TUESDAY 17TH MARCH 2009.
It’s a wet day today and I am glad.
It’s also exactly the second week of my maternity leave and I couldn’t ask for anything more.
I just recently had my first child, a beautiful baby girl with brown eyes, whose laughter never ceased to put a smile on my face.
I have a live-in nurse that helps me take care of her.
Life is very good.
I decide to sleep in today and get up at exactly 10 am.
My editor, Mrs. Grace, God bless her soul, she called me a week earlier saying, ‘Hello Sarah, good morning and congratulations on your new baby, I have sent a truckload of toys and baby food for our little angel, see this as my way of appreciating you. You have been delivering best sellers and I sure can’t wait to read your new book’.
Writing had always been a thing of ease for me. It has always been something that just flowed, never forced. I had written my first work when about seven years old, but I didn’t get published until when I was in high school, when my story about the futility of life was published in our school yearbook.
I had already gone halfway in writing my seventh novel, ‘The darkest light’ when I got pregnant with my first child. It’s about a girl, Amanda and her journey, battling low self esteem and asthma.
Ever since I gave birth to the baby, writing became miserable for me. It felt like the door to my imagination, where I meet with my little friends was slammed shut.
I picked up my pen to write.
‘Kate was the most beautiful girl in the eight grade.
She turned the heads of many -a-boy and was sure to be elected as the class queen,
She always held that title and no one had come close to challenging her, she was flawless.’
Just as I began to feel the stream of imagination coming back,
I heard the loud wail of my child and the soft voice of the nurse telling me that it’s time to breastfeed the baby. I knew that that ends today’s writing. I sadly placed my pen on the table, stood up and followed her to the baby’s room.