Friday, 19 January 2018

When I Grow Up


    I was watching breakfast TV this morning and there was a feature about children in the UK's future career aspirations. The item didn't catch my interest because it was stating that their choice is gender-stereotyped, but because one little girl said that when she grew up she wanted to be an author.

    I can remember saying that too, however I can't recall as to what the particular reasons were I had for making such a choice. In an early blog I explained I had a love of stories because of my mother and when I got my first typewriter I was desperate to get down to storytelling. I loved writing stories about poor children rescued from a terrible fate, princes saving street urchins and bad boys turning good amongst many other things.

    The touch of a book page, a colourful outer cover, the loud thumping noise in the library when the librarian slides the piles of books along the high shelves to insert a book. As well as the fabulous worlds I could be transported too, both when reading and writing, all played a part.

    The little girl on TV this morning gave her reason as wanting to make people happy, laugh, and smile. Yes, she knows what writing is all about, something that stirs emotions. One thing she will find out though is that writing doesn't just make readers happy, laugh, smile, fearful, or cry. It has the same affect on the author and that's the most important person in the equation.





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