Writing: the Inner Voice that is Always Present
Yesterday, someone actually said to me, "So, have you given up on the writing?"
I laughed to myself. I was sitting in the living room with three children who were playing, laughing, and randomly yelling, and I'm meant to be writing at that precise moment? I think not. But the question did fuel my thoughts, and I am sure I am not alone when I say that I have always wanted to write. I always *have* written. From a very young age, poems, stories, and countless letters, during weekends and school holidays, to my friends. Daily outpourings of emotions, feelings and ideas.
These memories led to me digging out some of my old poetry. And for your viewing pleasure, I'm going to share my one and only piece of published poetry.
Does anyone else remember "Blue Jeans"? I *loved* that magazine. Even more so when it published my poem back in 1986. The year that the magazine cost a mere 26p "including VAT", and when contributors to the letters page received a cheque for a whopping £2.00. To my 14 year old self, back then, this felt like a small fortune. But seeing the paper money in my hand was nothing in comparison to the fact that they had printed my poem. A poem that I wrote in a minute or two, fuelled by the agony that was the loss of my maternal Grandad.
The only thing that annoyed me was they edited a couple of words. But there you go; as a writer, you have to accept that editing is going to happen.
Please see below then, dear readers, my adolescent work. Remember though, it was written a long, long time ago: