My sister Awly wrote three books, two of which were published: The Bluebell Wood and The Black Swan. She was apologetic about them, saying that they were merely light romances, exercises in style designed to prove to herself that she was capable of telling a story and getting it published. I read her last book in manuscript form not long before she died and, as far as I can remember at this distance in time, it was more ambitious and more rewarding than the first two (which I hadn't read at the time). Looking back now, I am convinced that she was "feeling her way", learning the mechanics of the craft, and that she would have gone on to greater things.
Awly had to write within the straightjacket imposed by the Mills & Boon formula and never took her books seriously. But I do not think it is possible to write much about anything or anyone without revealing something of one's own self. Even within the confines of her chosen genre, her unique and lovely personality shines through the pages and is immediately apparent to all those who knew and loved her. What was that personality? I lack the talent to pin it down in words and British reserve would anyway hinder me in my endeavours. Infinite generosity of spirit, a sense of bubbling mischief with an undertone of wistful yearning?
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