I started writing as an escape in 2014. Writing to me was beauty borne from turmoil. A way to process the sludge, the gunk that my mind secreted and my body experienced. I found myself writing for every and any reason. I failed my exams, write. I loved this girl with the long face and she didn’t love me back, write. My mum fell ill and it has been a roller-coaster to get her back on her feet, write. I really want to be a writer but I fear I might not have the grace and natural talent needed to breakthrough, write. Sometimes, I write myself into corners where my insecurities lie. This of course is a great way to stack up a repertoire of abandoned projects that I feel I don’t have the skill set to complete. Other times, I write as far as my excitement can take me. However, the thing about using excitement as a driving force for anything is that it is not guaranteed to last and if you have a short attention span like I do, it is safe to say you will never complete anything...
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