Write here, right now

Note: To understand the story from the beginning click here.

I’m taking a time out for this one.

Chilling at on20130324-230358.jpge of the bars at the Southbank Centre in London, I’m armed with my iPad and a glass of red (alcohol is a theme, i know). This is where it all started two weeks ago, when I got my act together and signed up to a short blogging workshop the day before 60 postcards kicked off online. Anyone walking into this place would
struggle not to be inspired by what’s going on around them. It’s a hive of activity from folks socialising, working, a group of dancers on the bottom floor are running through their latest routine (I’m holding back from joining in). It’s definitely my kind of place.

I wanted to, and have been encouraged to, write straight up and off the cuff. This is me, right now. No prep, no planning just me and a blank page.

I’ve been completely overwhelmed – not to mention surprised – by the huge amount of support and interest I’ve received so far. I did not see that one coming. I’ve heard from family, friends – people from my past and present; those who knew mum, those who didn’t and, most incredibly, from those who have no clue who I am. I’m Rachael – nice to meet you.

My trusty online bible, Wikipedia, tells me that as of 16th Feb 2011 over 156 million public blogs were out there for the internet world to find and read. Crikey. I start off writing this for me. It’s strange how you start to look at the statistics and wonder how on earth are you supposed to stand out and gather more readers?

A couple of questions keep cropping up about this blog and so I figure I’d answer them here:

What are you going to do when the 60 postcards story finishes?

This is only the first creative endeavour of many. I’ve got plenty of ideas for my next one and hope to include readers in them too. Oh and I can talk for Britain. I probably will. The toughest thing so far has been writing about something so personal. It is also strange to be relaying this months after it happened but before you know it you will be right there with me, reading it all as it happens. 

How are you?

Grief is something that I don’t think you can ever completely define, explain or understand, whether you have lost someone or not. Every single person on this planet will deal with it in a completely different way. This project has made me extremely happy; it’s a positive to focus on and I absolutely love doing it. I’ve wanted to write for so long but just didn’t know where the hell to start! What I hadn’t predicted, though, was how much it would bring things back. Talking about mum so much, getting so many messages about her – it can be good and bad. The sleep problem has hit me again. You can control so much in your life but one thing you can’t is what happens when you sleep. You know when you have a bad dream and you wake up feeling emotionally exhausted? You calm yourself down and tell yourself it was just a dream. I can’t even explain the pain of realising it wasn’t – that she really is gone.

My glass of wine is done and the place is now emptying out. I hope you don’t mind me taking a step back from the adventure for tonight. I will return back to the tales of 60 postcards next time.

This has been me – writing here, right now.

Over and out.


Published by rachaelchadwick

🔸Author - 60 Postcards, Agent - Bell Lomax Moreton 🔸Co-Director @actionforsama 🔸Media + Comms @thepositivebirthcompany 🔹Dorset + LDN

7 thoughts on “Write here, right now

  1. Hello Rach. The Canadian wing of the family is avidly reading your posts too. Thanks for doing this. Its been over a year, but I still find the emotions are close to the surface when I think of Viv. I guess things stay raw longer when it’s your younger sister who has passed away.

    Recently, after years of talking about it, I’ve actually started to sort through box after box of photographs and naturally some of my favourites are the ones of the family. Many of these are of our holidays in Devon, Cornwall, Morzine, Stressa and in and around Northumberland of course. As I worked my way through them I came across photo’s of our cottage near Wells and was of course reminded of the “killer-cow” incident. It’s now part of family folklore, but for those who don’t know, Viv managed to convince five adults and at least six children that our only hope of surviving a walk across a meadow was to climb a fence and wade across a stream to escape a cow that was getting uncomfortably close. Now it turned out this cow was the most friendly creature ever to walk the planet, but to Viv it was a threat to her family and she had to act. With hindsight we may have overreacted a bit that day, but Viv was driven to protect her brood and none of us were going to stop her.

    Looking forward to more posts R. Thinking about Viv and the Chadwick’s often.

  2. I totally get what you say about grief affecting everybody differently. My dad 4 years ago after a very short illness. During that illness my world fell apart and it was almost like a release when he passed away and a switch was flicked inside me. 4 years on I still have difficulty remembering so much about my dad and I worked with him for 25 years too… I hope there comes a time when the memories come back 🙂 Keep up the blog it is absolutely fascinating 🙂

  3. Hope you know I am an avid reader and when I first read why you were writing had a little tear in my eye but joy in my heart keep it up love Steve xx
    Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless device

  4. Rach loving this and keeping mum my best friend viv alive! Love you xxx
    Hope Dad ok! Geoff and him best mates and best men at weddings! xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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