I wish I had a tale of woe or hardship to answer this, but I don’t. My sister taught me to read, long before I went to school, and I grew up, losing myself in magical worlds, where life is always tough, but the rewards are incandescent. Maybe that’s what I like about fiction the most? There are no boundaries. Even where the writer throws obstacles at the hero, they find a way to move heaven and earth to resolve them. The message was that any hardship can be overcome, and I believe in that, heart and soul.
So back to that story of woe. Believe it or not, I was born in a pretty shitty area of London, in a home that has since been torn down. There was no silver spoon in my mouth, no magical chalice. Just me, my imagination, and a desire to write. I’m lucky, the gods graced me with good health and a quick wit, which may have got me into a spot of bother along the way, but nothing so drastic I couldn’t wiggle my way out of it. But I wouldn’t call it a story of woe. More, the beginning of a story. I don’t even live in England now, I’m an American citizen and I have the best of both worlds, I’m able to draw inspiration from rich historical and fictional tapestries.
So then, why do I write? Maybe, because my first true love was a book, and the author who wrote it. And I want to be just like them. Some things just stick in your soul, and once there, you can never get it out. Like Herpes. Not that I’ve ever… eh, never mind. It’s the perfect way to express my philosophy of life. It is never the end. There is always another story. You just have to write it.
~Adrienne Blake July 2019