I used to say I write because I want my children to know me. No one really knows the inside my mind me, and I guess we all feel like that. Writing won’t change my children’s perception of me…
My first idea for a book I would love to think could be published was also on my mind when I started blogging.
I think it’s a book of short stories.
Edited thanks to the kind words of Dawn, from Tales from the Motherland (who if you aren’t reading – well why not?)…removing some words about my ideas, might be too late, someone might be on it right now – writing my book!!
I started it a few years ago. Had to read some work aloud to a writing group I was part of for a couple of years. We met monthly, in what was probably originally the garage of a big old house, over the bridge. Some kind of women’s shelter now and the room we used was, I guess, what you’d call a common room. An odd mix of furniture, no doubt donated – almost like a stage setting out of an op shop. Cheap stackable chairs, an old piano in the corner, and a bookcase of musty old words. How long since anyone had pulled a single book from those shelves?
I’m sure you’ve tried sitting on a white plastic chair for a full day, notepad on knee, through cold days and very hot. Straining to hear the voice of our fearless leader – her slow and gentle manner held us all captive. Everyone else at least 10 years older than me – psychologists and published authors – the occasional brave man joined the group. The atmosphere was surprisingly cold. Felt very much like we were lone bodies in a semi circle, not a collective. And when she opened it up to group discussion – the same two or three voices, sharing what they needed to, bones of their lives, often irrelevant to the time…
Now of course I can’t just stop at one thought 😉
There could be a blurb type book – a photo and haiku per month for a year’s end family present.
Fiction with a reality base – some story to come out of my trip to Ireland mid this year…going home for the first time?