What is the date you began writing this piece of fiction and the date when you completely finished the piece of fiction? I started writing it in September 2021 and finished it in April 2022. That’s about the average time it takes for me to complete a first draft.
Where did you do most of your writing for this fiction work? And please describe in detail. And can you please include a photo? I wrote it primarily at home, on my sofa, with my sweet girl Maddie by my side. She was my constant companion for 11 years and we lost her a few months ago. I can no longer write in that place so have started to work in a different room. It feels slightly odd, but that was Maddie and my space, so hopefully I will adjust to the new writing spot soon.
What were your writing habits while writing this work- did you drink something as you wrote, listen to music, write in pen and paper, directly on laptop; specific time of day? I usually settle down to write in the early afternoon after I’ve done all my chores and errands for the day. I need silence to write and I usually have a cup of decaf tea nearby. That was my pattern with this book, too. I write directly on my laptop and once I have completed the first draft, I print out a copy and read it through, editing along the way, before it goes to my publishing editor. It amazes me how the hard-copy format seems to make the book read differently. I always make a ton of changes at that stage.
Please include just one excerpt and include page numbers as reference. This one excerpt can be as short or as long as you prefer.
The Child Between Us – PROLOGUE
It is the sweat that wakes me. The unnerving, clammy trickle between my breasts as I begin to pant, the air in the room seeming to pulse around me. My hair sticks cloyingly to the back of my neck as I throw the covers o_.
Isla. My twin. The other half of my heart.
Your name floods my mind, along with images of us together as children, giggling as we kicked each other under the dining table, making indoor tents out of old sheets and riding our bikes along the river at Dunkeld. Next, I picture us, huddled together, freezing on the shore at Loch Lomond, as Mum and Dad – with ruddy cheeks and matching bright smiles – coaxed us into the icy water.
Born only minutes apart – we were inseparable – and yet I felt like a protector, a parent rather than a sister, for much of our lives. Even though I was a child, too, I felt responsible for you.
Then, I see you curled up at the end of my bed, on our seventeenth birthday, after I found you trying to take those pills. You were crying, hugging your knees to your chest, your painfully thin arms wrapped around your shins as you rocked yourself.
I never knew what to do when you got like that. When the heavy blanket of depression that hovered behind you took you over. Sometimes I resented the way Mum and Dad wrapped you in cotton wool, the constant allowances they made for you, when I was expected to just understand. Then, overtaken by guilt for my lack of compassion, I would lavish you with love and try to make you believe how special you were, to us all.
When your face would turn pale and you’d cry, for no apparent reason, I thought if I tried to make you laugh, held you close and sang to you, it would take away the hurt of that dark‐ ness buried deep inside, that tortured you so profoundly.
I was naïve, and too easily persuaded by you to paper over the cracks that those episodes would leave on your heart, for a lifetime. I even agreed to keep your secret from that awful night, not telling Mum and Dad, despite knowing I should.
Now, still trembling, I sit up in bed, my heart rattling in my chest, then I whisper your name. ‘Isla. Where are you?’
It has been almost six years since I’ve seen your face – an exact copy of my own. We have the same, deeply waved, mop of red hair that hangs below our shoulder blades, matching moss- coloured eyes, full lips, and high cheekbones dusted with freckles. We are identical in every way – on the outside.
It seems like yesterday when you left me that cryptic note at my studio, saying that you were sorry, but that this was the only way you could survive, before you disappeared.
Suddenly, my breathing becomes laboured, and I shove the duvet away and stand up, stumbling blindly towards the window.
Stuart is asleep, his left arm and leg dangling over the edge of the bed, and his mouth agape. His messy blonde curls obscure the chocolatey eyes that initially pulled me in to his nocturnal, musical world, as he snores softly into the pillow. He even sleeps messily, and I tut loudly as I trip over yet another abandoned shoe.
As I reach the window, I turn to face the bed, the windowsill hard against my hip. Isla. I scoop my hair up into my hands and hold it away from my clammy neck, and suddenly, with a choking certainty, I know that you need me, even more than you did on that night when we were teenagers. I have to _find you.
I close my eyes, willing you to send me a signal, for our thoughts to meld as they did when we were children.
Just hold on, Isla. Iím coming.
Click on the below link to purchase THE CHILD BETWEEN US from Amazon
Why is this excerpt so emotional for you as a writer to write? And can you describe your own emotional experience of writing this specific excerpt? This story is about the bond between devoted twin sisters. When life events separate them, they are both diminished by the loss of the other half of their soul. I wanted to illustrate that despite being separated by distance, or even time, that connection runs so deep that it cannot be broken. I found it extremely emotional to write as I imagined what it must feel like to be parted from a twin – the incredible sense of loss it must create, and the painful knowledge that there is always a part of yourself missing.
Understanding Twin Interconnections
https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/twin-dilemmas/201708/understanding-twin-interconnections
Were there any deletions from this excerpt that you can share with us? And can you please include a photo of your marked up rough drafts of this excerpt. I don’t have a copy of the rough draft. As far as I remember, the initial prologue remained fairly intact throughout the editing process.
Click on the below link to visit Alison Ragsdale’s website
http://www.alisonragsdale.com/
Most of the INSIDE THE EMOTION OF FICTION links can be found at the very end of the below feature:
http://chrisricecooper.blogspot.com/2021/03/stephenson-holts-arranged-marriage-is.html