Friday, 16 March 2012


The main benefit to being off my feet at the moment (long and boring story) is that I have got more chapters done on Thorde and I have been reading the excellent book 'Becoming a Writer' by Dorothea Brande which was kindly lent to me by my fellow Writers Group member, Dawn.  It is such an insightful book and I definitely recognise that I am a combination of two of her 'writing types' and am, as I had suspected, my own worst enemy when it comes to my writing.  A highly recommend this book if you want to kick-start yourself writing again.


She touched the small round box that her aunt had given her and smiled.  The inlay was well-worn yet ornate and it was easy to see that in its day it would have been quite a handsome piece.  Expensive too no doubt, but its value meant so much more to her than currency.  It was a symbol of how it had once been.  As she stroked the worn edges, the memories assailed her and she was transported back to a time when her family was together and happy.  They had not been a large family but closer than it would have appeared to the casual observer.  The advantage to being the youngest was she was able to overhear things that she should not have done, but it had been useful when the change came.

The box had been passed down through the generations and it had been a poignant time for her when at last she had been given it at the train station.  How her aunt had managed to keep it for so long amazed her and she was not sure she could be so circumspect.

She looked around and carefully replaced the treasure to its secret hideaway.  No-one in the cramped carriage had even looked her way, but she felt a small prickle of fear as she scanned their faces.  They were all the same.  All quiet and resigned, but she had her one small beacon of hope burning in her pocket.  She could keep going as long as she still had the box.  She had to; she was the only one left.

The train shuddered to a halt and everyone slowly made their way to the exits without a word.  It was like seeing sheep in the fields at herding time and she guessed that this was very similar.  As she made to alight from the carriage she saw the gates and they were far more imposing than the men that stood in front of them.  The fear settled in the pit of her stomach as she paused slightly in her steady pace towards the entrance, but the crowd slowly eased her back to movement once more.  As she passed through the gates her head remained downcast, avoiding all eye contact; and the box entered with her but who knew whether it would exit in the same way.

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