This is my response to a question daniabbott11 posed and answered on their blog. The post can be seen here.
I am not actually sure of the reason why I write, or what I was doing when this all started. For as long as I can remember, I have been writing stories. I think I just need to get the things out of my head. Once they are out there, it does not really matter to me who reads it, or if it is popular. I certainly don’t mean to be popular, because I am a very internal person who tends to have more fun on her own. I would never be a social butterfly, that is for sure.
So, I definitely do not do it for any external reasons. I think that I do it because I feel that somehow I have to. I mean, if I do not empty my mind off all the ideas then I would probably drive myself into some lunatic asylum. After all, it was Lord Byron who said that he has to write so that he does not go mad. I am in full agreement with that statement.
The first story that I actually remember was written when I was in junior school. I think that I was aged about nine at the time. My future said that it was absolutely fantastic, and read it out the class. Everybody really enjoyed it, and I felt very proud.
It was that same teacher that came to me when I was older, about fourteen, and asked if I was still writing as she thought that I had a talent for it. Ever since then I have always been working on writing, although it was never a main project for me, more of a hobby.
This all changed when I took voluntary redundancy from my job within the probation service. I have never actually sold anything, but I have had my short stories published for charity, and so I feel that they must be up to some standard. Again, this brings about that same feeling of pride that I had when I was younger.
It is that that makes me want to continue with my work in progress (now over 30,000 words! Woop!) And get it published so that other people can see the images inside my head. That is what it is all about, surely? Sharing.