Much ado about writing

My head is crammed full of ideas, stories, poems and much more. Every day of my life since I was but a youngster crawling along the floor of our humble little home in Sydney’s Western’s Suburbs, have I been talking to myself and creating all of my stories in my head. Needless to say I had quite a good time having these conversations with no one in particular. Had I had a magical cord leading from my head to the non-existent computer I would have been grateful much later in my life. However I am very fortunate that I am able to remember most of my stories of all those years ago. (Now, am I giving my age away, or not??)
When I was a teenager my father filled my head with the idea of us winning the lottery and getting away from it all to another life-style. Back then the Opera House lottery was a large fortune and would have bought and sold our house some five times over, or more. But all he could think of was to get a new car and move to another house.

It was the other house that changed  my life forever and meant I had random conversations in my head most of every waking hour. I could not go anywhere without having a notebook, pen or pencil so I could scribble down notes, poems, or start yet another story. I remember one time we were in a rather posh restaurant in the city for lunch and I was without my most important items. Well, my mother had a pen and there was a serviette on the table, so that became my canvass for the poems (and the past life memories they invoked) that I would later type up and join with other stories. Before I got home, that serviette had multiplied to two or three of them and all were crammed with my not so notable writing. That was very important to me at the time. Unfortunately, I do not have those remarkable serviettes, though i do have all of the poems and beginnings of stories neatly tucked away in folders that have been organised by my spirit friends in my head space.

To this day I continue these conversations. I don’t have a problem with hearing voices in my head. They have been there for so long, they are a part of me. They make mie smile and laugh. They make me cry. Now I have the perfect excuse to come to my computer every day and write.

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