From the moment I could read and throughout most of my younger years I was a bookworm. I read all day and at night I would hide under the covers and read by torchlight. Books accompanied me everywhere – they sat next to my cereal at breakfast and I would
Is writing in the blood? Are writers born and not made? Can the desire, if not the talent, for writing be inherited? I write, my parents wrote – my mother authored a couple of non-fiction books – and my maternal grandmother was a published author of a memoir, Upheaval. I
Six photograph albums and a tub full of loose photographs sit in the wardrobe of my spare room. Most of the photographs are from my maternal side of the family. There are so many of them, I am daunted by the thought of sorting through them. One of them is
“Story is the song line of a person’s life. We need to sing it and we need someone to hear the singing. Story told. Story heard. Story written. Story read creates the web of life in words.” Christina Baldwin As a child and even as a teenager, I remember asking
If you think of it, our lives are built on stories. Our stories begin with our birth, our mothers relate tales of various levels of pain in labour; often our details are written down or at least discussed with family and friends, our length, weight, the colour of our eyes,