7-7-7

I've been tagged by Lisa Shambrook in the 7-7-7 meme.

Here’s the idea: Go to either page 7 or 77 of your current manuscript (or work in progress). Count down 7 lines, then copy the next 7 lines and post them up. After that, name 7 more authors to come out and play.

My current manuscript is 'Sleep' (working title) and this is the extract from Page 7 of it. Enjoy and feel free to comment.


It had worked, they were in synch. So it had only been a matter of time until the next step. 

It had been a long time since she had recalled any of the soft, gentler feelings she’d had towards him. She hadn’t dared; it hurt too much. And she’d been too consumed with rage. Now the rage was gone - she had quelled it. 

Lizzy felt the van start to slow down, and saw the steps of the court house ahead through the windscreen. 

And 7 authors to tag?

Susi Holliday
Matt Sloan
Jessica Maybury
Michael Sands
Mark Ethridge
Anna Meade
Cara Michaels

(Some writers are posting it to Facebook, so feel free to post there if you like).

Twelfth Night Masquerade Flash Fiction Contest #No.2

On seeing this second picture on the Pinterst Board the eyes spoke to me and I had to write about him.

I hope you enjoy my second entry.

He blinked but you couldn’t miss those eyes, not even in the half light of the woodland; they flashed and sparkled, marking him out.

He danced quickly away, but I wasn’t going to lose track of him. My eyes were locked on his figure, which flickered in and out amongst the shadows of the trees and the others who pranced around with him.

The display was heart felt; they all wanted to be taken home that night, bearing their all – or at least their half naked bodies. The dance was full of hope edged with desperation, with a few dancing as close as they were permitted, to attract the attention of the best owners. But he teased, which made me smile, and he acknowledged my gaze upon him.

He drew nearer each time he cycled daring to meet my eyes - a risky endeavour at this stage and one that could get him pulled out. But I didn’t mind, I wanted those eyes on me, I yearned to see the face free of the smudged mask, I wanted him to be mine.

As the music escalated and the dancing became more frenzied, I held my breath, making sure I would be in time with my vote, not wanting to risk losing him and never seeing those eyes again.

The drums rolled and the dancers froze and the master took his place. The moment the gravel came down on the block hands went up in the air showing the numbers they wanted. I daren't look at any others, only looking at the master’s eyes, waiting for him to acknowledge me and give me my vote.

It felt like time slowed down as I waited for his movement to show in my direction. I saw him nod at others his head slowly turning, and then finally it came, a fraction of a nod, and I almost collapsed with relief breathing freely at last.

I queued with the others eager to sign, eager to become an owner. When he saw me his eyes flashed in surprised and he resisted a smile. I didn’t and beamed at him, taking little notice of the pad I had to scrawl on to claim him.

He followed behind me as I led him away to my home, careful to follow protocol; no talking, no touching. But as soon as the door was shut behind us I spun round and clasped his face in my hands, staring into those eyes that I had missed for so many years. His hands covered mine with as much speed, his lips seeking my fingers to kiss tenderly, as he returned the gaze of longing.

“I found you at last! I won’t ever let them take you again.”

And a single teardrop drew a line through the black painted mask.

468 Words

(for my first entry go here, and for details of the contest go to From Darcy to Dionysus,)

Twelfth Night Masquerade Flash Fiction Contest #No.1

The wonderful Meg McNulty has come up with a wonderful idea for a Flash Fiction Contest over on her site From Darcy to Dionysus, and I could not resist when I found this first picture on the Pinterst Board dedicated to it. (There was another, that will be coming soon).

Enjoy!

Elizabeth hadn’t expected to be invited, so when the postman rang the doorbell her stomach lept at the sight of the envelope; the gold filigree giving away the contents.  But when he produced a parcel from another sender, she was a little puzzled.

She found the contents enchanting; the mask and ballet shoes in her favourite colour, which matched her dress perfectly. But there was no note with it, or return address, so who had sent them to her?

The shoes were a perfect fit as she twirled around the lounge trying them out, remembering the steps she had learnt at the academy. Then a question came into her head and she stopped mid step, how did they know her size as well as the colour? 

Everyone at the academy knew purple was her favourite colour, there was no mystery there, but her shoe size was different; she could only think of a handful of people that might.

These thoughts slowed Elizabeth’s preparations, but not her excitement as she donned her petite tulle-bottomed dress that evening. The ballet shoes set it off perfectly, and she left her hair down to help the mask obscure her face.

          
As the taxi pulled away, leaving her at the steps to the great hall, butterflies took flight in her stomach. But she donned the mask, taking courage from its anonymity and joined the others making their way inside.

Feelings of apprehension were soon forgotten when Elizabeth found everyone inside was as concealed as she was. A sense of freedom took over as she agreed to dance upon dance with men she could only guess the identity of, due to speaking while dancing being strictly forbidden.

But then there was one who whispered in her ear and almost caused her to lose her footing. “Are they comfortable? I knew they’d look beautiful on your dainty feet.”

Elizabeth could only study the eyes and mouth of her masked dance partner; the hard black lines of intricate inlaid spirals obscuring most of his face and giving nothing away.

At the end of the dance he let her go without a word, moving away to engage with other guests. She stood bereft, still not recognising his manner, although there his carriage and stance were familiar. Who was he?

The next couple of dances she may as well have been floating for all the presence she gave her suitor; her mind gone, searching for a further clue to the identity of the man behind the black mask.

It was only during a dance where they had to change partners and he appeared in front of her again, that she returned. She searched his face with intent and curiosity and he smiled, whispering again, “I’ve always been here, you just never saw me before.”

And that was it; she knew and laughed out loud, letting him swing her round faster. And then, at the end, he swept her into his arms and she met his lips for a kiss.

499 Words

The Next Big Thing

I was tagged to participate in the Next Big Thing by two wonderful writer friends: Mark Etheridge (My Soul's Tears) & Laura Jamez (Office Mango) And although I had already done this in another form some time ago ( 'Inspired Blog Hop' ) I decided to repeat it, as I am now working on a different novel.

Have a read:

What is the title of your Work in Progress?

Sleep – this is a working title, although I do like it.

Where did the idea come from for the book?

Back in 1991, I wrote a short 800 word piece for a competition to win a James Herbert book (Portent). I didn’t get anywhere with the competition but I liked the piece and always wanted to ‘grow’ it into a novel, but knew I wasn’t up to the task then. Now I think I am. 

What genre does your book fall under?

Psychological thriller – although not a murder mystery – the murder is no mystery at all!

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Although my books run as movies in my head as I write them, I never see present day actors as them or even think of casting them, so I find it very hard to do. 

Sandra Bullock comes to mind, as she could pull off the lead quite well – physically and in terms of acting ability. For pure acting ability, Charlize Theron, or Hilary Swank. 

What is a one-sentence synopsis of the book?

Lizzy Dyson is a woman pushed to the edged and passed, by her husband, who she murders along with his lover in their marital bed, and the ensuing trail discloses what pushed her. 

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

I hope to go the traditional route – by an agent or even direct to publisher where possible.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Still in progress – only started in November 2012 so not far in yet.

What other books would you compare this story to in your genre?

Books would be hard, but the film ‘Falling Down’ with Michael Douglas is how I see it, or a reverse of this, where the audience sympathises with the main character at the end.

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

A competition, coupled with a struggling relationship I was in at the time, which would make me very angry. The short piece I wrote captured an essence of an idea and one I hope to do justice to. 

In terms of overall inspiration to write a book – especially a book that will hopefully capture the reader and draw them in – I have to turn to the authors that draw me in – such as Stephen King, Clive Barker and James Herbert. They are who I cut my teeth on so to speak. 

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

As each person is brought into the court room as either character witness or to give evidence, Lizzy remembers what part they played and the events that led to her own mental demise.

As I was tagged twice for this, and every one I can think of who might participate has already been tagged, I'm going to skip it this time round. 

Diet Coke Flash Fiction

I have been inspired by a photo taken by the husband of a good writer friend Susi Holliday and titled simply 'Art'.

I was caught between the bright jovial display, that glitters with it's symmetry and synchronicity, contrasted with the content of what it displayed; a large amount of Diet Coke cans. The juxtaposition of such a commercial object, drunk in such quantity, with its controversial health risks (in my view anyway), being used in such an off the wall artist way, begged to be written about, or in this case 'Flashed' about.

So encouraged by my writer friend, that is what I did. Enjoy.
 

Diet Coke 

They said that it was the sugar in the coke that was the problem, but they were wrong. Plus it was diet anyway, so there was no sugar.

He counted out the white pegs to make sure he had enough. Then he measured the distance of the line, calculating the breaks between, before he started hanging them. It had to be right, otherwise it would look silly.

The cans glittered in the sunlight. The pegs just catching the top of the ring pulls, so they had room to move in the breeze. He smiled; she would have liked them, and she would have smiled. He faltered, his arm outstretched about to hang another one.

That was where it had begun, with her smile. It had started to decay - not metaphorically but literally.

He continued to hang them and turned them so that their labels displayed the same way. They had to be uniform. Then he took a count – there had to be an even number too.

As each tooth had crumbled, the dentist had grown increasing puzzled. He’d asked her to start listing what she ate. And when he first pointed out the regularity of the cola on the list, she thought it must have been the sugar and had switched to Diet. But then she’d broken her wrist. No accident, no fall, just a quick flick of the wrist to switch off the light and snap!

As he appreciated the contrast of the glaring red ‘Coke’ on the silver background, he remembered the blood test results, the words ‘advanced Osteoporosis’ ringing out and wandering round his head, trying to find a place.

He heard a crumpling sound from his hand and saw he’d dented the can he was holding. He threw it on the ground and picked up another; a clean, smooth one. He stroked it and hung it up, admiring its clean lines, its brightness, and the innocence with which it had held its poison.

It was then that they had heard about phosphates, and in particular Phosphoric Acid and its corrosive properties, particularly on bones. The funny thing was how dumb it was really; everyone knew about the coca cola tooth test, everyone had seen the pile of dust the tooth had become overnight. It was fact, not fiction. But they all kept drinking it.

He placed the last one at the end by the birdhouse. He didn’t think they would mind; birds liked sparkly things. He looked back along the row, looking closely at the gaps between making sure they looked equal, symmetrical.

Then he took the camera and stood back. She’d love it. He would lay it on her grave that afternoon.

Second NaNoWriMo snippet

So time for a taste of my new novel 'Sleep'.

It's proving quite hard to get into, as the way is not yet clear, but it's coming. Plus my writing time has been scuppered by work demands, so I have had less time to focus, and have fallen way behind with my NaNoWriMo word count.

But here's a piece to entice you:

As the van jolted forward with the light change, her mind jolted back to their first night in their new home together. They had decided to not move into either one of their existing homes, but to do this properly and move into a new place they had chosen together; a nice three bed semi.

They had settled in well, and found an easy rhythm. They created date nights and nights in together. Their first holiday abroad had been thrilling, both enjoying the same type of beach holidays; part lazing on the beach; part discovering the history of the Greek island they had picked. It had worked, they were in synch. So it had only been a matter of time until the next step.

It had been a long time since she had recalled any of the soft, gentler feelings she’d had towards him. She hadn’t dared; it hurt too much. And she’d been too consumed with rage. Now the rage was gone - she had quelled it.

Lizzy felt the van start to slow down, and saw the steps of the court house ahead through the windscreen. She saw all the people gathered there and wondered what they were there for. As the van pulled up she could hear the noise of them; their rage.

The guard raised his eyebrows at her and held up a blanket. She looked at him stone faced and then at the blanket. If nothing else it would protect her from the spit.

She stood up and lowered her head, and he swept it round her as the back doors opened. He clutched her shoulders helping her out, knowing she couldn’t step far with the ankle cuffs.

The roar increased as she stepped out, the blanket blocking her view of them. She felt relief from that, but knew the shuffle up the steps was going to be one of humiliation.

It was like walking through a lightening storm as the flashes went off left and right, streaking through the material of the blanket, heating up her face. When she reached the court house entrance she sensed a gathering of people behind her, and heard the warning voices of police telling people to keep their distance. Then the silence of the marble interior of the foyer deafened her as the doors were closed. Someone pulled the blanket off her head, leaving it to rest on her shoulders, and she saw her team of lawyers standing there waiting for her. Everything was hushed in here, and she was manoeuvred into one of the side rooms for the briefing. 

NaNoWriMo

For those that don't know, NaNoWriMo stands for National November Writing Month - where any and all aspiring, and already successful writers, attempt to write 50,000 words in a month. Many begin a new project, a new novel, but the idea is to just keep writing, no looking back, no editing - just write!

There is a website to sign up on and keep log of your word count, with a lovely little graph to show you whether you are on track, and there is also a forum and you can link to any friends you have who are also taking part - your 'buddies'.

This is my third attempt. Last year I only reached 20,000 words, but considering I had a work project running, it was really hard to keep on track. And although the same has happened this year too - a work project (maybe two) has started up alongside it - I have so far been able to stay on track and have breached over 11,000 words in just one week.

But this year I have a much larger support group, who are all writers of vary degrees, and whom I stay connected with through Twitter. We help motivate each other on a daily basis, in particular with what we call 'Word Mongering' sessions, where you go for 'writing sprints' on the hour or the half hour, and write for intervals of 30 minutes and see how many words you can achieve. 

It was during one of these sessions that the idea to post a piece of your unedited work came from. So here I am to do exactly that. I am doing two projects for NaNoWriMo this year: finishing my novel Jade, and starting another novel Sleep.

I am down to the last couple of scenes of Jade, which is about an exclusive nightclub owner called Michael Nelson who has a secret, when that secret comes out all hell breaks lose both personally and professional. This scene is near the end, and is presently a favourite of mine (although it might need more work). So here it is, in all its unedited glory!

John looked at Kate and they both smiled. Kate said, “I don’t know what you said to her that night in the club when she went to talk to you, but you’ve earnt her undying respect! She’s changed her allegiance and been trying to get me to talk to you for a while now.”

“Really? I just put my foot down; wouldn’t put up with her drama, or screaming accusations. She just needed someone to be firm with her.”

Kate laughed. “People have tried that before, it had to be more than that.”

Michael shrugged. “I only insisted on how much I loved you. Told her I wanted to marry you. Could it have been that?’

Kate looked shocked. “You still want to marry me? And you told her that?”

“Yes, I do, and yes I did.”

Kate blushed.

“But this isn’t my official proposal. I think we should wait until I know if I’m of any use to you before making any kind of commitment. I have no idea what state I’m going to be in after this operation heals.” He grinned and she laughed.

“It’s not all about that and you know it!”

“I know, but it does matter.”

“Not to me.”

John interrupted. “Erm, hello? Have you two forgotten I’m still here?”

“No, not at all, you can bear witness to it.”

“Yes John, you can bear witness to the fact that I have just accepted Michael’s marriage proposal.”

Michael’s smile turned to one of elation. “Are you sure? I don’t want you rushing into anything; we need to do a lot of talking first.”

“I know that, but I don’t want to waste anymore time. These last few weeks have shown me one thing; I don’t want you out of my life. I loved who we were together and I want to find that again.”

Michael knew he couldn’t lean forward and kiss her, so he pulled her to him instead. This time he ignored the pain in his face and kissed her for a long time, a hand on each side of her face as he did so.  Only John clearing his throat finally stopped them.

“Sorry John, it had to be done.”

“I know, but it’s not nice feeling all green and hairy!”

They all laughed.