When my family and I, moved from our small English village to a large Canadian city, it was most certainly a shock to the system. We were used to bird song, baa’ing sheep and the wind in the trees not constant sirens and traffic noise. Adjusting took time but we adapted to life within covered malls, wide streets and enormous vehicles. Until we found a treed acreage and peace and quiet again, away from the city.
It was here, in this smaller town, that I happened to find a writing group and my life as a writer began. I went to my first meeting with feelings of trepidation of the unknown, only to find a very warm, friendly welcome. I was embraced by the members and in a very short time, I have forged friendships amongst this group that I count myself lucky to have.
With gentle encouragement, I read my first piece and managed to complete the whole thing even though my heart was racing and my face was puce. The monthly newsletter was a source of inspiration, as it set word challenge’s and I plunged in with both feet. This sparked a fascination for word and picture prompts, which I still enjoy immensely. Now as secretary of the group, I set weekly prompts every Saturday on the group’s web site. To give you a taster, this piece came from the words : Clock, Certainty & Fire.
Firelight flickered on the walls and ceiling as Joan sat with a glass of her favorite red wine. Watching the flames lick the logs and send little sprays of ash and sparks upward, she tried to calm her mind. It was a certainty that Thomas would be angry with her once he knew of her accident.
The clock ticked as its hands made their gradual path towards 9 o’clock and the inevitable argument. Joan had tried to cover up the dented fender with a casually placed cloth but Thomas would immediately know something was wrong as she had parked in his place in the garage. Such a creature of habit, her husband, he had rules and very particular likes and dislikes. His routine had to be strictly adhered to or there was hell to pay. She knew he would go over the top with his recriminations and probably ban her from driving for months.
The clock struck nine and she heard the garage door open as Thomas drove up to it. Straining her ears she heard his car drive forward and then shriek to a halt. His place was taken up by her car, now he would be mad. A slam of the driver’s door told her he was walking through to the kitchen and she could feel his presence enter the lounge.
She squeezed the trigger slowly as the instructor had told her and Thomas’ face flew apart. No more shouting, no more rules, no more living in fear. Watching Thomas’ foot twitch as the life left him gave her a rare feeling of joy. No more tormentor.
I know my development as a writer has only just begun – it is a mere, one year and three months old, to be exact – but I am willing to work at this all consuming passion. I feel blessed to have such a wonderful supportive group, whose encouragement knows no bounds.