I may have just started the musings of a book. I have a rough outline, I think. I’ve heard it said that everyone has at least one book in them. Maybe, maybe not? It’s so hard to know which direction one should take? Do you pull your story from personal experience and write a story based firmly in your own roots? Do you completely remove yourself from reality and enter the world of pure fiction? Does a hybrid of these ideas work? I’m not sure. I guess I’ll keep working on my ideas and get the outline more developed. For now this is a short excerpt of what I’ve been putting on paper. It’s just a couple of paragraphs, so don’t get too excited!
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Prologue…
The weather had turned. Clouds had finally covered the heat of the Australian sun. The storm had rolled in overnight, while she patiently soothed her young son back to sleep. While she gently stroked his brow she listened to the rain and waited for the next clap of thunder to pierce the silence. What time was it? Counting the distance between the lightening and its thunder she longed for sleep, as she knew it was late. She always loved a good storm. Each flash of lightning, followed by its roar of thunder, took her back to her childhood. It was exciting and just a little bit scary. Sitting above the beach and watching the lightning strike across the ocean was something her Dad had showed her. He’d shared with her the excitement and the unpredictability a storm could bring. The world was a huge and exciting place, just waiting for her to discover it. But childhood gives way to years of teenage superiority and opportunities wasted. Regretting the past wasn’t part of her mantra these days. Her children had taken care of that. She was happy. She was content.
Almost.
Neve woke to the stirring sounds of the baby. Never really unhappy, Sophie gurgled and squealed to let mummy know she was ready to start the day. Knowing that Steve would be fast asleep after a long night at work she pulled herself out of bed and glanced over at the peacefully sleeping Toby who had crawled in beside her. “Let the little rascal sleep” she thought.
It was humid. Hot, sticky and oppressive. The rain hadn’t done anything to remove the heat from the day before. “Jesus” she thought herself, “another fucking day”. There is a particular position one finds oneself, where you are resting between the precipice of complete and utter contentment and absolute desire for something more. This is where Neve found herself this morning. So, like every good woman and mother she went through the motions. Getting Sophie’s bottle ready, measuring out her formula, scoop by scoop. Cooking some breakfast for both the children, it was French toast this morning. The methodical motion of cracking an egg and whisking together with a little milk gave her comfort. As the soft, fresh, white bread soaked up the eggy mixture, Neve remembered her mother cooking French toast for her and her sister when they were young. This is what good mother’s do.
By the good grace of family, the kids had some beautiful clothes. Carefully dressing her almost three year old for a fun day at childcare, Neve would ensure that he fit in. Toby looked like every other well cared for little boy. His new t-shirt and shorts he’d received for Christmas ensured he would never be singled out as different, as a boy that came from a family with little money. Little money? Scrap that. They had money, but they were paying for the bad decisions they’d made in their late twenties. It’d get better. Neve was sure of it. Yeah, having kids when you’re not completely comfortable and stable financially isn’t exactly the smartest thing to do, but hey, they weren’t getting any younger. Children never make life easier, they just don’t. What they do, or at least in Neve’s situation, is give meaning.
Have you ever envisioned something so precisely that you can feel it? You can taste how it would feel? You can imagine, down to the last detail how the utter imperfectness of a small needy human can complete your absolutely imperfect life? That’s how Neve felt. And she wasn’t disappointed. Her baby boy was everything she ever wished for, and more. He had a beautiful imagination, was friendly and was loved by his family with unwavering devotion. She had never imagined how a woman could love a boy so much, until she gave birth to him. This is something only a mother can understand. It doesn’t matter how much we are told, how often this love is explained to us; until you feel the love of a child, pure and absolute, you just never understand. Neve was blessed with two precious children. This, so far, was her life’s biggest and best accomplishment. But being a mother wasn’t the sum of what she was. It was but a small tangent of her make up. A small, but very important part of what she had become.
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It’s not much but it’s a start. Now to find some quiet time to really hash out what I want to do. Where is my heroine going to end up and how is she going to get there? Is she taking her family along for the ride or is this a solo journey into self discovery? I’m not exactly sure yet but I’m sure the path will reveal itself.
Thanks for having a read. Where do you think she should end up?
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