Our lives take us down so many pathways; some turn out to be blind alleys, whereas others become wider and grander, tree lined and fruitful. I could have been a counsellor, an insurance broker or an academic; each were possibilities at one time or another. But in the end, writing drew me to its heart. I've always dabbled with the written word, albeit haphazardly; a blog post here and an essay there, perhaps. Despite positive feedback, it never occurred to me that I had a particular talent for it and making a living from my writing seemed about as likely as being accepted by NASA as a would-be astronaut.
A conversation with a friend has changed all that. From now on, I'm going to write. This is me going public with my intent to write a book. It'll almost certainly be non fiction but that's about all I know at the moment. Exciting, yes, but also a little scary.
If you're reading this and thinking "she's delusional," you may possibly be right. But I'll never know unless I try. I know the odds are stacked against me, especially as I know next to nothing about the practicalities, I just write. Quite often, the words write themselves and it's almost a supernatural experience. Nobody has yet been able to explain how this happens, least of all me. I realise that there's a big leap from 'fortysomething failed PhD student and occasional blogger' to 'writer' but we all have to start somewhere. So this is me, starting.
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