February 2016 Blog Challenge: Blog 28 of 29
As a child I was happy to create stories and loved the escapism that they offered, especially from gremlins of every kind…
As an adult, I have now returned to the fiction form and have embarked on writing my first novel (of a trilogy). It’s a blend of semi auto-biographical and fantastical elements, which feels somewhat like making a giant patch work quilt of my life: There are some favourite scraps of my own old clothes, which I am adding to, embellishing and turning into a brand new pattern…
Part of my blog challenge this month is to create content for this first fiction book. Each excerpt, which stands alone on this blog – will eventually be woven into the larger fabric of my completed book.
It started gradually, her knowing of her wings… She had dreamt of them and hoped so heavily that this time would come. And as time is, they did not come suddenly; instead they came gradually, starting slowly as an itch, something stretching and shoving, thrusting up inexorably, from deep within the skin around her shoulders and across her back – just where it was hard to see, just where it was difficult to feel any more than the stroking of her hand, over her slowly reddening skin.
She had dreamt of course, that she could fly, ever since she could remember dreaming. During these night time reveries, she endlessly owned the freedom of flight, and would rise up and away and fly from trouble, buzzing and hovering like a fairy or a dragon fly, flitting about over roofs and looking down on all the earth bound, clay bound mortals who would never ever look up and see her, high above them in all her feathered glory.
And for once, her dreams were coming true and so it was a delicious secret that she would keep, from her mother and from everyone, until she would reach her father’s family again and share her wingèd triumph with them.
Still her shoulders reddened and itched on. Ariel was now frightened that her secret would be shown when she went on her weekly school swimming lessons, but oddly no one seemed to see what she knew and what she felt – that her long dreamt of wings were coming through.
After weeks of burning and scratching their way upwards, finally the first stubbly tips began to show, like soft grey pin pricks running across her shoulders, looking just like daddy’s stubble the minute before he shaved. The feel of them was fascinating and so, in secret, in bed, craning her head to see her shoulders in the bathroom mirror she would rub hands against their ever increasing grain – to the left on her left shoulder and so to the right on her right shoulder.
They grew, like grass, daily, getting longer and stronger, forming new limbs that she could fold neatly back against her back. No feathers yet, just white down, fluffy and soft to the touch. And as they increased in length and width, she found that she could flap her wings and stretch them, but not take off yet, still tethered as she was, heavily to the ground.
~ Sandra Peachey ©
PS: “Thank you for sharing your letters with us all. You have such a wonderful gift with words. … Wishing you joy.” ~ Monique Blackmore
This is just one from the many hundreds of comments I had when I did my first blog challenge 4 years ago. The post above is a fiction and yet I also write about my own experiences. In fact a collection of my ‘Peachey Letters’ have been gathered together in to a beautiful book, exploring all the facets of my ‘real’ life in all its’ badness, banality and beauty. This is love seen in every aspect of the life that I live. In it you will find the dark and the light of love, in a way that will make you think, entertain you and let you know that you are not alone in life, whatever it holds for you… It is of course the perfect Valentine gift. You can buy ‘Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life’ by Sandra Peachey, from book websites anywhere in the world, including on Amazon (in both Paperback and Kindle)…