I started writing when I was widowed, well over a decade ago, a terrible short story – but the writing bug had bitten me, and once bitten…

Back then I used to tell stories to my daughters too. We would often spend supper times adding to one particular story I’d invented: A Tale of Trivet. I have no idea where Trivet is and the characters are so wacky if I met any of them in real life, I’d probably just stare, but they’re at the core of my imagination. Of course, Trivet will never be published, but it represents the uniqueness of people, the oddity of situations, the zany things we laugh about, and the little in-jokes we share, as well as associated memories, and generally silly ideas. Life – in fact…

The characters also, then, often provided the solutions to many of the life problems, me and my daughters encountered at the time. That’s the amazing thing writing can do apart from entertain; it can help you tease out all the bits you need to tease out about yourself and your life so you can – if not actually solve problems – at least tackle them.

This is from Chapter 3: Cardigan Café – in honour of my mum, who at last count has over a hundred cardigans in her cupboards. It’s also homage to my younger daughter’s love of wearing them (the bigger and baggier the better) and her ability to eat SO MUCH cake, once she’d put one on!

<i> ‘You can’t sit there!’ Lou jumped away from the jaunty blue and white check tablecloth and the chair clattered as she knocked it over. She swung round to confront the protester, but there was no-one in sight. ‘…without a cardigan…’ the voice explained, the abrupt tone turning silky-soft as its owner appeared from behind the counter that boasted a large and very ornate brass cash register. She was no more than four feet tall, round as a muffin, with currant bun eyes and a huge bundle of cardigans hanging over one arm, almost burying her. They resembled a rainbow dripping colour – bobbled, chain stitched, embroidered, ribbed, and threaded with ribbon. ‘Everyone needs a cardigan, dear,’ the diminutive woman explained. ‘Especially if you’re in Cardigan Café - how else are you going to eat?’ she added, currant bun eyes twinkling.</i>

<i>‘How else?’ Lou agreed, completely bemused, and yet, as she slipped her arm into the cardigan offered her, she felt different – so hungry… And so comfy!</i>

We all need an outlet for life. My writing characters are my friends as well as my inventions, and writing – and laughter and love – are my outlet.