I’m not sure how many words I’ve spilled out in random places on the Internet over the last ten years. Quite a few. Over 4000 posts here. Lots of comments. More tweets than I care to admit to, and then there’s Facebook, forums, email groups.
A lot of words.
And yet I can’t find time to write a book. Or more accurately, I’m scared of trying, succeeding and then being rejected.
I’ve got an envelope full of rejection slips from my teens and early 20s. A lifetime ago. Was I braver then? Or did I just have less to lose?
I’m not sure. Not sure what holds me back. I have ideas, but don’t know where to start to turn them into structure. Perhaps I should write them as a blog, I’ve got enough experience of that.
But whatever I do, I ought to write. When people asked me as a child what I wanted to be, it was either vet or writer. I’d have made an awful vet, I’m far too soft hearted. I’d have a house full of rescued animals. But it’s still a dream I’m sad I never managed to fulfil.
Now though, it probably is time to work out how to address other dreams. Small ones, for half an hour of peace and quiet. Larger ones of successful businesses and house extensions. And personal ones, of writing a book.
And if no when I manage that, I want to draw a picture book.
I should get some great rejection slips for that one.
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