Story Telling

It’s interesting reading about writers and their path to being published. On the surface, it seems quite straight forward, though I appreciate it is not.

I can only imagine the frisson of energy that must burst out when reading you have been accepted by an agent or better by a publisher.

Yet everyone has a wonderful tale to tell of how they eventually got there. It is the back story to the success and there is always a back story.

I read something a few days ago that whether you are published or unpublished when one book is finished move onto the next. A friend asked me ‘how can you write another when you haven’t even had your first one accepted?’

I admit it does seem strange to begin something new, while I’m waiting for the first to find a home. Having devoted so much time and effort to it. In truth though, I have had Edward’s story floating around my head since I was half way through my first novel. He figured quite heavily in it and the mystery was already building.

Edward is a man who knows little of his background. Growing up with just his mum, an accomplished and intelligent woman. He knew nothing of his father save vague recollections.

‘Only snatches he would hear when Elvira dipped into melancholy. She dished them out like bird seed, crumbs at a time.’

So Edward is finally finding his way onto the page. His story is starting to come alive.

I love the idea of a hint of a story, how you take hold of it and knead it and prove it, a bit like baking bread. Being careful not to over do the kneading or the proving. Baking it with a crust that holds it altogether.

It’s made me think of all the story tellers from many moons ago. Travelling across the land, spreading the gossip and telling entertaining stories around a camp fire. Paid no doubt in mead or food or if they were lucky both.

Stories are passed down through families too. I recall Sunday afternoon visits from various aunts and uncles and the whispering of names, the tutting and often the frowns. Even as a child you knew instinctively something bad was being talked about. Being an inquisitive child I got a short answer if I asked what was being discussed. Grown up things not for children’s ears. I can smile now but can remember the frustration of not knowing back then.

Maybe that’s why I enjoy telling stories so much. I heard so many bits of them growing up. Of course when I was old enough, my mother would share family dramas and sagas. Our family it would appear is peppered with ghosts, skeletons and mystery. Love lost and ships boarded in search of new adventures.

So perhaps Edward’s story is an evolution of all those whispers and knowing nods. He is a gracious man, thwarted by love and settles for a solitary life, until the past catches up with him and he has a chance to put things right.

Second chances don’t come around too often, let’s hope for Edward his is better than first time around. Who knows where the story will go……

Thanks for dropping by.