I know everyone does this nowadays.
Pours their thoughts and feelings out into the web, with a purpose or without. Hoping for…. who knows? Replies from random readers? Release? Revenge? Other things starting with ‘r’?
And I guess thats what I am doing too.

I always wanted to write something and did when I was younger. My Mum has drawers full of duotangs (do they still make those?) with careful labels on them. I was addicted to fantasty novels as a child and spent a lot of time drawing very elaborate maps of worlds that I had created, just like you see in the beginning of books by Robert Jordan and the like. These maps would take days to complete, and were detailed down to the branches on the trees that I added here and there to depict whole forests. There would be borders and oceans, mountains and neverending deserts. All of the traditional elements of a fantasty map. And I was convinced that I would, WOULD be able to write the most amazing of all novels , would acheive world-wide acclaim, would become the most famous of all writers….

These were the thoughts that circled my head as I began chapter one of my most brilliant and original novel, the main character of which sounded a bit like me, maybe was a bit of a loner, seemed rather ordinary but deep within there was a spark of something great… you know, the usual plot…

Chapter one would always peter out and the duotang would make its way to that drawer in my Mum’s spare bedroom where she tucked all of those things I started. A collection that I am sure is rather massive now, as I seemed back then to start a new novel every weekend.
Once I reached high school, I stopped those weekend productions. And once I started University, the thoughts circled again. Here, for sure, I would learn all sorts of skills that would enable me to write with amazing vision. Not that I took classes in writing or anything of the sort. It would come naturally, I assumed, as I practised and honed my craft writing various neverending papers on Shakespeare.

And then I graduated and my life took a different path, one that bypassed all of these hopes. Left them at the wayside and other cliches like that. Because I know that to be a writer is practically everyones dream. Sure its easy!! You just write!! How hard can that be! Of course I can come up with the most amazing and original idea for a novel, something that no-one has every thought of before, and of course become rich in the process. For lets face it, these thoughts lurk in the back of every so-called writers mind… especially mine, or at least they did when I was a child.

But that dream of writing still lives on in my mind. I tried so hard! I had plans (I can hear my husband wincing as I say that dreaded ‘p’ word), ideas, I mapped things out. And then life happened, again and again, and I moved on to other things.
It took me 30 years to realize that I don’t need a ‘plan’ to write. Or really any specific topic. Or any solid idea or brilliant plot. I can just write. Stream of conciousness ramblings which, lets face it, I am rather good at. You might even say I excel at it. You know, that sort of ADD-jump from topic to topic-half-finished rambling that all new mums running on little to no sleep have down to a science? Although to be honest, its a craft that I perfected WAY before parenthood.
And who knows if anyone reads this….and who cares really. Its not something I am passing around to my family and friends… not until I have had a few more stabs at it anyways.

For now, lets just keep this between you and me, oh world wide web…

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