When I was a little girl, I had an imaginary friend. He appeared one day sitting at the end of my parents' bath. He didn't tell me his name, so I never gave him one.
My imaginary friend was always there when I needed to talk to somebody. We'd have tea parties, and I'd find myself sitting in my bedrookm randomly telling him about my day....
They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness don't they?
One day, my friend disappeared. I never heard from him or saw him again. Yet, I still found myself with words in my head and nobofdy to hear them. This is when I started writing.
My very first story was written in a spiral bound green Flintstones notepad. It told the story of a group of children who go on a spooky adventure and discover the ghost of Fred Flintstone. I told ny friends at school, and everybody wanted to be in it. People would refuse to let ne play if I didn't put them in the story. It was a pretty shocking story, but it was the first time I realised people wanted to listen to what I had to say.
Twelve years on, and I'm still surprised that people are interested in my writing. I've moved on quite a bit from the days of imaginary friends and Fred Flintstone, but people who have looked at my work are still really positive about it.
Anyway; I've gone on about a load of rubbish, and now forgotten what my point was....just need a moment....
Aha! Yes; my point in writing this blog will mean that I can not only experiment with my writing, but it kinda means that I get my imaginary friend back. My fingers do the talking, meaning I can "talk" to myself without men in white coats knocking at the door.
This is the Dawning if a new Day with my blog!!
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