Words DO come easy to me.
When I’m not talking I’m writing and when I’m not talking or writing, I’m thinking about talking or writing. Or having interior monologues, sometimes even dialogues – you don’t want to know about them.
Not wanting to let all those words produced by my superior gabbing skills go to waste, I became a writer. Now I can write AND get paid for it.
Everyone in my family LOVES to talk, some even like to listen occasionally, but mostly they love to talk. I am merely continuing the family tradition by stringing words together, albeit in a different way. My Grandad used to worry about me becoming a writer, lest I put any unsavoury family secrets down on paper and, you know, the neighbours might hear. Well, he needn’t have worried, as my writing skills are of a more servicey nature.
Find out more about the gift of the gab and the outcome of my gabbing so far…
