I’ve been debating whether I should share this post because it hits too close to home. I know that some people will take offense to it. At this point, I don’t care.
Three years ago, well before my mother’s cancer diagnosis, I began plotting a book with the working title The Keepsake’s House. It was a story of loss, love and rediscovering the past. Initially, it was set in three time periods; at some point, I realised I was biting off more than I could chew and simplified it to two time periods (though I haven’t forgotten about the part set in 1800s England and Denmark).
Instead, I decided to focus on the storylines set in early 1960s and contemporary US/Denmark/Italy.
One of the main themes in the book is selfishness and greed. Hannes and Miranda, the main characters in the part of the book set in the present, are dealing with relatives who only care about themselves and what they want or think they deserve. These relatives don’t care who is hurt in the longrun, as long as they get what they *think* they deserve.
For three years, I wrote sample scenes and plotted ideas, never thinking for a minute my own life would begin to be reflected in what I’d written. I started working seriously on the story in November but my mother’s illness took precedence. I ended up putting the story aside because I couldn’t focus on it and knowing I had limited time left with my mother.
I couldn’t help noticing how certain things I’d written about in test scenes and chapters were nearly identical to what I was dealing with.
Three years ago, I wrote about a narcissistic relative trying to deny the other heirs of their inheritance. I also wrote sample scenes of that relative ranting about how certain heirs didn’t deserve to receive what was their due – all because that person had decided that they want was more important than the last wishes of the person who wrote the will.
Life imitates art far more than art imitates life.
Oscar Wilde
What my characters are going through is exactly what I’m experiencing. One can hope that those who think their wants are more important than the wishes of the deceased individual will change their minds and suddenly become better people. I doubt that will ever happen.
In the meantime, I will continue writing my book and incorporating everything and anything I need to give flesh and bones to my story.
