AUTHOR'S CORNER:

MY IMAGINATION IN CONGREGATION

Ever since I was knee high to a grasshopper I lived in a world full of playmates, magical beings, tragic adventures, happy endings and trips to the moon!  My mother initially thought she had a very intelligent child, a gifted child whose brain exceeded any other child, she thought she had a genius!  Only I wasn't a genius, as she would later conclude; for my leaning towards the unreal was tiresome and my mind had a tendency to wonder!  I loved the darkness of the night and would stare out of my bedroom window for hours, refusing to go to bed and marvelling at the moonlight.

At school, my teachers complained about me, they said that initially I was very smart and that I had the ability to be top student; their only concern was that I refused to put in the effort.  They could not understand how a child who produced excellent work when asked to write short stories, would produce doodles and scribbles when asked to write about history or do some maths!  Hence I was viewed as a troubled child and they simply could not come up with a reasonable explanation as to why I refused to write essays or do some maths when clearly I was more than capable, as has been shown in my English class, where my stories were so well written and so entertaining, they had many a teacher impressed!  My father was called to the school on numerous occasions, and often left baffled and a little ashamed.  

I had a few friends at school but my real friends were the little boy, Steven, and the two little girls, Mandy and Sue, waiting for me each evening when I got back from school.  They lived in my room and mainly in my mind.  You see, they were my imaginary friends, they were there to keep me company, they loved me and understood me like no one else could!  As I grew they changed from Steve, Mandy and Sue, into Adam and Rose, then as eventually it was just Adam.  He disappeared when I was about twelve, instead of manifesting my characters into imaginary friends, I took to carrying a notepad and pen in which all my wildest imaginations would be transformed into short stories and poems and drawings.  

At the age of thirteen my father was once again called to school to discuss his 'Odd-ball' daughter and was pleasantly surprised when my English teacher told him that I write really well and that perhaps we should look into finding a child publisher.  Needless to say, he was very proud, and although encouraged my writing, he did not know where to begin and therefore no publisher was ever found.  I was also very good at my drama classes and once again my teachers encouraged me to join an amateur drama club, where you had to be eighteen to be accepted, I was only fifteen, but was accepted anyway because they could see the potential.  Mum was worried and did not want me to go, she thought i was too young.  But my passion for the imaginary world only grew and my need to write was an overwhelming desire that even I did not understand!  

By the time I was eighteen, all I ever wanted to become was a writer; I only ever felt truly happy on the pages of fiction and found myself in the illusions which I skilfully created and entertained my family and their friends with them (for by then I had quite an intimate following) as they all listened to my latest piece.

But the world being the world and my parents being concerned for my future; I went to college and studied business and subsequently went on to work in Admin.  But still the passion of fiction was burning away at me and often I would be found locked in my     room after work, typing my latest creation

Soon life took me and I met and married my husband, and I had my first two children.  I wrote a novel and sent it to a well known publisher, they wrote back, said that they had to debate whether to accept it or not as it was so good, however I was unknown and the risk was too great; so it was rejected.  However their letter of encouragement kept me going.  But I then went on to have two more children and I moved to America for my husband's work.  I was too busy to write, and often, whilst happily married and lucky to have my children, felt that a big part of me was missing and totally unfulfilled!

I wrote my second novel when my youngest started school, but as luck would have it, the moment I finished it and about to send it off to the publisher, we got burgled and they took my laptop along with my memory stick.  I was heart broken.  When was I going to get a break?

My friends and family encouraged me to write, I did not want to, for I felt betrayed and depression set in and I had dark, dark days!  But with the encouragement of good people, who told me to just write, write, write, even it comes out rubbish.  So after a period of self-pity, I wrote, and wrote and wrote.  I got a novel almost accepted, then in the last hurdle rejected.  I wrote again, and again....and finally I got my first novel published last year and I have another coming out next year!

I feel complete!  Finally I have a congregation to my imagination!