Writing Workshop: Another Life

Welcome back to the Writing Workshop link-up! At the bottom of this post you’ll find the widget to post the link to your workshop posts. First of all it’s my turn.

I had some fun with my post this week – something a bit different for you. Inspired by prompt number #4 – my life in a parallel world, this is not exactly the life I would choose, but one I can imagine. I wrote it all out in one sitting and am not letting myself edit it (for once), so see what you think…

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The girl pressed her forehead to the cold glass and watched as the postman opened the gate and made his way to the front door of her apartment building. The mist was finally lifting from Richmond Park, and from her vantage point the girl looked on as the shapes of oak and beech trees gradually emerged from the gloom. The trail of breath the postman left hanging in their air as he returned to his bike suggested it was going to be another below-zero kind of day, and the black Labrador pushing eagerly at her foot was met with only a frown and a shake of the head as she pulled her legs in closer to her, and her cardigan more closely round her thin body.

“No chance,” she grumbled, “no walk till it’s warmed up a bit. Besides, I have a million things to do”.

But she didn’t move. Not yet. Instead she sighed and wincing slightly at the sound of movement in the next room, glanced over to the half-open bedroom door. Jeez, that had been a mistake. Was he awake? Oh god, what if he wanted to stay for breakfast? What if he wanted to talk? Maybe a walk wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe if she went now he’d be gone before she got back.

Too late.

“Morning beautiful”.

She smiled faintly as he leaned lazily against the door frame, stretching up and letting his finger tips graze the lintel. His brown eyes were heavy and dark with sleep. And something else too. The things that had made her heart race and her head pound as she’d spotted him through the groups of pretentious intellectuals sipping at home-made cocktails and trading passive-aggressive insults. He had been an artist, of course, they always were. Drawn to the idea of a real-life poet and writer, and one on the best-seller lists too, although she hated when people made a big deal of that. It had only been one book, and one she wasn’t particularly proud of either. Like many before him, the boy, for that’s all he was, had deftly used discussions of light and words and how fucking boring all these bloody lawyers and journalists and PR losers were, to make her smile and draw away to a quiet corner of the room, and later, to an even quieter taxi, whispering in her ear how much he wanted her. How he felt such a connection to her.

They all felt such a god-damn connection to her. Pity she never seemed to feel one back, or not for long anyway.

Sighing again, she swung her legs down from the high window sill and padded across the room to her desk.

“Time to go Tom. I’m sorry but I have to work.”

She sat, opening the laptop in front of her, pausing only to close her eyes briefly as the rough hand touched her neck. Lips in her hair, on her forehead.

“Ok Jo, no worries. I know you have a deadline. Call me when you’re done ok?”

Nodding, her fingers already on the keyboard, she barely heard the sound of the front door closing, already lost in words -the pressure of two new chapters needing to be on her publisher’s desk by the morning making her ears buzz and her nerves twitch.

It had to be good. No, it had to be more than good: it had to be prefect.

A best-selling book deal at 25 leaves a hell of a lot of expectations on a girl. There was no room for failure with book number two.

Taking two years to wander the globe – looking for what, she wondered? – had not been enough. Not enough to stop the emails and the letters from landing heavily on her shoulders as she settled back into London life. What was coming next? They all wanted to know. What was she working on?

She stopped.

A morning had passed. Her stomach growling from the memory of last night’s snatched sandwich and her head pounding from a morning’s frantic writing.

Feeling the familiar creep of panic, her eyes blurring as she pressed the palms of her hands sharply into her brow, the girl ignored the ringing phone to stumble, blindly into her bedroom, and crawl protectively under the thick duvet. It still smelt of him, an odd mixture of white spirit and Lynx deodorant that made her stomach turn in a horrible, sickening lurch.

What was she doing?

Was this really the life had always dreamt of? The success she had imagined?

The low ache, the inexplicable feeling of loss was stronger today. What did it mean? This feeling of missing something so fundamental to her happiness, when she had so much?

Money, fame, a head full of adventures and a line of young, eager men just ready to fill her world and her bed with passion and make her feel young and beautiful.

She closed her eyes. And dreaming, dreamt of soft blue eyes and softer hands.

Wedding vows spoken over pink roses.

And blonde hair, a child’s wild laugh, shining bright in the sunlight.

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Now, it’s your turn:

1. Take the time to talk to an elderly relative or friend and share with us a story of theirs. Or perhaps tell us a favourite story you remember being told by/about someone you have lost.
- Inspired by New Day New Lesson’s beautiful and thought-provoking post reminding us to take the time to learn our heritage before it’s too late.

2. Tell me about a time you walked in another person’s shoes, and how it changed your perspective of them.
- Inspired by Kerry’s post from “And then all I thought about was you” about spending a day doing her dad’s job

3. What war is raging in your house? What are your family’s battles right now?
- Inspired by Vegemitevix’s PS3 house invasion!

4. Imagine there is another ‘you’, living in a parallel universe. As CJ so beautifully put it in her post “Putting aside your contentment in this life, imagining you could choose another…” what would you chose for your ‘other’ life?
- Inspired by the lovely Crystal Jigsaw’s musings on Parallel Worlds

5. What is making you feel under pressure right now?
- Inspired by me, and my endlessly self-imposed need to do better.

Leave your name and the URL to your post in the MckLinky below (the URL should be to your post not just to your blog) andleave me a comment to let me know you’ve taken part. If you have the time it would be great if you could try and read and comment on at least two other entries. And be kind! It’s supposed to be a bit of fun – we’re not looking for the next Booker Prize winner here!

If you haven’t had chance to respond yet, then you’ve still got today! Or just wait till next week, when there’ll be five brand new prompts to get you thinking.

This Writing Workshop is brought to you in association with Mama Kat’s Losin’ It – who’s lovely author came up with the concept and runs her own workshop over in the U.S.

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