I’m middle aged, mixed race and as yet unpublished.
I was born 1973 to an English mother and a Mauritian Creole father. The majority of my life I’ve lived in Norwich, in the east of England. It’s not Britain’s most diverse city, but it’s a far cry from the place the National Front once called the last white city in England. I left Norwich during the nineties to live and study in London, fully intending never to return, well, apart to visit. A serious family illness drew me back in the year 2000 and twenty years later I’m still here, for better or for worse.
Would I rather live somewhere more metropolitan, cultured, diverse, exciting or exotic? Probably, but this is where I find myself, a Norwich boy living in his home town and Norwich is far from a terrible place to live. In fact, you might say I’m quite fond of it.
I’ve always enjoyed reading, but I can’t say I ever believed I could write. How could I create something as beautifully crafted as the works written by those I admired? What was the point in even trying? It wasn’t until nine years ago that I considered it. I was unhappy at work, doing a job that gave me little satisfaction and due to my personal circumstances, saw no way out. I’d spent years doing much the same thing and at thirty-seven I felt that I was in danger of carrying on like that indefinitely. I was fast losing any respect I had for myself and who knew what would be next. Still being a keen reader, I thought: I’m gonna try my hand a writing, I’d love to be a writer. What was there to lose? If I was bad, then so be it, but if didn’t even try I’d only regret it. So that was the start of my journey.
Now here I am ten years later. I’m still working at the same place, I still don’t want to be there, but I’ve created something. I’ve done what I thought impossible and who knows what might come of it.
