In my study I glance around the airy brightness of the spacious attic room. Through the glass ceiling above clouds lazily float by, changing from abstract fluffy shapes into interesting, inspiring images. Below I can see rooftops and leafy green trees, in a multitude of colours. Like ants, there are people scurrying around getting on with their individual and varied lives. I watch intently taking organised notes of how they dress, what they are doing, and where they could be going. Noticing the smells, tastes, beauty and disaster surrounding them. My imagination holds no boundaries and leads me to different lands, centuries and even worlds and dimensions. My eyes, nose and ears record things that are often misunderstood or simply missed by others.

A different perspective changes everything. All it takes is a little time, a pen, some paper and, the willingness to believe what is written is needed by others.

It is my duty as a writer.