When my Father died almost three years ago I decided that I wanted to write a book. While sitting in the airport waiting for my plane to board an idea came to me... I should write a book based on my fathers life. Although there are many missing pieces and much of what my father told me over the last few years was probably not all true, I think it would make for an interesting read. I finally decided that I would write something fiction that was based (very loosely) on his life, and what I know. What I don't I guess I will just make up. That's why it's based on his life, rather then a factual depiction of his life.
The problem is that over the last three years I have spent a great deal of time talking about this, and yet I just can't seem to sit down and write. I think that a part of me is resistant to the process of writing something so personal, and the emotions it will bring up. My very good friend Jeanette is in the final stages of completing a book about her Grandmother. Although she hasn't shared any of it with me, the feedback I have heard from others is great. She told me the last time I saw her to sit down and just start writing. The words will come. I think that what I will do is start writing it here, and see what comes of this new approach.
There, writing about it here has given me the idea to write about it here... (I know, I am a bit weird)... Since I am not feeling 100% tonight, I am going to pack my gym bag and go to bed early. I will start writing sometime this week. Maybe Saturday morning while Jeffrey is still sleeping.
So, look for the first part of the book in my mind (I hope it comes out well, as it sounds great in my head).
Enough of the mundane rantings of someone who is ill and tired...