Anya Violetta

 

Synopsis:

Dr Loretta James has come to the small country town of Noojee to look after colleague, Dr Wilson’s country practice for a month whilst he goes away on holiday. She thinks she’s in for a relaxed month of work compared to the city hospital she works in but, when her patients start getting murdered, she realises that what she’s in for is a far cry from her original expectations- especially when she is the main suspect in the investigations.

Genre: Crime fiction (with a twist of romance)

 

I

 

It was a cold winter’s night when Dr Loretta James walked into the Noojee Hotel, exhausted from her long drive and hungry. She was disappointed to see that the pub was empty, excepting the two teenage girls playing a game of pool in the corner and the stout, middle-aged bar lady. If she had her way, the pub would have been full so that she could have kept her head down whilst eating without being asked any questions.

Chewing her lip nervously, she went up to the bar.

‘What can I getcha, love?’ the bar lady asked in a strong country accent, chewing her gum loudly. Her name tag said that her name was Julie.

‘Uh… a glass of the house red and… do you serve meals here?’

‘Sure, love. We’ve got a pot n’ parma special for ten bucks- but you can have your wine instead of the pot if you want.’

‘Thanks, I’ll do that,’ Loretta smiled, handing over the money and taking a seat at the bar.

‘Here’s your change, love.’

‘Thanks. Quiet night, is it?’ Loretta said, motioning around the empty pub.

Julie frowned.

‘Nah, it’s usually pretty quiet here.’

Loretta looked surprised and Julie smiled ruefully.

‘Most folks here buy their piss from us but go home to drink it.’

Loretta nodded.

‘Are there many people in the town?’ she asked, taking a sip of the wine and grimacing at the horrible quality of it.

Julie shrugged.

‘A hundred or so. Say, are you staying or just passing through?’

‘I’m staying, actually. Just got here- I’m taking over Dr Wilson’s clinic whilst he goes on holiday. Loretta James.’

‘Julie North,’ Julie said, shaking Loretta’s hand.

From Julie’s knowing smile, Loretta guessed that many people were probably very well aware of her coming to town.

‘Ah yes. We’ve been expecting you. You’re staying at Dr Wilson’s house, aren’t you?’

Loretta nodded and tucked into the parma which Julie had just set in front of her. She didn’t care how fattening it was or how bad those saturated fats must were for her- she was so ravenous that it anything could have been served to her and she would have eaten it.

‘Dr Wilson’s a real good doctor. Well-liked and respected amongst the town, he is.’

Loretta smiled cautiously. She wasn’t quite sure what Julie was insinuating with this statement.

‘Well he’s certainly an excellent doctor. He’s still talked about back at the Alfred in Melbourne.’

‘Noojee’s very lucky to have such a doctor,’ Julie nodded. ‘We’re all scared that he’ll never come back from his holiday.’

Loretta looked at Julie, at a loss for words. Eventually, she cleared her throat.

‘If you’re worried that I’ll want to take over his practise here, Julie, then I can assure you that there’s no chance of that happening. I’m booked up with patients back in Melbourne from the start of next month. Either way, I can assure you that Dr Wilson will return to Noojee.’

Julie gave Loretta a small, non-telling smile and Loretta sighed and stood up.

‘Well thanks for the parma. I suppose I’d better get going- Dr Wilson’s expecting me.’

‘Sure, love,’ Julie said, returning to her previous jovial self. ‘You have a good evening now.’

Loretta smiled and left the pub. She sighed as she got in the car. No, she didn’t have any experience with living in the country, but she knew enough to know that if Julie wasn’t happy about her arrival to town, it was likely that everyone else in town felt the same way about her.

A few minutes later, she had arrived at Dr Wilson’s house and it was exactly as she expected. It was a two-storey cottage with a neatly manicured front garden consisting of box hedges and perfectly pruned rose bushes.

‘Loretta,’ Dr Wilson smiled warmly as he opened the door and welcomed her into the house. ‘Good to see you. How was the drive up?’

Loretta shivered as she stepped into the warmth of the house and smiled as she saw a roaring log fire in the living room.

‘No problems on the freeway, so it was good as far as I’m concerned. What about you- are you all prepared for your big holiday?’

Dr Wilson grinned, his grey eyes twinkling and as he motioned for her to take a seat in one of the brown leather armchairs, in front of the fireplace.

‘Oh, I’ve been prepared for this trip for quite some time.’

‘Lucky you- going on a holiday. Where are you going, by the way?’

‘I’m staying pretty close to home, actually. I’m just visiting relatives around Australia,’ he said, twirling a lock of his grey hair and clearing his throat as he rose and walked over to the drink stand.  

Loretta sighed and stared into the fire, admiring the amber flames.

‘But surely it must be great to have a break from the constant pressure of seeing patients? I know on some days I just get so sick of a few of those nutcase patients that I don’t care if they live of die. Unfortunately, those hypochondriac patients are usually the ones that live forever and never have anything life-threateningly wrong with them anyway.’

‘Then you’ll be needing this,’ Dr Wilson laughed, handing Loretta a whiskey. ‘Cheers to your time in Noojee.’

‘Cheers,’ Loretta agreed, chinking her tumbler with his. ‘Please tell me that your patients here are generally easy-going. I’ve just come out of a hell rotation in surgery at the Alfred and could really do with a relief from the stress.’

Dr Wilson screwed up his nose.

‘Unfortunately, my dear, there will always be those patients wherever you go and I can assure you that there are a handful of such patients here.’

Loretta sighed and ran a hand through her curly brown hair.

‘You seem well-liked here, though. I had a bite of dinner at the pub before I came here and Julie couldn’t speak more highly of you.’

Dr Wilson’s mouth became taut.

‘She’s… a trying patient.’

‘Really?’ Loretta asked, genuinely surprised.

‘She comes in every week,’ Dr Wilson sighed.

‘Oh well…. Maybe she has a crush on you?’

Dr Wilson laughed.

‘The way she abuses me when she comes in- I hardly think so. They’re all like that, really. But then you say something about leaving and they treat you better than God Himself.’

They sat in silence and, for a few minutes, the only sound was the crackling of the fire.

‘Well! I have an early start tomorrow- as do you! You’ll need to arrive at the clinic by 7am so that Mrs Johansen can show you the ropes before you start for your 9am patient.’

Loretta nodded and tried to suppress a yawn.

‘Here, let me show you to your room,’ Dr Wilson smiled, patting her knee and standing up and walking to the staircase. 

 

A/N:  Ok! I have just returned from a short weekend away to my grandfather's farm and have come back with a fresh idea for a new story. If there is any author who I adore (apart from JK), it is Agatha Christie. For some reason, each time I've gone to my grandfather's farm, I've had ideas of murder stories coming to me and now I have fully formulated a plan for this story and intend to see this one completely finished (unlike the last 2 stories I've posted up here). 

Now! You might think that that first chapter didn't tell you much, but it was actually was quite important. How? That's for me to know and you to find out! 
And I know that it’s been a while since I wrote anything original so I may be a little rusty. Please give me constructive criticism so I can improve as best as I can! 
Much love,
Anya

 

Now, sushi is good, great, perhaps one of the greatest foods invented by man. It's healthy, filling, affordable, convenient and can even be sexy- if you take a leaf from Sex and the City's Samantha's  book.
It even comes with different fillings making it edible by those who like their meat, vegetarians and vegans alike.

And speaking of fillings... you haven't lived until you have tried spicy prawn sushi. I know I certainly hadn't and shall never forget the time I first took my first bite-

It was the day after I had my first (and only) date which, yes, involved sushi. It also involved a bird crapping on my pants and my face hurting from forcing a smile for three consecutive hours, but that's another story. Now, the sushi we had on this date was horrible. The worst vegetarian sushi I had ever tried. It wasn't fresh and the vegetables were in no way crisp.
Upon coming home, I had decided to lay off the sushi front for a while.
Now, the next day, I happened to be walking from the train station to my violin teacher's house and was hit with the realisation that I was ravenous. The only food shop open on the way to her house, however, was a sushi one.
And then I was hit with a dilemma- just how hungy was I that I was going to eat sushi, when the thought of the food made me never want to eat again?
Well, as I said, I was ravenous so I went in the shop and decided to risk it. The shop itself didn't look too amazing either and sushi is one of those foods you have to be careful of. Nonetheless, I went in only to be hit by another dilemma-
There was no vegetarian sushi.
In fact, there were no generic flavours at all. It only seemed to have special fillings which are reserved for asians who have an aquired taste.
The only thing which looked remotely safe was spicy prawn sushi.
And so, highly apprehensive, I made the plunge. I ordered one and was on my way.
But then I stopped.
Because I just realised that, even though I was sweating from how much the sushi was burning my mouth and throat (I'm not a spicy food connosieur at all), it also happened to be one of the most amazing, intense and orgasmic gastronomic experiences I had experienced for an extremely long time.
So good, that I even contemplated running back to the shop and getting another hand roll but, by that point, I had arrived at my teacher's house and thought that I should just get on with my lesson.
During the lesson, however, all I could think about was how amazing that sushi was and, needless to say, once the lesson was over, I ran straight to the sushi shop and bought 3 more rolls which I munched at all the way home.
And thus sushi and I were reconciled due to the spicing up of our relationship with a bit of spicy prawn!
And I haven't looked back since that day. So long as there is spicy prawn sushi available (it's only available at a select few sushi bars), my world is a much happier place. 

So here's to a long and healthy relationship with spicy prawn sushi.
Kanpai!

Love Anya

A personal reflection on my new obsession. As requested by Bec.

 

Growing up, I was possibly Melbourne’s most frugal child. I saved my money with the maturity, determination and cleverness that would make every parent proud. Don’t get me wrong, I loved looking at magazines such as Vogue and used to cut out impossibly expensive outfits which I dreamed one day I would own.

-not that I looked as though I had an interest in fashion. Anything I bought was always on sale and I always managed to look like a middle-aged frump- though the fact that my mother usually bought the clothes with me and was my trusted shopping partner possibly has something to do with that.

And it wasn’t that I never saw nice clothes, but more the fact that I felt so horribly guilty about spending anything over $20 (AUD) for an item of clothing (formal dresses excluded from this) using my parents’ money. We’re not poor, but I hated having them buy things for me because I knew they already spent such excessive amounts on my multiple music lessons every week.

 

Now, I have a weekly income and it’s quite decent for someone with no expenses other than public transport tickets and food for uni. I also have a card- which I have a love-hate relationship with.

 

The first time was quite hard- spending quite a lot in one go. I had never done that before and I felt a little sick.

But, when I came home and went through all the lovely clothes I had just bought… I forgot. That feeling of independence and joy at finally owning clothes which I wasn’t ashamed of was completely worth it.

 

And now I have a very bad habit for spending my money on clothes. It’s quite bad, really, because they’re not your typical teenager’s clothes either and I can’t help thinking that I look quite out of place at uni on some days. Not that I care, really. I feel more comfortable in these clothes than I ever have in jeans and t-shirts- both of which I avoid whenever I can.

Needless to say, my mother does not really like the clothes in my new wardrobe.

 

But I’m not one for trashy clothes and, believe you me, there are quite a lot of designer clothes which look trashy. An acquaintance (she’s no longer a friend) at university has a very rich father and only ever wears designer numbers.

But she looks horrible. I’m really yet to see an outfit of hers which I actually like. There’s no femininity to her outfits and she thinks that just because it’s ‘designer’, it looks good.

That’s where I disagree completely.

I am a firm believer in things looking good. If I had a no-label top which looked good and a designer one which looked horrible to choose from, I would choose the no-label one, because people don't know what label you’re wearing when they see you. They see the outfit as looking either good or bad by how it looks on you.

Labels really only help in pointing you in the right direction because, 9 times out of 10, they’re good quality and probably concordant with the current fashion.

 

And speaking of the fashion at the moment- I love it! There seems to be a return to this 1940’s type, ‘art deco’ period style and it’s just… love. Of course, there are still the shockers- the ‘fad fashions’ coughgeniepantsandjumpsuitscough- but so long as I’m not overly exposed to them, I don’t mind what other people ruin their fashion senses with.

 

Having said all this, I’m yet to go ‘all-out’ designer yet. It’s not the will that’s lacking, but the funds. Some of them really are just un-affordable and so I’ve been making do at the moment middle-range stores which are really quite decent anyway.

But now I have decided to save my money until exams are over so that I can go on a huge shopping spree once I’m free.

 

My friend and I were discussing our shopping obsessions (she’s a new recruit too) and we decided that it’s very similar to masturbating. While you’re doing it, you know it’s something that’s a bit wrong- you shouldn’t really be doing it- but then you go through it anyway and then get that orgasm which is just pure bliss and you don’t care whether anyone else thinks it’s right or wrong because that feeling is way better than anything you’ve experienced lately.

Ultimately, however, we both decided that shopping was better than orgasms - that feeling after a good shopping session lasts way longer!

And, provided I stick to saving my money (staying celibate won’t be easy), I’ll be in for a pretty intense shopping orgasm in a month’s time!

Love Anya

Sorry to Sarieva- to whom I just promised to try writing lighter things. In my defence, this was written a while ago and I just found it now and thought I'd put it up. The next work I post up will be light and merry... I hope. I shall try my best to act my age!

Would Anybody Care?
Would anybody care
If I wasn’t there
If I sailed away
To another land?

Would anybody care
If I no longer smiled
If I no longer saw
If I no longer spoke

Would anybody care
If my heart stopped
Would they care
If it broke

Never sun again
Never Aurora’s rise
Or her sunset
To see again

Never again
To breathe the air
That sweet summer air
No spring for me

If I wasn’t there
The world would go on
Would anyone remember
My name

Would they remember my
Plans, my dreams-
Once so big
Now a pile of ash with me

Would anybody care
If I wasn’t there
The world would go on
It always does

I’m not there
I’m gone
I’m finished
Goodbye

Another child is born
Life goes on
And is reborn
Every day

And I’m no longer there
People did care
Marble was carved
Dirt was sprinkled
Flowers were laid
Prayers were said
Tears were shed
But they forgot

They forgot my dreams
My plans
All forgotten

The marble became rotten
The flowers dry
The candles burnt out
And my name peeled off

No one remembered my name

Would anybody care
If I wasn’t there
Would anybody care?
No one cared.

 

Anya Violetta

01/03/09

A/N: I don't particularly like this poem anymore. It seems too whiny and I don't think it flows too well or is particularly well written, for that matter. I just wrote it because, at that point, I wanted to have a 'woe is me' rant, but didn't want to make any of my friends' ears bleed by making them listening to it.
I wasn't suicidal at the time or anything, but reading back on it now, though, it does make me realise that suicide is a very sad thing. It helped me realise that I should just get over myself and get on with life.
It was inspired by the song 'Gloomy Sunday'. I like Billie's version (she's the original one), but Sarah McLachlan's version always gets to me so much more. 

<3 Anya

p.s. I plan on posting up more original works of mine up here. I've missed writing original things. Fanfiction is fun, but there's only so much I can write without feeling very cheap and... unaccomplished.

p.p.s- Housekeeping: I have been cleaning up this journal of my personal rant posts (which, let's face it, are boring) so that most of it is strictly writing-related. I've only left a few.
Furthermore, I have tabbed things so that, if you look on the left side of the page and decide you would like to read all of my poetry, you just need to click on the 'Poetry' tab and only my poetic works will come up in the new window, or, if you want to read all of the draft of Clio (and not have to scroll through other posts etc, just click on 'Stained Glass (Clio)'
I hope this makes life easier for all. 

I think you all must be losing interest because the past few posts have been so awfully dull. Well, I have a poem for you all in this one so I hope that makes this post a little more interesting! VmMorrow will be updated soon, as will TGM (I hope). My life has become ridiculous with huge assignments, daily fights at home and the fact that winter is just such a fucking depressing season...

A Night's Lament

O wretched, moonless night-
Wilt thou not end?
Thou bringst no warmth, no light
No joy
Bring forth the sun so that it may
Warm the heavy stone which is my heart

Night is to darkness, as day is to light
Day shows us for what we are
Nothing can be hidden
But night-
She casts her cloak of midnight
And turns a blind eye-
Hiding truth and sin

Some close their eyes
The more innocent rest-
Peaceful in their naivety
Others, who know the world too well-
Who have seen the true face of human kind
Lie awake without peace,
Bidding the hours until Eos’ smile
Defeats her dark cousin
So that her brother may reign once more

Anya Violetta
21/05/09

Little explanation: Eos= Goddess of dawn, her 'cousin' refers to Nyx, the goddess of night, and Eos' brother refers to Helios, god of the sun

Reviews are much appreciated!
I suppose you can all tell that, now that I'm writing poetry again, I've hit a depressive period in my life. I write poetry when I'm depressed and prose when I'm not... But enough of on that. I don't want to be one of those teenage girl writers who always writes about how much of an emo she is because I'm not like that. Everyone goes through ups and downs in life. Otherwise, the ups would never be that good-
Ok.
So.
I've been reading a bit of Sir Thomas Wyatt's poetry which is lovely. Check it out here: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/wyattbib.htm
Particularly this one: http://www.luminarium.org/renlit/theyflee.htm
My favourite line in that one is: Dear heart, how like you this ? I don't know why- perhaps she refers to her lover as 'heart'...
<3
Also,  I found out the type of Japanese poem 'Silent Night' is- it's a 'Tanka'.

Much love to you all,

Anya

(At the risk of sounding like one particular authoress who I shall not mention here)- I've compiled a playlist of your recommendations for songs for TGM, plus a few of my own which were very inspiring whilst writing. I thought you might find it interesting:

Within Temptation- 'Frozen'
- When I heard this after a reader suggested it, I thought it really suited Helen. Especially regarding her choice to marry Theo so Anka can try having a normal life. When I watched the video clip, it made even more sense.

Blue October- 'Congratulations'
- Ah, this song makes my heart ache so much! When I first heard it, I didn't like it, but then after a few listens it really reminds me of Sirius, stuck on the side and knowing that he should just let her be with the man she's with and who treats her well.

John Denver- 'Follow Me'
- It's not an angsty song (most of the others are), but I think it's very fitting.

Tom Petty- 'Free Falling'
- I don't see TGM as much with this song, but it's a good song. I guess the 'bad boy' making the 'good girl' fall in love with him is fitting for their younger years, at least.

Hanna Pakarinen- 'Leave Me Alone'
- I love that I got a few multicultural songs! Very angsty, I like :)

Rihanna- 'I Hate How Much I Love You'
- I'm not big on the RnB scene... but it was reccommended to me and fitting, I suppose.

Rihanna- 'Unfaithful'
- As opposed to the above, this one I listened to repeat when writing later chapters. I never particularly liked the song, but it was quite inspiring all the same.

Evermore- 'The Light Surrounding You'
- I don't see this song as being particularly 'TGM-ish' but I still like it a lot.

Billy Holiday- 'I'll Be Seeing You'
- <3 the song, <3 the singer, <3 it for TGM

Regina Spektor- 'The Call' + 'Sampson' + 'Fidelity'
- Thank YOU to whoever recommended me to Regina Spektor. I <3 her and all these songs are very fitting for TGM. 'The Call', in that they just need to ask the other to come back and they do, 'Sampson' in that they were sort of each other's downfalls, but wouldn't have it any other way, and 'Fidelity' because they never really loved anyone before each other.

Glen Hansard and Marketa Iglova- Falling Slowly
- A beautiful song and definitely applicable. 

Guns n' Roses- Don't Cry
- My, so many angsty songs! I love this one! I had never heard it before it was recommended... and also made me realise how much crying takes place in TGM! Hmm

My Chemical Romance- Helena
- Now, I don't tend to gravitate towards emo music (I leave that to my friend), BUT, I guess this is acceptable as a suggestion. I mean, the name does say enough. 

Nina Gordon- 'Tonight and the Rest of My Life'
- It was funny when I was recommended this song, because it was when TGM was already written. I listened to this song when I wrote the chapter 'Lost Innocence' (aka the chapter when they first have sex and there's the Diagon Alley raid etc)

Evanescance- 'Everybody's Fool'
- This is my own addition. This was probably the earliest song of inspiration for TGM (before there was any plot/storyline and definitely before I even thought to write it. Pretty much the entire 'Fallen' album could be put here.

James Blunt- 'Goodbye My Lover'
- I first heard this song a few days before I was due to write Sirius' dying chapter. I remember listening to the words and just crying becuase they all seemed so meaningful that I thought it MUST have been written for TGM. Obviously, it wasn't, but.... I can't listen to that song anymore.

The Fray- 'How to Save A Life'
- This is more applicable to the original version of TGM when Helen got sick. 

Libera- Sanctus
- Got me through MANY chapters. Truly glorious. Youtube it or download it. I <3 this song SO much.

Haris Alexiou- 'To Tragoudi Tou Helidoniou'
- Was very inspiring for when I was coming up with the Asteria Curse. 

Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas
- enough said

Guns N' Roses- Knocking on Heaven's Door
- Not particularly relevant, but it's good to write to. 

One Republic- Apologise
- Many sad chapters were written to this song

Sarah McLachlan- Gloomy Sunday
- Another VERY early song which helped with many scenes. Probably because when I was in year 8 (and started mentally planning TGM) I was suicidal and had this song on repeat on my discman every night as I fell asleep. Hmm....

Nelly Furtardo- 'All Good Things Come To An End'
- I quoted this chapter for the chapter when Sirius told Helen he didn't love her anymore. I listened to that song A LOT when writing.

Leona Lewis- 'Bleeding Love'
- I'm so sick of this song now, but I did over-listen to it whilst writing the later volumes of TGM.

Lior and Daniel- 'Heal Me'

Fine Frenzy- 'Almost Lover'

Coldplay- Violet Hill
- If you love me, why'd you let me go? Need I say more?

<3 to all. I shall get a VmMorrow post to you all soon. 

 I now have a very high amount of respect for Robert Pattinson:

http://au.eonline.com/videos/v4526112001_.html

Pattinson: Well, I mean, I think people -- there's a thing about the books where, uh, when I was reading them, I, ugh, I didn't know how to read it from, you know, teenage g-- or any woman's perspective, I guess. I don't really know why they like it. But what I thought was weird about it, the, what, the reaction I had with it was ... umm.... When I read it, it seemed like (grimaces) I was convinced that ... Stephenie was ... convinced that she was Bella, and uh, and you, it wasn't, it was like it was a book that wasn't supposed to be published, like reading her ... her sort of sexual fantasy about some -- especially when she says that it was based on a dream, and it's like, "Oh, then I had a dream about this really sexy guy" and she just writes this book about it, and there's some things about Edward that are just so specific that it's like, I was just convinced that, that this woman is mad, she's completely mad, and she's in love with her own fictional creation and I -- sometimes you, like, feel uncomfortable reading this thing, and I think a lot of people feel the same way, that it's kind of voyeuristic, ah, and it creates this sickpleasure in a lot of ways. But then it kind of introduces a lot of the, the action elements and it's very honest and really really honest and that's kind of what's weird about it.

Back to me...
Couldnt agree with him more. To be honest, reading those books felt like I was reading anot-too-wonderful fanfiction. I'm so glad R.Patz agrees with me ;)

Love Anya

p.s. Tonya- don't worry. He's still yours ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TBl8VEc6ocM

So I never do this sort of 'advertising things' thing, but I absolutely love them and think they deserve much more recognition.
They're this Australian band- The Skybombers- and I <3 them. They're really not as big as they deserve to be... but I'm sure with the right advertising they will get there one day. I've met most of them too! (Sam's my favourite- he's the guitarist.... though I'm sort of biased as my brother is best friends with his brother.... and he's really nice and smart and... yeah, okay, I have a crush. I'll admit it).
Funnily enough, I've met most of their mothers too. -_-" 
Anyway. The above link is to my favourite song of theirs, but they have heaps of good ones. 

( Read more... )

 1/ I have finally decided to go through 'The Good Morrow' and edit it. It has taken a long time for me to bring myself to:
       a) look at TGM
and 
         b) look at those particularly horrendous few chapters of TGM which I believe are very responsible for the few 'Mary-Sue' reviews I have received over the course of writing TGM

But now, that I'm not particularly committed to writing any book, I have decided to go through TGM and fix it up properly once and for all. I'm aiming at fixing a few chapters up per week. I'll keep you posted on when you can read the edited chapters and which ones are edited. I'm thinking that the last half of the story won't change too much but I know that probably the first at least 30 chapters will undergo drastic changes.
... if there are any points in the story which you think I should change, let me know asap so I can consider them.

2/ I was thinking about HP last night and realised why I liked it SO much more than any of the other teenage crap out there... and realised because it had unhappy endings. Hedwig died, Fred died, Sirius died... etc etc. So many good people died and for me, as sad as all the deaths were, they just felt right given the struggle encountered by the characters. I hate books where there's all this hype and everyone escapes scot-free.

So I suppose that's why I rarely ever write anything with a completely happy ending... or there may be a happy ending, but there was some unhappiness along the way. I think that's how life really is and, even though I've written a lot in the fantasy genre, I like keeping things realistic. Also, maybe I'm a bit too much of a serious/sad person but I just find that I tend to write sad stories better... or they come more naturally to me, in any case. 

Love Anya

 I want to kill myself. Seriously, kill myself. 
I am the biggest BITCH in the world, and I don't know what's wrong with me!

( Read more... )

Ok. So I think you all know by now not to talk to me about the Twilight series. If you want to talk vampires, though, we most definitely can talk Anne Rice. Namely, Interview with the Vampire which I just finished.
Perhaps it's because I haven't read anything for a whiie, but it was so beautiful to read that book; such a relief to read good writing.
When I write, I'm like a chameleon. If the last book I've read had brilliant writing, I become pleasantly surprised with the quality of my work. If the writing was substandard, however, my writing reflects that standard and, unfortunately, a lot of the books which I've read lately haven't really been up there on the quality level.

Reasons why you should read 'Interview with the Vampire':( Read more... )

Ok. It's been figuratively gathering dust in this story's folder which is called 'Old'...

Chapter 4

 

I was sitting on my balcony, not particularly enjoying the sun but not hating it either as I sipped my morning espresso and read the morning paper. A natural disaster here, a miraculous recovery there...

I flipped to the business section and sighed when I saw that my shares weren’t doing too well. Why oh why was life turning against me now?

Thankfully, my mobile phone rang and thoughts on my current economic crisis were temporarily put on hold. Wondering who would call me so early in the day- it was only eleven in the morning- I answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Oh, hello, it’s Harry from the other night.’

I smiled, thankful that it wasn’t Phyllis telling me she had arranged an emergency meeting with my accountant.

‘Harry, m’boy. How’re you doing?’ I asked, lighting a cigarette.

He was silent and I sighed. He didn’t seem to be holding up well at all, though I suppose that he was doing brilliantly in comparison to how I was when she died.

‘Did you want to catch up tonight? I could do with a drink and I’m rather sick of the girls you meet in bars, at the moment. They seem to be getting stupider,’ I said truthfully.

‘Um, I actually have a favour to ask,’ he said tentatively.

‘Great,’ I thought. ‘He needs money. I really should start dressing more in line with how much I actually own. No one believes me when I tell them I can’t afford to lend them money.’

‘Okay… hit me,’ I sighed.

‘Well, you see, my daughter keeps berating me to move into a retirement home…’

‘Have you lost your marbles? Those places would kill a perfectly healthy young chap in less than a year!’ I interrupted incredulously.

‘Yes, I know. She thinks I don’t have any friends and is worried that I’ll go crazy from the loneliness.’

I thought the girl had a point. The poor guy didn’t seem to have any good mates to depend on. When I considered this, it suddenly hit me that I was rather lacking in the ‘friends’ department myself.

‘And I know that we haven’t really known each other for a long time,’ he continued, sounding embarrassed, ‘but if you could come over some time today and…’

‘Of course we’re mates,’ I said, sparing him from any further embarrassment. ‘What time?’

I myself became a bit abashed when I hung up the phone after listening to his profuse thanks.

‘Perhaps I should get into this ‘helping others’ business.’ I mused as I got up to take a shower. ‘I could do with a bit of good karma.

*

The door was opened by a stroppy-looking thirty-something woman.

Ah, the daughter.

‘Hello,’ she said, looking at me warily.

I smiled at her and decided that it was time to start acting charming. I saw Harry appearing behind her, looking nervous.

‘Harry! I knew you said that your daughter was beautiful, but you never told me she was this beautiful!’ I said, taking her hand and kissing it.

She looked at me incredulously and Harry looked as though he was fighting laughter. I winked at him and entered the house. It was just the kind of house I expected- that of a hard-working man who had a wife with the reigns to do whatever she pleased with it.

‘How do you know my father?’ Chloe’s voice cut sharply through the silence.

I looked at Harry, wondering what story he had concocted.

‘Oh, Johnny and I go way back,’ he said, slinging an arm around my shoulder.

I bit my lip. Harry definitely did not know how to do this well and, judging from the looks his daughter was shooting us; she was worried that her father and I were lovers or something equally ludicrous.

I shrugged his arm off my shoulder and gave him a friendly punch on the arm. He looked at me, seemingly confused as to why I would punch him.

Christ, he had a lot to learn.

‘Yeah, we were at school together,’ I said.

‘You’re from Australia?’ Chloe shot, looking at me disbelievingly.

‘Oh, sure, sure,’ I said airily. ‘I grew up there.’

‘Why haven’t I heard of you before, then?’ she said.

 I felt my brow starting to sweat. What was this- a Gestapo interrogation?

I shot Harry a glare- he owed me a few drinks for this- and tried to come up with something to satisfy this ever-sharp woman.

I thought that she and my sister would get along famously- not that I ever planned on introducing the two women. I was sure that, as a combined force, they would be formidable and most definitely make my life a living hell.

‘I’ve been travelling,’ I said. It wasn’t a lie.

‘You do look very tanned for a Londoner,’ she remarked, placing a roast in the middle of the table and carving it up. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Oh, pretty much everywhere. I’ve been traveling for the past twenty years.’

She looked at me shrewdly and then at her father. I wasn’t quite sure what her problem was.

‘And you two haven’t caught up in twenty years?’

‘Sure we have,’ Harry interjected. ‘Always for the odd drink whenever Johnny’s in town.’

He grinned at me and I fought the urge to shake my head at him.

‘Of course,’ I said.

‘Are you married, John?’ she interrupted.

I hate this question. I think it should be banned and come with a ten-year jail-sentence.

‘No,’ I said shortly.

She pursed her lips and seemed even less impressed. She was starting to get on my nerves. If she wasn’t Harry’s daughter, I’d bet my car that her husband was having it off with another, less-uptight woman.

‘No women have ever been good enough?’ she continued.

‘Chloe, that’s enough,’ Harry said, a little severely.

‘I didn’t see you at my mum’s funeral,’ she said, looking at me levelly.

Honestly, what was her problem?

‘He never met your mum, Chloe,’ said Harry, quietly.

Chloe stood up, her face flushed.

‘Why? You were too ashamed to bring him home until she died? How could you do this to her memory?’

And with that, she snatched up her handbag and jacket, and swept out of the house. I found it almost funny that the atmosphere seemed to automatically lighten up and become more relaxed with her departure.

Women, eh?

‘Chloe! Chloe!’ Harry called got up and chased after her. He returned, scratching his head and looking very confused.

‘I’m sorry. She’s normally very polite and grounded. I don’t understand why she acted like that,’ he said, still furrowing his brow in confusion.

I had a good idea as to why, but I thought that it’d be for the best if I kept it to myself.

‘Ah, women can get hormonal like that. No time of the month is ever a good one, in my experience,’ I said lightly. ‘She’s a good cook, though. This roast is excellent.’

‘Hmm,’ Harry frowned, still looking bewildered.

I looked around to find something to discuss to take his mind off his crazy daughter. I saw a picture of a woman in a frame and went over to it and picked it up.

‘Is this your wife?’ I said, looking at him.

He looked up and his face softened.

‘Yeah, that was my Jane,’ he said sadly.

I looked at it as I sipped my wine. She seemed more like a ‘plain Jane’ to me, but then I realized that not many people could compete with her anyway.

And this ‘Jane’ was probably much nicer than her. She must have been- she stayed with him for at least twenty years longer than she had with me.

‘I’ve told you all about my wife. What happened with yours?’

I looked away and replaced the frame on the table.

‘Ah, you don’t want to hear about that,’ I said waving a dismissive hand.

He looked down.

‘Is she alive?’ he asked carefully.

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry.’

I shrugged.

‘Let’s not ruin the afternoon over her. What say you to a game of golf after lunch?’

*

Harry said yes to a game of golf, although it was clear that he had never played it more than twice in his life. It was slightly annoying that I had to keep explaining the rules to him but, somehow, I found myself genuinely laughing for the first time in what seemed like forever.

It wasn’t my usual serious game of golf which I usually played alone. It was more a fun game played with a friend. I vaguely remembered a time when she and I played golf together. She beat me, but only because I had been too distracted by her to swing the club properly. Then we had gone off into the trees and…

I shook my head, forgetting what could have been fond memories, had they not been tainted by that bitter colour which was hers.

‘You know what we should do? We should go sailing or fishing some time. I used to sail all the time when I was a kid. I won the junior championship back in Australia,’ said Harry.

I looked at him in surprise. He didn’t seem the ‘sailing’ type.

‘You’re good at sailing?’ I said in disbelief.

‘My wife didn’t believe it either- until I showed her, that is’ he sighed, hauling the clubs back into the boot of my car. ‘You know,’ he continued sadly, ‘I used to be a cool guy. I don’t know how I became like this.’

I watched him, feeling sorry for him.

‘You’re cool,’ I said, giving him a slap on the shoulder. ‘You’ve just been cloistered up for too long. We’ll go sailing. You give me a call and we’ll go. God knows I have nothing to do with myself during the day except to run myself closer to debt.’

He looked up at me, surprised.

‘Debt?’

I shrugged.

‘Well, the money’s starting to run thin,’ I explained.

‘Did you make all this money from being a barrister?’ he asked, looking suspicious.

I smiled. It was such a typical accusation that I would use my profession to get underground profit.

‘No. I invested in shares and got very lucky. Knowing the right people helps with shares.’

‘I bought shares once and lost a thousand quid. Jane wasn’t too happy,’ Harry sighed.

‘Ah, you’ve got to do it right. They say that shares are a better investment than property, so long as you know which companies to invest in. Otherwise, you get screwed over.’

‘So is money that tight at the moment? You don’t seem to live uncomfortably,’ he remarked after a bit of silence.

‘Well, spending habits die hard. My sister Phyllis keeps badgering me to sell either my apartment or the old house. Years of parties and extravagance, I suppose, have finally caught up with me. I tell you, though, I’ll be damned if I sell either.’

‘Wait, so you live at… the house?’ Harry asked, confused.

‘Used to. Twenty years ago,’ I muttered darkly.

‘Is it rented out now?’

‘God no.’

‘So what do you do with it?’

‘Nothing. No one’s gone in it for the past twenty years.’

‘No one?’ Harry asked, surprised and intrigued.

‘Nope. I had the locks changed, bought my apartment and own all the keys to the old house so no one can go there. Every month I have a security guy check the premises to see that no one’s squatting or vandalizing it or anything.’

Harry blinked.

‘Wow.’

I shrugged.

‘But I don’t get it,’ he continued. ‘If no one’s living in it, and you refuse to go inside it, what’s the point in having it?’

I hated that question and I had never been able to give anyone a good answer. This was partly because I couldn’t answer it myself.

I smiled ruefully, knowing that I knew very well the reason; it was because I refused to change how she left it. That was also why I couldn’t sell it. If I sold it, I would be letting her go and I couldn’t do that.

And I refused to live in it because I was sure that she was haunting it and would find a way to get back at me. I’ve never been a superstitious person, but she was and I knew that she’d be haunting it.

But there was no use trying explaining all this to Phyllis. Firstly, it would have been impossible for her to understand and, secondly, I wasn’t stupid enough to try.

So I remained silent and Harry continued to stare at the passing scenery.

‘Was it that bad?’ he asked quietly.

‘What?’

‘Your wife,’ he said. ‘Was the breakup that bad?’

‘I just don’t like talking about her,’ I muttered, taking a sharp turn. ‘She’s gone, and that’s all there is to it.’

‘What was her name?’

‘If I give you her damned name will you forget her?’

‘For today,’ Harry said lightly.

I scowled.

‘Her name was Julia,’ I said through gritted teeth.

I suddenly felt shocked as I realised that I hadn’t used her name since she left me. Her face suddenly swam into my view and I shut my eyes tightly shut.

‘Open your eyes! You’re driving!’ Harry shouted as a car’s horn from the opposite direction beeped insistently.

I opened my eyes to see myself heading for a head-on collision with a semi-trailer.

‘Fuck!’ I shouted, veering as quickly as I could in the other direction. The wheels screeched, we both screamed and the cars behind and in front of us were honking their horns continuously and insistently.

Thoroughly shaken, the car stopped just short of a tree. There were shouts of ‘Wanker’ and ‘Fuckwit’ as the other cars passed and I ignored them and focused on my breathing. I suddenly felt tightness in my chest which, seconds later, turned to crushing pain radiating down my left arm.

‘What the hell was that?’ Harry gasped, clutching at his own chest.

‘Call…ambulance,’ I gasped.

Gasping for air himself, he reached for my cell phone.

Well, hope that doesn't disappoint anyone. If it does, I'd love to know why... you know, I actually really appreciate constructive criticism. Generally, I think you're all too nice.
Anyway. Well, that's it for now. Hopefully I'll stop procrastinating and get back to editing Clio. I swear, I hate that story, I'm so sick of it...
Love Anya

I wrote this last year for my sister who had to write a short story for an assignment, but (as you can tell from her attempt at writing a story) couldn't come up with anything... well, nothing 'appropriate' anyway.
This isn't what I originally wrote. Originally, it was better, but then she butchered it because she was embarrassed by the birth scene, and didn't like that I had used words which she didn't understand- she said it was too 'fancy'.
Anyway, so I've tried to restore it as best as I could.

New Beginnings

 

I stared out of the small hole in the boat, trying to hold in my nausea. The smell of salt and the damp of water on the rotting wood were repugnant and, even after two months of this scent assaulting my olfactory senses, I was still yet to grow accustomed to it.

My thoughts wandered back to my village; my village which I probably would never see again. How I loved the sea back then! After a long day of cooking, cleaning and gardening, I would sometimes steal out into the night and bathe in the cool water, floating in the moonlight.

Now I would be happy to never set my sight on the sea again.

“Ten minutes!” my husband Roberto said to me shortly, before lighting up a cigarette and turning to his brothers.

Ignoring me, yet again.

I tried to hold my breath. I hated the smell of smoke. It made me sick and it didn’t help my morning or my motion sickness. I softly asked him to put out his cigarette, but he ignored me and offered cigarettes to his brothers who also ignored my request and promptly lit their respective cigarettes..

I felt someone settle herself in the chair beside me and turned to see Katarina, was my only friend in this journey. She placed her hand on my curved belly and smiled at me.

‘It won’t be long now,’ she whispered with a smile on her face.

 I nodded, feeling both nervous and excited. I only had a few sets of clothes in our suitcase, a bible, a rosary and my mother’s precious gold watch, Roberto was hardly better off. How was I to raise my child with such little amount?

But then I felt that small kick inside and couldn’t help but smile.

My child.

Roberto wanted a son; one who would help him with work, who would be strong and carry his name of Moretti. He hadn’t said anything directly on the matter, but it was apparent to me that a girl would not be so happily received.

But I wanted a girl. One who would talk to me and be my only friend in this new world we were travelling to.

I stopped day dreaming and looked to Katarina who was dangling her rosary in front of my belly. I rolled my eyes at her; it was an old superstition that if the rosary went in circles it would be a girl, but if it went from side to side, it would be a boy.

I looked to Katarina with disapproving eyes. I didn’t like these tricks; they scared me.

‘It’s a girl! You’re having a girl!’ she said excitedly, kissing my cheeks before putting her rosary back around her neck.

I shook my head at her and then, suddenly, there were shouts and exclamations from everyone around me.

I rushed to the small hole again and then I saw it.

Australia. My new home.

The land of opportunity.

Now I missed my home village more than ever.

*

‘Hurry up!’ Roberto said gruffly as I tried to push my way through the crowd, my arms wrapped protectively around my belly.

He gave an impatient sigh and roughly grabbed my arm, dragging me across to where his brothers were waiting with his eldest brother, Alberto, who was the only one of the brothers, settled in Australia.

‘Sophia,’ Alberto smiled kindly, kissing me on both cheeks before helping me into the front seat.

I accepted his hand, trying not to wonder why my parents had not arranged my marriage with Alberto instead of his brother. Alberto was always kind and courteous. He always treated women respectfully and, whenever I spoke to him, he actually listened to what I had to say- it was as though he valued my opinion.

He started the car. As he did, however, something else started. Eyes wide with fright, I clutched my stomach shouted for the hospital.

 

I had been in labour for eight hours and I was completely exhausted. It was too much; that long and tiring travel to this new country, and now this- this excruciating birth.

The midwife looked at me and nodded. I couldn’t understand what she was telling me to do but, somehow, as a woman I understood that I was meant to push.

I did. It was the most intense pain I had ever been in and I just wanted it to end. One push followed another and, finally, it was over.

Breathing heavily, I lay back on the bed and tried to catch my breath. As I did, I heard the cry of a baby and couldn’t resist my tears of joy and grief that my baby was finally born.

The midwife handed my baby to me and I smiled to see that she was a girl.

As I leant forward to kiss her small and fragile head, the door burst open and Roberto strode up to me and snatched our her from my hands.

‘Son?’ he grunted.

‘Daughter,’ I responded quietly.

He thrust her back at me and, looking disgusted, left the room. I cradled her closer to my chest, shocked at how roughly he treated his own newborn child.  

Gently, I kissed the top of her head.

‘We’re in this new place together, but I’ll look after you,’ I promised my little girl; Carina.

Carina, my ‘dear little one.’

Well, make what you like of it. I thought it was about time I posted some kind of fiction up here instead of updates on my life. I'll put up another chapter of that Johnny/Harry story up sometime soon as well

Ok. Back to Clio...

Love Anya

These past few days have been mind-numbing. As you all know, I hail from Melbourne, Australia and the past few days for us Victorians have been more than horrific. The death toll as of yet has been estimated at 173, but that's expected to rise.
( Read more... )

Perhaps 'lol' isn't the right word for what I'm about to say. Perhaps 'EEEEEW!' is more like it.
Personally, I find it funny. But I doubt many others do.
What on earth am I talking about, you ask?

Right, so last year (whilst I was writing TGM) my sister decided to write a few short chapters parodying me and my fanfiction habit. She was 13 at the time and I was downright appaled (and slightly proud that I had taught her so well) at how sexual she had made the stories. Originally, Clarice had my name, but I changed that for 'Clarice' when I helped her put it up on fanfiction.net
Her original goal was to get more reviews than I did for TGM. Unfortunately for her, she is resting on a measly 4 reviews (2 of which are from a friend whom she paid to review her)

( Read more... ) 

So I'm finally nineteen. It's horrible because this is my last year of being able to get away with things. I always thought that once I finally hit the 20's, I'll have to settle down. (side note: it's funny because the older I've been getting, the less serious I've become).

Anyway, so I have a few announcements on this day (and yes, for anyone who remembers, I gave Helen my birthday).

1/ I have a name for the book which, thus far, has been called 'Clio'
I've decided, for now, to call it 'Stained Glass'. That's not to say that will be it's final name, but I think it's appropriate enough for the first book. It's a part of a churches- showing Clio's religious side- but could also have the deeper meaning of glass (which is colourless and pure) becoming stained just like Clio starts off the book being very innocent, naive and (well) virginal and ends up.... not being all those things.
If any of you have better names, though, tell me. I'm not madly in love with this name.

2/ A Clio Gray actually exists.
I nearly died when I found out. She's also (kill me now) an author. I would officially like to state that any similarities which occur in my novel are coincidences and purely fictitious (that was craply stated, but I guess I got the point across). Anyway, this author doesn't have a wikipedia so I'm satisfied that I can keep using the name Clio Gray.

3/ Last post.
Well, I was very glad to stumble across this http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Harry_Potter_(Troll)#Characters
All your comments were so very helpful, calming, and reassuring. Yesterday I gave my summary to my cousin who has read the magnificence which is HP and said it sounded nothing like it. I guess people in the writing world know that similarities have to occur because so the themes we usually write about are universal (or popular and hence written about often anyway)

4/ Agents (ARGH!)
It is absolutely scary to say that I have made my first submission to an agent in the US. Idk why I went to US first instead of AUS (though Australian books never really seem to go well in the writing world), but I guess it was because a) they accepted online submissions and it was a Sunday night and b) the submission process seemed easier than the others I'm trying for (and hence a good starting point) and c) even though they're a top agency, their website seemed friendly so I thought I'd start there.

If any of you have ever gone through this process (and I've just started now), you will now what I'm talking about when I say getting published could very well kill the most avid writer's enthusiasm in their profession. Last night, it just 'came to me' that I really really hate Stained Glass at the moment. That could have something to do with the fact that I've read the first chapter a zillion times in trying to get it to flow better, and have written these cover letters trying to make it sound much better than what  I actually think it is.

So the real, and very scary, part of writing has begun now. It's scary, because if it was FIVE YEARS before HP was even published, what chance do I have? I don't think I'd have the patience to keep pursuing it for a whole FIVE YEARS.

Anyway. I guess I'm due for at least one rejection letter in 6-8 weeks (and then a couple more when I make the next few submissions).

So thank you for all your continuing support! It means SO much to me.

Lots of love,

Anya

I would really appreciate responses to this post. If you have never posted a comment and never intend to in the future, that's fine.  Just make sure you do so just this once.

I just need as many people's opinions on this matter because I would rather not waste all my emotions and effort in Clio if it's just going to be considered a HP rip off.

I wrote a summary of the book (which I have finished editing- it's quite different now, btw) and gave it to my mother (who has never read HP) to see if she thought it sounded like a decent story which an agent/publisher might take an interest in. She read the summary and then just said to me: 'it's a Harry Potter rip off with magical powers and orphanages. No one will touch it).

So now, to all those who have read my story, do you agree with my mother? I know I based it on my concept of Tom/Selene originally, but that was from TGM which was my story, not HP.

As far as I can see, the only similarities lie in Oliver's character with Tom Riddle but, even then, Oliver is no where near as evil as Tom was on his worst day.

As I understand it, if no one was allowed to write a book where people had magical powers because HP had it, the genre of fantasy would die out. What I want to know (and please be as absolutely frank as possible) is if YOU thought it to be too similar to Harry Potter. Trust me, by telling me the truth you are doing me a favour. I would rather hear it sooner from you as opposed to later from many agents/editors/publishers.

Whatever your thoughts are on the matter, I REALLY NEED YOU TO TELL ME because I've lost too much sleep over Clio already and I don't want to kill my health (both physical and mental) over something which is going to just end up being rejected as a rip off.

Anya

Harry

Drinks

 Today had been the second most harrowing experience of my existence. The first, of course, had been Jane’s death.

Her funeral was a close second though.

There were flowers, countless people who I had never seen before coming up to me and giving their sympathy…

Didn’t they know I just wanted to be left alone?

Chloe, thank goodness, organized the whole thing. I wouldn’t have known to put a notice in the paper, or to organize flowers, or the second thing about organizing refreshments for the wake.

‘Dad, I’m worried about you,’ Chloe said to me as I sank on the end of my bed and rubbed my temples. I had a headache and, as much as I loved her, I just wanted to be left alone.

‘No need to be.’

‘Dad, you can’t cook.’

‘I’ll figure something out.’

She put her hands on her hips and I was instantly reminded of Jane, pre-depression. I looked away from her.

‘Dad, there are a few really nice retirement homes with other people your age. You could…’

‘I’m not going to a retirement home,’ I said resolutely.

I thought it was mildly ironic that our roles had been reversed and I was now the dependant throwing a stubborn tantrum. I wondered when this switch had happened. I had never noticed it.

Chloe sighed and started going through the pockets of my laundry which she insisted on doing for me.

‘Do you need this card?’

‘What card?’ I muttered irritably.

‘John E Whiteford,’ she read out.

I snatched it from her and remembered that it was the card of that chap from the bar who had been kind enough to buy me a couple of drinks. I considered throwing it away but then shrugged.

‘Yeah, give it here.’

She shot me a wary glance and continued to sort through my laundry.

*

It wasn’t as though we did much during the evenings when she was alive, but at least the house wasn’t empty. For some reason, the hours seemed to drag endlessly in her absence. I glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece for the umpteenth time- seven o’clock.

Why was it so early? Why couldn’t it be later? I just wanted time to hurry up until it was an acceptable hour to go to sleep and then I could forget my miseries until the next morning.

Sighing, I switched the television off. It was as though life was trying to torture me- there wasn’t even anything interesting on television!

My eye fell on the card on the table and, in a fit of spontaneity which was completely out of character for me; I picked it up and dialed my telephone.

One ring, two rings, three rings…

‘Johnny here,’ came the voice, sounding jovial enough.

Yes, this is what I needed- someone who didn’t know the whole back story and would help me forget for the evening.

‘Oh hello there, you were at that bar on Monday evening and gave me your card… my name’s Harry Johnston, but I don’t think I introduced myself….’

‘Oh yes, I remember. How are you holding up?’

I bit my lip and said nothing.

‘Say, you want to meet up for a drink?’

I nodded.

‘Yes. Where?’

*

As I sat at the bar, I wondered what I was doing. I didn’t know this person at all, yet the thought of my doing the same thing with someone I knew made me feel sick.

Ten minutes late, he swung into the bar and, this time, I looked at him properly. He was dressed expensively in a well-tailored suit- the kind I had always wanted, but had never been able to afford. Even though he was probably sixty-ish, he looked younger, yet his eyes looked so much older. It was strange.

Suddenly, his good taste in clothing made me nervous. What if he was gay and thought I was too?

Oh no, this was no good. What was I thinking?

I wanted to hit myself but he sat next to me before I had the chance to. I forced a polite smile.

I had never been in the situation where I had a gay man coming on to me. What if he tried to do something to me? What if he put something in my drink and then I woke up next to him the next morning?

I shuddered.

‘So your name’s Harry, then,’ he said, motioning to the waiter that he wanted us to be served.

I nodded.

‘Yes, Harry Johnston. And you’re John Whiteford?’

He nodded.

‘The one and only… gin martini for me- dry, no ice,’ he said to the waitress.

‘I’ll have a Guinness,’ I said to her, busily trying to construe an escape plan.

‘So what do you do?’ I said lamely. I thought I’d have to at least stay for a drink. Just because he was gay, it didn’t mean I had to be rude.

John laughed.

‘Women,’ he said, giving me a wink.

I froze. He was winking at me? Perhaps I wouldn’t make it through a drink…

‘Er… women?’ I stammered, looking at the table.

‘I was joking, mate. I haven’t worked for twenty years, really. I used to be a barrister but that was another lifetime ago,’ he shrugged, taking out a cigarette case and putting one in his mouth.

‘You want one?’ he said, offering me the silver case. ‘They’re good- Nat Sherman’s.’

I shook my head quickly.

‘No, I don’t smoke,’ I said, trying not to inhale his second-hand smoke.

‘It’s my hobby,’ he grinned.

I looked at him blankly and he rolled his eyes.

‘I suppose you’ve never seen ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ either, then,’ he said, sounding rather frustrated with me for some reason.

‘Oh, I think I’ve heard of it… who’s it by?’

‘Oscar Wilde,’ he said, looking at me incredulously.

My eyes nearly bugged out of my head. If that wasn’t a gay alert, I didn’t know what was.

I needed to get out of there. Fast.

‘So,’ he said, ‘what do you do?’

‘I’m a banker,’ I said distractedly.

‘You haven’t retired yet?’

‘No. Well, I’d have nothing to do if I did retire so I’m staying on.’

He surveyed me.

‘When my…’ he cleared his throat. ‘When she went, I stopped working and took a holiday,’ he said. ‘It’s lasted twenty years,’ he added thoughtfully, with a bitter smile.

So there was a ‘she’. Perhaps he wasn’t fully gay…

‘She? Was she your wife?’ I asked.

He nodded, looking away.

The waitress came and he took the martini from her and gave her a large tip with a wink. I rather thought that perhaps he wasn’t so gay after all.

‘Did she leave you?’

‘I suppose you could put it that way,’ he said in a hard, bitter tone.

I took that as my cue to let go of the subject.

‘You’re not married now, are you?’ I asked, wanting to get to the bottom of his being gay or not.

He looked at me in disbelief and then let out a bark of a laugh.

‘God, no! I enjoy my freedom. I don’t like the idea of having a clingy bird around me all the time. I’m over that… and trust me, London never seems to run out of young, pretty girls.’

He tapped his nose and took out another cigarette.

‘I might take one, actually’ I said impulsively, looking at the cigarettes. I felt much more relaxed now that I knew he wasn’t gay.

He grinned and passed me the cigarettes and lighter. I coughed uncontrollably after my first puff and he laughed at how my face had turned beetroot-red.

‘Practise makes perfect,’ he shrugged, taking a long drag from his own. I looked warily at my own which was sitting on the ash try and thought I might leave it for another day. Chloe didn’t need to bury another parent in the same week.

‘So what happened with your wife?’ he asked, watching me curiously.

‘Breast cancer,’ I said, feeling a wave of grief washing over me.

‘Want to talk about it?’

‘Yes.’

I looked up at him, surprised at my response. He motioned for me to continue.

‘Start from the start,’ he nodded.

I took a deep breath.

‘I met her when I was twenty-six. She was nineteen and working as a waitress at the café around the corner from my bank. She just walked into my bank one day and happened to be served by me. I remember how pretty she was- just out of school. She told me that she was really excited because she was banking first pay cheque from her summer job. I asked her where she was working…’

‘So you could go find her after, naturally,’ John interrupted knowingly.

I smiled a little. I hadn’t thought of these memories for so long. It was nice.

‘Well, yes,’ I admitted.

‘You sly dog. Continue, please,’ he said, ordering another round of drinks and giving me his attention again.

I shrugged.

‘You’re right. The next morning, I went there to get my morning coffee. I won’t lie, she was hopeless with that coffee machine and it was terrible coffee, but I went there every day to see her until I finally mustered up the courage to ask her to dinner.’

I trailed off and smiled as I remembered how she had blushed and looked so surprised when I had asked her- how beautiful she had been. I couldn’t believe it when she had accepted.

‘She said yes?’ John prompted.

I nodded.

‘Yes. She was from a nice, respectable family. I always thought her father believed she could marry someone much richer, but they were nice enough to me. A year later, we were married, and then the year after that Chloe came.’

‘Chloe?’

‘My daughter,’ I said.

‘Oh?’ he said, pretending not to be casual.

‘She’s married with three kids,’ I said, giving him a look which said- ‘I know your kind too well’.

He gave me an apologetic smile.

‘What does she do?’

‘Housemaker- like her mother.’

He nodded slowly, looking at the table.

‘So you only had the one kid, then?’ he asked, looking up at me. Again, I noticed how old his eyes seemed to be, even though I was sure they were part of his charm for his women- they were crystal blue and contrasted with his tanned skin.

At the mention of another child, I fell silent too.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t mean to pry,’ he said, catching on that the topic was a sensitive one.

I looked up at him. He was the kind of person who made people feel very at ease with trusting their secrets to him.

‘After Chloe, we tried for another. Jane- my wife- she wanted a boy and so did I. She miscarried and was never the same after then. She became a different person. She wouldn’t let me touch her, wouldn’t talk to me…everything about her just became flat.’

I looked down at my drink, feeling the guilt I had always felt. It was my fault- she blamed me, I knew she did. I had never known how to make it up to her, though.

John was silent and I suddenly realized that I had never told anyone about Jane’s miscarriage- not even Chloe.

I looked at my watch. Somehow, it was eleven.

My, how time flied when one was in company!

‘It’s getting late. I’d better get going,’ I said, getting up. I pulled out my wallet and left a bill on the table for the second round of drinks. He didn’t stop me.

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ he said to me quietly, just as I was about to leave.

I stopped and looked down at him. He wasn’t looking at me, but was watching his martini as he swirled it around the cocktail glass.

I patted his shoulder and left him sitting there, lost in thought.

I wondered what had happened with his wife.

 Ah, so that was a nice break from editing which, I am happy to report, is finally getting somewhere. I'm so freaked out, though, by the whole publishing process. I'm scared to approach any editors because I'm scared that they'll just laugh at me and tell me that it's shit... (or not even get back to me which is almost as bad)... and then I'm scared that no agent will EVER even consider it and....
gah. It would be so depressing because it's one thing to write a story like TGM and what I posted of Clio up online without much/any hope of it getting published, and then a completely different thing to edit it with the view of wanting it to get published.
And I HATE editing. I never even proof-read any of my english essays for my final exams, that's how bad i am at re-reading things. once i've written something, i generally hate reading it again... or, at least, editing it.
Anyway. that's not the point. I just don't want to have wasted all this time (and paper and ink) in writing something which no one is going to ever get to read or want to read.
Ok. I'll stop depressing myself.
Please tell me your thoughts on this chapter!

Lots of love, Anya

 

 

Morning After

 I felt sorry for the guy as he stumbled out of the pub. He looked like he had been to hell and back. I guess that’s what struck me about him when I first saw him at the bar- that look of complete emptiness. I knew that look too well, even though I hadn’t seen anyone who had lost a wife since I had lost her.

Her beautiful and treacherous face swam into my mind’s eye and I quickly finished my drink and looked across the bar to suss out the prey for the night. I caught the eye of a pretty young blonde, no older than twenty two, ordered two champagnes and walked over.

 ---

Twenty years had passed and I still couldn’t rid myself of that sick, guilty feeling when I woke up on those wretched morning-afters. I hated the sun. It shone its light on just how bitter and pathetic I had turned out. The girls- like Wendy from last night- merely saw a rich and successful old man whom thought they doubtlessly could trick into marrying for his money.

Honestly? Well, the money from being a successful barrister twenty years ago was starting to run thin. I suppose I should have listened to my accountant when he advised I invest in shares and property instead of holidays, expensive hotels, alcohol and women…

‘Morning honey,’ a seductive voice purred from behind me. I rolled my eyes as she sat up and snaked her hand around my chest.

Why is it that these women are so ‘touchy-feely?’ Surely they didn’t think that us men liked that, did they? Sure, it’s all good when you love the woman and respect her and have done both for a while- more than good- but when it’s just a one night stand I just find it annoying.

That’s another problem with one night stands- I’m tired of devising new clever ways of getting rid of them the next morning. They always seem to have a clever answer to my excuses now. In fact, I’m sure there’s a book out there spilling the beans on our tried and tested tricks. There must be. How else would they come up with such clever answers?

Of course, I could be a heartless, cold bastard in getting rid of them- I used to be good at that- but now that I’ve hit sixty I’m getting tired of being a mean old scrooge. Perhaps that’s what made me talk to that guy at the bar. My sister Phyllis is constantly telling me that I need a good friend. Maybe she was right.

She also told me that she wasn’t right for me and that I should never have married her. After twenty years of bitterness, I’m starting to think she’s right about many things. She only got one piece of advice wrong, and that was because it was always an impossible thing for me to do; to find someone else and get married and have a family- to move on.

Yeah right.

‘So are we going to breakfast, then, honey?’ Wendy continued, kissing my neck as her hand went lower down my navel.

I cleared my throat and stood up quickly.

‘Wendy, listen, last night was really fun and all, but I’ve got a breakfast meeting which I had better be going to. Some other time maybe?’

And her face fell the same way which all the others’ did and, with a half-hearted smile, she shrugged and got out of bed and started dressing hurriedly. I was relieved that she wasn’t going to suggest that she wait in bed for me or that I take her with me- that one was bad.

‘I’ve left my number in your phone,’ she whispered in my ear, kissing my cheek as she left the apartment.

I searched through my list of contacts until I came to ‘Wendy Rogers’. With a small sigh, I pressed ‘delete contact’.

Time for breakfast.

*

‘Now, Johnny, you’re my little brother and I love you, but enough is enough. You’ll have to sell the house soon if you don’t stop this extravagant lifestyle of yours,’ Phyllis lectured, cracking the eggs into the frying pan.

I drank the glass of orange juice in one go. It was freshly squeezed. I wouldn’t have expected anything else from my big sister. She was always pedantic about things like that.

‘Nice juice,’ I said, ignoring her comments on my lifestyle and helping myself to some toast.

‘Right, I’m off to the office… oh hello, John,’ Phyllis’ husband, Richard, said as he fixed his tie and hurriedly took the Tupperware-packed breakfast and lunch which she had prepared for him.

With a peck on the lips for her, and a handshake with me, he was gone. I tried not to look at the smile on Phyllis’ face as she watched him leave. I kind of resented how successful in life she had been. Not that she was necessarily brighter in school than me or anything, but she had the perfect marriage, perfect children and, now, perfect grandchildren on the way. Sometimes Richard and I would joke that she was a bit like the Phyllis from ‘Keeping Up Appearances’. We had to run for cover when she overheard us that time.

True to her sharp nature, Phyllis snapped immediately back into lecture-mode.

‘Johnny, do you hear me?’

‘Yes,’ I said, feigning offence. ‘I may be sixty, but my hearing’s sharper than ever.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘You have to stop this lifestyle. Come to the club with me. You’ll meet a lovely lady from there and…’

‘No,’ I said.

She watched me, pursing her lips.

‘You always shut up like a clam whenever I mention someone else,’ she sighed. ‘It’s been over twenty years, Johnny. Enough is enough!’

I remained silent. She never understood.

‘I’ll pick you up on…’

‘No.’

‘But…’

My tone became so suddenly serious that it even scared me.

‘I don’t want a relationship with any spinster or widow at your club, Phyllis. Is that understood?’

She sighed and I knew she would let it go; for today at least.

She turned back to her cooking and I smiled, relieved that I was off the hook.

Not quite.

‘So, you’re fine to sell the house, then?’ she said, knowing it was a sore point.

Again, my response was silence.

‘Because,’ she continued, ‘You have refused in all these twenty years to rent it out to anyone and you no longer have enough money to own both that house and your apartment.’

‘I’m not selling the house,’ I said through gritted teeth.

‘So you’re moving back in there, then?’ she shot at me.

She’s a hard person to argue with, that sister of mine.

‘I’d sooner live on the streets,’ I muttered, not lying either.

I could never go back to our house. All those memories…

‘Well that can’t happen,’ she said practically. ‘So, they way it is, is that you either sell the house, or your apartment or- my favourite option- cease your decadent and reckless lifestyle and actually act your age.’

I rolled my eyes.

‘Why do you worry yourself with my business? You don’t have to have meetings with my accountants, you know,’ I said archly.

‘Yes,’ she said, thrusting my egg white omelette (yes, she was adamant about lowering my cholesterol as well), ‘but I’ve spent these past twenty years keeping you above the surface. I’m not about to let you drown now.’

At least she made the omelette taste good. I must admit I was surprised that egg white could taste like that.

‘Nice omelette,’ I said, finishing up, washing my plate, kissing her cheek and bolting before she could start lecturing me on my smoking or eating habits or something else.

There was always something. She was never satisfied with me, that sister of mine.  

 So how this is working is that each chapter alternates between John and Harry (last chapter's pov).
These first 2 chapters have been more like short introductions to each characte. They're both short in terms of length as well. After this one it'll get more interesting, I hope.
Anyway. Comments are, as always, muchly appreciated!
Love Anya