Today is the first day of the rest of my life! I’ve taken the dogs out, had two slices of wholemeal toast (SW friendly) slathered with Marmite, 3 strong cups of Kenco’s finest and I’m ready to bare my soul to the world. No! No! No! I am so not ready!!!!
That’s what you do when you’re a writer though isn’t it? Every word is a tiny insight into the world of madness that lies within, you give up a little piece of your soul with every page, a piece of your heart with every chapter.
I’ve been wanting to write a book since way back when, well forever really but finances (running my own business,) procrastinating, self-doubt and a terrible understanding of grammar, which you will discover (I have an excellent Proof reader/Editor. Big shout out to Wendy!) have conspired to hold me back. Dithering about what to write was another behemoth, I mean my reading taste is so eclectic; Vampires, Serial killers, Dystopia, Vikings, Witches, History, Travel, the only genres I don’t really read are Spy Fiction or Chick Lit Comedy. Oh I know I’ll write a Chick Lit Comedy.
“What madness” I hear you all yell (I don’t even think Monty Python is funny!) This girl is as amusing as getting your toe stuck in the hot tap while in the bath (Something I have never done) Gorgeous Hunky Firemen squashed into your small bathroom snickering, while you desperately try to protect your modesty with a small towel, the words “Babe I’m Wet” emblazoned across it. As yet unshaven legs (After all it is only March) making it appear you are some kind of weird human cactus deformation. Shame burning your face like a blow torch on Crème Brulee. The words “Should have had a fucking shower” screaming in your head, volume on a par with Ozzy Osbourne his nuts caught in a vice. No sir, this has never happened to me!
Anyway I digress. After my Eureka moment I scrapped all my almost finished, half-finished, ten chapters, first page attempts, concentrating on actually finishing my first novel in a series of three, two best friends decide to abandon the cold grey skies of Blighty and sod off to Spain, where their adventures begin. Will their friendship survive? Is there enough Sangria in Andalusia? How do you say “Where is my Donkey” in Spanish? Who will be the first to fall for a greasy Latin Lothario? These questions and more are all answered in the first instalment of my Mediterranean Dream Trilogy – Flip Flops, Fiestas and Flamenco (Did you see what I did there? Alliteration Rocks!)
Well I’m off to make a Slimming world crustless Quiche (oh the culinary delights!) Fantasise about those hunky Firemen (Oops!) and try to achieve my daily word count.
Here is a snippet
A large thump from her bedroom announced the arrival of her one true love. Chester may
not have been everyone’s cup of tea as a bedmate. He was a bit on the weighty side, farted like a
trooper, snored, was a tad smelly, and his face looked as if a bus had hit him head on, but for the
last seven years she’d adored him. He had her wrapped around his paw. Plodding slowly along the
hall, he stopped about a foot away for maximum impact, sat down, and proceeded to lick his balls.
The six-stone British bulldog knew who was boss of the Sinclair household, and it certainly wasn’t