When I took the plunge to start my first full book, “From A Place called Shame” a few months ago I had a sketchy outline of events .
As I began the first chapter, I quickly stepped back into my teen self in the 1970’s world in which I lived, a little like the children in C.S. Lewis’ classic “The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe”stepped into a new world through the wardrobe.
I was surprised by the way detailed images of events and my surroundings revealed themselves as I wrote. I could see and feel the texture of my clothing, smell the country air, as I described the view from a gateway I walked to each evening to just think about things and hear my late mother’s voice as practised my newly learnt physio stroke treatment techniques on her.
The chapters are filling out like a skeleton taking on sinew, muscle and flesh. I’m recalling details I thought were forgotten and falling in love with the teenager I once was, in a way I never felt about myself at the time. By seeing her naivety and vulnerability I am able to love her afresh and understand why she fell into the situations ahead of her.