Today the books are actually arriving and I am not quite sure how to feel. I keep going back to the moment, twenty years ago when I sat in our bedroom at Porthlevin, on holiday and began to write. Long-hand, in a notebook! The children were young, and holidays’ were the only time I felt I had time. It has taken me about 20 years to work out that I can do this without earning it or deserving it. Up until recently, it was always something I did when all my other jobs were done. So that first book took about 11 years. I’m learning grammar as I go along, my spelling will always be dreadful, but writing … I think it’s what God made me for.
Of course you shouldn’t ever attempt to write a blog when you are so excited you think you might explode!
