Writing is easy: all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead. Gene Fowler
Once, after a particularly festive Christmas, I may have mentioned that I intended to run a marathon. Unfortunately, there were witnesses, and those witnesses planned to hold me to it. Word got round: Lee’s going to run a marathon. Forms were filled out. Money changed hands. There was nothing else for it I had to start training.
I joined a club and began running. In the beginning, I ran short runs of a just few kilometres. It was hard. I knew nothing about running gear or shoes, about rest days or nutrition, or speed work, or injury, or anything. I was convinced supination meant an appeal not to run another step! But I was determined to learn. I talked to runners, and read about runners. I pretended to be a runner. And eventually, after months of effort, I could run for several hours. My new running friends declared me ready.
I ran my local marathon, and finished it. I was elated! I’d made it! I’d run every gruelling doubting step of 42.2 kilometres. Stepping over the finish line, I clutched my commemorative t-shirt and my finisher’s medal and basked in my wonderfulness. I had already forgotten the prune-sized blister, aching hip and chafed under-arms. Hours of training and pain evaporated. In my head, the theme from Rocky played on repeat.
So this website is a declaration of my intent to be writer. This is where I’ll post the results of my early writing training runs, my mid-distance misadventures, and my marathon manuscripts. And maybe one day, if everything comes together, I’ll write a personal bestseller..
Photos are of Lee, aged 5, in her mother's nightie. Her brother is hiding behind the bush in a dress.