Someone asked me recently why I write.
Answer: because I have to. Writing brings me joy and I am driven to do it. It feels like my true path in life and what’s more, it’s the only thing I can excel at. It’s also my best way to express myself.
I’m not saying it’s easy, and writing a book is certainly not for the faint of heart. It’s a game of patience and persistence, it’s 5% inspiration and 95% perspiration. It’s a solitary and sedentary way of life and you have to be ruthless with your allocation of time. There’s only one way to do it and that is by sitting on your backside in front of your blank screen and getting on with it.
If it’s not your bag, don’t even think about doing it. It’s exhausting even at the best of times.
Put like that I realise it sounds horrendous, but for me it’s exactly the contrary. There are times when I get on a roll and words just appear on my screen. Half the time I don’t know where they came from – perhaps from a higher place? All I can say is that at the end of such a session there’s no feeling of satisfaction that can compare – except perhaps on that joyous day when the very first printed copy of your very own book arrives in your hands!
It’s like giving birth – unto us a child is given. Halleluja!