Since I was a little girl, I always appreciated writing. Whether it was rewriting exam notes, doing summaries of the sermons in church, essays at school and even writing my own books. This love for reading stemmed from my mother’s consistency in inspiring me to read every single day whenever I had the chance.
I have been writing my own books for years but never published or posted anything because writing to me was like a deep breath of fresh air, an outlet, a hobby and a joy. I never perceived it as a full-time job or thought of ever going public with my writing. I am not really a fictional author. I enjoy writing about the non-fiction side of life. I believe that life has a plethora of books that are waiting to be written. I wish that I could convince each person to write a book about their lives.
A few years back I completely stopped writing because my motivation since childhood passed away. My mother taught me not only to read and write but she taught me to LOVE reading and writing. She used to read each book that I wrote, whether it was going to be published or not and she waited in anticipation for each chapter.
When she passed away, writing was a very difficult thing to continue doing; not because of ability but because she was the only person with whom I shared my joy of writing.