On my way to work a couple days ago, I started a new story. I was thinking, oh god another one, doesn't that make the total 30 or something? (Actually I'm not even sure, I've tried to avoid counting them.)But the character voice was really strong, and so sure of herself, yet I knew she was vulnerable in other ways. I couldn't just wave her off.
Out came the notebook I was carrying to work with hope of spending some time on a different story, and I began writing down what came to my head.
These are some random extracts from what I've written:I suppose I've never been like other girls, well not ones I knew anyway. I didn't really share their interests or dreams.
The friends I'd made in year 7 weren't really what I'd call friends, not like the ones I'd seen on TV who were so lovingly loyal. I stuck with this small group because I had no one else, and it was better than eating my packed lunch in the corner of a classroom, waiting for a teacher to catch me.
That defiantly wasn't my best week.
The group I'd fallen into were seen as the 'rebels'. I defiantly wasn't what you called a misfit, but they never seemed opposed to that. Besides, it did them good to associate with me.
That was another thing about school that I hated, I blamed it for taking away the one friend I really cared about. And then that bloody place took away my passion for music. I had never really felt pressured to be good until I went there.It sucked every last note I had, until I began playing so mechanically that I went home crying. I even went through a period where I was skipping lessons all together.
I suppose I did have a bit of rebellion in me after all.
"Look, here comes vacant Violet," Alisha smirked. I tried not to look too quickly in her direction, but I didn't want to prolong the feeling that came with seeing her. I loved that rush.Violet was anything but vacant, the other girls had given her that name because she never said anything, and spent most of the lessons looking out the window in a day dreaming haze. That and they were jealous of how beautiful she was.
I suppose I always knew I was gay, even when I had to kiss Kay's older brother in a game of kiss or dare on her 13th birthday. I guess...I guess I just simply knew I liked girls.There was no big moment of revelation or shock, no fighting it. My Dad even sat me down one day and asked me outright if I was a lesbian.
"Yes," I shrugged. He just nodded and smiled in a sort of contented way.
"Your aunt will be pleased," he said. My Dad's sister, Aunt Hilary, was gay, and extremely proud. I suppose you could say that explains my relaxed attitude over my sexual orientation. Some might even say it's genetic, but what should any of that matter? I am what I am as that song goes.
And every time Violet smiled at me, I couldn't help but wonder if she was what I am too.
Those are just a few things about this character that came into my head and I really enjoyed writing her.
I shared what I wrote with a good friend of mine, and she asked me if this was related to a short story I wrote some time ago. I said that wasn't the intention, then I began to think about that story. Somehow without even realising it I knew the stories were connected.I wrote down a couple ideas and they all seemed to fit with other random ideas and notes I had jotted down somewhere, hoping I could use them later.
Now this story has been born, and although it will probably just be something I work on when an idea comes, I love it already.
Has anyone else ever had these moments, when you're so intent on working on one thing but something new manages to wangle it's way in, and you sigh but there's excitement rumbling in your belly? (Ok that last part might just be me, though you know what I mean.)
As I have said in a previous post I am always doing it, part of me is surprised how I've managed to finish any story. (That was one of the most satisfying feelings ever.)
Now after sharing that I leave you, wondering which story my fingers will want to write for first.