Today I am pleased to welcome back Laura to the blog telling us why she writes.
Why Do I Write?
I normally ask myself this question when I’m in the middle of writing a book. Inevitably, my characters are clamouring and misbehaving. Their lives have become as fragmented as the scattered pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and they expect me to sort out their problems!
Logically, and from past experiences, I know that I’ve the ability to slot those pieces into place. Somewhere, deep within me, call it my subconscious, my dark depths, whatever, their complete story is waiting to be unpicked. But all I feel is panic as I abandon my desk and go for a long walk.
That’s when the question arises. Why do I write? Why inflict this internal struggle on myself to sort out dysfunctional and complicated imaginary lives when I could be playing golf, tennis, jogging, sky-diving, bog-snorkelling, conquering Mount Everest or, more to the point, working nine-to-five and earning a regular salary?
The usual reasons come to mind. A love of reading that has stayed with me from the day I read my first book. A love of words and a fascination with their ability to enchant, deceive, uplift, deflate, spin a lie, shine a light on truth, reach into our hearts and tug shamelessly at our emotions.
When I was a child I was called a ‘day dreamer,” by my teachers. Day dreaming didn’t help pass exams and my school days were difficult. But I could always retreat into my imagination. It flowed like a river, story after story told to myself as I struggled through my studies, lay down to sleep, travelled by bus and train, stared out at the rain. It seems, looking back to those dreamy days, that all the stories I write have their origins in those early fertile years. Then I grew up. I stopped day dreaming and started paying attention to a previously unnoticed species…boys. The rest is history.
I was a mother of two and expecting my third child when I began to write. Timing has never been my strongest point. Suddenly, that river was in spate again, welling up with all those suppressed stories, now changed into adult format.
Initially, because I had a young family, my Great Novel ended up in a plastic bag. It lurks somewhere in my attic, dusty and forgotten. This is the fate of many first novels and, hopefully, I’ll never stumble across it.
From that initial burst of creativity my career as a journalist began. The features I wrote were short, finished within a day or two. My career developed. I edited magazines. I travelled abroad as part of my work and became increasingly involved in my career. But the yearning to write fiction never left me. Eventually, it was decision time. I gave up journalism and wrote my first book. I haven’t stopped since.
I take short breaks but withdrawal symptoms kick in within a few weeks and I start dreaming about writing. These are not day dreams but vivid sleep dreams. My hand moves across blank pages, filling them with words. I even write in foreign languages, flawless French, Spanish, Italian. The fact that I don’t speak these languages doesn’t stop me believing that I’m writing magnificent prose. Such illusions fade as soon as I open my eyes and those perfect words that flowed so effortlessly thought my unconscious mind are gone in the flash of daylight. Then it’s back to the computer and the reality of being an author…write, edit, delete, cut, copy, paste…head out for a long walk and believe that it will all work out…eventually.
Finally, I guess I write because it’s a passion. Like all passions it’s demanding, compulsive, errs at times on the obsessive and fills me with great joy, especially on days like today when a new book is launched. I hope you enjoy Fragile Lies as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Find out more here: http://lauraelliotauthor.com/
Follow the author on Twitter here: https://twitter.com/Elliot_Laura
Purchase Information: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Fragile-Lies-Laura-Elliot/dp/1909490806/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1423814154&sr=1-1&keywords=fragile+lies+by+laura+elliot
