One year ago today I randomly dropped into the abandoned Tarban Creek Lunatic Asylum or Gladesville Mental Hospital as it was eventually known.
As I wandered the winding paths, the wind whispering long lost secrets, autumn leaves screaming their crushed protests and the shadows of looming sandstone buildings settling in my bones, I felt like I was trespassing on the lives of the tortured.
Ok, so my imagination cup may have been a little overflowing after reading the plaque dedicated to the reportedly thousands of remains in unmarked graves below my feet.
However….
The tall sandstone wall enclosing the grounds held a beautiful irony. A craftsmans marker of the boundary between ‘them’ and ‘us’. Those with minds not understood or accepted by society were hidden here behind this wall, often for the benefit of others. Fascination for me, sorrow for many.
So as I stood with ‘them’ on this side of the wall, I wondered.
What if I lived during the late 1800s or early 1900s…
Would I be a lunatic?
Imagine being a woman in the 1920s and you found yourself here against your will…
All it would take is the signature of your guardian or husband and a Doctor (often on advisement of said guardian or husband).
And so this is the foundation, amongst this sandstone, that my novel idea is based on:
In the early 1920s, a young, ambitious woman finds herself admitted to a mental asylum against her will. With five days to prove herself sane, she must decide whether telling the truth is worth risking her life.
What would you do?
What sparks your imagination?
Monthly Progress Report-
Word count: 26990
Motivation: Upbeat
Xk
