Having decided on starting this blog, I find myself confused as to how to begin. I think being a writer or perhaps I should say, thinking like a writer, tends to confuse things. Most writers and certainly those who talk about the craft, tend to agree about one thing. That one thing is that we tend to be more than simply thoughtful and imaginative people, we are not just sensitive souls, as some would have it. We are obsessed with things most people would not even consider worth their attention. We are inward and deep thinking. We are also generally concerned about our own work, not how good it is, but rather is it good enough. I think for most of us and certainly in my case, it comes from childhood. I would show my scribblings and it was never seen as good enough. My spelling would be picked up or my use of a wrong word, my handwriting slanted too much and I allowed my letters to fall off the line. Over and over I showed my creations and each time I would be told no, not like that. Those well meaning adults, grownups who wanted to show the way and make me a model child and pupil, those people missed the point. I didn’t want their opinion on my schoolwork; I wanted an opinion on my creations. I see the world differently than many people do. I’m not saying I’m clever or gifted, because I’m really not. What I’m saying here, is that I write to get those strange thoughts out. My mind is always thinking of situations and characters. A snatched conversation on a train can lead to a story. An everyday commonplace newspaper article might act as a seed for a book. All the time my thoughts string together connections and it’s from these connections that my work appears. Life, my life is never boring or mundane, because from it spring the forces of creation.