How I worship divine timing

It's all beginning to make sense. The struggle to understand my current life high-growth experience may well have been worth it because I seem to have a meeting with an agent to discuss my book. I'm not a superstitious person. I believe that whatever you believe will come true; if you think that walking under a ladder brings you bad luck then it will do so. However, I'm not mentioning this hopefully wonderful agent by name just in case.

Other than my refusal to bring this particular pertinent life-detail into print I have decided that I am no longer going to edit or otherwise limit my writing because of any fear of terrible things happening to me with respect to my personal relationships with any family members, friends or men. Sorry Dad, I may well end up writing about sex; me having sex that is. Sorry Mom, I'll be writing about the life and love choices that I make that you disapprove of and even the challenges in our relationship that make you uncomfortable. Sorry to the men in my life of now or future, I may be commenting on your performance or the size of your equipment. When I end up with an agent or even a publisher - note my determination with the use of the word 'when' and not 'if' - I will have to add them to the list too.

Those of you that have never been the kind of people that worry about what others think may find my teenage-like angst most amusing or otherwise baffling but I assure you that it's very real. If we met in person you wouldn't believe it. I come across as confident and self-assured, which, in many ways I am. I've always been confident about my personality and my work, my intelligence and my social skills, while inwardly not believing I was beautiful or sexy. It's taken a long time and the dumping of a particular husband who kept me trapped in that place - with my 'permission' naturally - to get over that and realise my attractiveness. A big thank you here to the men (I feel compelled to point out of very limited numbers) that have helped me along that journey and to those that were of the same club as my ex-husband, fuck you very much.

Sadly, just as a person may give up an addiction to smoking and replace it with cream buns, I have, for some reason, replaced my lack of confidence in the area of my physical self with concerns of how my writing will be received by those that love and like me. I find writing to be an intimately revealing process; it is where I remove not only all of my clothes but my entire physical self and take my innermost thoughts and feelings and lay them onto a table for the world to peruse. The process of doing this makes such incredible sense to me personally; it feels more right as work than any other that I have done. As such I am giving myself long-overdue permission to follow this path wherever it may lead me and I can no longer apologise, limit myself or worry about the receipt of what I am doing with those people closest to my heart.

Don't even mention my kid - my wonderful six-year-old daughter Kiera. Kim, a writer friend of mine said that it's never bothered her what her parents think about what she has written but do her children really need to know of her long history with anal sex? It was only by the grace of my thankfully well-exercised pelvic floor that I didn't soak my chair before realising that she may well have opened up a whole new set of worries for me. I hadn't even thought what Kiera might think of her mother and what her mother has to say. I think it was Freud that said that children suffer most from the unfulfilled and unlived dreams of their parents. So to Kiera - Mummy is sorry, but this is my dream. I hope that you learn well from watching me reach for it. All I have ever wanted for you is for you to know how to look inside your own heart to find what you love so that you may do it. I hope that watching Mummy now, however embarrassing for you, teaches you how to do that.