Monday, May 20, 2013

Writing About Grandma

It may seem that this title is somewhat odd, possibly even dull. However, I have just lately embarked upon a voyage of discovery, as you all know, or probably don't, I am an amateur novelist. I have written a fantasy fiction novel and am currently in the process of publishing said work of fiction. I had planned, as still do, to write two more works dealing with my own slice of imaginary world but having said that I have just lately been very interested and inspired by my maternal Grandmother.
She was a woman who died when I was around 7 years old, she was a big part of my life and of my dearest mother's life too. She was a loving and gentle person who always made time for her grandchildren and had she lived longer than she did I'm sure I would have had endless conversations with her about life, love and everything else. Although by now she would have been at least 91 years of age and the chances she would have survived that long are slim. She was born in the twenties, was married in the 40's and emigrated to Africa in the 50's, her story, though probably not exceptional is curious and interesting. She lived in times that has fascinated me, times of great political upheavel, of great social change, of the beginning of the end of outspoken feminity and the beginning of what we call feminism today. She raised children in an era of changing theories in child psychology, of freud and ericsson. She lived in Africa at a time when the struggles against apartheid were beginning to show. She left before she and her family were truly effected by them. She lived with a man who was difficult, abusive and alcoholic and she loved him and then put up with him for over 40 years. She failed, as we all do, she wasn't a saint, but she did have moralfiber and principles and she tried her best to instill them into her children. In my biography, if that's what you can call it since a lot will be poetic licence, I hope to see through her eyes, to be able to understand her a little better, maybe even know her better and perhaps I will understand myself a little better in the process. Maybe I will find the roots I sometimes feel I am missing, its unfortunate that I can't reconnect with her on a more personal level, like actually talking to her and receiving actual answers, oh well. Maybe I will feel more in touch with where I came from, and less adrift in the world, which is something that happens occasionally. If nothing else, I will understand a bit more about my family history.