For years I’ve held to what
seemed an impossible ambition to be a writer. I’ve toyed with various ideas
about different genres of literature I could try.
I’ve jotted or scribbled on
pieces of paper inspiration I’ve had in the wakeful hours of the night, or else
imagined that my thoughts would be redeemable in the daylight. Sadly not so,
most of the time.
Eventually, with the constant
encouragement of my long suffering husband, I finally settled on a theme for my
writing project, and began the long journey of recording my life story.
I can’t say I was a
disciplined author, always finding a myriad of important alternatives to
knuckling down to the keyboard, but eventually the desire to get it finished
overtook the apathy and I worked to complete the manuscript.
Once finished, the process of
editing and re-editing countless times was a challenge, submitting to Austin
Macauley, then the wait for a response was nerve wracking but exciting. Then
when a letter of offer to publish arrived it all felt quite surreal, but the
sense of achievement was overwhelming and all the self-doubt disappeared. No,
it’s never too late to follow your dreams.
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