The brain child of DL Hammons at Cruising Altitude, the co-sponsors include Alex J Cavanaugh, Katie Mills aka Creepy Query Girl and Matthew MacNish at The QQQE.
On Monday, February 13th, post your own origin story. Tell us all where your writing dreams began. It could be anything from how you started making up stories as a child, or writing for the school newspaper, or even what prompted you to start a blog. How about stories about the first time somebody took an interest in your writing, or maybe the singular moment when you first started calling yourself a writer. It all started somewhere and we want you to tell us your own unique beginnings.
Well, firstly, I’m cheating. It’s actually February 14th here already – Google reminded me of it, because it has a very cute google logo up for the day. Under agreement with my hubbie, we are not celebrating valentines this year – normally it’s a big day for us, but this year I decided the money could go elsewhere. We’ve just bought a house, and celebrated our one year anniversary of arriving in Australia. That’s enough.
But WordPress.com still has my server date as the 13th. So, under a technicality only, I’m joining in with this blogfest – to tell you the origins of my writing.
In 1977 a movie came out called ‘Star Wars’. The first one. I was old enough to remember going to see it at my small town movie theatre – which sadly burnt down a few years afterwards and was never replaced. After the arrival of Star Wars, my neighbourhood was never the same. I was a girl living beside a large family of four boys my age. Although I spent a lot of time with them roughing it out on bikes, skateboards and down swinging off trees into the sea at our local beaches, there were times when I wanted their attention in a more, shall we say, civil way. Amongst the sticks we used for light sabres, and bikes we used as t-fighters, an idea beckoned.
I have a distinct memory of standing out on our front porch with fifteen boys of random ages, reading to the enthralled audience my very own space opera. I have no memory of writing it, or the contents, just the look of awe on their faces as I read them what I had written.
That’s when I decided I would be a writer.
Being a writer wasn’t the done thing back in those days. There was very little support for it through the schools, no tutoring on creative writing, no media or journalism courses, and our high school career guidence counsellor wouldn’t have a bar of it.
That’s when I decided I would be a writer, just in secret.
Life went on. I got a real job, that grew into a career. I had decided at the age of eight or so that when I reached the ancient age of thirty, that would be a good time to be a writer. So everything was just fine, ticking along as a hidden writer.
My thirtieth birthday passed, life still got in the way, but I began to plot and plan my own writing life.
It took until my mid thirties when life slowed down to allow for time to write.
That’s when I became a writer.
The story of how I eventually accepted the fact, and could tell people I was a writer is a completely different matter. But it does involve a light sabre of sorts.