Growing a novel

Ever since my flight to Sicily got cancelled on Saturday, 21 March, 2020, life as I planned it got cancelled too.

Dates in my diary were wiped clear as the UK and slowly the rest of the world succumbed to the pandemic.

Instead of the busy life that had been so full I almost didn’t have time to think straight, I was given endless moments to reflect on my 39 years on earth. And I wasn’t totally happy with what I looked back on.

I made a promise to myself that the next 39, if they were granted, would be different.

And so far, standing here in January 2022, I have kept that pledge. And I’m excited to share how.

I recently read a book that describes the miracle of a flower. In An Island Garden, Celia Thaxter, says: “A poppy seed lies on your palm, the merest atom of matter, hardly a visible speck, a pin’s point in bulk, but within it is imprisoned a spirit of beauty ineffable, which will break its bonds and emerge from the dark ground and blossom in a splendour so dazzling as to baffle all powers of description. 

“The genie in the Arabian tale is not half so astonishing. In this tiny casket lie folded roots, stalks, leaves, buds, flowers, seed-vessels - surpassing colour and beautiful form. If you realise how great a marvel it is, you can but be lost in wonder, love and praise.”

For me, it best explains the transformation I have felt from the inner work I have been doing since the start of the pandemic.

Every time we went into another lockdown, I dug deeper into myself and used my creativity to tunnel me through the darkness. Like a seed finding its roots in the darkness, every time the outside world was cut off, I learned more about my desires for the future I wanted to create - the colours of my petals, what shape I would be when the time came to grow upwards into the light.

I spent hours and hours at my laptop writing a novel, then editing the structure, before talking to dozens of agents about it.

Until finally, after a no nonsense chat with an editor, I decided to publish it myself.

It was time, she declared, to see myself as an author and to share my words with the world.

So, within the next few months, my debut novel will be ready to read. 

You won’t know it’s by me, as at the request of my beloved sister, I’ll be disguised with a secret nom de plume.

But, just like a flower, I don’t need to be known - the existence of my work and the miraculous underground transformation that brought it to life, is more than enough!