This Thing I Have Done

Teenage me: ‘I’d never be able to write a book.’

In all honesty, what deterred me the most was this idea that I had planted in my young and insecure mind, that anyone could and does write books. That is hardly a unique talent, or so I had presumed. Definitely not unique enough for a teenager that so desperately wanted to be seen.

The early twenties me: ‘I wish I could write a book.’

The desire to want to be an Author was starting to grow a little stronger, overpowering the masochist within.

The late twenties: ‘I’m writing a book.’

Fly In My Wine (FIMW) was created as a space to share my creative writing. Blogging, it was all the rage and I had no idea what it meant or how to do it (I’m still not entirely sure). FIMW started to collate pieces, a theme was developing and people were relating and responding to my words.

Current me: ‘I wrote a book.’ (Insert celebratory emoji’s, a smiley face and maybe even a fist pump).

It almost wrote itself. The journey and experiences of becoming a mum, twice, threw themselves on the paper. They collected with them the memories of a life wandered before. They reached out to all that I wonder about now.

And there SHE was.

Here SHE is.

SHE: A collection of you, me, her

 I have a clear vision for SHE.

SHE is not a book for the shelves, no. SHE will be a piece of furniture to adorn the homes of women, your homes. SHE will rest on your coffee table, decorate your buffet, lean effortlessly against a tall vase in your entry. You and your tribe will flick through and find yourselves.

There is still a road ahead. The words are down and the illustrations are my next priority, along with query letters, submission attempts and figuring out what it takes to get a book published, even if it means self- publishing. Because my goal is to get SHE to you, no matter what it takes.

This is the journey thus far, and you have all been along with me; reading, my words, responding with open arms. Hopefully, before soon, SHE will find her way into your homes.


P.S Just think, if it wasn’t for all those thieving flies…there might not be a book.

My Hazel-Nut, writing her own book.

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