When my writing mentor Anne Lamott turned sixty-one, she wrote about the things that were important to her. Faith, families, God, Jesus, grace, writing, chocolate. I find it hard to fall out with that. I think my list would look similar.

She has the amazing knack of reaching into her-self and writing what she finds there. She writes the stuff that keeps her awake at night, about the messiness of life - about fallible people with hang-ups and incompleteness and the pain of not being connected to themselves and to each other.

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I’m no Anne Lamott– but I do revel in the kind of writing that isn’t afraid to speak its mind. I am happiest when I let go. I know when I am doing that. Reality. God-stuff. Prayer. I think all writing is a kind of prayer if we want it to be.

I always knew I loved to write. It gave me a sense of self, of accomplishment, of achievement. It was something I was good at.

Every year my junior school entered each class in the national Cadbury’s national essay competition and every year I won first prize. The other kids hated me. 

I didn’t care.

I kept my head down and went home clutching my certificate and an armful of Dairy Milk.

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So here are some writings about writing. About my journey as a pilgrim.

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