In a quiet corner of a slowly awakening Valencia, my decision is made. I have to face the fact that, amongst many other driving factors in my life, I need and want to scribble.
I have written, pretty much closeted since the day when my head of english approached me, in response to a story I had submitted, and proclaimed “Never stop writing! You have a gift”.
Well, truth is, I have adhered to one part of his statement but never acknowledged the other… I do write and have done, always, littering many a good hard drive with stories, poems, none fictional scribbles and the like.
To me, writing has never been a gift in the sense that others may agree that I have a level of competance or even find my work interesting.. My scribbles are, in my opinion, a release, a relaxational process my brain desires in order to create or recreate mental images and off load them. Not dispense with them, but more, pop them on a shelf for sometime in the future when I care to have a browse and mull over them.
So, here I am, having recently dipped into a couple of acclaimed books on self publishing, at a crossroad. I have arrived at a point where, along with my other creative and business interests, I want to daub the world with my words!!
The realisation is that, selfishly, my pleasure in the creative action of writing, is paramount. And actually if people enjoy it or gain something from it, then its a win win.
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