Day 3 Zero to Hero: WHAT’S ON YOUR MIND?

writing books2There wasn’t anything specific I wanted to say when I started this blog, I just knew I wanted to write. Blogging has enabled the opportunity to explore that desire and see where my writing adventure takes me. I might not venture far beyond the four walls of WordPress, but my personal journey has already begun – I’m here and I’m blogging, baby! 🙂

What prompted me to take the deep breath to actually open an account and start the tippie tappie typing process of brain-to-finger transfer? Well, I’d have to thank my wonderful friend LR for that (she’ll know who she is when she reads this!) One of the most encouraging and supportive people I’ve ever known, her unwavering belief that we should follow our dreams and change that which makes us unhappy first sewed the WP seed – she’s equally as committed to a midweek tipple and extra slice of cake too, there are many reasons why I hold her friendship so dear! A combination of that and a semi-drunken conversation with my father a few months ago, which prompted me to write the following ramble late one night…..

“How do I feel? I dunno. It’s late at night and my head is kinda fuzzy but I’m experiencing an unlikely moment of semi-drunken clarity. I’ve enjoyed a wonderful evening with my dad and all the comfort it brings. We have indulged in too many beers and set the world to rights in a way as only father and daughter can. I love these nights with him, they are precious and rare. Always learning more about him, each time sharing a little more of myself with him in return, as adults and equals. But I ask myself now; why do I hold back on telling him of my dreams? He’s one of the precious handful of people in this world who has always and will always love me, and yet still I refrain. I retain a little of the truth, hesitant for him to see the full extent of my aspirations. He wouldn’t disapprove or judge, he’d support me regardless. And yet I resist. I’m so very immensely proud of all that he is and everything he has achieved, he is the bravest and most noble man I’ve ever met, and he loves me unconditionally. I’d do anything for him and I’m certain he would extend the same courtesy to me. Would he belittle my dreams or mock my choices? Unequivocally, no. He’d love and support me. Tonight I explained that I’d reached a point in my life where I needed more. To achieve something new, purely for my own self development. I told him that I wanted to write a book, but didn’t feel brave enough to tell him what – if I introduced him to the unlikely characters in my head and the magical story which I’m desperate to tell, he’d surely think it were folly. His response as a parent was to provide. To share with me an opportunity, one that was given to him many years ago and as yet lay unfulfilled. He offered for me publish a book that has been fully researched, endorsed and substantiated but never completed. An opportunity that has lay dormant in his filing cabinet for decades. Someone else’s dream, their work and dedication, sat forgotten and neglected. Their opportunity missed, and his opportunity disregarded, but not mine. I’m incredibly grateful for his generosity and faith in my ability to bring this unfinished project to publication, but I have no knowledge of the genre, no empathy with the subject matter nor desire to make it so. I want my own dream. I have a book in my mind and characters who are as alive to me as the people I share my day with. I want to carve my own opportunity, share these characters and make them as real for others as they are in my own mind. I write daily, mostly in secret, frantic notes scribbled in countless notebooks and journals secretly scattered all around the house so that I’m never far from one at any given moment when inspiration may strike. Dare I utter the basis of my dream in public without risk of ridicule? Maybe not yet, but only because I fear for someone else writing it better, faster, and more convincingly that I’m currently able. For the first time in a long while, I have a dream. And my dream is to write”.
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