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I can't remember which book it was referring to but I recently read about the opening paragraph of a novel, described as shocking, or some other word, because it said something like 'I fucking hate my mother'. I mentioned in an earlier post that I was working on the idea of a history of a mad mother, and this is the opening paragraph of the first draft:

It was my mother's funeral. Nice day for it. A cold snap in the air that made black gloves advisable, but the sun shone in a single concentrated ray. It felt like bathing in an Icelandic spa. Not that I have. I bet you're wondering whether I shed a tear. Well, no, I didn't. It did occur to me to force it for the benefit of the few others present - bit I couldn't be bothered, really. It would have been too much like trying to shit gold. I hated her. But you'd probably already guessed, right? From the age of two she had routinely, and without any effort, smashed each and every myth attached to that holier than thou 'vocation' of motherhood. Bitch.
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