Becoming a writer

I can't remember the first piece I ever wrote.

I expect it was a Christmas story involving elves and a lot of "And then"s to link my ideas. I expect I was at school and it was a task set. I really don't know.

I'm not sure that it matters as I have always been a vessel for stories. It wasn't until I was at home after the birth of my second son that I started to explore writing. It started with book reviews. And it was where I learnt to write on the hoof.

So, in the absence of an origin, I am remembering how I came to write and what it means to me. It has been an organic process with no real drive and yet, I think I always knew I wanted to be a writer. It feels natural and right to me now and the need to share words is present in me every single day.

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I read a lot. It is one of the singular most pleasurable pastimes in which I partake. I cannot imagine not reading and it's not just fiction but anything that takes my fancy. I love to learn and I love to view different perspectives. But, as I read such a lot, I do not always remember or recall the books that I have read. It got to the point where I was buying books that I already had on my shelf. But when it got to the day where I was buying books I'd already read, I decided that I would keep a log and write down what I'd read with a short summary of the book.

I started a book journal. I hand wrote it. I chose my notebook carefully and allotted a page minimum for each book with scope for extra if the book pushed my literary buttons. It got me thinking, not only about what I'd read but also about what it made me feel, what I liked about it, the characters, the action, the setting, the ending. Favourite authors were noted and purchased again. I could draw comparisons between writers and could identify what appealed and what made me withdraw or skip pages in boredom.

It gave me the first proper chance to delve into my thoughts and record them; to mull them over and taste them to see how I could expand them for viewing by others; to find my writing voice which is as much my character as the person who interacts with others in the everyday world, but just maybe, a little more complex with more depth than what appears to the layperson.

It's a nervous day when you show your inner self to the world. Everyone wants to be liked and with the advent of the internet, more and more of us can show what we're made of and seek approval. It is not always forthcoming and exposure can mean criticism. It took me years to be confident in my own writing and so, it took me years to put it out there for others to see.

But eventually, I started to publish my thoughts on other people's writing through a website called Suite 101, which is not too dissimilar to Vocal. I submitted book reviews to start but expanded into other pieces of non-fiction writing. I also used to analyse poems and put these on a website called Helium. Helium also offered money for written material like poems and had a raft of writing ideas which you could pick from and write something of your own that met with the brief. I did not venture into fiction at this point but some haikus and some other small forms of verse.

But it was all practice.

About two years ago, I discovered Reedsy Prompts. Unbidden, I would read their prompts and stories would come. I'd never written down my stories before. I was nervous because it is one thing to have a thought about a story and play it out in your head but it is quite another to write it down and mould into a form so that people can see and enjoy your vision.

The thought of trying to craft my idea and transfer it from head to page seemed too difficult at first. I felt like it was a river with sediment, clogged and slow moving. It was hindered in its flow by mental detritus and obstacles and the process of clearing these would be arduous, maybe too difficult to attempt. My writing was stop-start and clumsy. It took a lot of thought to organise my thoughts, to make them suspenseful or descriptive or to ensure that they could conjure my mind's image. I fretted. It was hard. I resisted. But then I thought, "What have you got to lose?" and the answer was nothing. The sense of accomplishment I felt at writing something of which I was proud was a great, great feeling.

The fear of what other people would think was the next to conquer and I think that if I had been a younger woman, this would have affected me more deeply. But experience and life lived gives perspective and confidence and so, I shared, but still with some trepidation and nervousness. Caring a little less though leads to authenticity and people sense that in your words. It matters.

I love it when people respond to my writing. Everyone wants praise. The affirmation that you are doing something right and that someone else is getting pleasure from your process is just lovely. The glow I get from an encouraging comment matters. I'm more inured to the criticism because I feel comfortable in my ability and how I feel about my written pieces and I don't let it get under my skin, but I am respectful of the fact that everyone has an opinion and they can differ from yours.

Doing book reviews has taught me this. I review a lot of the books that I read, including ARC's and I am mindful of how I write about them precisely because I write. Undue criticism is useless and hurtful but if it is phrased in a way that shows that you have given your opinion thought, it should be reflected upon. Any writer will be criticised - it is a fact. It's how you deal with that that matters.

And I have read some less than good books and reviewed them as such but kindly. Still, this has not always gone well. However, I have never criticised unduly. Writers are a sensitive bunch, in the main and seek the plaudit, the five star review - who wouldn't?

But reviewing has given me a different perspective and has steeled me to the reaction that can occur or equally not occur when your literary progeny is released into the ether that is the internet.

What I would say to new writers is keep on. Write, and write some more. It is difficult to be heard nowadays as everyone clamours to have their voice listened to through the busy-ness of platforms. Share your work where you can. Share it with friends, share it with family, share it with strangers. Read the work of others where you can. On Vocal, communicate and comment. Draw people to it so they can see it.

I would love to make money from writing but you know, I sort of like the fact that I dabble. I'm not ambitious; I don't have the drive. I like to potter through life, like a lumbering wombat. I like the recognition but mostly, I like the process.

Do I get a thrill when I get a Top Story? I'd be lying if I didn't admit this but the thing that propels me is the writing itself - the crafting, the realisation and production of something which was only in your head, of transposing, transforming your ideas into something which can be experienced. And the choosing of words that are nuanced and precise, that lead your reader by the nose, pointing out certain features, dropping hints to guide them, hoodwinking them and turning them this way and that, like a blindfolded person being spun until they're dizzy! Making them laugh or moving them to tears or shocking them - all with your words! This is what it's about!

I love it!

And Vocal and all its writers, thank you. For giving me the opportunity to share. For giving me glimpses into the stories of others. For giving me inspiration to write more.

For this.

Thank you for reading my little piece on writing. No great wisdom here, just perambulations of a writer's mind.

I have included the link to an article I wrote after what were seen to the writers as bad book reviews, hence the title. Please write a comment if you read it. I do love a discussion.

And if you want to experience some of my writing, find some links below to pieces that placed or of which I am just inordinately proud.

A Titanic tale:

And finally: