Something I said, when someone asked: Are You Meant to Be a Writer?

I’ve always had an active imagination – at school my favourite lesson was English and I’d spend hours writing my ‘neverending story’ about an adventure down a rabbit hole (which, with hindsight, does bear a striking resemblance to Alice in Wonderland, so I suppose you could argue that I was either a genius or a plagiarist at a very early age!)


In my adult life I’ve been writing fiction for the past five years, but I struggle with the label of ‘writer,’ given that most of the time I’m not writing, but rather obsessing over the fact I should be writing (if indeed a writer is what I want to be). I take part in NaNoWriMo every November to kick start my writing, but no sooner have I typed ‘The End’ than I invariably consign the manuscript to the murky depths of my hard drive, never to be looked at again. And the cycle begins again in earnest…


In answer to your question, I suppose I know I’m meant to be a writer because even when I’m too lazy to do it, I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like a constant nagging voice in my head that just won’t let me ignore it. Do I have what it takes to be a success? Who knows. But what is the measure of success? Book sales? Or just the satisfaction of having eloquently conveyed your thoughts, emotions – not forgetting the thoughts and emotions of your characters – into words?


All I know is that I like it. For whatever reason it’s a part of me, and I hope it always will be.