To forgive him she must forgive herself. Only forgiveness will bring back her daughter.
Of all seven stories, in some ways Hunter was the hardest. I’ve done at least some parts of each of the other women’s lives—Hunter? Not even. It isn’t that I’ve never danced but certainly nothing more than for pleasure. The idea of choreographing a dance?
So how did I come to write Hunter’s Story.
A leap of faith.
I spent time looking up ballet terminology because I knew Hunter had had dance lessons as a child as had I in elementary school. I remembered taking ballroom dance lessons in 8th grade and I’ve watched ballroom dance competitions on PBS. And my best friend is a belly dancer. Beyond that I drew upon my own experience that there are times when, in order to sort something out, I must Move. Using that as a framework for the dance part of the story, I began.
At the turn of the century (I love that phrase), I began having visions so lucid and real I heard the voices of these women and could see them in my mind’s eye. Since I’m not a very visual person that stayed with me even more than the voices.
I saw her twirling around her dance studio, working out through movement, the challenges that faced her. Writing the chapters where she couldn’t leap and twirl, I also felt stifled.
Hunter comes from a wealthy East Coast family. She’s a trust fund baby—except she isn’t. In order to protect her daughter, she makes her own way in the world. A world that is destroyed by the appearance of her daughter’s biological father.
Bridging the gap of eighteen years, finding a healing path for Hunter, her daughter and the love-of-her-life all those summers ago—I’m grateful that my writing groove kicked in and parts of the story just appeared on the computer screen.
The concepts I learned with my work with The William Glasser Institute is a subtle but integral part of all my stories. If you know Dr. Glasser’s Choice Theory and Reality Therapy, you’ll see it. And if you want to learn more about Dr. Glasser click here.