I’m sitting on my bed listening to the Seahorses on my iPod wondering what to say to you.
Long before I started a blog, I wondered what type of person wrote one. I mused they must interesting, exciting, egotistical and wild. So do I still feel the same way? The answer is no.
I would hardly consider myself as any of the above, although it’s hard to be objective about oneself. If I talked about my life in snippets then perhaps yes, I have an interesting journey, although I’ve not always taken the right path.
My first memories are of watching a street carnival in Marlow Bottom, Buckinghamshire, and sitting on a red ant’s nest. Need I tell you of my pain and discomfort? I remember fields and woodland covered in thick snow to sledge on. I remember cowslip flowers growing in the field – now quite rare I believe. I then moved to Derbyshire and went to a girls’ High School, before moving to the south of France.
I have a plethora of memories from France, some of which I cannot possibly talk about, unless plied with alcohol *hic*. And by plied, I sadly mean only 2 glasses of wine or a pint of larger shandy. How sad am I? I trained and worked there as a beauty therapist before returning to England, where I trained to become a nurse.
Up until now, my journey was uncomplicated by mortgage and children, but once I started down that road, I roamed from having a stained glass business to being a child minder before nursing swallowed me up again.
So how do I see my journey?
There are painful moments (and I don’t just mean childbirth), happy times, melancholic moments and life-enhancing opportunities, such as achieving my dream of becoming a published author (thank you Winter Goose Publishing).
Are there moments I would choose to forget?
Undoubtedly. Are there choices I’d change with the wisdom of now? Absolutely. But the mistakes and bad luck have shaped me to be the person I am, and I can’t change that. Would I like to change aspects of myself? I would say a resounding ‘yes’. And I don’t just mean physically. Sometimes I feel energy and patience draining away from me like the sand in an egg-timer. I would like to be more laid-back and chilled at times, but the up-tight English girl in me screams for order and logic.
I can see the bad habits my daughters have picked up from me such as apologising too much and unnecessarily. The reflection smacks me around my face like the slap from a wet fish.
All in all, my journey has been both eventful and paradoxically dull. I would love to start over with the knowledge I have today to guide me away from the mistakes I made and the people who have hurt me. But who doesn’t feel like that? I think that’s what makes us human, to have fond moments and regrets colliding in our mind.
Perhaps that’s why I like to write fiction with dark edges. My protagonists are tortured souls who can perform dark deeds, or have dark deeds done to them. The antagonists are not always easy to hate, as at some level the reader can feel slightly sorry for them. I put all my fears and aggression into the books so I remain peaceful and serene, unless the teenage attitude in the house is dire.
How do you see your journey?
Examine the roads you have taken and pick out the positives that have contributed to you being you. We all take this journey, so let’s not forget to acknowledge each other along the way.
Hemmie Martin, author of The Divine Pumpkin and newly released Attic of the Mind , spent most of her professional life as a Community Nurse for people with learning disabilities, a Family Planning Nurse, and a Forensic Nurse working with young offenders. She spent six years living in the south of France, and currently lives in Essex with her husband, two teenage daughters, one house rabbit, and two guinea pigs.