I gave up writing when I was in primary school. No-one told me you could go back to a piece that you hadn't had time for, and finish it; or that you could, if you wanted to, write outside of school. I was discouraged by having to stop writing -- and rush my story to a close -- so that we could go on to do the next thing (which might just have been free time on a Friday afternoon, but you can't be seen to be "working" when you should be "playing". That would be _weird_).
I was ten. It was ten years before I wrote again for pleasure.
Yet that's not entirely true, I realise now as I think about it.
in first year of secondary school, our English teacher started a school magazine. He wanted contributions. Enthused, I thought of a story about an absent-minded professor. My Dad had a typewriter home from the office at the time, so I typed it up.
Mr McKenzie seemed very impressed with it. But the second issue of the magazine came out, and my story wasn't in it. He had some reason, or excuse, but I can't now remember what it was. In hindsight, I think he was more impressed with the fact that I had typed it, than with the story itself. Which was probably justified, to be fair
Of such small discouragements are glittering writing careers unmade. Or so I sometimes like to think.
But when I went to university I joined the Science-Fiction Society. I met people who had the same interests as me. It was fantastic.
And some of them wrote stories.
So I realised I could have a go. You don't have to wait for a teacher to tell you to do it, after all.
Now it's 26 years later, and I can't say I've exactly set the world on fire with my writing. I may not even have written the legendary million words of crap.
But I'm still trying.
Hi.
I was ten. It was ten years before I wrote again for pleasure.
Yet that's not entirely true, I realise now as I think about it.
in first year of secondary school, our English teacher started a school magazine. He wanted contributions. Enthused, I thought of a story about an absent-minded professor. My Dad had a typewriter home from the office at the time, so I typed it up.
Mr McKenzie seemed very impressed with it. But the second issue of the magazine came out, and my story wasn't in it. He had some reason, or excuse, but I can't now remember what it was. In hindsight, I think he was more impressed with the fact that I had typed it, than with the story itself. Which was probably justified, to be fair
Of such small discouragements are glittering writing careers unmade. Or so I sometimes like to think.
But when I went to university I joined the Science-Fiction Society. I met people who had the same interests as me. It was fantastic.
And some of them wrote stories.
So I realised I could have a go. You don't have to wait for a teacher to tell you to do it, after all.
Now it's 26 years later, and I can't say I've exactly set the world on fire with my writing. I may not even have written the legendary million words of crap.
But I'm still trying.
Hi.
