I posted on twitter yesterday about the restless feeling I have at the moment...I was told it was normal after the massive high I've been on.( post success stress disorder according to Marika Cobbold) That made sense. The next piece of advice was to begin the next book. Probably the excellent advice but it wasn't yet on my normal - read pre-published schedule. I am normally gearing up for the RNA's NWS so it's revision time. However at this point I don't know what to revise...I cant settle to anything.
I asked the wonderful Beryl Kingston to give the first line to begin a new story...
"It was a dark and stormy night and my feet were covered in blisters...
I added... "because I was wearing my sister's shoes not that she would mind as she was dead but they were Louboutins and it would have been a waste to bury her in them."
So my task for you is for each person to post the next sentence or two in the comments....and let's see where the story goes.
I asked the wonderful Beryl Kingston to give the first line to begin a new story...
I added... "because I was wearing my sister's shoes not that she would mind as she was dead but they were Louboutins and it would have been a waste to bury her in them."
So my task for you is for each person to post the next sentence or two in the comments....and let's see where the story goes.
13 comments:
The fact that her feet had been at least one shoe size smaller than mine was totally irrelevant. Besides. She would have wanted me to wear them at her memorial service. After all she had been first in line for the beuty and brains in our family. A pair of used shoes was not much in the way of compensation for a lifetime of constantly being compared to the amazing Stella.
Nina...I like it. I wonder who will take up your lead???
lx
Of course in the end the beauty bit was rather irrelevant. Shame about her face really, but at the time that brick was the nearest thing to hand.
Our grandmother had always cautioned us that waste of any kind was a sin and that we had to use whatever the Good Lord gave us and be grateful for it. Well, at the time, I'd been very grateful for the brick, and now I felt much the same about the shoes.
(ooh, I like this game!)
This is what happens when I make myself knuckle down and avoid the blogs in order to work: I had no idea you'd finally sold! Congratulations! I always suspected it was just a matter of time. Oh, I'm so excited for you. I still remember walking around with a shit-eating grin for something like three months after I sold my first book, and driving my kids crazy singing that song from South Pacific: "You got to have a dream; if you don't have a dream, how you gonna have a dream come true?"
Judy - you are wicked. i love it...
Fiona, you are very good at this game indeed :-)
CS - Thank you. I had forgotten that song from South Pacific but it's spot on :-)
Lx
I had no idea a memorial service would last so long, especially a memorial service for Stella (who had done so very little to be remembered for). Thankfully, no one mentioned the brick. I considered feigning extreme distress as a means of escape, but when I turned to look for the nearest exit, I noticed a very excitable little man near the back of the church. He jumped around and waved his arms and tried to mouth something to me, but I couldn’t quite make out what it was.
Joanna - brilliant the plot thickens...
lx
Beryl's next addition..."I wish this wasn't a midnight funeral. It's so OTT. And spooky.That man keeps waving at me. Ohmigod! What's he doing now?"
lx
Oh no! He's whipped out a candle from his pocket and has lit it. Now he's holding the candle in front of him and walking solemnly down the aisle towards me. Everyone is agog – the feathers on that woman's hat are practically quivering with excitement. With his red rose buttonhole he'd look more at home at a wedding. Who is he?
'For Stella,' he says, giving me the candle. 'I promised her roses and candlelight. She did tell you about me, didn't she?'
Scanning the man's face, I desperately re-played my last conversation with Stella but could find no re-collection of her mentionning a candlelit date, let alone one with a man twice her age and half her height. Unless.... unless this was that guy from work, that one she reckoned was her stalker? I must admit, I'd never paid very much attenttion to that particualr tale of hers, I'd put it down to just another one of Stella's over dramatic fantasies, but here was a man, in the flesh, very much matching Keith's description.
Lizzie and Leanne - love the continuations....I wonder what happens next?
lx
Instead I had slipped a pair of our mother's impossibly high 1980s court shoes onto her sad dead feet as lovingly as I could, before stepping back and looking down at her in the coffin. White satin pleats surrounded her aureole of barley sugar blonde hair - even death couldn't tame it - and her face looked strangely formal, as if she was concentrating. I walked up to the head end of the coffin and bent to kiss her high pale forehead. It was hard and marble cold. The tears came then.
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