what do you think i would like to write a book this is the start?

Question

The women in the chair

She sit there, with her family sat around there at the dining table are they aware she’s dead or did the just choose not to knowest? They chat amongst themselves, and she’s given the occasional glair , as she struggles to cut some food for did they not just do that for her making it small so she would not sit there and tear at it, or when she drops a piece getting the sauce on her top,’ Mum‘ they say with there disapproving tone, as it is said the child thinks to herself do ‘I ever speak to that women in a nice tone and shouldn’t may farther scold me for speaking in that way to my own mother’ but instead all she gets from him “cant you just be more careful .”

Maybe I should explain, I’m not the woman in the chair but I do one-day worry I might be. I think I’m the cause of the chair. Strange really because I do think that life is already mapped out for you, so it might have just happened anyway, well it had to happen because that was what was on the cards right? so why do I fee so guilty? I believe things are mapped out because I have dreamed things before and then it happen it might sound odd to you unless its happened, I’m not saying I can see into the future or that I can read fortuned I’m not that well tuned in as some people claim to be. I choose to say claimed to be as I have never gone to see anyone one who can do this so I don’t want to pretend that I know what I’m talking about. Just simple things like you get a feeling this happened before and then you think it had I defiantly remember dreaming this along time ago, I think even before I met these people, and you stand there listening to what they are saying and you know what will come next but you think this can’t be happening.

Sorry I’m getting distracted I wanted to tell you about the women in the chair, have you ever seen I women in a wheel chair do you look at her and think bless, I would hate to be in a chair? I do and then I think of my mother, I think of her a lot. Recently well about an hour ago a realised she is dead, I think she died many years ago at different times for everyone I personally struggle to even remember her been alive, but I never realised it at the time, only now. I think I have been grieving for her about a year, but I didn’t realise that I was, now I know I feel much happier a weight has been lifted I can smile thinking about her, I’m at peace with it. If I knew was awake at 4:34 am I think I could speak about her with out getting the tale tale sign of the glint of a tear in my eyes, I never use to ever speak about her but I don’t mind now – I’m not longer ashamed of her.

My mother has multiple sclerosis (MS) you will have hear of it, but maybe you don’t know what it is. I don’t really, all I know is that it ate the person who was meant to be my mother, I envy my brothers they had her for a while – maybe that makes it even harder for them. Is it better to have had and lost it or never to have had, you don’t know what is important until its gone, right? The worse is for my farther he is amazing, truly, the strongest person the I will ever know, or at least I hope he is, I wouldn’t want to meet some who has had more sadness than he had suffered even though I know there are plenty of people out there who have had it worse, worse than I could ever think of.

MS ever case is different, there’s lots of research into it, some people have been found to have it but is has never been triggered there are even pills now it slow it down…but none of this matters to me, I want to know about my mother. Unusual, so I have been told think she got it pretty bad, effecting movement and her brain.

At the moment my mother lives in a nursing home she’s in her 50s, she's been there for about four months, I went to see her about a month ago I hadn’t seen her for about six months. I asked her how long she had been there she thought for a second then the one legged man across the table said to her it had been years, she didn’t seem to agree, then the conversation was forgotten about for she couldn’t even remember the question, its strange I can never remember having a conversation with her. I ask her questions normally I know the answers so I don’t know why I ask, and the ones I don’t know the answers to I wonder why I asked in the first place – well unless I ask her how to spell something she all ways knows.

I saw a play one I believe it was at Edinburgh festival we went one summer my farther, mother, my sister and me. I don’t recall my brother coming or even why they didn’t, I worry about my memory; sometimes I forget a lot and remember the strangest things, as does my mother. I never think we are alike maybe we are but I just don’t know her so I cant tell. Fancying knowing how to spell an obscure world but not remembering what you ate teen minutes ago but then I think maybe I have it too. The play it was about a women who pretend that she was in a wheel chair, I always wished that my mother was doing

Answer 1

This made me want to go get drunk and play on the interstate.

Answer 2

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Answer 3

The more you write, the better you will get.



You will eventually summon interest in the reader.



It takes courage to write well.



If you can get to helping us understand what it feels like to be another person you will have our interest, but description alone will not do it. We describe things to ourselves all the time. We hardly need a book to do that, but to understand what it feels like to be someone else opens a door to a whole different view of the world.