When I was 25 my husband left home. It was a relief to me (and the kids) and I decided it was time for me to begin my first novel. The story was set in East Africa (a place I had lived as a child), and I thought it was going to change my life. But I was wrong, what really changed my life was being raped by someone that broke into my house, someone that I did not know, but who had been watching/stalking me for some time (very Sunday night movie).
What happened to me that night killed my book, probably because my mind was reeling, I was trying to focus upon dealing with the rape, trying to care for my children, going to work everyday, all the while fending off my semi-ex-husband who thought he was the only one with the right to hurt me, not some stranger.
It was a dark time in my life that makes my world today seem like Disneyland. But it killed so many of my dreams, and that is the sad part.
Over the years I wrote, but always unfinished bits and bobs, or dark poetry from the ‘bowels of my tormented mind’…….and I was always plagued by the fact that I had let myself down, walked away from the one thing in life that I loved to do. I had many excuses, I was a single mum, worked 2 jobs, I was tired, I had plenty of legitimate reasons to avoid sitting down with pen and paper. So time slipped by, and apart from the odd poem to a friend, or a quick couple of pages here and there, I didn’t write. When I was in my early forties. I enrolled in the local college and took several classes towards a degree ( I still lack Algebra…) what became clear was that I could be terrible at any subject, but if I had to write a paper on those subjects, I always aced them. I took English classes, and instantly became my Teachers’ darling. Yet I still lacked the confidence to write.
Oh, faithful friends, you do not realize it, but you are witnessing a re-birth (without any of the icky stuff…….) writing this blog has been an instrument to see if I can still write…..to see if I can write creatively enough that others might actually want to read my work. To see if I can engage this old, battered brain for another run around the park. This is my last shot at pursuing a dream that I allowed to get stolen, 24 years ago.
Therefore I ask you to bear with me, hold my hand on this terrifying journey, because writing is baring your soul – which in my case, is far easier to witness than me baring anything else. I am 50 after all………………
Thank you for the support ladies. you are the reason I can do this – any feedback is always appreciated!!! May the hormones be with you….. Jude