Writing Chapter One

The morning starts with a teenage fight.

That is a fight between two of the teenagers in the house. A sibling battle of wills. Both are right in their own way. Both are wrong in their own way. Both have a strong viewpoint. Both are indignant. Neither gives in.

The parents are trapped in the middle and accused of not listening, and I suspect not caring. Eventually it is school bus time and peace reigns once more. Fortunately, due to exam fever each is going on a different bus which avoids further confrontation.

Exhausted by the battles I go to find my blog, and put on my new CD on the computer, to listen, calm down and make a few comments on other people's blogs.

Hubby makes me some breakfast, and then it happens. Saddled by cold, and therefore not feeling completely myself I have a major crisis of confidence. The sort that aged 45 you have about once a week. The sort where all of a sudden having brought up five children, worked some of the time, but usually part time, at strange hours, you realise that you have probably thrown up all chances of normal types of jobs. You suddenly see that in the commercial world you are now uninteresting, unemployable and old.

No time to talk about it as it is time to get Gymnast Tinkerbell Mushroom ready for school.

Once they are gone, hubby is still there. Start to mention my crisis of confidence.

But he is late for work.

He must go.

Bad timing on my part.

Eldest Daughter currently doing her AS levels and therefore still at home, offers me a cup of coffee. What I really need though is some cold remedy. So, I indulge in the grandeurs of Lemsip. As my sense of taste is gone I only sense that it is sweet and hot, but I assume that it will make me feel vaguely human in a few minutes.

It does indeed, and whilst eldest daughter is on the phone, in my semi feverish cold like state, I suddenly have a flash of inspiration. Having been egged on by a friend last week to write it finally, on the back of a notebook, I plan it. The novel that has been going round my head in different forms for months. I need to write it.

Now.

ED comes off the phone. I tell her what I am going to do. "Can you wait quarter of an hour Mum? My bus goes then." Guilt. Mother guilt. Bad mother feelings that arrive on the birth of first child and stay ingrained in you until kingdom come.

"Sorry ED........."

I stay to have a chat with ED. I like our girly chats. Then I kiss her goodbye and wish her luck for the exam. 10.45 a.m.

I start.

I write 1000 words.

11.45 a.m. I have to stop as am late for my weekly physio appointment.

I rush in to the appointment ten minutes late. "I'm really sorry." I say limply. She smiles, looks at me slightly witheringly, looks at my leg briefly and decides to discharge me until Piers has seen it again on 6th June.

I apologise again for having been late. I know that it looks so pathetic. Middle aged woman unable to be on time. But unless you are planning on them giving you a different type of therapy, in a more secure unit, you can't exactly say:

"Sorry I was late. I was just a bit delayed, writing the first chapter of my novel."

Can you?