The count down has begun!
This week, I turn 25.
People will think that's nothing, and they would give a left leg or other valuable body part to be 25 again, but for me it's not even coming of age, but a declaration I've made it to a quarter of a century on this earth.
I will have been writing for almost the age of a teenager now, possible a pimply, slightly bad mouthed teenager who shows some promise of becoming a productive member of society. For over half of my life span I have consciously identified as a writer, yearned to write, fed my imagination and attempted become a semi decent writer.
My writing muse has finally come of its long holiday, it seems to have taken a new home and a job with regular, less stressful hours and a stable relationship, a big dose of perspective, and suddenly I'm thinking like a writer. I won't be penning a massive novel any time soon, but heck there's been the odd poem scribbled in a lunch break.
I've even been to a couple poetry reading in the last two weeks. I've also joined the Nottingham Writer's Studio (something I've been rather desperate to do but lived too far away to justify it!). Moving to the city of Nottingham seems to have fired something up, I'm not far from cultural happenings and also back around friends and family, which is great.