Writing

I am at that difficult moment in a writers’ life when a manuscript is ready for publication. I have researched suitable publishers, made note of their precise requirements, and will now write my biography, a synopsis of the story and attempt to convince them that I have more than one book in me.

Every time I think I have come to the end of a writing process, new challenges present themselves. Writing a book requires a different skillset to editing or writing a synopsis. I’m learning on the fly. There are no guarantees that my hard work will pay off or that the manuscript will find a home beyond my desk drawer. Yet I am driven to keep trying. I have even started on my next project which is my first attempt at writing a novel.

At work, colleagues talk about television shows or movies they have seen. They spend their time gardening on weekends, or talk about BBQs they have attended. I smile and nod but have nothing to contribute. While they relax or socialise, I sit at my desk and write – often late into the night. They can’t understand why I would choose to keep working after a day at the office where I also work on a computer. On the other hand, I can’t understand why people wouldn’t want to use their time to create rather than simply consume. That’s not to say that I don’t enjoy movies or that I don’t lose myself in books. Of course, I do. However, I also need to produce something tangible to feel fulfilled.

I have talented friends who can paint or draw, and I marvel at their abilities. My daughter is a gifted musician, and my cousin a consummate stonemason. As for me, I have none of these skills. But I am passionate about language and words have always been my salvation.