Why I write

A hobby or an obsession?


It could perhaps be said that I 'write' all the time or at least spend my life with the written word, because I translate and edit for a living and have been doing for over 20 years. Even so, my work is all about reproducing something in a different language or at most tidying it up. These are not really my own words or thoughts.

In my spare time, however, I write fiction plus a few essays when I feel I need to sort out an issue in my own mind. Is this a sign of rebellion or frustration? Perhaps, but there is a great deal more behind it too, which I shall try and explore.

Some people speak of writing as a 'refuge'. When I was much younger, I wrote because I loved words and adventures and spent a great deal of time creating rather far-fetched characters and even more far-fetched plots. I'm fairly sure that the motivation behind it was not born of loneliness or anything lacking in my life. I neither wanted nor needed to share what I wrote: it was simply one thing among others that I enjoyed, and a place to go rather than one to hide in.

And then, I stopped. A career, a family and a good dose of self-doubt were probably the reasons for that. I missed writing, and missed it badly but somehow never started again for sixteen years.

I have to admit that the day I actually started hammering out a story, four years ago, was because it was somewhere good to escape to when life was tricky: a lot of my darker stories reflect that very clearly. The sheer escapism in many of them was probably because this was nicely removed from my daily ups and downs. Many issues such as fear, misunderstandings, frustration and pain somehow became woven into the stories.

Even so, writing wasn't just a form of catharsis aimed at getting rid of frustrations. I also wrote when feeling bubbly, serene, or relaxed. The words just kept on coming. My words.

I love that feeling when an elusive plot is constantly running through my mind, making whatever else that I really need to do (such as making a living) highly irritating. But it's wonderful. It's frustrating and infuriating too, when a piece of dialogue springs into my head that's just so perfect it has to be committed to paper, to memory – now – and whatever else I happen to be doing. And as for those characters who take up residence inside my head at the worst possible moments, they insist on being heard and appear to regard my translation or editing deadlines with the utmost scorn.

Writing is also learning – a cliché perhaps but something else that is important to me and very much in tune with my 'real' work, which means spending a great deal of time reading up on new subjects. Plunging into an unknown area for the sake of a plot is a fascinating and an essential part of the fiction process and one that brings me endless pleasure. Finding a website devoted to Palestinian leisure associations, for instance, sparked off a major thread in one story while I was looking for something else altogether. A chance discussion about where the Mafia originated or a translation on wine making formed the basis for other stories. Then there was the day when I really needed to know more about designer drugs, or counterfeiting, smuggling, weaponry… Anyone stumbling across my browser bookmarks might seriously wonder about my criminal intentions.

And how about people-watching? Time no longer drags at airports, on trains, or in waiting rooms. If I'm not plotting, I'm watching the guy with the briefcase and the horrible tie, mentally sizing him up as a potential character. Lots of people's little habits or sayings find themselves transposed into other situations and stories too. Saying that a lot one's writing comes from personal experience is very true. One of my characters always sighs and very slowly and carefully folds up the newspaper whenever his wife asks him to talk, which irritates her beyond measure and kills the conversation before it starts. Fortunately, perhaps, my husband has not read that story yet or might just recognise the gesture.

I'm fortunate to have travelled a lot, for both business and pleasure. Just like 'borrowing' ideas for characters from observing people around me, locations are another source of inspiration. Everywhere I go is a setting in the making, from a dusty museum in Morocco, an airport bristling with men in flak jackets in Hungary, a featureless resort in Israel or a bustling street in East Africa. Research is one thing, search engines are remarkable, but seeing, hearing and smelling something for yourself is even better. It doesn't have to be somewhere exotic, either – a local café bathed in the all-pervasive smell of greasy cooking, a busy mall with endless syrupy music or an unexpected snowfall can be just as evocative.

Even getting my stories onto the Internet has been a revelation. I like to see a story looking good visually, even if it's 'only' the packaging, but confess to liking it a little less when an entire page of my website slides down to collapse with a thud at the bottom because I'm unsuccessfully grappling with block of script or a temperamental font.

However, when a reader actually puts fingers to keyboard and comments on something I've written, the downside of being technologically challenged is quickly forgotten. I enjoy the process of writing for the pleasure it brings me, but sharing stories is delightful too. I appreciate virtually every kind of input I receive, even when it's of the more 'constructive' nature and even if it means having a box of Kleenex and a glass of wine within reach when something is ripped apart by a reader who does not don velvet gloves before doing so.

Yet another good side of writing on the web is coming into contact with fellow authors. Bouncing ideas off someone, getting or giving advice when a plot goes astray, is stimulating and helpful. What could be better than when an image, a plot or even a bit of dialogue somehow slides into place thanks to tossing a few things to and fro? Or what could be more helpful than discussing issues like style, genre, or structure with similarly obsessed people?

Speaking of genre and style, experimenting is another aspect of writing that fascinates me. Just as I enjoy cooking and eating oriental food some of the time and at others fancy a plain, juicy steak, I don't always want to write (or read) dark stories, romance, humour or adventure. If some people prefer a single type of cuisine every day, that's their business but for me part of the fun is treading new ground. Still using the cooking analogy, I must admit that adopting an unfamiliar genre doesn't always work, however hard I try. That extra bit of spice is a little too hot, or the nice basic roast is ruined by overdone vegetables. But unless I try, I'll never know if I can get the recipe right or even palatable. I may decide never to opt for that kind of gastronomic or literary territory ever again, but that doesn't matter. Once again, I enjoy a challenge.

What's less the attractive side to this obsession with writing, you may ask? Is there one? Is it all just one glorious experience with no negative aspects? Well of course not. Nothing's perfect except perhaps a nice chilled bottle of Pouilly Fumé… and even that can be corked.

One thing I found hard at first was realising that even if I can spot a typo immediately in other people's texts I am totally incapable of seeing my own when writing fiction. I have been mortified, have cringed under my desk in shame a thousand times over, but still my mind refuses to see them. Sometimes a spell checker helps, but at others Microsoft can't cope with my own particular brand of mistake, not realising that there is no such thing as 'ultra-violent light' or a 'flight on a private jest'.

Like many others, I am not immune to periods when a story grinds to a halt and the infamous 'writer's block' threatens. Perhaps the characters simply refuse to play the game and sulk in a corner rather than speak to me. At other times, the threads cross and tangle, and the narrative rapidly slides into 'how to say the same thing in three different ways without ever getting the message across.' My "Work in Progress" file bears ample witness to all this an more.

Fortunately, there's always the option of abandoning the offending paragraph, chapter or story, hitting the delete button with a flourish, or letting something simmer in the hope that inspiration will strike eventually. These are luxuries I can afford when writing fiction, but never dare allow myself when translating or editing. No client is anxiously awaiting my expert touch. There are no deadlines. No publisher has millions depending on my productivity. So rather than bewailing my lack of progress, I've found that starting another snippet or story usually gets me moving again. At other times I go and read something or reluctantly attack the laundry mountain, and sure enough, the ideas seem to come trundling back before very long.

Conclusion time (one of the trickier bits of writing).

I like words: I like lining up those of others to put them into a different language, or polishing a text by someone else. I even, to be very honest, like being paid for doing so. Most of all, however, I like lining up my own words, to paint a picture with them or to use them to simply tell a story of my own.

The idea of writing for publication often tantalises me too, despite being aware of the pitfalls and obstacles awaiting a would-be author of any kind. I have few illusions: translating and editing have enough connections with writing to make sure of that. Will I try? Won't I? Will I be the next Hemingway, Tolstoy or John Grisham? Who knows.

For the time being, however, writing is my hobby, but also my obsession – and I have no regrets whatsoever.