The Writer's Life: Why Writers See the World Differently

 

An idea crossed my mind.

Writers often move through life with a slightly different perspective from everyone else. It is not necessarily something that the writer chooses. In many cases, it simply happens over time. The more a person writes, the more they begin to observe the world in a way that others might overlook.

And I asked myself the question, ‘Why?’

I am a latecomer to the world of writing. Five years ago, writing was just something that I did when I had to. Social media, blogs, and bulletin boards were not something that had taken over my life. I did occasionally write a post here or there, but I felt that I had better things to do with my time. As a form of writing, though, it was all very fleeting and in the moment.

And then I wrote a book, Son of My Father.

I wrote it because after the death of my mother, I went through the experience of thinking about the past. Memories and stories started to fill my mind in a way they hadn’t before. Then I had a thought. I decided to write about them.

From that moment I was hooked on writing more. 

I came to think that writing about life changes the way we observe it. A writer does not just experience events; we notice them. Even small details become important. Watching how someone pauses before answering a question, or noticing the exact phrase used in a conversation and the tone behind it. Being aware of the language used, the mood in the room, and how people react. It doesn’t have to be dramatic, but it carries meaning.

Son of My Father - We All Did Dumb Things At School (an extract)

Just one of the dumb things that I did at school, when I was a lad. From Son of My Father.

I remember the headmaster because of the one time that I got into trouble at school. It was the only time that I owned up and got into trouble, and he got involved. For the most part I was not a troublemaker, I kept my head down. However, I admit there were moments of stupidity when I did something unbelievable that got me into trouble. This was one of those moments, but at least I owned up to what I had done.

I was playing football in the front school yard, and I recall that no one else was around. I kicked the ball onto the flat roof of a small building. For a moment the ball was heading towards the edge, but then it stopped and got stuck in the guttering. The building was a toilet block which had blacked out windows around the top of it. It was my ball, and I wondered how I was going to get it back.

Son of My Father - Who Was My Dad? The Man I Never Really Knew

When I began writing Son of My Father, I realised how much of my dad’s story I never really knew. So much of who he was existed quietly in the background — unspoken, unseen. What I do remember, though, was his creative side.

From my memoir, Son of My Father

I know nothing about my dad’s childhood, his schooling, or whether he was academically bright or not. I don’t even know the name of the school that he went to. I’m not sure that I ever did. He probably left school with few if any qualifications. Questions like this were never the subject of conversation between us.

Son of My Father - The Funeral Service (an extract)

An extract from my memoir, Son of My Father.      

A very different time.

My Brother wrote the service for mam's funeral. He wrote the following.

“... when she was a young lady, it was the simple things like, helping her mam in the house, learning how to cook, wash and most importantly sew. Equally another happy time for her was her schooling, she was clever and bright and always managed to be in the top stream. It has been said that in other times she may have gone on to be a teacher.”

 It continues.

“From school she went into the factories (Freeman, Hardy and Willis) and later after becoming a mum turned to homeworking. The house always had Sewing Machines in it, Overlocks, Scissors, piles of leather, trim and fabric and things in the process of being put together. She was naturally creative and could turn any idea plucked from your imagination into a fully realised costume in hours.

She was soon promoted to sample machinist because basically she was the best in the trade.”

 

Her schooling was probably typical of that time for someone from her social background. Until her funeral, I was not aware of what she had achieved at school. She would have left school at around fifteen back then.

Son of My Father - A Further Extract: The Bully and My Aston Martin

From Son of My Father.

When a friend turns out to not be a friend at all.

I had a friend at school by the name of Colin. Although we were the same age, he was quite tall and a lot bigger than me. I suspect that because of his size no one picked on him at school. We would often play football in the street opposite Number Thirteen. There were several garages with pull down sliding doors which we used as a goal. I’m sure the residents were overjoyed with the noise every time the ball hit the garage door.

Colin seemed a decent lad, but as the saying goes, appearances can be deceptive, as I was about to find out.

One day I invited him over to my house while mam and dad were out, and we ended up playing with my toy car collection made up of Matchbox, Dinky, and Corgi cars. Pride of place was a new car that Dad had just bought me, a James Bond 007 Aston Martin. A quick check on the internet tells me that back in 1966 this cost all of 3 old pennies. I think I was about seven or eight at the time, so I would have got mine in 1967 or 68.

Son of My Father: "Fancy Man" - An Extract

I’m in the back seat of a car parked down the road from a pub. This pub was in the city, but some way from home. It was the pub where, according to dad, “this is where your mother meets her fancy man”. It was a cold, dark night and the streets were empty, other than the occasional drunk singing the night away.

In the car, my dad was in the front passenger seat. In the driver’s seat was a man who I didn't know. He must have been one of dad's mates. He was tall and broad. He looked like a man that you would want by your side in the event of trouble. It's possible that he was there for a more sinister reason. Given that dad’s plan was confrontation, this man may well have been there to back him up if things turned nasty with “fancy man.”

I was about nine years old at the time.