Prude & Prejudice: The Epilogue

Prude & Prejudice has been updated to include an epilogue! I've added it here for those who've already read my novella. For those who haven't you can get the full story on Amazon for 99 cents.

 

Epilogue

18 months later…..

“I know you’re all anxious to hit the dance floor so I won’t talk for too much longer. I’d just like to say what a great honour it is to stand before you here today to toast to the happiness of my dearest friend, William Darling and his lovely bride, Prudence Higginbottom.” A wave of mirth ran through the guests at the mention of her full name and Prue was mortified to see that even the vicar was laughing. Her name had caused her enough humiliation over the years, and the vicar knew how important it was to her that it not be permitted to ruin her special day. She had reminded him at least ten times not to call her Prudence during the service, and right up until the vows were said she had feared he would forget. It was with great difficulty that she kept the smile plastered on her face while giving Charles her iciest look. He just smiled back at her and winked

“Please forgive me, it’s no longer Prudence Higginbottom but Prudence Darling now. You’ll also have to excuse me for using the name Prudence which the bride is not particularly fond of, but I have a confession to make, Prue. Your mother told me she’d disown me if I didn’t address you properly in my speech at least once, and I’m not ashamed to admit she frightens me a little. Apparently she tried to blackmail the vicar too but he’s made of sterner stuff than me.” The audience booed him playfully, and he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Before you judge me too harshly please remember that the vicar doesn’t have to contend with Adelaide as a mother-in-law. We all know that hell hath no fury like a Higginbottom scorned. Besides that, Prudence is a lovely name that no one should be ashamed of. I’m not just saying that because your mother told me to either.” The guests laughed again, and Adelaide Higginbottom looked around the reception hall, beaming with pride.

“It’s one of the four cardinal virtues,” she said loudly, causing the towering plume of red feathers on her hat to shake as if in agreement with her. Prue and her sisters had not believed their mother could possibly outdo the ensemble she had worn for Cate’s wedding three months earlier, but somehow she had managed to find something even more embarrassing for Prue’s day. Her red dress today was low cut, showcasing her ample bosom and the bodice was covered in sparkling diamantes, further drawing the eye to this area. The skirt was huge and billowing, and over the dress was a sheer wrap with red feathered fringing to complement her hat. Prue had tried to talk her mother into something a little more subdued, but she had insisted on buying the most garish outfit in the shop.

“I’m the mother of the bride, and people are going to be looking at me just as much as they’re looking at you. It’s my special day too, you know, Prudence, and I think you’re being very selfish wanting to keep the spotlight purely on yourself.”

“But Mum,” said Cate, jumping in before Prue could reply, “you just look so…so….striking in that dress that Prue’s afraid no one will notice her at all. I mean look at what happened at my wedding, you were in almost as many photos as me.” This was true but only because she had followed the photographer everywhere, telling him how to take the photos and hovering in the background of many of the shots. In her purple gown with orange flowers she’d been very hard to miss. Prue had lost no time in pointing this out, and she half wondered if her mother had deliberately chosen the most outlandish dress she could find just to get back at her.

In the end they had agreed that she could wear whatever she wanted to Prue’s wedding as long as she didn’t touch any alcohol at the reception and stayed far away from the photographer. She was also under strict instructions not to step in and try to help them cut the cake. So far she’d stuck to her promises, and Prue was relieved that she didn’t have to worry about her mother making a spectacle of herself for one day at least.

“Speaking of a Higginbottom scorned,” said Charles, “William of all people knows how dangerous this can be. He and Prue got off to quite a rocky start if I remember correctly. I was there the first time he ever set eyes on our Prudence, and what a sight it was. For some reason that has never been fully explained to me she decided to come in drag to our first function in Merryton. It was very hard to miss her.”

The screen behind him which had shown carefully staged images of William and Prue in the most flattering light suddenly changed to a photo of Organic Feast’s first function. Prue was in the background clearing a table, but the immense white jacket stood out like a sore thumb making her look like a heavyset man with very thin legs. This time the guests roared with laughter, and Prude felt a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.  She had to admit she looked even more ridiculous than she’d thought, and this was probably her karmic payback for giving her mother so much grief over Cate’s wedding photos.

“Wills couldn’t resist making fun of the poor girl, not realising that she could hear every word he said. He meant no harm, but his wicked sense of humour has often gotten him into trouble. Needless to say Prue was not impressed. To make things worse she somehow got the idea that he wanted to start his own anti-immigration movement in town. Where she got this idea from is another thing I’ve never quite been able to work out, but Prue’s mind works in mysterious ways. Nothing could be further from the truth. The William I’ve known for over ten years is not in the least bit prejudiced against any race, colour or creed. He is honest and generous to a fault, and despite Prue’s bad first impression, a true gentleman at heart. He is also a far better friend than I deserve. Over the years we’ve become more like brothers than friends, and now that we ‘ve married two sisters we truly are family.”

Charles’ voice became a little choked at this point and he had to pause for a moment to collect himself. Glancing at William, Prue saw that his eyes were shining with emotion. “Joining the Higginbottom clan is a very unique experience, to say the least, and there’s no one else I’d rather have as a brother-in-law than William. Together we are an island of sanity in a sea of madness.” Everyone tittered again and Charles couldn’t help laughing too. “Just kidding, of course. My father-in-law is a perfectly rational man and I don’t know how he’s managed to survive all these years on his own.” It was Thomas Higginbottom’s turn to beam now, and Prue could see that he was thrilled at being included in the speech. “All jokes aside, I’m just so glad that William has found a beautiful lady who completes him in every way. I’ve never seen him so happy and it’s with great pleasure that I raise this toast to their future together. May it be filled with all the joy and laughter they both deserve. To William and Prue.”

“To William and Prue,” repeated the guests, raising their crystal glasses for the toast as the bride and groom shared a kiss. Cate finished off the speeches with a colourful account of the night at the Heart and Humble when Prue had accused Will and his kind of taking over the town before promptly passing out face first in his lap. By the time her sister finished talking Prue’s sides ached from laughing.

With the speeches concluded the guests began chatting softly amongst themselves, and Prue finally let herself start to relax. So much could have gone wrong, but now that the formalities were over she could afford to let her hair down and have some fun. The band members returned from their break and were preparing to launch into their next song when the tinkling sound of a spoon tapping against glass cut through the conversation. All heads turned in the direction from which it had come. Prue’s heart almost stopped when she saw a plume of feathers rise towards the ceiling as if some strange red bird was attempting to take flight.

“Excuse me, everyone, can I please have your attention for just a moment,” said Adelaide Higginbottom, smiling sweetly as she scanned the faces in the crowd. Her expression changed to a glare when she reached a table where some guests were still talking, and she waited until there was complete silence before resuming. “Thank you. Now this speech wasn’t planned and I don’t like being the centre of attention, so I won’t say very much today, but on the occasion of my daughter Prudence’s wedding I feel the need to share some of my thoughts”. Prue made eye contact with her father, imploring him to do something, but he just gave a helpless shrug. William reached out to take her hand to comfort her, but also to restrain her so she couldn’t jump up and snatch the microphone from her mother. She had not even gone this far at Cate’s wedding, and Prue shuddered to think of exactly what thoughts she felt the need to share today of all days. She glanced over at Cate who had turned very pale.

“Over the years Prudence and I haven’t always seen on to eye on many things as most of you are aware. She was always a very headstrong girl and our disagreements only increased as she got older. Of all my daughters she has been the hardest one for me to understand as she is so different from me in temperament. I am more the shy, retiring type but Prue has always been very outspoken and, sorry darling, sometimes even a bit overbearing when it comes to her beliefs.” A couple people coughed, but the majority of guests managed to restrain themselves admirably at these comments. “Despite our differences I’ve tried to support her as best I could, even when I disagreed with her decisions. For instance I have never been able to comprehend why she wanted to run her own farm but she couldn’t be swayed from this path so I gave her my blessing. It’s a very unfeminine lifestyle and I began to worry that she would never find a husband, but then she met William who is just as passionate about the orgasmic nonsense as she is. It was a match made in heaven.”

This time there were a quite a few startled looks and a lot of muffled laughter.  Beside her Prue could feel William shoulder’s shaking, and she had to fight the urge to cover her face with her hands. “Oh, did I say orgasmic? I meant to say organic. I don’t know why I always get those things mixed up. No doubt my daughter will be very cranky with me for that slip up, but I’ve made worse.” She had indeed, and Prue dreaded to think what was coming next. “As I said we disagree on a lot of issues, politics being one of the main things, but recently we have come to respect each other and learn from our differences. Prue has taught me to keep an open mind and accept people for who they are, and for this I’m grateful to her. I feel very proud to have raised a daughter who cares so much about others and always tries to treat everyone fairly.” Prue felt her eyes fill with tears at the unexpected kind words, and she was momentarily ashamed for thinking her mother would do anything to embarrass her on her special day.

“I haven’t changed my opinions completely on immigration, mind you, but I’m now willing to accept that in some circumstances it can be a positive thing. Why just tonight I’ve been having a very nice chat with Zahir over there, and if you closed your eyes while talking to him you wouldn’t even know he’s not British. Where is it you said you come from, Zahir?”

A young man sitting at the table opposite the bridal party shifted self-consciously in his seat. “Um, Sheffield.”

“No before that.”

“London.”

“No, I mean before you came to England.”

 “My family are originally from Bangladesh.”

“Yes, that’s it, Bangladesh. An interesting people the Bangladeshis. It’s hardly their fault they come from a third world country and I’m sure it’s not as unhygienic over there as it looks on television. Anyway, Zahir is a shining example of what civilization can achieve for even the most backward of races.”

A few murmurs ran through the crowd, but Adelaide was unperturbed, clearly thinking they were agreeing with her. As she continued she began enunciating her words very clearly as if the audience were hard of hearing, and gesturing with her hands. “I see there are many other foreigners here today too and I’d just like to extend the hand of friendship and make you feel welcome in our great nation. I think it’s wonderful that you have all assimilated and made an effort to learn the language and adapt to our way of life. At least I'm assuming you have or you wouldn't be here. I hope you will convince others in your communities to follow suit. No one wants to live in a society that is divided by race.  It can only cause trouble as people will wonder why on earth you chose to come here if you don’t want to be part of our culture. We don’t mind if you keep your own traditions, apart from the barbaric ones like female circumcision, but please respect our traditions too and make a genuine effort to fit in. That’s all we ask.”

“At least she’s trying,” whispered William, nodding in apology to Zahir who was one of his closest friends from university.

“She’s very trying,” Prue whispered back, wishing her mother would just shut up and sit down before she offended anymore of their friends. Her face was burning and she couldn’t bring herself to look at the guests for fear of what she’d see on their faces.

“Anyway, I didn't intend to speak of these things today because no one likes it when politics intrudes on what is supposed to be romantic. I really just wanted to tell Prue how very proud I am of her and what a wonderful young woman she has grown into. I hope she and William have a long and happy life together. I give them my blessing and Cate and Charles too. I know my daughters will not waste any time starting their families, so I’d like to dedicate this toast to future grandchildren. May we hear the pitter patter of tiny feet before too long because who knows how much time your father and I have left on this earth. Prue and William might  be considerate enough to get started on our first grandchild tonight.” She gave a suggestive wink before raising her glass. “To grandchildren.”

“To grandchildren,” came the somewhat confused echo.

Returning to her seat Adelaide Higginbottom looked very pleased with how well her speech had been received. Those guests not in shock at her words clearly relished the unexpected entertainment. William couldn’t hold back his own laughter and his chuckling was contagious. Prue was torn between sharing his amusement and feeling upset that her mother had embarrassed her once again. Then the music started up again and William squeezed her hand, and she realised that none of it really mattered. Her mother would always be outspoken and opinionated, but that’s just the way she was. If she could make the effort to change then the least Prue could do was be more accepting of her foibles. One day her own children might see her in the same way and she would hate to think that they couldn’t find it their hearts to show some understanding and tolerance towards her. She blew Adelaide a kiss as William whisked her onto the dance floor, and then her mother was the last thing on her mind as the band played her favourite song and she twirled beneath the fairy lights with her darling Mr Darling, the most perfect husband in the world for her.

THE END

 

Pitch Perfect: A Review

First of all I have to admit that I'm a huge fan of good musicals, and not-so-good musicals (except Mamma Mia which was a step too far, even for me). Pitch Perfect is definitely not perfect. In fact many of the jokes fall flat and some of the humour is questionable, but overall I really enjoyed this movie!

When I started watching it my expectations were pretty low. After a shit day at work I needed a pick-me-up and was ready to forgive a lot of its sins if the music was good. The music is very good, and the audtion sequence with Kelly Clarkson's Since You've Been Gone is gold. Another stand-out scene is the improvised rif- off between the rival acapella groups. In a lot of ways this is Glee / High School Musical type of film, but at the same time it pushes the boundaries in a really clever way that will not alienate fans. It's both a parody and a tribute.

What elevated it for me was that some of the humour comes straight out of left-field and is completely unexpected. Most of the characters are weird and over-the-top, but they work, and Rebel Wilson's deadpan delivery of her lines is one of the highlights of the films (although I am getting sick of seeing her play exactly the same role in every movie she's in. Makes me wonder if she has any range beyond the funny fat chick). Anna Kendrick was perfect in the lead role and Skylar Astin is great too. (he's way too young for me to perve on but what a cutie).

The only sour note was the depiction of the predatory lesbian character who takes any opportunity to grope women. In this day and age it's disappointing that homosexuality is even an issue. The vomit scenes were pretty disgusting, but the scene were the women are all struggling to get away from Aubrey as she blows chunks is like something straight out of a horror movie. It's very funny, at least for a few seconds, but the "vomit angel" took it a bit too far. Both my husband and I agreed that the Treblemaker's performance at the end was actually better than the Bella's, but this is a mnor thing. Do I recommend this film? Most definitely woth a look.

Flash Fiction: A Double Shot of Love

 

Damn but the coffee was good here. Emily took another sip and savoured the rich, creamy texture and full flavour of her double espresso. She’d almost decided against dropping into her regular café this morning, especially after the shocking start she’d had to the day. It was four blocks from her apartment and in the opposite direction to her office, but the siren call of the coffee was too strong to resist. There was simply no better in town.

She had to be honest, though, and admit that coffee wasn’t the only thing that had drawn her here today.

As she gazed at her iPad she felt someone’s eyes on her, and she was delighted when she looked up to see a handsome blonde man seated a few tables away, smiling at her. He was impeccably dressed in an expensive Italian suit, and he looked like a quintessential Wall Street millionaire. She’d never dated a rich, powerful man before and the thought gave her a little thrill. It was about time she set her sights on someone successful instead of the lowly paid losers she usually ended up with. She was so tired of slackers and commitment-phobics.

She’d seen the man here a couple of times before and he’d always smiled at her in a flirty kind of way but she’d never smiled back. Today was different; today was her birthday and the start of a whole new era in her life. Out with the old and in with the new was her motto for her twenty-eighth year.

She gave him what she hoped was a sexy smile in return, and their eyes locked. For a moment it looked like he was actually going to come over and talk to her. She moistened her lips and flicked her hair back in anticipation.

A loud crash from behind the counter interrupted the moment, causing the man to glance towards the front of the café. Without looking at her again he casually slipped his hand into his pocket and returned to the paper. Emily silently cursed the stupid barista who had dropped a jar of coffee beans, spilling them everywhere. From where she was sitting she could see him scrambling around on his knees cleaning up the mess. She gave a snort of contempt and tried to focus her attention back on her iPad.

She had just taken a final sip of her coffee and she was gathering her things to leave when the clumsy barista appeared at the table with another cup in his hand.

“A short macchiato,” he said.

“I didn’t order that.”

“I know, that guy over there ordered it for you.” She looked over to see the handsome stranger smiling at her again. He nodded at her and she inclined her head towards him and mouthed “Thank you.”

“It’s great to see that chivalry isn’t completely dead.” The steamed milk had been shaped into a perfect love heart. “Look a heart, how sweet.”

“The heart is from me.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know how to respond so she raised the cup to take a sip. It was even better than the last. He’d outdone himself with this one. “Well, thank you, I guess.” She hoped he’d just walk away and leave her alone, but he continued to linger.

The last thing she wanted to do was look into his deep brown eyes, the colour of the richest, most flavoursome of coffee beans, but she couldn’t resist. What she saw there made her draw her breath in sharply. It was love, pure and simple, she couldn’t deny it. Before she could say another word he’d dropped down onto one knee and taken her hand.

“This is not the way I’d planned for this to happen. I wanted to wait till tonight but I can see I’m going to have to do it now or someone else might steal you away before the day is over. Emily, will you marry me?”

“You mean you didn’t forget my birthday?”

“No. I have a romantic dinner all planned for you at your favourite restaurant. I thought if I pretended to forget it would make it even more of a surprise. So what’s the answer going to be?” Tears sprang into her eyes and she threw her arms around his neck.

“Of course it’s yes, you big loser.” It was only when the café broke out in applause that Emily snapped back to reality and saw that they had an audience for this most intimate of moments. The handsome stranger appeared to be very surprised, and she gave him a sheepish look. He abruptly raised the newspaper so she couldn’t see his face anymore, but she could see the distinctive tan line on his finger where it seemed a wedding band usually belonged.

The End

The Watcher: A Short Story

 

 

 

Judy Pringle had always considered herself to be a tolerant and reasonable woman, but she had her limits and a peeping tom was a step too far. For years she had been vaguely aware of the goings-on in Mangrove Crescent but she had chosen to turn a blind eye, believing it wiser to keep to oneself and stay out of other people’s business. Meddling in things which did not concern one only led to complications and this was something she tried to avoid at all costs.  When her mother told her about the latest scandals, witnessed from her chair in the front sunroom, Judy quickly changed the subject or left the room.

“Looks like the Fletcher woman’s pregnant, and who knows who the father is….. Judy, where did you go? Judy, I was talking to you!”

Some might consider this behaviour towards a frail old lady with no other companions somewhat harsh, but Judy had little appetite for gossip and enough on her mind as it was.  Although she had lived in the same house for over sixty years she barely knew the neighbours and this was perfectly satisfactory as far as she was concerned.

It was only after her mother passed away that Judy started gravitating towards the front window to enjoy her cup of tea in the morning, and her curiosity grew. She watched her neighbours through the lace curtains, becoming aware of their routines and discovering things about them that were much more shocking than she could have imagined.  Before long she was sitting in her mother’s Jason recliner for most of the morning, and then well into the afternoon. She began to understand why Mrs Pringle had been so interest in the things taking place in their cul-de-sac and she wished she had not been so quick to shut her down when she tried to talk about them.

First there was the teenage boy at number 7 who never seemed to go to school and had visitors at all hours of the day and night. Although he still lived with his parents he was clearly up to no good.” Drug dealer,” was Judy’s considered opinion. Then there was Mr Allenby who spent a great deal of time attending to the garden of the recently widowed Mrs Johnstone and chatting with her out the front of her house. “I’m sure the garden’s not the only thing he’s attending to,” she thought and laughed knowingly. There was much activity and so many cars in the driveway at number 9 that she became convinced that one of the illegal car-re-birthing schemes she’d read about in the newspaper was operating out of the garage. As for the goings-on at number 11, they didn’t even bear mentioning.

These things were dreadful enough but they didn’t directly affect her so she could simply observe them in silent disapproval, occasionally calling in anonymous tip-offs to the police. Far more disturbing were the two men who regularly passed by her house and threatened to infringe on her peaceful existence.  It had not taken her long to notice the young fellow who rode his bike by the house twice a day, except on weekends, trying to look inconspicuous. He always appeared at the same times and almost without fail he would glance at the house to see if she was home. Once she had realised what he was up to she made sure she was standing at the front door or in the garden where he could clearly see that his plans were foiled again.

 He was nothing if not persistent though and he continued to ride past even when it was obvious he was never going to catch her out. The whole thing was terribly annoying and inconvenient; especially on her shopping day when she had to make sure she was home by five. That was until she hit on the idea of having her groceries delivered, and she began phoning in her order each week. After this she rarely had to leave the house at all. The daily ritual had become like a game between the two of them and occasionally she even waved at him and he waved back. “The sheer audacity,” she said, smiling in spite of herself.

It was one thing to wave at a potential young thief but another to court the attention of a pervert, and that was why she had never acknowledged the older gentleman from number 8 who walked his dog past the house every evening.  His actions had seemed innocent at first until Judy noticed that he always came out just as dusk was falling,. It was no accident that at this time of day people began turning on the lights inside their houses but left the curtains open for a while longer, giving him a bird’s eye view into their lives. Judy soon put two and two together.

 “A peeping tom. I knew it!” she said out loud, frightening the cat. From behind the curtains she watched him loiter outside each house in the cul-de-sac, pretending to let his dog sniff around trees and shrubs, all the time glancing surreptitiously towards the lighted windows. When she realised that he spent more time lingering out the front of her house than any other she’d had to take a sip of brandy and lie down for a good ten minutes to calm herself.

Not being one to act rashly, Judy decided to simply observe him for a while and hope he changed his walking route, however when he brazenly looked up to where she was standing in the window one afternoon and nodded at her he took things a step too far. The next evening as dusk fell she was in the front yard with a garden hose in her hand waiting for him. When the man appeared she intended to show him with just one look that she was onto him and possibly spray him with the hose for good measure.  She saw him leave his house and cross the street with his King Charles Cavalier as he always did, coming up the footpath towards her. She turned her back on him and when he was almost level she spun around suddenly, but before she could give him her harshest glare he smiled.

 “Hello,” he said. “It’s a lovely evening.” She didn’t reply but that wasn’t enough to deter him.
“How’s your mother? I haven’t seen her in a while.”
“My mother ‘s dead. She died six months ago.”
 “Oh, I’m terribly sorry to hear that. I only spoke to her a few times but she seemed like a lovely lady.” The silence grew between them but still he didn’t move on. “I’ve seen you around quite a bit but I don’t believe we’ve ever been introduced. My name is Simon.” Again she said nothing but he continued unperturbed. “It’s such a shame that we’ve been neighbours for so long and we don’t even know each other after all these years. If you ever want to pop over for a cup of tea or something please do. I’m home alone most of the time except on Thursdays.” His invitation was so unexpected that Judy almost dropped the hose and she forgot all about her plans to flick him with it. Instead she mumbled something about being too busy and then retreated inside the house.

 Once inside she sat in the darkened living room and tried to forget the unsettling encounter by listening to her favourite music. The familiar old tunes brought back memories of her younger years and her mind wandered back to the time she had spent living with some girlfriends in the city after she had started her first job. It had been a fun, carefree period in her life but all that ended when her father died and she moved home to be with her mother.  “It’s your duty,” everyone had told her and she hadn’t known how to argue with that. When her mother got sick she’d given up work to become a full-time carer and somehow the life she always thought she’d have slipped through her fingers. Where had the years gone? With a sigh she got up and went into the kitchen to rinse her cup before shuffling into her bedroom and turning down the bed. The sheets were cold as she slipped between them and closed her eyes.

 When she awoke Judy’s melancholy mood of the previous evening had been replaced by anger and she briefly considered calling the police to report the horrible man. From past experience though she knew a person would have to lie murdered in their bed before the police would act, but she had to do something. How would he like it if someone invaded his privacy and watched him without his consent? He needed to be taught a lesson on behalf of the neighbourhood and it looked like she would have to be the one to do it.

 He had told her he was home every day except Thursday and she knew this was true because he did volunteer work in the morning and then in the afternoon he went shopping, meaning he was gone for most of the day.  She also knew he kept a spare key in a pot plant near his front door because she’d seen him use it more than once when he’d locked himself out.

  Judy’s anticipation was such that by the time Thursday came around she almost forgot about her bicycle boy and she had to dash to the front door to catch him in a time. A short time later she watched Simon get into his little white car and drive away. Dressed in tracksuit as if going for a walk, she made her way across the street and when she was certain no one was looking she ducked into his front yard. She quickly found the key and slipped inside the modest brick home. It was sparsely furnished and tidy but with a thin layer of dust over everything. “Typical bachelor,” she said, her voice sounding loud in the unfamiliar room.

 There were a few scattered photos of family in the living room and some books on a shelf that she glanced through. She perched on the edge of the sofa for a few seconds before getting up and moving some of his things around on top of the TV unit. Her hand brushed against a glass of water on the side table and “accidentally” tipped it over, spilling its contents onto the floor. Judy put her hand to her mouth to stifle a giggle and rushed for the door. As she made her way back across the street her heart was racing and she couldn’t remember feeling so alive. She waited for him to walk past that evening, but to her disappointment he didn’t even glance at the house. She would have to go back again and make her presence more obvious.

 The next week she felt a little braver as she opened a desk drawer in his study and looked through the contents. She found what appeared to be a diary and leafing through it one line stood out from the rest: “I wish I didn’t feel so alone.” With a start she returned the diary to the drawer and quickly left the room. She hadn’t yet decided what she would do today  but on noticing there were a couple of dishes in the sink she washed them up and put away, then she found a duster and ran it over the furniture. When he passed by that evening he again showed no sign that he knew what was going on.

The following Thursday she mended some socks, mopped the kitchen floor, did a load of washing, and by the time he returned home it was all folded and put away. He didn’t walk past that evening, but the next afternoon there was no denying it, he looked straight at her window and she could tell he had seen her. Now they had an understanding.

She spent the next few days  in a flutter trying to think of what else she could do for him and she came up with the perfect idea.  She had seen his birthday marked on a calendar in his office and by coincidence it fell on Thursday. She decided to bake a cake and leave in the oven so it would be ready just as he got home and he would be greeted by its delicious aroma as soon as he walked in the door. Who could ask for a nicer birthday surprise?

 Everything went exactly as planned and she looked forward to his reaction that afternoon, but as she was making a cup of tea and getting read to settle into her recliner in front of the window she was surprised by a knock on the door. Surely he wasn’t going to thank her in person for the cake! She opened the door to find a police officer standing there.
 “Are you Miss Judy Pringle?”
 “Yes.”
 “You’re under arrest for trespassing. Please come with me.”
 “But there must be some mistake.” She raised her hand to her heart.
 “I’m afraid not. We have video evidence of you entering a house in this street without permission.”
 “But I was only….” Tears prevented her from continuing.
 “We can sort it out at the station but you need to come with me now,” said the young officer, taking her arm.

It seemed that all the neighbours were gathered on their front lawns, or peering out their windows as she was led towards the waiting police car and Judy thought she would die of shame. Through the blur of her tears she saw Simon approaching but she couldn’t speak to him. She had no idea what one should say in these circumstances, and thankfully he turned his attention to the police man.

 “Look, I’m sorry officer,” he said as the officer opened the car door her. “But there’s been a mistake. I forgot I asked Judy to do some cleaning for me when I wasn’t home.  I’m really sorry for wasting your time but it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
 The officer clearly did not believe him and he didn’t loosen his grip on her arm. “How could you forget something like that?”
 “Senility must be setting in. It just slipped my mind.” He smiled at the policeman but he didn’t smile back.
 “Okay, well I suppose there’s nothing I can do if you’re not going ahead with the charges.” He released her arm reluctantly and got into his car, glancing from one to the other and shaking his head. Most of the neighbours started to drift away but a few lingered to find out what would happen next.

 “Just so you know, I’ve had all the locks changed,” said Simon, still not looking her in the eye. “I don’t know what you thought you were doing but please stay away from my house.”
 Her cheeks were burning. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. “

 That night Judy sat in the darkness and silence, thinking about, what a terrible fool she had made of herself. All her life she had been the strong one, the smart one who never let anyone know how she was feeling inside even when her heart was fit to break. Now she was the laughingstock of Mangrove Crescent and she would never live it down. When the young man rode his bike past the next morning she wasn't there to see him because she was still in bed with her face turned to the wall. She spent the rest of the day in her mother's recliner with the curtains drawn and when the knock came in the late afternoon she almost didn’t answer it.

 “Hello. You probably didn’t expect to see me today,” said Simon, “It seemed like a shame to let this nice cake to go to waste so I’m returning it to you.”
 “Please, won’t you come in and share it with me, I believe I have some explaining to do,” she said, unlatching the security door and holding it open. He hesitated for just a moment before stepping into the hall.

               

THE END

 

**This short story was written for my first creative writing assigment. I decided not to rewrite Falling because it was more fun to start from scratch while drawing on the advice I was given for that story. The stories have similar themes about alienation and loneliness and they both make use of unreliable narrators. This one is written in third person but focalised through the main character, which I think works better for me with characters who are way "out there" ( as many of my characters tend to be). I have a limited word count so the ending is briefer than I wanted it to be and I'm hoping it doesn't affect the flow of the story too much.

 

Revealing Character Through Action

This week for my creative writing class we were asked to write three short pieces which, through a focus on action, reveal much about character. The three characters I chose are from a short story I've been working on forever and which is still nowhere near finished. It's about six women from very different backgrounds who meet in a market research focus group for "feminine empowerment products" ie. tampons. I got the inspiration from a stint in market research as a telephone interviewer. Yes I was one of those annoying people who ring you in the middle of dinner and want to know if you're laundry detergent/toilet paper/bank is making you happy.

These pieces aren't from the stories, they're just exercises designed to help bring out character through action and they were really fun to write. They were only meant to be 100 words each but I went a bit over. I've never done much of this thing before but I'm finding the exercises extremely valuable because they force you to focus on every single word.

·         Your character does something that reveals or explains something about their physical self, their body. Don’t literally describe their appearance.

 

Charlie was only halfway up the hill but already she was fighting to breathe and her face was on fire. Her legs were hot and itchy, a fly kept buzzing around her head and she could smell her own stale armpits. Sweat pooled under her bra and trickled across the folds of her stomach. With each step the shopping got heavier until it felt like she was lugging plastic bags of concrete to the top of Mount Everest. She wished she’d been able to resist the three-jumbo-Cokes-for -the-price-of-two special that week but she’d always been a sucker for a bargain. The top of the hill was just coming into view when Charlie dropped down into the gutter and took several deep shuddering breaths. She fumbled around in her bag, growing increasingly frantic until she found whas she was after, and with an audible sigh relief she pulled out a packet of cigarettes.

 

 

·         Your character has been asked for assistance from another person that they know, who is bleeding profusely (such as a work colleague, sibling or neighbour). Don’t focus on the blood.

 

At the sight of the deep cut on Doug’s hand Ainsley took a step back. She turned away and scanned the hall to see if there was anyone around who could help,

.     “Ainsley, can you please get the first aid-kit. I’m bleeding pretty badly here you know.”

      “Okay, sorry Doug.” She glanced at her watch. It was almost lunchtime. When she  found the kit  Ainsley hurried back to the office and put it down on the desk next to Doug.

“You’ll be okay now?” she said, turning to leave.

“No, not really. It’s stopped bleeding but you’ll have to bandage it for me.” Glancing at her watch again Ainsley unfurled the bandage and tried not to be too rough as she wrapped Doug’s arm.

 

·         Your character either tries to keep someone they know in their flat or house, garden, car, office, boat (etc). They must do this in a way that is characteristic of them.  They may fail or succeed.

 

She closes the gate with a crash and sees the two boys jump. Tyler looks the most frightened but Jackson is a bit scared too. His eyes are darting around nervously even though he’s trying to look like he doesn’t care. She steps in front of them and raises herself to her full height.

“It was his idea,” blurts out Tyler after a tense thirty-second stand-off. “I didn’t even want to go but he called me a baby.”

“I did not, it was his idea too. He wanted to see the new fish in Ben’s aquarium.” Beckoning to Jackson to step forward first she holds out her hand.

“Oh, Mum, no, please not my ipod.” She doesn’t speak or break her stare and he looks away first, hanging his head and pulling his ipod from his pocket. “You suck,” he screams when he is a good distance away. She chooses to ignore him.

Falling: The First Draft

This is a short story titled Falling that I wrote for my creative writing workshop. It was written in between ripping out our kitchen and I can't say I'm very happy with it.  Based on the feedback I got I plan to rewrite it extensively for assessment, but I thought I'd share the original version. Feel free to leave any feedback/advice and stay tuned for the rewrite. (How cool is the picture below? Think I'll use it for my twitter profile!)

 

Falling

“Do you know who I am?” The old woman in the bed stares back at me, her face worn and faded against the white pillow. She opens and closes her mouth as if trying to speak. I lean down to catch her words but she turns her head away from me to stare at the wall. I look around the room to find out if anyone else can answer my question.

There are three other beds in the room and two of them are occupied. In one sits a woman with white hair. She is wearing a pink dressing gown and watching a television fixed to the wall opposite her bed. The sound is turned up loud and I see two people dancing on the screen. The other woman is reading a book. Every now and then she glances up and yells something at the television. I move towards the white haired woman because she is closer.

“Do you know who I am?”

She doesn’t look away from the television. “You, my dear, are the Queen of England, and this is Buckingham palace.” The woman in the other bed laughs, and I turn to stare at her. Her mouth is open wide and she reminds me of something I saw a long time ago. I don’t understand what is so funny so I move to her bed.

“Do you know how I got here?”

“You flew in on your broomstick one night, and now we can’t get rid of you.” She laughs loudly at her own words and I have a sudden image of a clown, its head moving backwards and forwards, its mouth open wide. There are swirling colours and the sound of music on a summer’s night. It is beautiful, this fairyland of lights and music. I want to ask her how I can get there, but she has gone back to her book, and I don’t think she can help me.

I hear a sound behind me and turn around to see a young woman with glasses coming through the door. She is smiling at me. It is a nice feeling to be smiled at.

“What are you doing out of bed, Rachel?” she asks. “Come on, let’s get you back in.” She takes my arm and leads me towards the vacant bed.

“Am I the Queen of England?”

She shakes her head. “No, you’re not the Queen of England. Have these ladies been giving you a hard time again?” She pats my hand and I don’t know how to answer so I just stare at her. “Come on guys, be nice to her, you know she can’t help it.”

She helps me into bed and as settle in I slip my hand under the pillow and feel something. Lifting the pillow I find a photograph and I wonder who it belongs to. I pick it up and examine it closely. It is of a tall man with curly dark hair standing in front of a boat. He looks so much like someone I used to know.

I search through my memory but it is like looking for something in a thick fog. I can see his outline in the distance and I run to catch up to him, but he is very fast. When I finally reach him I extend my hand out to touch him and he turns towards me, but before I can see his face the fog swallows him completely.

“Who is this?” I ask the young woman.

She looks at me sadly. “That’s your husband, Rachel.”

Husband. My husband. I am married.

We are standing on the deck of a boat, the wind in our hair, his arms wrapped tightly around me. He lets me go and drops down on one knee and I am so surprised when he pulls out a ring that I almost fall overboard. Before us the ocean stretches on endlessly.

Our wedding cake topples over before we even get a chance to cut it, but we don’t care because it is our special day and nothing can ruin it. Our house is made of brick and we joke that it can never be blown down. It is so big we almost get lost in all the rooms, but that’s okay because one day we will fill these rooms with children. Sometimes in summer we go fishing at the river or just lie on the grass and watch the clouds drift by. Me and my husband. My husband and I.

It’s as if the pieces of the puzzle have clicked together. Now maybe I can finally go home.

“Do you remember, Rachel?” asks the woman. I open my eyes and smile at her. Behind her is a mirror and in it another young woman is reflected. She is very pale with long fair hair and she is wearing a blue nightgown. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed I move towards the reflection. It’s me, it has to be me. How I used to love brushing my hair and arranging it in different styles. It seems like such a long time since I’ve done this.

“Yes, I remember it all now.” I reach out and touch the glass. It is hard and cold beneath my fingers.

“Do you remember all of it?” Something about her voice makes me look away from the mirror to her face. The fog is back again, flooding my brain, making it hard to think clearly.

“Where is my husband? When is he coming to get me?” I ask. By now the fog has filled my throat and I can hardly breathe.

“He’s never coming to get you,” says the white-haired woman across the room. The other woman laughs again but this time she looks frightening, like a wild animal.

“Why isn’t my husband coming to get me?” I have a cold feeling in my stomach.

“Because he’s dead,” says the white haired lady.

“No, he can’t be.” I try to block my ears but it’s no use.

“Come on, Florence, don’t be cruel,” says the young woman, trying to lead me back to the bed.

“He’s dead and you killed him.”

Angry voices split the night. A bottle smashes, wine spills across the rug. He says he is leaving. I try to follow him but I stumble and fall. A firecracker goes off in my ear and the sharp smell of gun powder, and then red...so much red. I can’t stop it…..I didn’t mean to……I’m so sorry….

I open my eyes to find a young woman staring at me. She looks familiar but I can’t place where I have seen her before.

“Where am I?” I ask her, but she just pats my hand and helps me into a bed. She turns away from me as if she is going to leave.

“Where are you going?” I ask.

“I have to get back to my shift now. You’ll be okay, Rachel.”

I feel frightened at the thought of being left on my own in this strange place.

“Who am I?” I ask.

“You are Alice and you’ve fallen down the rabbit hole,” says an old lady in a pink dressing on the other side of the room.

“She’s the white rabbit, and we are Tweedledum and Tweedledee,” says another lady, bursting into laughter, and pointing at a third woman lying very still in her bed.

“But I don’t belong here,” I say, looking around at their faces.

“Of course you do. We’re all mad here and you’re as mad as the rest of us,” replies the woman with the loud laugh.

“How do you know I’m mad?”

“You’re here aren’t you?”

“How can I get away?”

“It really depends where you want to go,”

I thought hard. “I don’t know. Anywhere, I guess.”

“Then you shouldn’t have any trouble finding anywhere,” she says. Her laughter fills my ears as I turn to face the wall. I close my eyes and feel like I am being pulled down a long, dark tunnel. I am falling, forever falling and the only thing I know is that there will never be any light at the end of the tunnel for me.

I Believe I Can Write

It's been exactly two months since I've written here so I thought I'd better check in and give an update or people will think this blog has died. My only excuse for my laxness it that life has gotten in the way. First of all I started a creative writing course which takes up a lot of time, and on top of that we're renovating our house and it looks like a bomb site. My job this Easter weekend is to try to restore a bit of order to the chaos and then hopefully my creativity will be revived. I'm the type of person who needs to be organised and clutter-free in order to write and that just hasn't been possible for the last couple of months.

AS GOD IS MY WITNESS I WILL NEVER RENOVATE AGAIN! (at least not while I'm living in the house).

That's not the only reason for the impasse in my blogging and writing in general. I'm trying to read more this year and I also mentioned a few posts ago that I was changing direction and toying with the idea of a new pen name. I thought I had a novella almost ready to publish in a different genre, but when I left it for a couple of weeks and then looked at it again I realised it's nowhere near ready to see the light of day. I want to grow as a writer and I know that takes time but I just can't shake the feeling that I should be writing constantly. It's hard to do this when everything I write seems so flat and unoriginal and my muse has left the building. I know I need to give myself time to refresh but I'm just so darn impatient that  I want everything finished NOW.

 One of my high school English teachers wrote on my report card once that I need to show more depth in my writing and I think she was spot on. I still struggle with this problem to this day. Some writers paint such beautiful pictures with words and make you savour the language as much as the storyline. I want to be one of those writers but it's not a skill that can be learnt overnight. It takes hours and hours of painstaking labour and endless rewriting - things that require vast reserves of patience. When I next release a book I want to feel that it's my absolute best work and something I can be justifiably proud of. I am proud of the books I've already written because they've been important milestones in this journey towards becoming an author, but I know in my heart of hearts that I need to give more and dig deeper to find out what I'm truly capable of. I think this applies to everyone who is travelling on this road so the message of this post is don't settle for second best when it comes to your writing. Try your hardest and keep working on it till you are satisfied it's worthy of you and your readers. And when it all starts to get you down repeat these words over and over in your head till like a mantra till you convince your subconscious mind they are true:

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly