I attribute my journey into writing—and the courage to share the WollstoneCraft Legacy—to my mum, Kate (or Katie, if you truly loved her), whose unwavering belief in me inspired me to pursue my path as an author, although I was never truly talented in writing or anything else she thought I could do.
She encouraged me to pursue acting but after years of ‘speech and drama’, I realised I couldn’t act or sing, and I certainly didn’t have the pizzazz or beauty to encourage a scouter’s interest, even if I did have legs that went to my neck.
Even on her death bed she was adamant that I was going to be famous. As she laid in the hospital bed, dying from secondary ovarian cancer, I was ‘pretending’ to enjoy my poetry book launch at the Devonport Regional Art Gallery (I wasn’t good at poetry either). But, for a fleeting moment before her death, she saw me on a double-page spread feature in the local newspaper, labelled ‘The Day Dreamer’- which I was good at.
I’ve lost count how often I’ve found a window to stare out of over the years. However, although I fondly thank mum for her undeniable support, I wish she had encouraged me to follow the path of practicality and realism for my creative pursuits only ever brought me poverty and rejection.
As a child I attended extra-curriculum reading classes due to my poor spelling and inability to pronounce words. Today I call myself dyslexic.
My favourite memories in childhood were sitting up in bed during the day, pretending to be sick (which was often), so I could avoid that place call Primary School (ADHD), and listen instead to story cassettes while holding the corresponding book. ‘Ding’ and the narrator would ask me to ‘turn the page’, which I delighted in doing. I spent hours listening to stories- thrilling, exciting, thought-provoking stories. I could be anyone, anything, be anywhere. I owned a dinosaur, travelled by underground tunnels underneath the town, I could fly, and be pretty.
Everything I ever wanted was inside my head and this is where WollstoneCraft Legacy began- in those fleeting moments of escapism…
