventures and cause mischief — thanks Dad – I get my twisted sense of humour from you too.
There were always books in the house and we were encouraged to read. My father was partially blind, and struggled to read normal print books but would persevere if he couldn’t get large print, and I think this determination to enjoy the worlds within words, despite his difficulty gave us all a love of literature.
At school I was the kid making up the story or poem for the class display. As long as I can remember I’ve been weaving words. It’s part of me, part of my heritage and part of my soul.
I write because it brings me joy (and I hope others too), because I have countless stories to tell, because there are worlds and people who want to be free from mere thought, and because I can’t not write (sorry, nicked that line from Sweeny Todd). But being a word-weaver is different to actually publishing and selling a book. For me – telling the story is easy – publishing the damn thing is hard.
As a publisher I have learned marketing, cover design, editing, formatting, social media…
Don’t ask me why I became an author – I’ve always been a storyteller, I can’t help it. Ask me why I decided to publish.