I decided that I wanted to be a writer at an early age. I don't really remember at what age that the desire gripped me, it's something that I've always wanted to do. I have never craved being published, the knowledge that I have completed a book is quite enough. The enormous sensation of success when I do it is what drives me to continue. At least the sensation that I hope I have.
However, I do remember quite clearly the realisation that being a writer actually required me to write. I was fourteen, (I think), years old and it dawned on me that I would probably need some practice before I started to be a bad writer. I'm a firm believer that the default position for starting to learn a new skill is 'scrote'.
So write I did and it was probably very bad. Bad enough for me to realise that it was bad whilst still in the scrote position. I think that that doesn't class it as probably very bad but as very bad.
Nevertheless, it was the first step and I realised that I wanted to be a writer simply because I enjoyed the puzzle of finding the right words to match the picture in my head and not have it be bad writing. I really like the actual process of writing so I decided to write a really long book.
That book is the book I am writing now despite it's many iterations and my occasional desires to burn the damn thing. It is the seemingly endless grind of word by word, chapter by chapter that seems interminable. Yet it is with the first step that I took all those years ago that I started and all the thousands of intervening steps that have been taken and that are yet to be taken, that the journey will be completed.
And so now I wonder, is it the desire of my destination that forces me on, or is it the journey itself.
After all, it's a really, really big book.
DR
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