Letting my characters tell their story

I do have a novel in progress. Actually, i have two. Now i know that sounds greedy but they are both nanowrimo starters and they all are trying to tell me their story. It would be churlish of me to deny them their outlets, but i do wish they would not all shout at once sometimes.

Today, i have mostly been procrastinating. Assignment dates are approaching fast and i really should be studying, but a blackberry and pear crumble for tea was begging to be made, and the dishes needed doing…and the washing…well, i’m guessing you know the blurb…

Blackberry and pear crumble

I did however, get a little bit of module work done. The activity was to take one of my characters and write their introduction in the first person. My next assignment i have planned to use Madeleine. She is going to be a secondary protagonist and is a major character in my main novel. I’m not going to give too much away, where would be the fun in that? But i am going to let Maddy tell you what she just told me…

Madeleine

I couldn’t believe it when I first found out. I mean, how could I have been so gullible? He hoodwinked me from the start and now I feel betrayed and broken.

I’m not too bad when I’m at work. The estate agency is run by a brother and sister, Darren and Claire and they keep me busy typing all the sales details and stuff for them. I can forget everything when I’m there and Darren’s corny sense of humour as he jibes at his sister makes me laugh. A bit anyway.

That’s until I come home to the empty flat. There’s no laughter there anymore. I used to come home and start cooking his favourite meals, starting from scratch, only the best for me and my Steve. I would lay the table and put candles out, soft music on in the background. I used to think he was worth it. Not any more. It’s a meal for one from the freezer. I’m not bothering with all that just for me. No, I sit in my armchair, the one that used to be his, and eat in front of the telly now, Emmerdale keeps me company.

I used to have hobbies too. Sewing. That was what I loved to do. I would feel the fabric running through my fingers and the time would just fly. Maybe that is where I went wrong? Maybe I shouldn’t have done so much sewing? I didn’t think so at the time, he built my sewing room after all. We’d nicknamed it ‘Maddy’s made in heaven room’. I thought he loved me being so creative. He used to tell me to go in there because he would have to work late anyway. I haven’t sewn anything since he went. I’ve not gone into the room. I don’t have the energy to lift a needle any more. It must be all my fault. If I hadn’t spent so much time in there, he wouldn’t have spent so much time with his floozy assistant. He wouldn’t be with her now, instead of me.

Bastard.

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