During my writing I’ve been peeling the layers of lies and loves my mother displayed to me. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, but this is the first time I’ve put thoughts to paper for the purpose of possible publication.
Being mature in age, and having very few past acquaintances alive today, makes writing my book easier. I certainly wouldn’t have contemplated writing it were my husband still beside me or many of my ‘boys’ still alive.
However, I’m considering dulling the knife before publication and will mark for my editor the bits and pieces perhaps best left on the cutting floor.
My mother was a skinless, boneless, peahen who’d display her plumage when angry at me or jealous of other women. She was also an elitist; a Wallace, whose family for several generations had either written the laws or paid to have them written.
Which made me an elitist like my mother; a disdainer of rules set to keep the others in line.
The conundrum was I insisted upon my boys obeying my rules, which sometimes offended ‘official’ rules of society, and, boys being boys, the only way to keep them in line was sex. Like someone once said, it’s an easy job if you can get it.
Sex was the third layer of my mother. You’d have to peel the projections of purity and properness before tasting my real mother.
I got to see my mother ‘tasting’ very early on in my life. I’ll add that to my book and leave it to the editor to keep or not.