Becoming An Unpublished Author
I have thought about this topic for quite some time. Why does someone decide to become a writer, a musician, a doctor? And when does that happen?
For most people who are passionate about what they do, it is usually one of the first memories they have. I’m afraid the same goes for me.
As a young child, I came across an old type writer and started playing with it, out of boredom. The story I wrote was fairly simple, cats and dogs talking to each other. I can’t remember a plot in it, but I remember having a great time writing it down. I was 7 years old.
I have thought much about writing over the years, and I have finished other novels. They are really bad though, and I’m glad I lost them along the road. Then in 2013 I lost the man I have loved as a father, my uncle. I was crushed and I really couldn’t find a way to mourn him and go on with my life at the same time. This was probably due to the lack of sleep I had because of my youngest daughter. She was a newborn baby when he had the accident that eventually led to his death. I missed him so much, that I needed to put all that sorrow into something productive.
My novel, SuperMoon, is the place where I got the chance to interact with my uncle again, where I could also interact with another friend who died in 2000. And I created a special place I can go to whenever I feel bad, a place filled with people I love and where magic happens. It’s also the village I consider home, all my stories are centered around one specific house, a magical place that is falling apart in the real world, but it’s so fancy and nice in my mind that I hope one day to buy the shag and make it what it looks like in my imagination.
“Fog on the Loch” Excerpt
“Come not between the dragon and his wrath.” –Lear from “King Lear” (1.1.127)
‘“The name is Alexandra Drerea Ramsey. You may call me Twang.” But the old man looked puzzled,’
The girl explained.
‘So I added “I shoot pretty well with the crossbow, and that’s the sound the arrow makes every time I shoot.” And I smiled.’
‘He still looked at me, but he smiled back, eventually. He cleared his throat. He readjusted his big, fluffy coat. “Did you bake those cupcakes?” he asked pointing at my table.’
She mimed his movements.
‘I had just finished the cakes for my mom’s birthday, you see. I’d made several cupcakes with sugar flowers and coloured buttons and the big cake with roses. The one that looked like it was made of china, remember?’
Victoria nodded quickly, she wanted her friend to continue her story. She motioned her to continue.
‘Well, I said “Of course I made them! And they should be pretty good too!” and that’s when I heard the foghorn screaming outside. He turned towards the window, he looked worried, absorbed in his own thoughts. It can get spooky around the lake when the fog is that thick and I would have sworn that he was starting to feel a little restless.’
The girl slightly raised her voice.
‘Then he turned to me again and said “I heard that you weld things together.” I didn’t like this one bit!’
Her cheeks reddened.
C.B. Mac Gillavry studied English and Dutch literature, she has an affinity with Colonial Dutch literature. C.B., like so many authors, started writing as soon as she was able to write, although the actual reading started at a later stadium, with the discovery of Jane Austen. She enjoys many different genres and writers, preferably in the original language. The environment is a key topic in her writings and she ideally writes for young adults, in the hope of enchanting them, even if just for a short while.