DEBBIE WOZ 'ERE Introduction All my life, people have been telling me I should write a book. It started in infants' school, honest, although at that time the whole class was asked to write a book, for our parents, I think. Mine eventually came back to me, and I am embarrassed to see how predictably full of fairies, dragons, handsome princes and happy ever afters it was - not an original idea to be found, I'm afraid! I guess at that age, I thought that was what life was all about. I don't think I have ever completely lost my belief in magic and rescuers and happy endings, but it has led to a few disappointments long the way. The requests continued through primary and secondary school. I won various minor prizes in school competitions - once I ended up having to sit through some performance by the local amateur dramatics society, and as if that were not bad enough, I had to sit next to a boy from my class! Now, had it been a boy I fancied, it may have been different, but as it was, it was a boy I'd never spoken to, who happened also to have won the competition, and spending an evening in his company in such unfamiliar and, frankly, unenjoyable surroundings, was purgatory for me, shy little mouse as I was, by then, becoming. I also won chocolates from a well-known national company (much more appreciated), and later £25, a trip to London and some books for my secondary school library from a well-known national bank. I even won a prize from the local Rotary Club once, for an essay, I think, entitled "Aspects of Society I Consider Praiseworthy and Worth Cultivating". But that turned into another ordeal, when I realised that the president of the local club was no other than the manager of the supermarket branch where I was a somewhat reluctant Friday evening and Saturday girl! Anyway, as I proceeded through a typically awkward adolescence into adulthood, the remark was made to me so often that I came to believe it - I really should write a book! And thanks to a surreal relationship I had with a "paranoid schizophrenic", as he was officially labelled, I even came up with the title - "Virgin on Insanity". The bloke in question knew I wanted to "become an author", and would sometimes tell me things about his very underprivileged background and add, "There, you can put that in your book". But although I made several attempts to begin this groundbreaking bestselling novel, I was never content with them and was always starting again. One has to invest a very great deal of time and effort indeed into creating a full-length novel. I was aware, from various books on becoming an author with which well-meaning friends had presented me over the years, that writing the novel was actually the easy part - it was finding an agent/publisher that was really difficult. One of my favourite authors, Thomas Hardy, had many rejections slips before he was finally able to get a novel published, so what hope would I have? I shied away from committing myself to such a huge time investment, only to have my hopes and dreams dashed at the final hurdle. If I wrote my novel, it would be like a baby to whom I had given birth, and if that were then rejected, I doubted I could emerge sane the other side. Then I learned that another of my favourite authors, Mary Wesley, didn't have her first novel published until she was seventy - and that inspired me with hope. Fine, I would just carry on leading a normal, busy life until after I retired and got my pension, and would then spend the normal working hours of the day writing my novel, as though I were still employed. Indeed, writing would become my employment. Meanwhile, I continued to write - a journal (un-interrupted since 1968!), school reports, the annual "round robin" Christmas letter and long, rambling emails. And people continued to tell me I ought to write a book. Now, in my opinion, there could be three reasons why people tell you that. Firstly, they could hope that, if you commit yourself to writing a book, you will stop plaguing them with your rambling anecdotes and endless tomes and they will get a bit of peace! Secondly, they could just wish to curry favour with you, get into your good books for whatever reason - to keep your treasured friendship, perhaps? But my friendship has never been hard to keep - I have always preferred a select few enduring friendships to a whole gang of people I know fairly well but with whom I may not have a lot in common, so those people I regard as my friends, I go all out to keep as my friends. I don't need to be flattered to do that, and I think they are all aware of this. The third possible reason is the explanation of why you are able to read this now - that people actually do enjoy listening to, or reading, my anecdotes, and would appreciate the opportunity to sample more. When I was diagnosed with cancer in several parts of my body at the end of 2008, it dawned on me that if I were going to write this book, it should probably be done sooner rather than later. It also dawned on me that, one reason I had always wanted to become a published author, was to be able to leave something physical behind me when I left. Although I have been blessed with two beloved adopted children, I was never fortunate enough to give birth to my own flesh and blood, so once I have passed on to The Rainbow Bridge or whatever else awaits me after this life, there will be no physical evidence that I was ever here. Unless, that is, I wrote that long-awaited book, which would outlive me and might be read by someone, somewhere, even after my children's children's children had passed away. So here we are then - my own personal way of stating, "Debbie woz 'ere"!!