Becoming an author

  Here's a flash fiction story I wrote for my writing class a few months ago. I've spent too many hours in doctor's and hospital waiting rooms. The waiting room at the Liverpool Cancer hospital is bright and airy -it's actually not a room - but still daunting when you're waiting for a result. I didn't have to wait long! My scan was clear! No new cancer! Out of the waiting room and into the living room for another six months! The Waiting Room Bieber huddled next to the leaflet rack in the waiting room is watching the clock. Two minutes since his mum went in. He glances at the leaflets: ‘Look after you Heart’, ‘Healthy Minds’, ‘Cannabis in Pregnancy’- perhaps that’s why his teachers say he’s a bit slow. Bieber doesn’t think he is – he knows and sees a lot more than the grown-ups think - but he doesn’t mind: ‘being slow’ keeps him safe from questions. Three minutes. Not long until his mother’s screechy voice will be heard yelling at the doctor. She’ll demand mo...

   I wrote my novel during the pandemic while I was having chemotherapy for Ovarian Cancer. It was a great diversion. I've had one recurrence last year and praying I'm not having another one now!  So here I am trying to stay calm and not think about this afternoon when I see my consultant oncologist for the results of my recent CT scan. Like Marion in the novel and most people I suspect, I have spent a lot of my life thinking about the future, often going down the pessimistic route: 'What if I can't get a new job?' 'What if I never meet the love of my life?' 'What if my child has an accident?', but sometimes trying the optimistic route: 'What if I win the lottery?' 'What if my book does get published?' I would then try to plan for different outcomes for the pessimistic scenarios, imagining how I would cope with situations that hadn't happened yet and mostly never did. Someone once said, 'Worrying does not take away tomor...

  Maz in Wolverhampton My novel is a work of fiction and I am not Marion however I did draw on a lot of my memories for the descriptions. I first lived in a two bedroomed house in Wolverhampton close to the railway line. I don't think we had much money but  we were happy there. The neighbours were friendly and there was a lot of gossiping in the shared entry at the back. My mother told me I fell down the step in the yard although I have no recollection of doing so. I do remember my father repairing his bike punctures, buying me a huge teddy and taking me to a nearby park where we could hear the trains hooting and see the steam spiralling into the sky.                                                         1.                              ...