Inky: I’ve been writing for eleven years. Ever since my grandson’s birth, in fact. He, his sister, their cousin, her baby sister, and my grandson’s newest baby sister – you get the gist – would shout unlikely characters at me as they snuggled beneath their covers and looked up at me with expectation. The ones they asked for over and over, I put on paper. Silly stories, fantastical stories, stories that often featured their fathers as the hero.
Stories my partner begged me to submit for publishing. I’d laugh and hand him another Jack Daniels neat sure he was pulling my leg. He wasn’t. Just before the time bomb in his head exploded, he took my hands, sat me on the couch facing him and made me promise to write and never stop.
Awash with grief, I admit to neglecting that promise. I was sure while blind, love was fantastic. I was wrong. Love is fantastic but perhaps it hadn’t brought about the promise begged of me. This year after reading the Christmas story written for my grandchildren, my grandson, and my mother asked the same promise from me, write and never stop!
Stunned I agreed. So here I am corporate Jane by day, and hope-to-be-published writer by night.
I will keep you updated on my progress and should there ever be a long drought, know that Inky is somewhere poised in front of a smoking computer. Spiked coffee on her left, reams of crushed papers on her right, her head buried in her hands as she tries to unsnarl a plot.
After all, promises are made to be kept…