Most of you probably know that I’m a bit of a writing bender right now. I hadn’t expected to embark on a new project; I have two finished manuscripts to edit, workshop notes to write, and some courses to finish. And of course I’ve started on my second novel with my husband.
She said: Have you ever thought of doing a Young Adult psychic novel? It would be fantastic!
Of course I immediately discounted the idea. I have so much else on my plate. And, I wondered to myself, would anyone be interested if I did?
But somehow this Young Adult novel idea wouldn’t let me go.
I woke up at 1am a few nights ago with a head full of story. Yes, I thought, I CAN write this, because essentially I’ve walked this path, and writing about it will spark off awareness and recognition in so many of you. It’s the sort of book I would have loved to read when I was back at the beginning of my own journey.
The story has been pouring out of me and onto the page ever since.
On Friday night I sat back and finally took a breather. My husband and I went out for dinner in Byron Bay, to one of our favourite haunts, Luscious. We ate great food, caught up with friends, enjoyed a glass of wine, and then came home and sat in front of the fire.
A stream of new ideas and a new character came to me as I watched the flickering flames, and I went to my computer to get them down because I knew I wouldn’t remember with the same clarity come morning.
And then the doubt hit. Who will want to read this, I thought. Can I really tell it how it is? Can I really write compelling fiction about a young girl having a psychic awakening?
I began thinking about an element of the plot. Thinking really hard and searchingly. I wondered if readers would find it a stretch…
As I sat staring at the screen, while my husband sat nearby on the lounge, an overhead ceiling fan roared into life, startling both of us. We looked at each other, bemused, and then I stood up, went over and turned it off. Somehow it had gone from off to on (and the highest speed setting at that!) with no help from us.
We went through the possible reasons for why the fan might turn itself on. Rats in the wall? A possum? An electrical fault?
Even as we were listing them off we both knew we were clutching at straws. Stuff like this is not uncommon at our house. My sister still talks about the time she looked after our dogs and house while we were overseas and the vacuum cleaner started up, when it wasn’t even plugged in at the wall.
Items get shifted around all the time here. Things go missing and turn up in the strangest of places. Jewellery does this so often we can laugh about it now. Lights turn themselves on or off. Doors unlock. Objects just appear, like an owl feather on my pillow, or a book on my coffee table.
So, what did we make of the fan?
Dead person, I said to Ben.
Yeah, I think so too, he agreed.
Who? I’m sure it is my grandmother, who passed last year, and who was also very psychic. I took it as a sign.
Why? When the fan turned on I was thinking about souls who’ve crossed over, and how they can still guide us, communicate with us, and help us, from where they are. That’s what I’d wanted to include in my book.
I felt like I got a big ‘thumbs up’ from upstairs.
So I’m writing my new novel uncensored. I won’t hold back. I’ll tell it how it is. You’ll all know that it’s just a story. And you’ll also know that every word of it could be true.