Words, worth...
I wrote my first fiction in grade five, which would’ve made me about 10 years old. It was kinda lacking, namely in that I was trying to write a novel but was relatively unconscious of story arcs, plots and structure, or even planning. I just started writing a story inspired by what the other kids in the schoolyard were telling me about what happened in the most recent episode of “V” (we weren’t allowed to watch it). The story didn’t go anywhere, and subsequently didn’t go anywhere, but a few years later, in my early years of high school, I had another crack at fiction (though this time, stuck with short fiction).
As part of a class exercise, we had to try and write a short story on the crappy old microbee computers the school had (it was the mid-80’s). By the end of the class I had something promising, and my English teacher of the day encouraged me to continue developing the story, but not on the microbees. I got to use one of the brand new Mac Classics. That privilege alone was enough to keep me writing. The story was one that pretty much mirrored my own experience (to a point): a misfit with abilities not appreciated by peers or (most) mentors who develops their abilities to a standard that finally gets them recognition. In the case of the story, it was about a kid who was exceptionally good at racing radio controlled cars (at the time I had an unhealthy obsession with my Jet Hopper), was dismissed as dysfunctional by his mentors (teachers) because he didn't play sport, but who ultimately triumphed through tenacity and ability. I didn't really have the triumph at the end, but the rest of it was pretty close to being autobiographical.
The story refined my understanding of plot, characterisation, and structure. By the time I finished it I had a pretty good understanding of story and writing. Had I continued with my writing at that point I may well have gone somewhere with it, but schools being schools—particularly country schools—if you don’t play sport, you don’t get noticed (in the right way). After a few years of school yard snipes, I’d stopped writing completely. It wasn’t until I went to university that I realised the people that had picked on me for wanting to write were illiterate morons, and I started writing again.
At one point, particularly my early twenties, I was obsessive about writing. Every year I set myself a task of writing a novel and submitting it for the Vogel award. Some years I got the first part of the goal accomplished, but I’ve yet to achieve the second part of it. It gets a little depressing to think that Tim Winton won the award when he was nineteen, and had an established career by the time he was my current age. I guess he triumphed at the end of his short story. These days I still get myself psyched up for a novel writing, but now can’t even achieve the first step for a Vogel entry, and time is almost up.
I write across a variety of media. Typically, I have written mostly in the prose arena in the past—be it long or short form. From time to time I’ve made the occasional foray into poetry, but not to any great extent. In more recent times, I’ve been pushing increasingly into writing for the interactive realm, and by that, I don’t mean writing copy. Interactive storytelling is now by far my greatest writing interest. Getting the time and motivation, well that’s a different story entirely.