Always Lock the Doors – a True Crime memoir

I have returned to study an MA in Creative Writing with the intention of completing the project I've been working on for ten years. One of the challenges I've faced when writing memoir, is feeling obliged to justify my writing as a therapeutic survival story - to defend the societal idea of autobiography as pure solipsism.

Although this idea has not been directed towards this project personally, I certainly feel its presence in the literary and academic world in which I have re entered. Nonfiction currently holding top place for betselling books worldwide - poetry and fiction appear to be regarded as the superior literary art. As a writer of all genres and forms, this is somewhat disappointing and undermines the heart of literature and its important place in humanity - storytelling. Without the audience, without the reader, who is there to share our experience - our writing - and connect with?

So I continue on this writing journey; learning and reworking, adapting and editing - until I have completed the manuscript to a standard I am happy with. And I remind myself that if I had access to a book like this at the time of the incident, I may have taken from it some hope, comfort, and a little reassurance that everything would be ok eventually. That's enough motivation to keep me going.

Here is a short extract from my book in progress, with a link to an article by Lee Gutkind on why creative nonfiction is gaining the respect it deserves.

I looked in my rear view mirror: the kids looked back with blank faces. I said a prayer in my head. I pleaded with God to make it all go away. He must see Emily and Ethan in the back? Please no, please don’t do this. ‘GET OUT OF THE CAR!’ His growl was more vicious now. He was getting impatient. A flash of silver up his sleeve convinced me he had a gun. I choked on the lump in my throat and my heart raced loud in my ears. Oh God, why is this happening? I was paralyzed with fear. There was no fight or flight, my body had failed me but my mind continued to race. Shall I try to fight him off....What if he uses that weapon ...In front of the children! I didn’t get time to decide. Yanking me by the back of the neck he threw me from my seat. I fell face down into the pavement and heard the driver door slam. He’s going to take them…Someone please help me! I scrambled up, helplessly reaching out for the back door handle on Emily’s side as some sort of attempt to stop the already moving vehicle. My fingertips brushed the handle as the car screeched off in a cloud of burning tyre. I ran after it. He mounted the curb, took the left bend at a crazy angle… and disappeared out of sight. ‘NOOOOOOO!’ I got my voice back, and it screamed out of me. I had never experienced this type of reaction before. I had no control. My movements, my voice, my emotion, everything was on automatic. I felt such loss. I had lost my children. It was like watching a preview of a movie…an outer body experience. I was disconnected but completely present in that horrific moment. ‘Oh my GODDD!!’ I screamed, tears burning my face. ‘He’s got my kids!’ I shook as I cried, I was frantic. I sprinted to the top of the road. I turned back. I ran the other way; I stopped, I sobbed. This is crazy. Is this really happening?