I’ve just moved house. I’ll spare you the details, but it was horrendous! I’m almost unpacked and the broadband is up-and-running. It’s starting to feel like home. I used to live on a busy, main road. I now live on a quiet side street, overlooking the hills. I’m sleeping better already.
Every so often, a voice in my head says ” why don’t you write a book?” I have a few ideas, which I’ve pondered over the years, but I’ve never actually written a word. I’m not 100% sure I’ve got the talent or the imagination, but then again, I’ve read books that have been distinctly average. Could I be “average” too – and still get a book published?!
I love stories. I always have done. When I was younger, I’d devour books. One after another. I’d stay awake until the early hours, just to read the last page. I’d lost that love. Especially since I had my youngest child. His sleep habits (or lack of sleep habits) have definitely affected my cognitive abilities. Sometimes, I’d struggle to read a few sentences. I gave up reading for pleasure.
Perhaps it’s my new positive ‘vibe’ or maybe it’s just the passage of time but I can read again! Ok, I’ve not got hours to spend now, but it’s enough to just sneak ten minutes when I can.
So, writing. I’ve sketched-out a few characters and the plot. I know where it’s based and I’d say it’s a story of lives weaving together. A few events are based on stories I’ve heard from my family. Nothing contoversial. Just stories of life, love and fun. It could be absolute drivel. But, at least I’ll have created it myself.
Perhaps this house move is the fresh start that I’ve needed, without realising that I needed it. Who knows, I could be painting in my garden next! Well, that would be an event. Those that know me well are aware of my complete lack of artistic skills. I wasn’t allowed to do GCSE Art. That’s how bad things are!
I might have a book within me. Who knows? Let’s see.