Walking through the living room, I heard something from the historical program my husband was watching—something about the discovery of the Venus de Milo. Instantly, I remembered my fascination with her and knew I wanted to write about her.
When I was very young I'd seen a photo of the statue and I was puzzled. The statue was famous, and didn't anyone notice she was broken? I didn't get it. If no one else seemed overly concerned then I would not speak up. This emperor has no clothes and no arms.
But I didn't stop being concerned about her arms. When I was a child, somehow, a mannequin hand ended up at my house. If an old mannequin hand is tossed aside, what child can resist it?
To this day, I imagine a little boy running around on the island where the statue was discovered. He's chasing the other kids with the arm of the Venus. I really believe that is why the Venus has no arms. They were just too hard for a child to resist.
As an adult, that arm was too hard for me to resist. I ran with it, and finally, finally, I can stop worrying about the statue with no arms.
My upcoming novel now has an official name..
When the story was just a blip in my imagination, I referred to it as "The Ship Story." Then, when it was a few pages long and a work-in-progress, I labeled the file Melos for the name of the island where the story begins. Now it has a real name. I feel like I need to re-introduce myself to it, and I will, this weekend as I read over it again one last time--or ten last times--before sending it out into the world.
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