Why I write or why I haven't written anything before...

When I was fourteen, I wanted to write. I wanted to write badly. I loved english at school and revelled in any assignments that were to do with creative writing (or any English assignments really!) It gave me great pleasure to 'world build'; to create characters and stories that were so far removed from everyday life...what a feeling. But you know what, I didn't continue. i didn't go on with it and here's why.

When I was fourteen, Mum, Dad and I were driving out of the town were Dad was staying for his work; a little mining town called Clermont in central Queensland. I only ever saw Dad every school holidays which was OK but I hated travelling by bus out there every school holidays when my friends in the city were doing fun things like going out and meeting girls. I didn't get to do any of that so all I had were books and comics. I read and that was my world. Anyway my Dad asked me on this day, as we drove in the F100 ute back to the mining compound, what i wanted to be when I grew up. The answer came to me in a flash. I didn't even have to think about it. And I was pleased with the answer. Why? Because I knew Dad wouldn't like it. I said to him:
"I'm going to be a writer."
I turned my head over to him to see his reaction. He said nothing. He only shook his head in, not so much disgust, but disappointment. I got the reaction I wanted and i felt terrible. My passion started to wain.

Over the years I tried to take it up again. I wrote a screenplay, whilst a good little story, was badly written and I didn't have the maturity to deal with the themes I wanted to portray. There were many drunken nights alone on the type writer, were I pinched out little essays on life in the style of Hunter S Thompson. I wish i had of kept these (there were all in a folder for many years but probably got purged in one of our cross country moves) as they would have been a good window into my thinking at the time. One thing i never lost over the years was my imagination. I treasure that more than anything in the world. And here we are now, I've written a book and planning the continuing series and thinking of projects beyond that. I don't want to write exclusively for children but have some more books for adults in mind.

Will I be successful at writing? I don't know. The odds are stacked against anyone going into the arts, especially in the digital age. But at least now I can say I'm a writer and I'm having a blast. The fourteen year old boy would be pleased...