I’m a writer that just doesn’t write

I have always wanted to write.  My childhood was a combination of Enid Blyton, Judy Blume, the wonderful Alice in Wonderland and every Ladybird book I could get my hands on.

Beautiful second-hand books

 

At the age of 13 I was given a dilapidated typewriter and over the next three years I wore out the ribbon with possibilities. I wrote stories, TV programmes, comedy sketches and started a couple of novels.  I lived and breathed writing and loved every minute. I was going to make a career of it, I had absolutely no doubt.

Then I fell in love.

Not just a bit.

Totally, completely, utterly head over heels, crazy in love.

us at 18

My life suddenly had a different focus. I got married at the tender age of 19 and we started our family. We have 3 incredible children who are each inspiring adults in their own right and without a doubt, my proudest achievement.  But it never left me –  the desire to write was as strong as it had ever been.  I would get mad because I didn’t write and so I would dabble a bit and talk it up way too much, but never actually produce anything I was proud of. It was never the right time to focus on it and deep down I knew I was waiting for something to happen.

And now it has.

So, here I am.  I am laying all my flaws before you and I am absolutely terrified.  I am  also having to stop myself from jumping up and down with excitement that I am finally doing this.

A little bit about me

I’m 47 years old.

Wait.  What? How did that happen?  I am suddenly fighting flab, fine lines and grey hair.  That’s not me, that’s not who I am – I’m still young.   That shit happens when you’re old.  I’m the person that gets compliments on my youthful appearance. People gasp when they learn how old my kids are BECAUSE I LOOK THAT YOUNG, and I would give a sheepish smile, whilst basking in the glow of admiration. Yes, I am that vain. I am also selfish, opinionated and try to avoid any kind of social situation involving people, and prefer to spend my time in the company of my 2 dogs.

So you see, being a Grandma was just not something that was going to happen for a long time.  My children all knew my feelings on the subject. Even when my daughter got engaged, future Grandchildren were not up for discussion.  It was black and white, clear as the nose on my face.  It was simple.

I was not ready.

 

 

 

 

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