Why Writing?

From my earliest memories, I have loved reading. Childhood holidays were spent exploring the extensive library in my grandpa’s sunroom (our bedroom for the holidays). I'd grab a book and curl up on the bed with the sun streaming through large picture windows. And when, not able to find reading material that grabbed me, I'd raid his treasure of Phantom comics that filled a large chest of drawers. This is not to say that indoors was the extent of my world. In fact my days were often spent, energetically exploring his farm with three equally adventurous sisters, creating magical and fun filled stories around anything we could find. During primary school the librarians were wonderfully helpful in supplying new books, but the day came when they indicated that were "no other books to recommend". Perhaps the library was smaller than my childhood memory recalls? Nevertheless not daunted, the local public library became a regular expedition and the walk home lugging my hoard of treasures is well pathed within my memories; along with the memories of the Bindii prickles that attacked my exposed toes in the scorching summer Queensland sun.

Early high school proved to be challenging as the typical mindset of my circle of friends, was that 'they'd rather be dead than caught reading'. I managed however, to continue reading whenever and wherever possible, often feigning the need to 'do an assignment in the library' to disguise the need to change a book. It was a common event to read way past bedtime, (probably akin to mobile use for young people more recently), a torch and a blanket kept me safe from parental chastisement while I escaped and roamed the worlds beyond. Not the wisest when dairy-duty required full attendance before sunlight the next morning. My mother coming down the hall was alarm enough though, to leap out of bed before she could rouse me; bleary eyed and tired. Pure stubbornness would not give her an excuse to curb my late-night practice.

Toward the later years of high school, an elderly friend's wall-full of Mills and Boon romance novels was discovered to my delight, and equally to the disgust of my history teacher who rolled his eyes as each one was methodically read. His chiding was taken to heart though, and other material was consumed as well, building a love of history, economics, politics, recipe books, detective stories, gardening, how-to-manuals, and any other form of reading available. Qualifying as a high-school teacher and initially starting an early career path with English as a specialty area did not however head in my preferred direction of English teaching. This and my love of language as a career, were placed on a back-burner while life took a different path,

Being a dreamer, I had always hoped to have a house with a library. You know the image - a room like the Beast's library in Beauty and the Beast, ladders and all. As maturity emerged and the reality of providing for and raising four children (now adults) set the parameters of our household. Kindle has replaced my physical collection and Google is paradise for learning about anything and everything; utilised with the discretion of hard-learned wisdom of course. As with all hobbies there have been times that I've had to 'shelve it', but my love of reading has continued even during the busy seasons, in some form or another.

Which leads to the question, Why Writing? Enjoyment in writing has been a meandering pathway and has closely followed the seasons of my life's journey. I have long written my thoughts and devotional gleanings in a journal and have been thankful for this in harsh seasons when my faith has been tested. Over more recent years I had a season of further study and enjoyed the challenge of honing academic writing, as I retrained for a career in counselling that blossomed profusely and is simmering along quietly. So now, as the echos of children voices have faded into the past (grandchildren not included), there is more time for quieter contemplation and the unleashing of imaginations that have long been held captive.

Multiple ideas waiting in the wings for many years, are starting to push their way out. There is a growing sense that its time to dabble in some creative writing. Personally, this is an exciting time! First steps have been taken in a foray into historical fiction, with hopes for a novel to be birthed later this year. But, as I had thought that it may be birthed earlier this year, we shall see.

There are times that doubts about age prohibiting the birth of something new, but when these thoughts come I'm reminded, that the preparation and training for this season has been lifelong. Its also encouraging to recognise that writing is not something that has to be perfect, but rather an ongoing challenge to overcome and improve in. Who knows, perhaps I'll have a little section in the corner of my dream library for my own novels in time?

Finally, I want to acknowledge that it is daunting to say the least to step towards something that is not sure, and which may not lead to anywhere that is deemed by others to be successful. With this thought in mind, I'm encouraged by the words of a verse that's resonated with me through many seasons and which feels all the more relevant at this time.

By faith Sarah herself also received strength to conceive seed, and she bore a child when she was past the age, because she judged Him faithful who had promised. (Hebrews 11:11 NKJV)