Weekly Writing Prompt: Which is your Favourite?

This is an interesting idea for a link up. Which is my favourite piece of writing so far? Not such an easy question to answer, to be honest. 

I have written little bursts of three different novel ideas here on Written by Sarah: Murphy's Mysterious Mysteries(a children's novel); Life and Lemons; and Snapshots of Sophie.

I have also included writing prompts from a couple of different places. I think this post below (first published on Friday 20th July) is my favourite at the moment:

This writing prompt comes from Jeff Goins’site.

I’m not totally convinced that this is a story I am unwilling to share. It is certainly an uncomfortable story and one which makes me look back on one of the most difficult times I have faced in my life so far. But am I unwilling to share it? Probably not. I am open about that episode in my life. The way I see it, if even one person who reads this account of my illness is even remotely helped, supported or encouraged because of that, then it is worthwhile being open about it.

In the winter of 2007 I was struck down and almost entirely bowled over by depression. Looking back, I now realise that this was something that had been creeping up on me slowly but surely over a long period of time. At the time though, it hit me like a freight train. It came shooting at me out of the blue and rocked my world to it’s very core.

Here’s the background to how it all began: I was doing really well at work. My job as a teacher was stressful (of course) but I had been promoted twice and had settled into my school quite well. I played for a local band and had a full social life. In fact, I had been playing for three different bands in the area. And working in a language school during the summer holidays. And attending a book club. And attending weekly belly dance classes. And following a very strict (and for me ultimately) fateful diet plan.

I had lost more than two stone on the diet. I looked at my best ever. As I mentioned there was a lot going on in my life at that time. Looking back, I think that was the problem.

Slowly, bit by bit, I started to withdraw from social activities one by one. Not all at once, but gradually. The big band rehearsals and concerts went first, followed by the military band and then finally my beloved brass band. The book club was taken over by another person and became something a little less than it had been, so that had to go. And the belly dance class went last. I had no energy for it.

Slowly but surely, the only constant thing in my life became my job. I told myself I had to do this, as the other things were taking up too much time. My banding was taking over my life – I didn’t want that.

There were other things happening at the time too. Some messy and painful relationship stuff had knocked my confidence. All in all, I was a vulnerable person who was shutting herself off from the world.

I started to have issues at work. I was ill a lot of the time. Colds, flus, bugs – you name it, I had it. Never anything serious (so therefore management took a dim view of each and every absence) but the absences became more and more frequent.

I was on my final warning about absences when I woke up and didn’t want to go in. There were not physical symptoms I could hide behind this time though. I didn’t have a cold or a headache. Or a tummy bug. I just didn’t want to go in. I couldn’t face it. It was then that I realised that I didn’t really want to live any more either.

I sat with that shocking thought for a moment and began to cry. I cried hard. I could not understand what had happened to me, or where this thought had come from. I had a good life with a well paid job. I had just bought my own flat in a lovely seaside town. Why then did I suddenly want to die?

I phoned work and left a message, then immediately booked in to see the doctor. Something was clearly wrong with me. I didn’t honestly know what that something might be, but I knew something was wrong. I told my tale to the doctor, again bursting into tears and he knew the answer – he knew what was wrong in an instant. I was suffering from depression.

The relief that he understood – that there was a word for this genuine despair and that it was indeed a genuine medial condition was palpable. It made such a difference to me. The doctor immediately sorted out some medication and counselling for me. I had a plan and a way forward.

It wasn’t an overnight success though, this plan. I tried and failed to return to work. I tried and failed twice. I thought I had gotten over everything. I hadn’t. In fact it took three separate counsellors to get me back on track. With each successive counsellor I was able to delve deeper and deeper into my feelings, into the possible causes of these feelings of worthlessness. But back on track I got. Eventually.

What do I take away from this experience? That I am not invincible, and nor should I be. I am human, I am flawed and I deserve the same level of respect and understanding that I would give to anyone else in their time of need.

I do know this also: I am a better person for having survived this episode and come through to the other side.

If I could relive any day of my life…..

This is the thought-provoking writing prompt for this week. Hmm….

I must admit, I struggled with this question when it first came up as part of the Me,Myself and I linkup I took part in over on A Cat-Like Curiosity. 

What day could I relive? Have I had any days which were so wonderful that I would itch to go back there, relive them all over again?

My mind goes blank at the very thought. 

I suppose the other option is to look for a day where something had gone wrong and see whether I would want to go back and do things better this time.

Again, my mind goes blank at the very thought.

I consulted with MHI (My Handsome Irishman). I was met with a whole bunch of whistling sounds and hedging and a promise to get back to me.

This question is really hard.

So, I thought and I thought. A long process and a worrying one, at least initially. Why couldn't I think of any days that were so awesome that I wanted to relive them? Was that a bad thing? Is it sad that I am happy with the happy times - getting to hold my god-daughter for the first time, passing my driving test, buying my first flat by myself. I don't feel I need to relive them. They were good and great but now I am looking towards the next good things. Living in the now and looking to the future. Is that a bad thing?

It's interesting to me that my initial reaction was that there was something wrong - I couldn't think of any days I wanted to repeat and therefore that was bad. That meant I hadn't had any good enough days in my life to want to repeat them. I hadn't had any good enough times. It was only when I really thought about that I realised: this is in fact a good thing. This means I enjoyed the good times enough at the time of having them. And now I'm happy to look forward to the good times ahead.

As for days I'd like to relive and do over differently I guess I have too many of them really. Too many to count and too many to contemplate. From things as small as redoing a conversation and saying the right thing to completing changing my actions and therefore my outcome. I don't feel I want to dwell on those. I have done so in the past and I don't think it's a very healthy thing to do.

So, a little cheat on my part. I reframed the question to the following:

What days are you looking forward to living and why?

And here's what I was able to come up with:

1. Moving into and making a home of our new house. I can't wait to start that whole process again in a much more thriving community than the one we're living in just now.

2. Seeing my writing published, in whichever guise that may come. When that day comes I just know I will feel so happy and fulfilled.

3. Making a real tangible success of my Lifestyle Blog and my store. This day is getting closer and closer, I can feel it.

A much more fulfilling exercise for me and one which didn't rely on looking at the past through rose-tinted or overly critical spectacles.

Which days are you looking forward to in your future?

A Challenge: Share a story you don’t want to tell

This writing prompt comes from Jeff Goins’ site. 

I’m not totally convinced that this is a story I am unwilling to share. It is certainly an uncomfortable story and one which makes me look back on one of the most difficult times I have faced in my life so far. But am I unwilling to share it? Probably not. I am open about that episode in my life. The way I see it, if even one person who reads this account of my illness is even remotely helped, supported or encouraged because of that, then it is worthwhile being open about it.

In the winter of 2007 I was struck down and almost entirely bowled over by depression. Looking back, I now realise that this was something that had been creeping up on me slowly but surely over a long period of time. At the time though, it hit me like a freight train. It came shooting at me out of the blue and rocked my world to it’s very core.

Here’s the background to how it all began: I was doing really well at work. My job as a teacher was stressful (of course) but I had been promoted twice and had settled into my school quite well. I played for a local band and had a full social life. In fact, I had been playing for three different bands in the area. And working in a language school during the summer holidays. And attending a book club. And attending weekly belly dance classes. And following a very strict (and for me ultimately) fateful diet plan.

I had lost more than two stone on the diet. I looked at my best ever. As I mentioned there was a lot going on in my life at that time. Looking back, I think that was the problem.

Slowly, bit by bit, I started to withdraw from social activities one by one. Not all at once, but gradually. The big band rehearsals and concerts went first, followed by the military band and then finally my beloved brass band. The book club was taken over by another person and became something a little less than it had been, so that had to go. And the belly dance class went last. I had no energy for it.

Slowly but surely, the only constant thing in my life became my job. I told myself I had to do this, as the other things were taking up too much time. My banding was taking over my life – I didn’t want that.

There were other things happening at the time too. Some messy and painful relationship stuff had knocked my confidence. All in all, I was a vulnerable person who was shutting herself off from the world.

I started to have issues at work. I was ill a lot of the time. Colds, flus, bugs – you name it, I had it. Never anything serious (so therefore management took a dim view of each and every absence) but the absences became more and more frequent.

I was on my final warning about absences when I woke up and didn’t want to go in. There were not physical symptoms I could hide behind this time though. I didn’t have a cold or a headache. Or a tummy bug. I just didn’t want to go in. I couldn’t face it. It was then that I realised that I didn’t really want to live any more either.

I sat with that shocking thought for a moment and began to cry. I cried hard. I could not understand what had happened to me, or where this thought had come from. I had a good life with a well paid job. I had just bought my own flat in a lovely seaside town. Why then did I suddenly want to die?

I phoned work and left a message, then immediately booked in to see the doctor. Something was clearly wrong with me. I didn’t honestly know what that something might be, but I knew something was wrong. I told my tale to the doctor, again bursting into tears and he knew the answer – he knew what was wrong in an instant. I was suffering from depression.

The relief that he understood – that there was a word for this genuine despair and that it was indeed a genuine medial condition was palpable. It made such a difference to me. The doctor immediately sorted out some medication and counselling for me. I had a plan and a way forward.

It wasn’t an overnight success though, this plan. I tried and failed to return to work. I tried and failed twice. I thought I had gotten over everything. I hadn’t. In fact it took three separate counsellors to get me back on track. With each successive counsellor I was able to delve deeper and deeper into my feelings, into the possible causes of these feelings of worthlessness. But back on track I got. Eventually.

What do I take away from this experience? That I am not invincible, and nor should I be. I am human, I am flawed and I deserve the same level of respect and understanding that I would give to anyone else in their time of need.

I do know this also: I am a better person for having survived this episode and come through to the other side.

Am I a writer?

I am very happy to have found a writing prompt to linkup to each week. It will help to keep me focused on my writing and just give me something outside of my two major writing projects to think about and to write about.

Snapshots of Sophie is still an ongoing project for me. I started it as part of NaNoWriMo, and although I didn’t even come close to finishing it during the month of November, I am still working towards my goal of completion. It is coming towards it’s the end now (at time of writing it stands at 35,000 words). It is still in its first draft form though. Then will come the task of reading and re-writing. I am not (I confess) totally sure of how best to approach this. Part of me would love to print it out physically and scribble all over it. Treat it and read it as a real book and annotate my way through it. This would take up a huge amount of paper and ink though. It would probably be expensive. It might be the most effective way of reading it though - as a book rather than a word document if that makes sense? Any words of wisdom you may have about this drafting process would be gratefully received.

I am also considering going straight into my next project before re-writing Snapshots. I wondered if that would give me a fresh perspective on it and free me up to be much more objective than I would be if I re-read it immediately after writing it. Again, any words of wisdom from you wonderful writers out there would be very much appreciated.

My newest project idea is very much in its infancy. I haven’t even begun to write it at all yet. I have started the research for it though. It was such a sudden, rushing and all-encompassing emotion that accompanied this idea that I simply had to take some time to find some articles and jot down some ideas into a word document ready for me to turn my full attention to it as soon as I can. I am being a little vague and avoiding telling you the nitty gritty of this idea. I am being very evasive.  This is on purpose, sorry. I simply couldn’t bear to have this idea stolen from me. It has become my new baby already.

So, perhaps I won’t post too much of my writing for this particular project here on my writing blog. Perhaps I’ll keep it to myself for a while. Just until I am more sure, more certain about it. Until I am feeling OK about letting out little bits and pieces of the details.

So, the question at the top of this post. That is what I am trying to answer in my long, rambling sort of way.  It’s this one: Am I a Writer?

I would say that I definitely am. I have one book nearing completion and another germ of a book idea on the way for when this one is finished. I enjoy the process of writing. I enjoy reading about writing.

Being a writer means so much to me. Finally being in a place in my life and in my head where I can make time to write and to do so regularly is amazing. This is something I have been reaching towards for many years.

I average around 4,000 words per week on whichever project I am working on. I also manage to keep up with a full time job, a lifestyle blog, an Etsy store and, most importantly, a life of my own. I find myself getting lost in words often. I can be literally away in my own little world and need to be drawn back into my real life and towards my real life companions.

The screensaver on my Android Tablet looks like this:

I am a writer, an artist and woman who is rich with gifts and blessed by a fruitful and fulfilling life.

That is my answer to the question above this post: I am a writer.

Another snippet of Snapshots of Sophie

1990

Sophie sits quietly staring out of her bedroom window. It’s a rainy day and she feels so tired and so fed up. Her eyes have no sparkle in them. Her entire body seems to be pointing towards the ground somehow. She is tired and unhappy.

She is also hiding from mother. She knows what her mother will say about her feeling upset. She will say she has no reason to. She will get angry with her. Tell her she has “no idea how much effort it takes to bring up a kid – especially a “whiny kid like her”. That she should “count herself lucky” because there are people in the world who have a much harder life than she does.

She would also say that Sophie should just pull herself together. That she can’t expect “everything to be handed to her on a plate” and that she just had to try harder to get what she wanted. Sophie looked even more gloomy as she thought of these well worn phrases her mum constantly bombarded her with. She hated that she couldn’t talk to her mother. She knew that other kids could talk to their mums. Or at least, she was pretty certain they could. She didn’t have anyone she could compare with though as she really had no close friends at all. Nobody whose house she had gone to, nobody who she could rely on or trust. She had none of that.

She hadn’t had that for a long time really. She knew that some of her teachers worried about her because of that. She couldn’t really see what she could do about it though. It seemed to her that she was stuck with having no friends at school. Everyone hated her and she didn’t really know why.

Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she was somehow wrong. Maybe they could see something she couldn’t – some awful things about her that made them want to laugh at her and make fun of her and not want to be friends with her.  Maybe that was it. She stared blankly out at the rain. She didn’t know what it could be though.

Mother didn’t understand. There were things Sophie hadn’t told her about. Things she had to keep a secret. Maybe if mother knew those things it would be easier for her. Maybe it would help. There was just no point in thinking that way though – mother couldn’t know those things. They were a secret. Sophie’s life had been so much easier before those secrets came along. Before she had seen what she had seen. She had definitely been happier then.

It all went back to those days when she would find a quiet spot to hide. Somewhere unexpected – like around the back of a shed or up a tree. Today she was hiding in her room but that was expected. People would expect her to hide there. But she used to hide all over the place. That was when she ended up in the wrong hiding place and saw the wrong things.

It started out as a good thing. She had some friends at school at the time – she was ten by then and didn’t look quite so awful and fat. Looking back now she didn’t really think she ever was fat, but that was what people said to her at the time. But anyway, she had friends and sometimes she would tell them things about things she heard or saw when she was hiding. Silly things but important to them. Things that they didn’t really get but that they wanted to. They knew they would be a part of growing up and they definitely wanted to be grown up. She sighed. That was when trouble had kicked in again for Sophie. She still wasn’t totally sure why.

Everything had been great for her. People at school thought she was ace – she seemed to know so many things! Well, she had heard lots of things and could repeat them was the truth. She didn’t really know them at all. She didn’t totally get what was meant. But still, it was more than anyone else knew. And that made her cool and made people want to talk to her.

It all started like this: one day she was sitting high up in a tree at the end of the field behind her mothers house. She was nestled in a branch just reading a book when she heard voices underneath her. There was a man’s voice and a girl’s voice. She didn’t recognize the voices at all and she honestly wasn’t trying to listen in but she just couldn’t help it. She could hear every word they were saying. She tried (well, a bit anyway) to concentrate on her book but it was no good. She was listening to their conversation.

The man was talking about love. And how people like to show each other love. That people like to show people they love that they love them. The girl agreed with this. It sounded as though her words were kind of blocked – like she was eating a lolly at the time. Sophie couldn’t hear her speak all that well at all. Maybe that was why she didn’t recognise her voice?

Anyway, the man kept on about love and showing how much you love someone. He asked the girl how she showed people she loved them. She was quiet for a bit before she answered, “I kiss and cuddle my mum and dad because I love them. Is that what you mean?”

Sophie heard the man move across the ground and realised they must have been sitting at the bottom of the tree right below her. She couldn’t see them though through the trees. And that the man (she assumed because it sounded like someone heavy moving) had moved over to the girl. He agreed with the girl. He said that was exactly what he was talking about. Sophie heard sweet wrappers being rustled and then no more talking.

The two people – man and girl – must have sat together rustling sweets and not talking for at least half an hour. Sophie got a bit worried. If they didn’t leave soon how would she get down and go home to mother? She would have to get down in front of them and let them know she had been there, been listening, all along. She knew in her heart that wouldn’t be a good idea. But if she was late home to mother.  She fretted about that and worried and tried to think of some excuse for mother that she would be OK about. She quickly dismissed all of them. She had to get home on time.

She could hear movement beneath her though – maybe they were leaving? Maybe she was going to be lucky this time – they would leave and she could run home and be there on time. She heard them picking up papers, brushing off dust from their clothes. She was so relieved. They left and she sneaked down the tree after them and ran off. She didn’t even take time to look and see if she could see them or recognize them – she just ran off down the track across the field to her house in time for tea. She knew she would be in all kinds of trouble if she was late.

She didn’t really think too much about what she had heard at first. She did wonder who the people were but other than that she didn’t think much about it at all. She only talked about it at all when she heard some girls talking at school. She was sat near them in the lunch room and she couldn’t help joining in. They were talking about boys they liked. About what it would be like to be with them – to be in love with them.  Sophie saw a connection here and dived right in head first. Big mistake. She wanted so desperately to fit in and to have friends. Somehow the years and years of knockbacks hadn’t made a difference to her at all. They hadn’t made her give in at all. They had made her crave attention more than ever. She wanted to say the right thing – she felt it in her heart that if she just were to say the right thing then she would be set. People would like her and her life would be better all round. So, the instant she could think of something to say to these girls she just went right ahead and said it.

“I know about love, what it’s like,” Sophie said, slightly too loudly. Everyone stopped their conversations and turned to look at her. Sophie squirmed in her seat uncomfortably. She had wanted them to listen to her, but maybe not all at once. This was suddenly very scary.

“What would you know about it Sophie? You don’t even have friends, never mind anything else.” Everyone laughed with Tamara who’d just spoken. She was right really – Sophie didn’t know anything. Nothing at all. But she had heard stuff and could repeat it. That was good enough for her.

“Well, I know that it means to want to hug and kiss someone more than anyone else.” Sophie was gulping for air and trying not to sound nervous. She wanted to sound as though she knew exactly what was going on. It was hard though – the others were staring at her and making her nervous.

“Everyone knows that unless they’re stupid.” The girls were laughing. Sophie could feel she was losing their attention, that they were starting to turn away. She had to find something better to say. Something that would make them think she knew stuff.

“As well though, as well you want to touch them. And you don’t want anyone to know.” From nowhere Sophie had come out with a voice that sounded like she knew what she was saying. Her voice had come over all calm and confident. She felt the girls attention swing back towards her. “But you might not know that stuff, you might never have heard of it.”

The girls were all looking at her now, looking at her in a different way than before. They were quiet and some of them looked surprised. Sophie waited patiently, trying to look casual for what Tamara would say. She was the important one. Whatever she decided they would all go along with. If you were alright with Tamara then you were alright with everyone.

“Maybe you know more than I thought Sophie,” Tamara said coolly. At that moment the bell rang for end of lunch break. Everyone started to pick up their things and head for classrooms. Sophie felt like she was walking on air. Tamara had agreed with her. Tamara had said something nice about her. She felt like her whole world had changed in the blink of an eye. One moment she had been invisible and alone, now the possibilities were endless. This could be the thing she had needed to get her noticed and to get people to like her again.

The school days flew by after that. Every day she would spend her breaks and lunchtimes with Tamara and her friends and they would talk and talk and talk. Mostly about boys and relationships (which they all though they were old enough for but their parents didn’t) and about what it would be like to have a boyfriend.

Sophie was often the centre of attention. She would tell them all of the things she overheard whilst sitting in the tree (which she now did all of the time on purpose in case her mystery couple should come along) but would make it sound as though those were things she knew herself or had heard of herself. She would never let on that she had just heard them whilst hiding up a tree. She knew well enough that would not be cool.

She would go to Tamara’s house after school a lot, and they had suddenly become proper best friends. She could hardly remember what it had been like before this. How she had been lonely and would go days without talking to anyone at all. She felt like she belonged with these popular girls, like she had always been friends with them. She was riding high on the adrenaline of being popular.  And it felt really good.

Looking back at her 10 year old self as a 12 year old Sophie smiled a little sad smile. She hadn’t realised that all of these new found friends had come to her too easily. That anything that was given to her that easily could also be taken away that easily too. That there would be a time coming up soon where the girls would be shocked by the things she said. That she wouldn’t understand why (because she had never really understood any of the things she had repeated to them) and that she would end up in real trouble because of it.

Sophie had been so happy for a brief time there. And it was a brief time. In a matter of months it had all changed again and she felt as though everything was wrong and broken in her world once more. She went back to being ignored but with an added layer of being laughed and sniggered about thrown in for good measure. As if to make sure she didn’t get any ideas above her station ever again. As if to make sure she knew her place by then. And Sophie surely did. Her place was to be alone, and she felt like that would be the case forever more into the future.

So that was a big part of why Sophie was so upset really.  She was upset because nothing in her life seemed to be right really. Nothing seemed to work out for her. She was stuck in this lonely place and couldn’t see what to do about it. And her mother didn’t understand. No one did really. A lot of people said they did but they didn’t.

Her teachers tried to talk to her about it all and tried to convince her that everything would be OK. Gave her advice like “joining a club might help you to make friends” or “why don’t you try to talk to people a bit more.” It annoyed Sophie to be honest. Did they really think she hadn’t tried that already? Did they think she was completely stupid? She tried to talk to people all of the time. Or at least she did try. For a long time. She would try every day. She would talk and get no reply. She would try to make friends and get no reply.

She had tried so much. It was so hard and so embarrassing. That was the worst part of it to be honest. The embarrassment. Mostly Sophie didn’t mind being on her own. She was happy enough reading or listening to music on her headphones. Even watching TV sometimes. But it was the embarrassment really. That was what really upset her.

Even though she was OK with being on her own most of the time other people weren’t. Other people seemed to need to interfere all of the time (teachers) or to point out she was on her own all of the time (other kids). She just wished they would leave her be. Wished they would leave her alone and let her get on with her life. What did it matter to them if she was alone? Why would they even care? Why did they have to make such a big deal out of it? Why couldn’t they just ignore her?

She wouldn’t mind if they did ignore her, as long as they did it totally. So no snide comments, no tripping her up in the corridor at school, no throwing bits of paper or spit balls at her when no one was looking. If they could ignore every good thing she did – ignore all her opinions and all her ideas; not let her join in with them in anything and just generally make her life miserable by being ignorant then they could definitely just ignore her altogether. She would really prefer that. Really she would. Just to not exist as far as they were concerned. Her life would be better then.

As it was at the moment she counted any day that she got through school without any nasty words said or anything else as being a good day. It didn’t really matter that no one had spoken to her. She didn’t really care about that. The fact that she hadn’t said a single word to anybody all day until she got home to mother just didn’t matter. As long as she had gotten through the day without anything awful happening. Then she was happy enough. Not happy, but happy enough.

On days like this though, days when she was just at home thinking about things. Those were the days when she felt the most like she wanted to have some friends. When she felt the most lonely. If she could only talk to someone about anything – about how she felt (without them being an adult who just tried to tell her that everything was OK and things would be better soon). Then she would feel better.

She had started a diary to try and make sense of everything that was going through her head. But her mother had found it and read it and went mad at her for writing such things. For thinking such things. Sophie had been embarrassed then too. She had been mad with herself for upsetting her mum and unhappy  about her mum reading her thoughts. After her mum had stopped shouting at her and sent her upstairs she had been angry herself. It wasn’t as though she had asked her mum to read her diary. She had written things in there that only she was meant to see. They were her private thoughts. They were things that she wanted to write (or really wanted to talk with someone about) but she had no one to talk to at all.

She had only written them down at all because of that. She had felt like she had to write them or she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about them. Yes, some of them weren’t very nice. She knew that. But she had to get them out of her head.

Mother didn’t understand that at all. She didn’t even listen when Sophie tried to explain. She had been so angry – Sophie had never seen her like that before. She had shouted and shouted and shouted.

Sophie had been really shocked about that. Shocked that her mother had reacted so badly. Shocked that she had even bothered to read it in the first place. She didn’t know her mum went through her room much apart from a bit of hoovering. But she obviously did. She wondered if mother would have read that diary if it had been meant for her. If she had written her mother a letter or a poem would she have read it? Or did she only read it because she knew it was information she wasn’t supposed to know. Information that would make her understand her daughter more. She had no idea that mother would spend so much time just reading about her. That had really surprised her to be honest.

Sophie often thought her mother didn’t really care much about her to be honest. She had felt this was the case for a long time. Her mother wanted her to do well but mainly so that people wouldn’t think badly of her. If Sophie didn’t do well at school or if she didn’t have friends or if she didn’t look smart or neat then people would notice. People would talk about it. Talk about her. They would say bad things about mother as well as Sophie. And mother just couldn’t have that.

That was what Sophie thought anyway. She didn’t think her mother was really interested in Sophie herself at all. She didn’t think her mother would ever be very interested in her to be honest. She would never be really that interested in Sophie. Not to the point where she actually wanted to know her or get to know her better or to understand her better. She just didn’t think mother was all that interested in her.

Sophie was just someone her mother had to keep an eye on. If she didn’t then there would be consequences, and those consequences would be very public and very uncomfortable. Sophie even thought that if mother knew for certain that no one would know or say anything then she probably wouldn’t pay Sophie any attention at all. She would just let her do whatever she wished. She definitely wouldn’t have taken the time to read her diary from cover to cover.

Sophie sighed. She felt so very alone, and that loneliness was really starting to eat away at her. She felt helpless in the face of it. Completely helpless. She couldn’t even talk to anyone about being lonely. It was all just too much really.

She was trying to be a bit stronger. Mother was always telling her to be stronger. She was trying to not let it bother her. Trying to just be happy about what she did have. She had lots of books to read and lose herself in (her favourite pastime) and a library card which gave her access to even more books. So she kept her self happy and content.

She was doing well in her lessons. Well, all of the ones where she didn’t have to work in groups or pairs. She was clever – her teachers told her so anyway. She enjoyed her lessons and she enjoyed reading and writing answers to questions. She loved to write stories. She wrote loads of them almost all of the time.

In fact, that was what she spent most of her time doing to be honest. She had a book full of stories with extra stories on separate pages tucked inside. The book was overflowing with ideas and she just loved to add to it.

There were some days though when she just wanted to hang out. She didn’t really want to read or write anything. She just wanted to hang out and talk and chat and laugh and joke. But she had no one to do that with. No one at all.

Sophie sighed and headed to her bookcase. She chose a book at random and settled onto her bed to read. That would make the time pass faster for her. It would make her feel less bored and less alone.

It would also keep mother off her back. She never really bothered Sophie when she was reading. Sophie knew she would be safe from interruptions and interference with a book in her hand.

She drifted off into another world and another life. The life of the characters in her book. She was happiest there after all.

Sophie Holland – Character CV

I came across an interesting article a few days ago about how to find an agent. One of the techniques suggested was to write a CV for your principal character, which I thought was a fabulous idea. I set to work immediately.

Here is what I came up with for my main character Sophie:

Courses and Training 

Providing good Customer Service – Browns Bookstore

Electronic Till Training – Browns Bookstore

Labelling and Archiving – Glasgow University Library

Induction training for Interns – Glasgow University Library

Complaint Handling Proceedures – Holmefirth Library

Handling the Press – Holmefirth Library

Signposting Services – Holmeforth Library

Other

DOB:  01/08/78.

Marital Status/Dependents Married with one child.

Interests:

I enjoy painting and drawing and have taken art classes in my spare time. I enjoy visiting local theatres and cinemas to watch anything from comedy to music to shows.

I am a very keen reader, thoroughly enjoying books in all styles, from Wilkie Collins to Harry Potter to Stephen King. I belong to a local book club, and I am regularly to be found with my nose in a book. I am a keen artist, and hope to one day publish my own children’s books using both words and illustration.

I have worked in a voluntary capacity with local library services and also whilst attending Glasgow University. I believe this experience significantly enriches my CV and also my skill set.

References:

Catherine Goulding                                                                

Head of Library Services                                                       

Glasgow University                                                                                        

Email: c.j.goulding@glasgow-lrc.ac.uk

Katie Andrews

Head of Services                                                       

Holmefirth Library

Email: k.j.andrews@holmefirthcc.gov.uk

It was an excellent way to get to know my character a little better and I was really pleased I did it.