She needed to move on generally. Her career was stagnating and what was she doing about it? Applying for a job as a Junior Reporter was not one of her best ideas as finding out that she was an under-qualified junior hack further deflated her withering self-confidence. All those years spent churning out radical feminist articles for one of the UK’s leading magazines to be told she was under-qualified. Was this really what she had been reduced to?
Always blame the mother. A phrase that is so often bandied about, but in Lisa’s case, it was justified. She would never have left her job or London had it not been for one of her mother’s unmitigated disasters. Heavens to Betsy! That woman had a great deal to answer for. If she hadn’t been born at home, Lisa’s would have laid odds on a switched at birth scenario.
Her mother had tried to ruin Lisa’s life, or at least de-rail it, on more than one occasion and at forty, she was still trying to make herself less available to her demanding mother, but she never quite managed it. She was the one living in the country and her mother was living the high life in Belgravia with all the family money as well as the late lamented Arthur’s Coots account.
Suddenly, she had a light bulb moment and she hadn’t had one of those for years. Perhaps she should write a novel? Yes. What an excellent idea! There had certainly been enough going on throughout her life that could be drafted into a page-turner. She rubbed her hands together. The thought far from fazed her, it excited her. Why on earth hadn’t she thought of that before? The only thing she was confident she could do was to write.
She would write a spoof about her own life, loosely disguised as fiction. Truth is supposed to be stranger than fiction and there was no better example than her own dysfunctional upbringing.