Avril- five and a half months old.

I’m often told by people I’m lucky to be such a good writer and they could never write like me as I must have been born with that talent. They couldn’t be more wrong. The only talent I was born with was the ability to see stories everywhere and an imagination that ran wild and came up with the craziest of ideas. One thing I was lucky about was that my family didn’t try and stifle my imagination. At times they even encouraged it.

My early attempts at writing were truly atrocious. I had the ideas, but no way to convey them well. I saw ideas everywhere, including in my dreams. They were in clouds moving and reforming in the sky, in the sound of music and nature, in art and sceneries, in throwaway comments people made and poetry, in the shadows of the night and unidentifiable sounds. Waking or sleeping I had stories running through my mind. Nothing has changed. My head is still constantly filled with stories.

Like every other author I had to learn how to write well. I’ve never met or heard of an author born with the ability to write perfect stories. There’s always some kind of learning curve involved. Since I knew at an extremely young age that I wanted to be an author, I’ve had a lot of years to practice. I’ve kept most of my writing, only a couple of stories being lost over the years, and you can see the gradual improvement of my work.

Writing can be a lot of hard work, but it’s something I love. Something I couldn’t image ever giving up. I will stop breathing first. It’s different for every author. To me, writing is like being in a movie at the side of my characters. Feeling everything with them, experiencing their moments. But I’m not them and their feelings are not mine. I’m like both a parent worried for their child and a nemesis determined not to let them reach their goals.

I’ve met people who’ve said they’ve given up writing because they were no good at it. That after a year or two they realised they were wasting their time. I always tell them they gave up too soon. An apprenticeship is often four years full time and even then you aren’t considered a master in your field. That takes many years more. If you want to write, don’t feel like it’s a talent you need to be born with. It’s a skill that can be learned if you persevere. And like any other skill, it takes different people different amounts of time to learn. If you really want to be a writer, don’t give up. Take the time you need to write the stories you want to share.

If it’s one thing I don’t lack, it’s story ideas. I see them everywhere. Often looking at a scene or artwork will give me a snippet of an idea. Sometimes those ideas become stories, at other times they’re added to my large file of ideas in the hope that one day I’ll find the time to write them. The following is the snippet of a story that came to me when I saw this photograph.

He could see them, only ten metres from him now. There on the beach where they’d always been, side by side. Close enough that a person could reach out and take the hand of the one in the chair beside them, yet far enough apart that the little fold up table could be set between them with afternoon tea placed upon it. They sat overlooking the lake so that when the grandkids came to visit, they could be supervised and yet when it was only the two of them there was a relaxing view to enjoy.

Seven and a half metres away now. Closer than yesterday. He could almost see her sitting in her chair. The one on the right. Always the one on the right. Even in bed her side was on the right. Seven metres away. The sun might have been setting, but it was more than bright enough to see the chair was empty. Even when his vision blurred it was clear to see no one was there. He ran the back of his hand across his eyes. He remained still. Seven metres. Maybe tomorrow he’d manage to get close enough to touch the timber of the backrest. The kids didn’t know what they were talking about. It wasn’t just a chair. It was where she’d spent so many hours, sometimes even in the rain, telling him to join her.

His shoulders slumped at the thought of never hearing that request again. Never hearing her voice. He turned away, unable to look at them a moment longer. Maybe he’d try again tomorrow. It wasn’t like it had been that long. Barely a year. He trudged back to the house, the building as empty as the chair.

It was pointed out to me that when I talk about my stories I nearly always mention the questions that occurred to me while I’m writing the story. Questions are one of the main techniques I use when it comes to writing. Things like, why would she do this? What could he do in that situation? What would happen if you add this into the mix? Why, what, how, who, when, where. They are constantly running through my mind when I’m writing. Or even when I’m thinking about writing. So it’s no surprise that I mention them when I’m talking about my stories.

I’ve always been extremely curious, even as a young child. Just like then my favourite question was ‘why’. And it is such a great question. Unless of course you’re the parent of an inquisitive three-year-old and then it’s probably more like a form of torture for most people. Except for me. I loved all the questions my kids asked and still enjoy them. They make me think of even more questions that I can solve.

Now the reason I think ‘why’ is such a great question is because it raises so many important points. Why is a character doing something? Do they have a logical reason and is it something they would be likely to do given their personality and background? Why is this happening? Is it the obvious result of what occurred before or a result of the character’s actions? All through the story I’m always asking ‘why’. This is often followed by ‘what’, my second favourite question and usually followed by ‘why’ again. What should happen next? And why? What is that character likely to do? And why? What are the possibilities? And why?

Luckily those possibilities are often endless. Just like the questions. All those endless possibilities and questions lead to numerous story ideas. Which is one of the reasons why I never lack for stories to write.