Why I Want To Write

To ask me why I want to write is like asking a caterpillar why it wants to become a butterfly. There is a creative streak in me that longs to express itself in this way.
One of my favourite pictures depicts Charles Dickens sitting at his writing desk. He is surrounded by tiny characters flowing from his imagination to populate the air around his head. They are, of course, depictions from his many books. In a similar way myriad characters swarm around my imagination. For me, however, they are locked inside my head seeking to escape and find expression. Their characters are, at present, unformed. They lack substance. I long to unlock their prison door, set them free and get to know them as they weave their ways through my stories.

I have had a rich and full life. I have always been the type of person who jumps into a situation and thinks about the implications later. As a result I have had encounters that many people only dream about. Since my youth people have told me that I should write a book about my experiences. Now as I approach the twilight years of my life it seems fitting that I should share the life tapestry that I have weaved. What form this work should take I do not know. It could be biographical. It may, however, be better to pour this rich reserve into the characters of a novel.