It seems as if books have always played a major role in my life. From as young as four, I remember taking books to bed with me and as I grew older, the piles of books on my bed grew higher. Enjoying books was hereditary. My parents loved to read
So, lately I’ve been thinking about freelancing. I would like to be able to offer my services for research, writing, proofreading and reading and make money of course! But, there are a multitude of freelancers out there, so why would someone hire me? Well, I enjoy research. By research I
I have déjà vu. Once again, I’m rewriting my manuscript. Several months of fading motivation, a journey to my father’s family reunion and six weeks of travel around Europe where I had plenty of time to sit back and think, have culminated in a total rewrite of my father’s story.
I have been seriously slack. I have not written anything for this blog for weeks. It isn’t because I haven’t known what to write about. It isn’t that I haven’t had time. It is because I have not been motivated. So, what would motivate me now? The date of course.
If you think of it, our lives are built on stories. Our stories begin with our birth, our mothers relate tales of various levels of pain in labour; often our details are written down or at least discussed with family and friends, our length, weight, the colour of our eyes,
I woke up this morning another year older and no closer to knowing what I want to do with the rest of my life. Well-meaning adults, perhaps because they cannot think of anything else to say, often ask youngsters “what do you want to be when you grow up?”. The