I often wondered about people with their own websites. I had always considered them as the tool of big brands and big business. Possibly the odd narcissist. Not people though. Not ordinary people and certainly not me. And yet, here we are.
I wanted a place where I could post my writing. Somewhere I could share my successes and my failures. A place I could upload my thoughts in more than 140 characters.
There are so many reasons a person might write. For me, it's because I can't not do it - and I have tried. Somehow, the pen finds its way to my hand. Writing is a compulsion; it's the way I make sense of the world.
As a child, I had this lovely image of the inside of a person's mind looking like a giant storage unit with gleaming white walls and row upon row of filing cabinets, each draw filled with ideas. I don't know where it came from- probably a teacher trying to get me to focus my crazy little brain on one thing at a time. These days, the image is still with me but time and a sense of self have left their mark.
Gone are the prisitine white walls - as far as I'm concerned, white space is a metaphor for the blank page. Now, those vast walls are plastered with plot ideas, random lines of prose, character notes and unusual names. They display quotes from beloved authors and favourite books. They are marked with biro, with coloured gel ink. Hell, there's even crayon up there. The filing cabinets no longer stand in rows but are scattered in a muddled fashion around the space. Some of the draws don't shut. Others are completely empty. Thoughts don't stay in their allocated places; some lie crumpled on the ground, others hover in the air, just out of reach and still more are gathered in precarious piles around the edge of the room. It is messy and it is muddled but it is mine. There is a woman in one corner melting slowly into a blue pleather sofa. A cursed mirror hangs on one wall. An old man is staring out of the window reciting lines from a long forgotten play and a pot plant called Marvin lives on the sill.
The writer's brain is a strange place. That is something worth remembering.
I have never explained the inside of my head to anyone before; I think it makes us friends.
Stay a while, explore the site. You can connect with me on Twitter, take a peek at my interview with the lovely folks at The Writing Competition or peruse my bookshelf. The blog will be updated as often as work and writing allow and your comments are always welcome.
Hope you'll be back soon.