Last September I was invited to a gathering
at my neighbour’s where I. enjoyed an evening
of food, drinks and conversation. The purpose of the evening was to meet her
friends, visiting from California
As I was leaving, the guest of honour
inquired if I was the writer. When I replied yes, she demanded, “Why don’t you
write something about how widows are treated?”
I knew she was a widow, unaware at the time
that she had lost her husband only six months before, which would account for
the emotion that was evident with her asking.
I didn’t know what she expected me to
write, but I was curious and did some research. After reading a series of
articles full of self help advice and personal experiences, I was drawn to the
plight of these women as they struggled to rebuild their lives.
A prolific note taker, I had pages after
page of notes and put together an article that I think touched on some of the
things she was experiencing. She read the article out loud, and at times was
reduced to tears as the information hit close to home.
I always felt she had wanted something more
from me, though I don’t know exactly what that might have been. I just felt I
was not done with the topic.
As November approached, I needed a story
line for NaNo. If you’re not aware November is National Novel Writing Month,
more commonly called NaNoWriMo, where the challenge is to write a 50,000 word
novel in 30 days. I decided to make my story about a woman, recently widowed,
and gave her a few conflicts, just to make it more interesting.
I made the deadline, with words to spare
and spent months doing the edits.
I usually write in a very organized
fashion. If I’m working on a book I have my book binder with story ideas,
plots, and character profiles. Any research I do on locations or interiors go
into the binder, along with photos torn from magazines for a visual reference.
When I write I’m constantly going back,
rereading and, I dare say, editing, as I go along. My usual first draft is not
as rough as some, but presents almost as more of a first edit.
Not so with my NaNo book. In order to keep
the word count going, I didn’t have time to go back and edit as I went along.
It was an interesting experience, and I’ll probably do it again, but next time
I’ll be more prepared.
For one thing, I’ll make sure I’m ready for
Christmas. After the stress of writing for the whole month of November it was a
shock to get back to the real world and realize that Christmas was only weeks
away. Like I said, I’ll be better prepared next time.
At any rate, I began the editing process,
gave it to friends and a fellow writer to read, and took all their suggestions
into consideration when I did what I hoped was to be the final edit.
The book is titled ‘Left in Sorrow’. I
recently published it in an E format on Kindle.
Photo and cover design by John Kerns... www.john.kerns.ca
Here’s a bit of the beginning, like I said before, I gave my girl some conflicts to deal with.
CHAPTER 1
Holly inserted the key and opened the door to the fourth
floor condo. Hands shaking, the key seemed to stick in the unfamiliar lock, as
if to defy her entrance. With a feeling of trepidation she entered and looked
about with some caution, fully expecting that someone might appear and question
her right to be there.
She had every right, and no right, and that was the
problem.
Her eye was immediately drawn to the impressive view of
the lake and sky framed by the glass paned French doors. As she glanced beyond
the terrace, she could see the marina, the docks sitting empty, waiting for
summer and another season of sailing to begin.
Turning back to the room she noted the
done-by-a-decorator style of décor, where everything was carefully coordinated;
the fabrics, the furnishings, even the art that hung on the walls. It was show
room perfect but felt cold and impersonal.
Now it belonged to her, not that she wanted any part of
it.
She didn’t belong in this stylish place. Holly looked
down at the jeans and simple leather shoes she wore, and felt out of place.
This place belonged to a lifestyle she knew nothing about. What did middle-aged
housewives know about secret hideaways?
For the last few months her life had been nothing but
one shocking and unexpected event after another, and her world had been turned
upside down.
She’d known what it meant that night, when the two
police officers had appeared at her door. “Mrs. Prentice, we regret to inform
you…,” they began. The conversation was etched in her memory. On that stormy
February night, when her husband of almost twenty-five years had been killed in
a car accident, her comfortable life had come crashing down around her.
She had been numb at first, thankful for the tasks that
kept her busy. Friends and family had hovered, and then everyone went back to
their lives, as if she were healed, like she’d just had her gallbladder cut
out, instead of her heart. Her friends were married, they still had their
husbands, and their lives had not changed.
When the letter came, from a bank they had never dealt
with, addressed to the Executor, she’d taken it to Bob Watson, her husband’s
friend and law partner for an explanation.
“I contacted the bank, Holly,” he later told her. “It
looks like Richard had an account there and in the safety deposit box I found
ownership papers for a condominium on the waterfront.”
The news about the condo struck her hard, at a time when
she was already feeling unsure and unsteady. Why did he have a secret place?
What was he hiding?
Bob tried to talk
her out of it, but she had wanted, no needed, to see the place for herself.
Reluctantly, he had handed over the keys.
* * *
Pauline, when you read the book I hope you
feel I captured Holly’s feelings, and touched on some of the issues faced by
women who have lost their life partner or spouse.
Thank you for the inspiration.
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