When Kevin was born, NASA put a man on the moon to celebrate. Hoping to cash in on his highly validated fame, I decided to
beg him desperately ask him nicely to write a post for me. This may be my nefarious way to steal Trigger, his gorgeous dog, from him but he must never know. Okay?
Without further ado, I present to you, New Author Online.
I would like to begin by thanking A for the opportunity to write this guest post. Thank you A!
Perhaps all authors are a little insane. If insanity consists of hearing voices in your head then I plead guilty. One of my earliest recollections concerns people holding conversations in my head. As a small child these concerned adventures in which I was a key participant, usually a hero. I was the secret agent who against all odds saved his country from dark forces or, as I entered my teenage years the lover who held romantic conversations with a beautiful girl as we walked along the beach, barefoot the waves lapping at our feet.
As an adult I still hear voices in my head, people knocking struggling to escape and be brought to life on paper. Writing enables me to scratch an itch, to find relief by enabling the people living in my imagination to find life on the printed page. Many of my imaginings concern people faced with extreme situations.
In my story, The First Time we meet Becky, a young graduate with a first class degree in English Literature. Faced with mounting debts and her inability to pay her creditors, Becky turns in desperation to the world’s oldest profession, she becomes an escort. I heard the conversation Becky held with her first client. I felt the revulsion Becky endured at having sex with a man to whom she was not attracted in return for money. I was compelled to write The First Time, to allow Becky and her fellow escort and friend, Julie to speak to my readers.
On finishing a story I feel a sense of bereavement. People who have occupied my thoughts are now out there in the big bad world and are no longer under my protection. They must sink or swim by themselves. Sometimes I am surprised by my reaction to my own writing. In my story Samantha one of the leading protagonists is killed. He is a thoroughly nasty piece of work and richly deserves his fate. He is, none the less my creation and killing him off left me feeling rather like a man who has murdered an old friend. I was, in effect destroying a small part of myself.
Turning to the mechanics of writing, as a blind person who is unable to read print I use screen reading software called JAWS which converts text into speech and Braille allowing me to use a standard Windows computer. In addition my iPad has in-built screen reading software (voice-over) which is great for accessing information on the move.
Summing up, as an author I suffer from a terrible itch, the need to write. I must scratch, scratch and scratch again and again!
Thank you Kevin. As always, I find your stories as captivating as ever. I hope this post has sent the rest of you spiralling into deep philosophical thoughts about why you write as well. I know I’m going to be lost in thought for the next few hours. Why do you write? Where do you draw your inspiration from? Are you insane?