The day is tomorrow or the day after. There’s confusion in the air. Questions lurk unanswerable. There is no way to comprehend, but we must. I must. There she lies, the teenager; the young woman I live and share my life with. The young woman I grew from a seed, shaped, watered, nurtured, all by myself for nigh on fifteen years. There’s no way to know how it happened. But happen it did.
I am a single mom to the most incredible legend of a teenager ever invented. She challenges all societal norms with tact and diplomacy (must have licked that off the ground) and spouts heart shattering wisdoms. Of course, she sneaks to the shop for sweeties on the way to school. She lies until she’s beetroot colour. And she thinks I am dreadfully boring.
Fifteen years ago, I danced around Newbold House trying to get her out of me and into the world.
Now, I am offering creative writing workshops to anyone aged fifteen or over – back at Newbold House, Forres.
Thank you World
Newbold House link

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