When I grow up...

I love words. From the time I was old enough to leaf through the pages of a book myself I’ve been a voracious reader.

I get a butterfly feeling in my stomach whenever I enter a library or bookstore, surrounded by so many books, so many new adventures. I love the anticipation of cracking open the cover for the first time; the feel of the paper on my fingertips; the smell of the ink.

When I was a little girl I wanted to write, and I did. Stories, poems, you name it; I wrote it. I had my first poem, Breaking Up, written about the end of a friendship, published when I was 10. On reflection, I was pretty deep for a tween.

When I was 11, I saw a gap in the market and became the sole writer and editor of my primary school class magazine, which I called Wombat. This generated copycat publications called, rather unoriginally, Koala and Goanna.

By the time I went to high school, I knew writing was what I wanted to do for the rest of my life...and I'm lucky enough to have achieved that dream. Although my job these days is much more about managing people and projects, words remain at the core of everything I do.

Since I started this blog I’ve rediscovered writing for the sheer pleasure of it. Not because someone needs a brochure, or a strategy, or a script – but because I want to. And I’m pretty sure I’ll always feel that way.

I wrote this post as part of a Blogged challenge...this week, we were asked to share what we dreamed of becoming as a small child. If you have a blog and would love to join in some weekly fun, check it out! The next challenge starts tomorrow!