After a story developing (a bit like a storm) overnight, I had to find time today to put it down before I lost the intracacies of it or it became stale. And “The Chameleon” was born. So excited by my efforts I rushed downstairs and asked Mum if she wanted to read it. The first time I’ve possibly let her read any of my writing since I became an adult. Then had a moment were I realised there was swearing in it, violent deaths and a rather lurid mention of sex.
Turns out she loved it. Then got herself bent out of shape later when we were discussing the microchipping of humans (which is a prominent feature in all my sci-fi stories). Gratefully, micro chip or not micro chip she still loves the story… and the bonus, I am actually ploughing away successfully at my goals for this month. Now to sow and reap the rewards.
PS: just thinking – I might rename this story Chameleon Nightmares on a twist of the name Chameleon Dreams an album by Kiwi songstress, Margaret Urlich’s, which I have from the early 90’s.
Pursuing Parallels 
So cool about you mum, I asked mum to read one of my stories once and she said ‘I don’t think I’d be interested in that sort of thing’. Oh well.
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It has been a long time coming and I wasn’t sure given the subject matter she’s been into it. But I walked back down and I got her at a crucial moment of the story and saw her face change into that shocked expression you get when someone turns the tables on you.
Turns out she’s been reading crime novels recently. And doesn’t seem too worry that I write dark weird shit (as my partner so aptly puts it!)
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Congratulations on getting a good reception with your mum. I remember my mum reading one of my shorts and finding it quite violent.
I might have to show them a copy of my zine when I go up there, and then take a 365 photo inspired by yours.
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I was worried about the “stabbing to death” comment and actually toned down what I wrote about the sex knowing I was going to get her to look at it. How old were you when you let your Mum read one of your shorts. Think my Mum would have been less accomodating of this sort of story 15 years ago (age 21) than she is now.
She did ask me this morning if I ever wrote anything ‘happy’ – ummmm, no!
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I think I would’ve been like 20 or 21. Perhaps she’ll take me more seriously now the older I get but also get the questions from family about not writing ‘happy’ things.
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