By the time I turned fifty, I figured a lot of the ‘firsts’ were done. I’d become a teacher, moved to Australia, got married, had three children … all the wonderful milestones I had hoped for. I was happy and content.
And then the writing bug bit.
I’d had an idea for a story for a couple of years, but I didn’t take it too seriously. I mean, who just decides to sit down and write a book? Me, actually. I had to. These people were invading my head and needed to be let out!
I’d find myself in an imaginary world while cleaning the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and hanging out the washing. Even the ironing became less of a chore. Sometimes, I forgot what it was I needed from the supermarket, but I could remember whole family trees and intricate relationships, along with sizeable chunks of dialogue.
So began another series of firsts, ones I’d never envisaged making, starting with those immortal words, ‘Chapter One’. Whether or not I got published didn’t matter. I simply had to get it all out.
‘Firsts’ keep on happening, no matter how old you are. They can be terribly sad or one of the highlights in life. No matter what form they take, they all are significant in shaping us and making us into the people we are today.
Welcome to my ‘first’ blog!