Cotton Wool World by Eve Westwood - HTML preview

One hundred and twenty four

I am not aboard an aircraft. I’ve got bored of pretending I am. I’ve toyed with the idea of this vague and wandering plot line for a while but I’ve decided it’s just not necessary. It’s the thought’s I’m having that I want to express. I don’t really see why I have to put myself in a situation in which to do that. I suppose I could be on a plane, or even on a bus but the truth is I’m not. I had all sorts of ideas come and go about the 120

airline plot, I was running away from something or maybe my perceptions had driven me back to something I had foolishly lost. The predictable idea of a plane crash crossed my mind fleetingly but I dismissed it early on. I could leave the reader hanging on with one of those ambiguous endings everyone hates so much. Yet as I have said, I am not on a plane, it’s not real. The rest of it is.

A story. I don’t want a book that’s the same as all the others I’ve read. I could start again. Start with Eve as a child. Follow her life as all her ambitions turn to shit and die in a most uncomfortable manner. Structure, structure, do I need to use it? I’m not sure. Without a backbone, the book might not hold together. Fuck it.

I’ve come this far.