I have been writing seriously for about six years. Previous to that, I dabbled, or practiced, I suppose is a better description. For example, I wrote my autobiography over a period in excess of thirty years, on and off until I decided that enough was enough and did ‘final rewrite’ (for about the fourth time) at the start of the new century.
Since then I have written six novels in various genres, an adaption of a book written in 1854 about the Lancashire witches (a masterpiece.), and four short children’s books which form a serial and another children’s book of just short of 40,000 words.
I will also mention that during this period I wrote two stage musicals (libretto and lyrics), three scripts for TV mini-series and numerous short stories. Regrettably all these were lost due to a computer crash. I wish I had the heart to rewrite them.
This sudden burst of genius (?) is surprising when my early life is known. I left school with no qualifications, I even failed the 11-plus. I had then what I now believe was dyslexia, I struggled to put three written words together and make sense. Then, a few years ago, something ‘clicked’ and I haven’t stopped writing since.
I am a good writer – you would expect me to say that, but I have a number of people who read for me with instructions to response honestly. They were all surprised to find that I am so accomplished.