I’ve spent the last fifteen months writing a book that begins with an ending.
It’s a book about a woman who, forced to make two contradictory promises, finds herself in an impossible double-bind. You just know, once she’s forced to choose which one she’s going to keep, that it’s going to hurt. It’s a book about an issue for our times – Identity – and how can we still know who we really are, when everything meaningful that’s gone to make up our life has been swept away?
It’s a book about love and loss, and finding the courage to move on with our arms open. It’s a book about Faith.
And, boy, has it taken some faith to stay in there, writing this one. I’d thought I’d completed this story in the spring, but it turned out it was nowhere near done. After five further months of blood, sweat and tears, it is done, now!
Lastly, from its wobbly and unsure inception, it has turned into a love story. Three years ago, chancing upon a moving article about the effects of memory loss on our relationships, a really big question was sparked off in me: can the heart really remember, even when the mind’s forgotten? I still don’t know the answer to that one, but I know what I’d like to believe. I hope, one day in the not-too-distant future, you’ll get a chance to see what I made of it.
All my best, for now,