I have a memoir that I began working on so many years ago that I’m not sure when exactly it began. I do know that I haven’t worked on it for over a year. But it calls to me every now and then and I have been hearing its voice recently, calling me to mend it.
I realise that right now, I have lavender, but what I really need is the essential oil. I need to distill the words—-steam them open to release their fragrant workings and healing properties. Right now, the words are pretty, waving in the breeze and showing their colours. But they are a little weed infested and we are held back from reaching the richness of the scent within.
A memoir is a difficult thing. For me, it is the most challenging of all the genres of work I have begun and finished. More than any other form of writing, it is terribly difficult to gain perspective on something that is so personal. And it involves so much going back rather than moving forward.
But the bees are buzzing around my words, spreading pollen and helping my little flowers to grow—-hopefully into something beautiful.