I sat down to write on my blog this evening and then as I was procrastinating on starting my post I ended up reading my “About” section I had written many moons ago and in it I talked about my blog being a way for me to practise my writing, which firmly reminded me that the practise is meant to be so I can write my novel, oops, got a bit side tract from that, so it’s been a while since my last update to my novel, some small edits to earlier pages and 2 new pages as well posted on my Patreon page this evening, very pleased to have written this much today, and I am loving going back and fine tuning my very rough first draft as I go, 10 pages down only about 190 to go, judging by the book I randomly checked the page count on a minute ago, I nice thin Terry Pratchett book that looked far more achievable than some of the door stops that Dean has by Robert Jordan.
I am pretty wiped out writing wise after working on my novel this evening but also very excited so just had to pop a blog post up as well with my latest re edited beginning:
Life was good on earth these days, even for an orphan like me. It hadn’t always been, crime, pollution, overcrowding and dwindling resources had all been huge problems in years gone by, or so our history lessons teach us, that was, until magic was discovered.
I was 13 years old when my parents died, my mother first, of a brain haemorrhage, so suddenly there had been no time to even think about going to sky central to a healer, one minute brushing her shoulder length raven black hair, hands reaching up to tie it into the tight bun for work and then tumbling down, hair pins falling all around as they were knocked of the table and her hair flowing free and wild as she crashed to the floor.
And then, well then my father abandoned me.
He stopped going to work, stopped talking, stopped eating, he just sat in his chair in our pod and wasted away, the sunlight yellow walls, somehow feeling more like a deathly jaundice now, like our whole home was sick and giving up. He died not long after my mother’s death, leaving me all alone and unsure if I was more sad or angry.
Faith spent a year in a group home with three other girls, Selina, Jodie and Jane and a custodian, Mrs Warren, a friendly but firm woman in her late forties.
She could barely remember the other girls or their stories about how they ended up there. The shock of losing her parents had not really worn off until she was moving out at 14 and was allotted her own private pod. That was when she started to wake back up again, started to dream and to build her life…
and my latest page as well:
They fell into step and walked back to Faiths pod, at the door just as she was saying something about meeting up for the results after grabbing a shower, he kissed her, not the awkward peck on the cheek he gave her each birthday to say thank you for his present, but a long, lingering kiss on the lips, cradling her face in his hands.
Moments later he was walking, trying not to run, away from her, calling over his shoulder
“I’ll see you in an hour on the transport”
Now or never, over and over in his head, now or never, the whole walk from the park back to her pod, not a single word of what she was saying could he hear over his own thoughts of, now or never. Well he had picked now. She had not pushed him away, she had kissed him back, ok not a frenzied passionate embrace that resulted with their cloths strung all over her tidy little pod, but she had kissed him back, and then he had run, run like the coward he had been all these years.
Standing under the lukewarm shower, Bobbie tried to think what he would say to Faith when she got on the transport and sat next to him in just under an hour, should I mention the kiss, apologize? Just pretend it never happened, if today was their last day together than it would be like, it had never happened, if he had managed to pass, sometimes he thought he had done well enough to scrape though, well then he would have his whole life to feel awkward about that kiss, his whole life to kiss her again, if of course it had not been shock that had made her kiss him back.
Time was playing cruel tricks, somehow it was going so fast he felt sick that it was all going to be over soon but simultaneously going so slow he thought he would pull his hair out waiting for the transport, sitting on the marble white bench, the bright cheerful sun shine and bird song seeming to mock his agitated state, just once he would like a dull day, remembering his history lessons, rain, that was what today should have, rain and grey skies.