Author of Speak #TRUTH Lies – A Memoir
I always thought there where two kinds of people – those with and those (like me) without confidence. Those WITH confidence seemed more genuine.
I never thought confident/genuine people liked me, maybe it was because I ‘felt’ fake. I was definitely not my self – I didn’t know how. I hadn’t even heard the word authentic.
Do you recognise the ‘feeling’ when you ‘think’ someone doesn’t like you?
Here are a few questions – to myself – I’ve been pondering.
You know, when you go to write the ‘homepage’ of your website, the homage of yourself and the light you want to shine in the world, – you can’t just pluck it out of thin air, – right? Or can you?
As a memoirist, I would love to write fiction, to spin my stories into ancient times of myths and fairytales, of deities and gods more powerful than any world-leaders I’ve seen. Sometimes softly spoken though mostly raging against some foreign enemy, like the rising tide of the Nile. – Ohhhh, I feel the creative juices bubbling over the top of my imagination cauldron by the pure imagery of it all.
I think I made a mistake when I promised myself I would finish my memoir before I started a new story.
I light a candle, defusing healing incense into the space around me, and settle with my writing. It feels like I’ve been gone forever. I’ve been busy, things needed doing. A Nile Holiday, a video course, parties to go to, friends to meet, a blog to write, tenant turnover in Ireland, and figuring out (baby steps) how to best manage my fathers’ estate in Norway.
With the big projects and jobs done, for now, I find myself back writing my book. Continue reading “Light a Candle”
Dear Ones,
As you may know, my Dad died in July and I went to Norway for his . . . . . . . – no, I didn’t just go for the funeral or to bury him, I went to find him or to find something I’ve lost. And I did. I write about it in Speak #TRUTH Lies.
‘The Captain’s Island,’ stands out as a good contender for the first chapter of the book. It starts as I arrive at his island on the ferry. My brother, Ruby and I had been driving all day from Ålesund. It was hot and the sea breeze felt cooling.
I hadn’t seen Dad in 14 years, which was the last time I visited Atløy, the island where he lived for 17 years.
If you want to read the chapter here’s a link. I’m warning you though, it’s a bit long and still carries a full metal jacket of typos.
