I think therefore I am.
The trouble is that I think too much. Someone told me I should write my life story,the problem lies in remembering the years between four and sixteen. I remember some things,and since I have been writing things down I have remembered more,but there are such huge gaps,not just months but years missing.
They tell me it is because I dont want to remember,that I have blocked it out. Placed those missing years in huge filing cabinets inaccesible to the retrieve memory button.Perhaps this is so. I remember the feeling of not belonging. That was always there so perhaps remembering that is easy because it is a feeling I have had many times.

I remember finding the way back to writing. After the male parent had destroyed all my writings again for the third time I think it was I gave up. When I finally got away from home,well I didnt have the inclination to write. I began writing again after I lost the girls. It was the only way that I could make any sense of it all. Not that it made sense,but it gave me a release for all that stuff swimming round in my head. About three years down the line when I had finally decided that I wasn`t having the worst dream ever and I was not about to wake up and find life was as it had been,

At first it was just poetry. The poetry was dark and deep.  Then a friend of mine had a band and he asked me to write him some lyrics for a tune he had composed. He wouldn`t take no for an answer, So I wrote his lyrics. They were absolute crap,but he loved them and took them away with him. They even recorded the song and it lies somewhere gatering dust,because they never released it. I wrote lyrics for a couple of tunes and then as things are wont to do I moved and he got more dependant on the highs of chemicals and we lost touch. Sad thing was he had a family.

And then one day I was sat in my house and I had been sort of dozing not asleep and not really awake. Where I lived at that time was just on the road from where I was raised,with the woods above and the fields. But where there had used to be streets (which at that time that I lived there was an overgrown patch of land with trees on and is now eight brand new houses) old fashioned streets to the side of where I lived and there was what we used to call the Donkey Hill. It is a cobbled path that leads down to the main road from the streets,it runs between two walls with the tracks for the steam train on one side and the land with the trees on the other. At night it is very dark,a few years ago they did put street lights in there but only two and they dont light it very well.It is very steep and winds a little so you cannot see the bottom from the top etc.

I had this picture of that cobbled path and I had this kind of dream but not,as I was not really asleep,I wrote it down but as I wrote,it changed shape and became not the semi-dream I had been having but the beginnings of a story. As so often happens I wrote the beginning and had to put it to one side to get on with the normal tasks of life. It got put in my folder with all my other bits of writing. And forgotten.

Several weeks ago I came across some of my old writings and there it was.And now it is evolving into something more than one sheet of paper. Perhaps I was not really ready to write it when I wrote the first part. Strange how it managed to survive all the moving and sorting.

I dont profess to be a writer. Stephen King is a writer. Tolstien is a writer. But I enjoy playing with words. When I write the Mythical stuff it is easy because there is so much licence,after all this is a Mythical land and they are your own rules and imaginings. When I write poetry I just write,I forget to put in commas and apostrophes etc,because it just flows and I dont think of it half the time I just write what is in my head. It is like suddenly after all these years of writing my poetry on little scraps of paper and then in the book I now have,there is so much more that just swims about and wants release. Maybe one day I will write something that is brilliant,but it doesn`t matter if I do or dont. I enjoy writing,I love putting words together.And even if only a very few ever read it,then I am content.