My love for writing has existed as long as I have been able to write. At first it was a way of me explaining the world around me. I remember age 6 writing a story about how a hedgehog got its spikes just simply because at that age I had no concept of evolution or how things came to be just that there must be a reason. My early stories are almost all fable like in their style.
When I grew older and my comprehension of the world was more clear, I would use my imagination as a form of escapism. If I had had a bad day at school I would come home and just sit in silence thinking about a far away world where things were different. It felt almost as though I had another life, and I created so many worlds in my head that I effectively had multiple lives. My way of keeping these multiple worlds and stories alive was by writing them down, so that after a while I could reread the stories and be transported back to those worlds that I had not been to for a while.
Poetry came to me a lot later, and arrived with my love of nature. Living in London, I crave the beauty of the countryside, and the only way I know how to bring these places home with me, is not by photographs but by my own descriptions of what I have seen. I find these are easier to portray with poetry rather than with prose. I often don’t understand what I think about these places until I have written those thoughts down. This sounds strange but it’s the only way I know how to be. I feel like a cat with nine separate lives.