…of a Writer.
My name is Christine Campbell, and I am a writer.
There, I’ve said it.
I said it and believed it for the first time after I published my debut novel in 2008.
There can be few things more validating for a new writer than to hold years of hard work in your hands. Feel the paper smooth on your fingers. The weight of your very own book, the smell of it, the sound of pages as you run your thumb over their edge, letting them flip one against the other. The sight of the words you penned months before, tumbling over one another to fill hundreds of pages, painting the pictures from your imagination in words and letters, to tell your story.
But how did it come to that point?
What does a writer’s day look like?
For me, the day probably looked a lot like anyone else’s.
I had a husband, a family, responsibilities.
Writing was what I did in secret, what I did in snatches, in corners, in cafés. Not because I was ashamed of what I did. Not because my husband didn’t encourage and support me. Only because I didn’t believe I was a Writer with a capital W.
Then ‘Family Matters’ was published and I held in my hands the evidence that I was.
I am a Writer.
My days look different now.
Brazen, I sit at my computer while the dishes sit by the sink. My fingers fly across the keys making that special music of storytellers, while the washing churns in the machine. Dinners are simple affairs the days I’m writing well, more elaborate when I have thinking to be done. As I chop the carrots, I set out plot points in my head. As I brown the onions, my head fills with neatly turned phrases and enticing story twists.
If you pass me in the supermarket and I don’t seem to see you, I probably don’t. I’m somewhere else, in the world my characters inhabit, doing something else altogether. If I didn’t rouse myself occasionally to check my shopping list, goodness knows what I’d remember to pop in my trolley for tonight’s dinner. Whatever my protagonist fancies, I suppose.
Hours can pass and I think it’s a moment since I sat down to write.
A day in the life of a writer doesn’t look so very different from a distance. On closer inspection, it belongs to a different world, a different time capsule.
My family are grown now, and my long-suffering husband has long retired from secular work and, though still a busy man, he encourages my passion and shares things like the washing-up. The washing gets done, the beds get made, no-one is neglected. But time is set aside to write, to edit, to think, to plan, to research, and all the tasks that are required to publish a novel.
It’s what I do.
I am a Writer.
And you can join my readers’ Facebook group if you want to get more background on any of my books.