Traveling towards the ferry to bring me back to reality of work eat sleep, I was discussing with my mum and my partner how the monotony of it all was getting me down.
I needed something to excite me , break the repetition, prevent me from jacking in my job as a Beauty Therapist. Something I enjoy doing but can get slightly tedious when hearing other peoples problems day in day out, which would be fine except I also have to deal with an all female colleague work place where hormones are flying, bitchiness brews and tempers flare.
Can get quite exhausting and if two of us ladies are in our monthly cycle take cover it can get nasty.
I was discussing all these points with a heavy feeling of dread of returning to the unknown that awaited me. Being a concerned mother and wracking her brains for a solution to the inner turmoil of her eldest child and her only daughter. A metaphorical light bulb was lit and she said “Why don’t you write a book your good at making up stories… give you something to do and you hear lots of peoples stories in work, put them to good use.”
The seed was planted and the imaginary juices started to flow… what would it be about? Do I write a true story based on my life of just take personal experiences and turn them in to fiction? Should it be horror? Would I have enough wit to make it a comedy?
An idea was planted and I put pen to paper to see what my imagination would produce, not quite sure where to start or where it would go, I scribbled a few ideas and before I knew it Chapter one was written….
An amateur author.... 