Just under 1,500 words today puts me well on track to reach 50,000 by the end of November, but it's my guess the writing will become more difficult the closer I come generationally to those still living. Although I have no intention of bringing it up to the present day, I'm ever aware of the need to tread with sensitivity the closer I get to two or three generations removed from the present. For me this translates to less intense research, but deeper consideration for every word I place on the page - a slow process.
Excerpt from day 5 NaNoWriMo
Although I denied it at the time, fearful of gaol and all that entailed, I’ve no problem now admitting the obvious. While out of character, not that I was above using whatever means at my disposal for survival, I did commit the crime. As soon as I learnt Appleyard worked for Youl my mind was made up, as I couldn’t see past the misery a person of that same name had caused my stepfather and I’d often wondered how much the unfair and brutal treatment had contributed to his need to lose himself in the drink. I had no time for the privileged who’d made their fortunes off the backs of convict slavery. This Youl in question had money, and lots of it, and it didn’t take much tweaking of the imagination to convince myself this was ill-gotten gains made at the expense of James Gadbury and other unfortunates. From there it was a short step to seeing it as money that should have come to my mother through James and through her, to me. Even with the passing years there is nothing that would convince me otherwise and my abhorrence for the landed gentry continues.
Following my conviction I was transferred to Hobart gaol. Built by convicts in 1821, it was well past its use by date by the time I arrived and, even though transportation had ceased almost thirty years before, the same overcrowded conditions continued as ex-convicts and new settlers alike served their sentences out here. Still, having been born in captivity, I adjusted quickly to my surroundings and culture, working quietly toward an early release.
Although I gave my age as twenty-eight when I was arrested this, as always, was only a guess. I’d actually already passed forty when I was sentenced and knew instinctively the probability of bearing a child of my own was disappearing with each passing day, something I resolved to rectify at the earliest possible opportunity. On getting out of gaol I moved to Longford, a town close enough to be familiar but far enough away from Deloraine, I thought, to give me some anonymity as I began yet another new life.