Today I'm over at Lizzy Loves Books, talking about Why I Write. I started with the stories I was told by my grandmother, about my mother's childhood as a prisoner of the Japanese:
The stories took me to a place and time I couldn’t otherwise have imagined. But the magic didn’t end there. Because I could feel the sand under my feet, and see the words written by my mother with her stick; I could hear cicadas and macaws and the colour of the sky when it swelled with rain. I wasn’t just transported; I was there, in the story.
I really enjoyed writing this piece. Thanks, Lizzy.
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