Oh! No! Now, I've been-and-gone-and-done-it!
Swamped with work, to the point where I was having trouble remembering where my home computer was, I spent September producing absolutely nothing. This being the case I, obviously, decided to celebrate feeling that I had a little free time by deciding to enter the NaNo Challenge. I should have paid closer attention to the title: "Nah no" ... followed by... 'way' rather than "Wri Mo."
To celebrate this piece of lunacy, and the fact that some YA author has dibbed the name Smith and painted it all over my genre, I did a little psycho-analysis: I looked deep to find my alter ego and sent her forth to enter in my stead.
My earliest memories are of my father and cowboy movies. ( Now I come to think of it, perhaps both of these facts are linked!) Twice a day he would comb a wicked wave into his hair, and sing, whilst shaving. I was tiny, but I vividly remember him picking me up, from where I was jumping on the toilet seat (wise move) and sitting me on the cistern (less wise,) and singing to me. He had a beautiful tenor voice. He always sang the song "Eileen Aleanbh". It was my name... in full... to me.
I've had Dad on my mind a lot, recently.
I'm dedicating my writing month to his memory.
Dad wrote poetry five times a year: for my Mum's Birthday card, Christmas card, Valentine's card, Easter card and for their Wedding Anniversary card, too. He said that the rhymes he found in the shop-bought card never, quite, said what he wanted to say. He wrote his own poetry - with help from his little, then not so little, helpers. He'd gather us around the table and get us chip in rhymes or ideas if he was having trouble with his verse. Writing was a joy.
The cards stopped, just before St Patrick's Day, quite a while ago but Dad's love of learning (and poetry), which he instilled in me, certainly didn't.
I'm writing my November novel for PJD.