I recently traveled home to my hometown in Redcliffe, a small beach-side town north of Brisbane, Australia. Having now lived in the UK for eight years exactly (this week) I still miss the laid back and sunny lifestyle offered back home. It reminds me of so many wonderful years growing up, running by the shoreline, with the sand between my toes and the warmth of the sun on my skin.
I discovered my diaries to start, a collection of my thoughts, experiences, insanity and sometimes heartache from the age of sixteen through to my university years. Inside these tattered and scribbled pages were many memories. Reading them it made me smile, cringe and laugh out loud at how family, high school drama, social circles, crushes and exam anxieties filled every page. Every event is told with such passion and seriousness, as I replay the daily events of friendships formed and lost over those wonderful years.
I then found something else, my full collection of stories, poems and ideas containing my earliest ambitions to become a writer. As I read this compilation of past gems, I remembered how I loved to build stories into fantastical and twisted tales. I also recall my English teacher’s speculation over my angst and state of mind as these stories entered such enormity and tragedy.
Reading these stories now leaves me smiling whimsically as I recall trying to mimic the then popular style of Virginia Andrews, Stephen King, Patricia Cornwall and other such authors. Perhaps one day, it would be fitting to publish an anthology including these earlier collections and the development of my writing over the years. Nevertheless, for now, these treasures will remain a fond reminder and a medium to encourage me towards my ambition to write and be heard.