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 |  This is a continuation of my blogging here at WdC |
| Backstory So, this comes up every so often in Newsfeeds and the like - how did you become a writer? Here's my story. Now, it is long, so get ready to be bored witless by some personal history. So, the story starts before I have concrete memories. According to my mum, I'd dictate stories to her and expect her to write them down. As such, she then taught me to read and write before I hit school so I could do it for myself. Story-telling was something I just did. So, fast forward to when I was eleven, and in the final year of primary school (year 7). Our teacher wanted to show us that everyone had a talent, that everyone could do something that made them special. It was a great thing to do, as it gave every single class member a chance to feel good about themselves. So, we had people cooking food for the class, showing their art, showing their sporting (or dance in one - two? - case) trophies, a bit of everything. Well, I didn't fill in the form. I was the only member of the class who didn't, so I was called up after school. The teacher wanted me to talk about my grades - I'd topped the state in the scholarship exam to the elite private schools - and stuff like that, but I didn't feel that was special. She then spoke to my mum, who was a helper at the school (back in the days when parents could help out), unbeknownst to me. Mum found a story I'd written. It was long. How did she find it? I'd given it to a friend to read because he was one of the main characters (in fact, all 12 characters in the story were me and my friends, names, descriptions, the lot) and she found out from this friend's mum, so when my friend finished it, his mum gave it to my mum who gave it to the teacher. Now, I didn't spend Fridays in class. I'd finished all the work we were supposed to do in primary school and to stop me getting bored I worked in the library every Friday. So, while I wasn't in class, she read the story. I only found out after the first time. Why wasn't I there? Because she knew how I'd react (badly) and didn't want to have the whole class staring at me while she read it. It took 6 weeks for her to go through, and the class and her all told me it was good. That was the first positive feedback I'd received from a wider audience. But it was still the work of an 11-year-old. So, let's fast forward again, to my last year of high school, year 13. I had a reputation as a writer - one of my plays was performed when I was in year 8 by my class-mates - and was editor of the school newspaper. Anyway, English classes consisted of four sections. Term 1 was prose (reading books), term 2 was drama (reading plays) and term 3 was poetry (reading poems). Along with this came essays, of course, and all that rigmarole. Term 4 was revision, for what it's worth. However, once a week we had creative writing class. One day, I forgot to hand up a piece and this was so unlike me that I was asked to see the teacher at lunch time. I apologised and told her I had got caught up writing a "novel." After some discussion, we came to this compromise: I would write the novel and not do any in-class work. Minimum of 40k words. Due at the end of the October holidays (start of term 4). If I handed it up, automatic C grade, a pass. From there, she would read it and give me a final grade. Sounded good to me. I handed up my first draft before the holidays. She gave me full marks; in fact, I got full marks for English in general. She told me to keep on writing because she felt I had something, but her edit points/beta reader comments were amazing. She encouraged me and made me feel like I was doing something right and worth doing. In that same year, I sold my first short story. It was a horror-erotica piece (well, porn), and I sold it to Knave magazine (this was 1988, pre-Internet). Problem was, I was at a Catholic (Jesuit, in fact) high school, and had put the school's phone number down as my "work number." To say the school was unhappy is an understatement. However, this same English teacher came to my aid (I hadn't finished the novel yet, for what it's worth), and with her on my side, we agreed to a pseudonym and no mention of the school, and, as far as I'm aware, it was published. Why don't I know? I wasn't old enough to buy one or be sent a copy! I'd already sold a poem (to Dolly magazine, a magazine for girls) under my girlfriend's name, but this first story told me I might be able to do this writing thing for real... And that is how my writing "journey" (I really dislike that term) started! Sorry for being boring. |
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