I’m a creative spirit and have been for as long as I can remember. I have memories of directing and performing shows with my cousins for my parents, aunts and uncles. I had an imaginary horse station and a mud (literally) cake bakery. My imagination was never, it seems, lacking. I also remember from a young age sitting at my mother’s typewriter writing my first attempts at novels. In fact I still have a lot of those outlines and chapters in a box in the shed.
Someone once asked me why I write and I replied, ‘because I have to’. It is as simple as that. It is something I can’t not do. Yes I would love to be published and get paid for it but if that was my only reason for doing it then I probably wouldn’t still be writing. I write because if I don’t I feel I’m not doing what I should be doing and I don’t care how ridiculous or artsy fartsy that sounds

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