Today might be Valentine’s Day, but it is also publication day for us in our ‘Imagine Write Inspire’ writers group.
Our new book is a little mosaic of all kinds of love. Not just romantic, chick lit type of love stories, but emotional, funny, heartwarming, erotic, surprising kinds of love stories. It’s like a chocolate box of love stories, but the best bit is NO CALORIES!
My own story is called ‘Holy Disorder’ and here is a sneeky peek.
Holy Disorder
“You’re going where?” Gilly asked.
“Well, it’s near Brighton.” I replied.
“Brighton? Well that’s alright then. Funny, for a minute I thought you’d said you’d joined a Convent!”
“I did.” The stunned look on my best friends’ face said it all.
“Whaaaa?”
“Gilly it’s not for ever. Don’t panic. I’ll be back after I’ve had a rest. This thing with Jordy and everything, I mean, I’m just so stressed right now. I just want to bury my head, take stock of my life…you know how it is.” I could have added ‘curl up and die’ to that list as well.
“Hey honey, Jordy was a bastard who didn’t deserve you. Everyone knows that. You were right to break up with him. The way he behaved afterwards, with the photos, well that just proved it. It’s not like everyone has actually seen them.”
I looked doubtfully at my best friend of ten years. “Gilly, even the postman passed a comment yesterday. He said, and I quote; ‘You look far slimmer now love, any man would need his head seen to if he didn’t fancy you!’ So yes Gilly, it is that bad.”
She hugged me tightly. “Oh Cath, I know it’s horrendous, having your naked photo posted all around town, but joining a Convent? Why not a spa break in Morocco? Or a three month secondment to our Aberdeen office? It’s not like you’re even religious. When was the last time you went to church?”
“I’m not properly joining, not like a vocation Gilly. It’s a retreat, you know, an escape from the pressures of the modern world and all that.”
“I get the withdrawing from general social events, and yes, men in general, but isn’t this rather severe, even by your standards?” She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s fine Gilly. I saw this place reviewed in The Sunday Telegraph. It’s like a detox, but without all the high prices. Plain home cooked food, all organic, no sugar, salt or preservatives, plus no wifi, no TVs, laptops, mobiles etc. In fact you are completely cut off from the outside world for as long as you choose. A complete break. Time just to take stock of my life, re-balance, re-charge my batteries and come back a whole new person. And he will not be mentioned ever, ever again!”
Gilly shook her head at me doubtfully. I could read her thoughts exactly. Hiding. I was going into hiding. Lie low until it all settled down and people forgot who I was, ‘Cracked Arse Cath’ with the wonky boobs, that he had plastered all over every telegraph pole and brick wall from our office to the train station and back again. If Gilly wanted to call it hiding, when it was perfectly reasonable to call it a chill out, detox, inexpensive retreat, then fine. A whole month off to contemplate the meaning of life, arseholes called Jordy and plot my revenge!
Susannah Branson 