Friday 28 March 2014

Early this morning I read a lot of philosophical sayings. There was a reason that I did this and it had nothing at all to do with one of my books or my writing. I won't bore you with the reason but I did want to share some thoughts with you.

I had thought that I was always an intrepid explorer sort of person. I thought I was the sort of woman who would have pioneered across America in the days of covered wagons and cart horses if I had lived in that age.

I had thought that if I had lived in any other age my metal would have been tested and found to be strong and true. But I have come to the sad conclusion that I have been somewhat delusional over this.

My original assumption was based on the fact that I left home at sixteen for a summer job which required me to live-in. Although I returned home in the autumn, I left home for good a bare eighteen months later at the age of eighteen.

I moved around a lot when I was younger, leaving Glasgow for London, London for Birmingham and Birmingham for Bromsgrove. I got bored of the same old scenery, the same old places, the same old faces and when I stayed in any one place it was not through choice but through necessity because I had ties that bound me there.

More recently I longed to move, to seek new horizons, to embrace what the world had to offer. That said it would have been within the geographical confines of driving distance to the schools my children attend, so granted I was never about to backpack around the world!

But I find now that the future has the distinct shape and pattern of the past, the same hue and colour and holds no more promise for me than my chameleon past.

This is not about my writing or my children...these are things that I hold dearly to my heart and always will...this is about my personal journey through life as a single woman, a wife, a mother, a divorcee and finally back to a single woman again. It is about me alone.

I know exactly why I feel as I do and I know exactly what to do about it. I also know that it is in keeping with the next book I am about to embark on. Perhaps that is the whole point of me feeling this way? Perhaps it is a vehicle in which to enter the mind of my next main character? Perhaps. Or perhaps I should just stop analysing it and get on with things...

So no more goes...wheee...!

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