After updating my ‘About’ page on my author page on Facebook I thought I would share it with you here.

My name is Teresa, but I’m also called Terry and T…. Back in the early days of MSN my nickname was Telephoto Marigold which I liked so much that I kept the name. Now you will see me type the occasional “Tele” as my signature.

I love to read. I mean it. I picked up Mills and Boon books at the age of ten and devoured them. From there I was reading trashy novels, and serious ones. Loved me some Tom Clancy and June Flaum Singer. Oh and Jackie Collins. I avoided the classics until I was introduced to Mr William Shakespeare in school. Romeo and Juliet and from there I read Shakespeare for fun! More books followed and so did an assertion that I was going to be a writer.

The problem being that people like me didn’t write. We got jobs, looked after families, or in my case some cats, and remained firmly in the background of life. We didn’t have grand adventures or great loves that could fuel passionate writing. Heck, most of the time I could barely string a sentence together. So I wrote for fun.

In 1994 I retook my GCSE’s, Maths, English and English Literature. The coursework was interesting and the assignments led me to discover Tennyson and poetry. I’d always been interested in poetry but now I began to try and write it. My first scribbles I showed my English Teacher. He said they were ok but not spectacular. I didn’t mind this because it showed me the direction I wanted to take my writing in.

I sent a few poems off to a publisher.

One got accepted.

I was now a Published Poet.

I wrote more poetry. Some of it good. Some of it really really bad. Some of it got accepted. Some of it remained in a dark folder hidden in a storage box in the corner of the room. It lurks there now full of bitter resentment and angst, waiting for the time that I will unknowingly set it loose on the world.

I think I should point out that at the time I was doing this, my stuff was handwritten. Then occasionally when I could borrow a typewriter it was typed up. I even managed to buy a second hand typewriter at one stage and began working on longer stories, until the B broke off and then it was a case of trying to avoid any words that had a B in them.

So thus armed with some small successes in poetry I began to send my work further a field and people hated it. Well maybe not hated it, but they certainly didn’t publish it, (or provide feedback or even nice rejection letters).

All this negativity led me to darker poetry. To greater angst. To give up. These are the poems that lurk in a locked storage box snarling against the metal bars surrounding it. I avoid making eye contact with the door to the room that the storage box in in let alone even look at the box.

I was disheartened and questioned whether I was any good at any of this. Self doubt was always my best friend. Still, I kept sending a few things off, here and there. Got some more poetry published. It was in some way a small victory but I wanted more. I wanted to have a book with my name on. I crafted a manuscript of original poetry, using my darker stuff and some humorous rhymes. It made it’s way to various publishers and returned with an “I’m Sorry.” letter.

Despite this I later began penning some short stories. One was ambitious and didn’t end like I envisioned it. But it got published. A year later and another one made it’s way into a book. So I began sending stuff out there again and once more began collecting a nice pile of ‘I’m Sorry.” letters.

From there I thought it was never going to happen. I was never going to be published and my writing must truly suck big time. Don’t even get me started on what type of poetry I wrote at this time in my life as it is best we never speak of it’s existence unless you can cope with blood curses, demonic possessions and vengeful spirits from another realm.

I began to get inspired to write by a TV show and soon Fan Fiction was my thing. The first story was 17 chapters. This was the longest story I’d written for years. More stories followed and soon I had fans of my writing. People were encouraging me. As you can imagine this was quite a shocking development. To have people liking my work.

With this pushing me on I took on some Creative writing courses. My first tutor told me that I couldn’t write poetry, that I used too many abstract words. My second tutor convinced me that I couldn’t write at all.

Luckily at this time I developed a slight case of writers block because I don’t think the world would have survived the poetry I might have written.

Despite this, I continue to write. To push myself. To put myself out there to risk rejection. It’s not easy. It’s the most difficult thing in the world. Especially with poetry. Yeah, you can jot a few lines that are funny or humorous and move on but mostly my poetry is from a place inside me that is very vulnerable and can easily be bruised.

So there you have it. That is what I am ‘about’.
My current favourite authors are:
Terry Pratchett, Tess Gerristien, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Margaret Mitchell, James Patterson, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Sebastian Faulk,s Sara Paretsky, William Shakespeare, Phillipa Gregory, Sue Grafton, Anne Rice, Dennis Wheatley, Sidney Sheldon, Judith Krantz, Jackie Collins, June Flaum Singer, Clive Cussler, Jonathon Kellerman, Kathryn Fox, Tom Clancy, Leslie Chatteris, Patricia Cornwell, Beverly Barton, Peter David, William Wordsworth…..

And like Dory from the film ‘Finding Nemo’ I’ve adopted the same approach to life, only  instead of saying ‘Jus’ Keep Swimming’ I’ve gone with ‘Jus’ keep reading and just keep writing…’




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