It’s one thing to write a blog about my beginnings and our life but quite another to write a book of fiction. One based on our kind, one tinged with the background of violence yet showing the human side of our existence. For there is a lot of kindness and compassion in the way we live that might not be apparent to the casual observer.
With the practice of the blog behind me, it seemed worthwhile to attempt a novel. Not something that will ever compete with Dickens or stand out as a literary achievement, I’m sure, but nonetheless something worth reading. For who knows about growing up in our regions better than one who has done it, lived it and survived to tell the tale?
And unlikely though it might seem, just maybe it could bring a little extra money into our lives. With 4 children we could certainly use more income. The only alternative in these parts involves drugs. That’s something that might have been an option years ago before we had kids, but age and offspring have brought some sense of responsibility so the pen it is.
Our story, looking back over our youth and the places we knew, needs to be told, but truth is not always the best way. Wrapping it into a story, making it interesting and something the kids want to read may just preserve some of the memories without tainting our own reputations still further. For all our sins and ways, most of us try to do better as we grow older and take on responsibilities so I confide only in my blog and the book will sound like a work of fiction.
It’s not for my sake but for the next generation, who are doing better at school and could make something for themselves away from the poverty we know so well. Who wouldn’t want to provide better and see them move to a different world where it pays to dream?