The Life Of A Writer, Lots Of Hard Work And A Little Inspiration

You don't choose to be a writer, it chooses you.

The Life Of A Writer, Lots Of Hard Work And A Little Inspiration

In all honesty I really don’t feel that I chose to become a writer, I think it was more of a case of it choosing me. Something, or somebody, reached down from the sky and touched me and that was it.

As a child I enjoyed writing and at the age of ten or eleven I started to write my own poetry. But coming from an impoverished working class background, brought up in a bad part of town, I was expected to get a job doing some sort of manual labour getting my hands dirty. I left school with no qualifications and had learnt only to read and write, that and how to survive living in an urban jungle.

For the following thirteen years I went from one dead end job to another, busting my guts for very little in return. Then at the age of twenty eight, tired of my life going nowhere fast I decided to do something about it. For three years, after a hard days work I went to evening classes to study English language and literature, just to get enough qualifications to go to university. Finally, in 1981 I went to do a degree and recover my long lost education. It was the best thing I ever did.