Hope

It’s re-write time and from the muddy pool of shitty drafts, a small jewel appears – at least I think it’s a jewel. I rinse it, I dry it and polished it down to the bone.

What’s left is a mere smidgen of a vignette, but it gives me hope. – A different kind of hope from what I had back then, – I hope. . .

He woke me in the middle of the night. “You have to help me now Vigdis,” I remember his stuttered whisper. His silhouette looked pitiful in the arched opening he’d cut – between my two basement rooms – years earlier. His figure crooked and unstable against the light falling in behind him.

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Reliving The Hardest Parts of Our Past

One of the hardest chapters for me to write was about what happened in a blue Volvo when I was about 5.

It’s one of those #metoo stories I never told.

Buried in my subconscious, it first raise it’s ugly head, when in my teens, my boyfriend and I played at having sex.

When authors talk about it taking a year, or more, to write a book, they’re not wrong, For it’s stories like these that slows us down.

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Writing Memoir by Vig Gleeson

On Writing Memoir

I don’t want to write a memoir. It’s too raw and scary. Too ‘laying it all on the line,’ too vulnerable. I’m afraid I won’t find the #TRUTH, I’m afraid my story will be lopsided, with only my point of view. For whatever happened to me, happened because of something else that happened to someone else.

And I don’t know their truth, for if there is one thing I’m learning from writing my memoir, it is that the TRUTH is elusive, it changes and morphs into different forms the closer I get to it.

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