Reasons I write

The Newport Times


Reasons I write...



My love of writing began as an avid reader to my small son. I would spend hours at bed time entertaining him but found it increasingly difficult to stick to the story. My imagination would interfere and interrupt telling me I could do better. The monkey wasn’t just a monkey, he was green monkey, with one arm, that ate only apples. I wanted my little boys eyes open wide in amazement and for them to close with his innocent mind satisfied and his curiosity eternally hungry. So I would elaborate and the ones that received the best reaction gave me the greatest pleasure and  I would write them, so I didn’t forget .

I read David Eddings as a child - The Belgariad, I can still see the opening scene in the kitchen brimming with copper pots as Polgara goes about her business. I wanted that feeling for my son, to be drawn is so close you can practically smell the pots bubbling with broth. I liked to build words and have a playful vocabulary to fascinate him and me. It was so much fun and he is now a lover of books and all things literary at fourteen. My work is done. But it will never be complete. My bonkers imagination continues to outwit me and stories spill from me as easily as red wine from my never-ending decanter .

I am hungrier by the day to master the craft and entertain a thousand souls with my words and pictures. But hope my son will always be my biggest fan. I would like to paint with words and to have my imagery etched in minds for ever more, isn’t that every writers dreams? to create and capture something that lingers and questions and fascinates.

Writing will be my passion long after my hands have given up, long after my ink has run dry. Long after my mind aches to remember a word. My stories with stay with my spirit and in my heart for ever more. I hope to leave traces of me on pages around the world to be enjoyed and to make eyes sparkle and hearts skip and laughter resonate.

I intend to spend my life inspired by it.

Learning from it. I will sit on mountain tops fathoming how to describe the the mist that curls around the craggy tips whilst drinking from my flask of coffee. I will let the world be my teacher and my imagination work its magic. I will never give up.