I recently read a book about a woman who fell down a hole. Not a big hole, maybe two or three inches deep. This wasn’t new to me because I’d fallen down a few holes and, although not injured for life, I still remember the shock of losing my ice cream cone and my dignity. But, the content got me thinking. The author had a tale to tell; that’s all she needed. I admit to being surprised that she used her real name. Well, everyone is different.
Over the years, I had bored my friends by bringing up the same old sagas of my life. One experience in particular involved a family member. There was a limit to the times I could regurgitate it to the same audience. The idea, rather than the content, of Mrs Down the Hole’s book caused me to ponder writing something, at least on an A4 sheet. I wanted to keep my special story alive but I didn’t want to reveal my idea to anyone. My family would have lynched me for telling tales out of school. And so it began.
My first page turned into two, then three, and so on, with no chronological order attached to the events. Only snippets from here and there. Stumbling on, I relived and recorded every moment of my personal story and availed myself of many boxes of paper hankies. Mr Kleenex made a fortune as I laid bare my soul.
My old laptop winked at me. Yes, much better to put my typing skills to use and get rid of what was now a ream of paper. It amazed me that Mrs Down the Hole had written an entire book. Could I do that? This new idea became a reality when I spoke with Fortis Publishing. I thought about my words in print. The very story I thought had died was about to become alive.
I had a problem, though. I wasn’t sure how my family would accept the gory revelations. No doubt some of them would praise my efforts, but the others may have wanted to bury me along with a couple of copies. Then I hit on an idea. The pseudonym: a brilliant idea that allows words to flow while the author hides behind a cloak. I held nothing back because no one, except those I told, would put me in the driving seat. I was free to be honest.
A year and a half after my first A4 page, I held my completed book up to the heavens. Sporting a book cover from Fortis that in itself reveals the story, I proudly told my family and friends with a ‘Guess who wrote this?’ text and a link to Amazon. Most were in awe that I had been a secret writer with a secret name. Others have made their own hole and stuck their copy in as far as they could. Who cares?
Oh, and that’s the name of my book by the way!
