According to script
theory, we decide our destiny by the age of six.
At the age of six, I knew I wanted to be a writer. Perhaps not in the same way I knew at the age
of 16 or 26, but I knew I loved books, loved the feel and smell of them, loved
the way they fit into my hands, whatever shape or size they were.
Loved the way they made me feel. Like I was special and could, one day, be the
hero of my own little fantasy.
Books were where all my friends were. Characters I related more to than my own
peers. I was a shy, introverted child
you see. I’m still quite shy now, but in
a healthier, I-can-still-act-normal-around-strangers-I-feel-shy-towards way.
Growing up, I was constantly laying down all the stories
that bubbled up in my brain.
Illustrating them with the school’s chunky, shiny wax crayons. Asking the teacher to staple them together
into a booklet.
Becoming an author seemed like a dream that would never
come true. Fun to entertain myself with,
but not to pin any hopes on. Some days,
I would be a lot more positive and tell myself that I could be whatever I
wanted to be if I put my mind to it.
Still, it felt like something I would do when I grew up.
Now I have grown up, and I have been lucky enough to live
in such a time that has allowed me to self-publish my book Chasing Pavements, a contemporary romance novel set in London, as an e-book.
My six-year-old self would have said, “I told you so.” The teenaged (and
also adult) version would say, “OMG I can’t believe it!”
But believe I must, because a long, tough, rollercoaster
of a journey awaits me. Book marketing
is not a task that can be taken lightly.
Believe me.
Read the second part of this post here.
Read the second part of this post here.
