As I sit here editing one of my short stories, I realized why writing makes me so happy. It’s because it brings me closer to my parents. My step dad died over twenty years ago. My my mum passed away in 2001, but when I write, they are alive again.
The first story I wrote was about an incident that happened to me when I was a teenager. My parents play a major part in this story.
My second story is all about my mum and I on vacation in Blackpool. I was only seven.
My latest story ‘Dead of July’, mentions my parents briefly too. Even though they don’t play a major part in ‘Dead of July’, they’re alive.
Sometimes you just don’t realize how much you love your family until they are gone. Writing is my way of dealing with life, and death.
Next year I hope to finish ‘September Souls’, which is a story started by my step dad during the London Blitz. He wrote four or five chapters, and then mailed it to his father, my late granddad, because he never thought he’d live to finish it. He did survive the blitz, but life got in the way of his writing. In his honor, I will finish his story. Hopefully he’s spying on me from up above, and smiling down at me. I hope I’m making him proud.