Hello and welcome to another Writer's Tuesday and another excerpt from an (as yet) unpublished writer. This week's fantastic excerpt comes from Caroline Frear. Enjoy!
ABOUT CAROLINE
About me! Well, I'm 31, massively in love and I wile away my daylight hours working as a Recruitment Consultant in the City which is a thankless and horrible profession at the moment but it provides me with lots of material! Being paid to interview people for a living certainly helps the budding writer! I started writing in earnest earlier this year when I suddenly hit on the idea that if I left one recruitment firm and went to a competitor, I'd immediately be put on 6 weeks garden leave and that would give me enough time to at least start the story that's been living in my head for the past 18 months. I definitely broke the back of it in those 6 weeks and also developed a physical dependancy on Loose Women so strong that shock of going back to work nearly killed me! So I'm back at the grindstone now and hoping for a bout of swine flu so I can lay low at home for another while and carry on with the writing.
I'm having a ball with the story and I'm following the advice of all the good'uns to write what I'd like to read and therefore my heroine/s eat scotch eggs and pork scratchings, pick their toenails in the bath and depsite their best attempts not to, resent their friends successes and good fortune.
My skin is as thick as it is pale so I invite everyone to do their worst, hold no punches and criticise away! I haven't shown anyone yet, absolutely no one, so it would be fab just to know that it's basically ok (although I'd much prefer you say it's 'fabulous', 'ground-breaking' , ' awe-inspiring'.....yeah well, you gotta have a dream :)
EXCERPT OF REAL WILD ONE BY CAROLINE FREEAR
Chapter 1
It’s quite fitting that Aiden and I began our unholy alliance on St Paddy’s Day. A day traditionally associated with decadence, silliness and much, much booze has spawned a relationship that seems to be following along a very similar vein.
It took just 45 minutes to get from the initial ‘How do you do?’ to the more honest ‘How do you want me?’ - a question that Aiden expertly answered by bending me over the fire stairs at the back of The Merry Kerryman.
I’m not exactly proud of my behaviour but neither am I ashamed. It wasn’t sordid or seedy. It was just two people instantly recognising that they could mercifully skip all that courting malarkey, the bit where you dance around each other like two Mills & Boon protagonists desperately trying to prove your honourable intentions while your loins are screaming at you to get a bloody wriggle on. Aiden and I, being possessed of horny bodies and sound minds, cut quickly to the chase as it just seemed like the most natural and normal thing to do. This randy lunatic is my soulmate, I’m sure of it.
Quite simply, I am demented with lust. Absolutely demented. Beside myself with longing. Driven mad with the unflinching need to feel his flesh against mine. It never goes away, not even when I sleep. It ferments in my stomach like a late night curry, waking me during the night and leaving me queasy and exhausted the next day. In the same way that grief or shock can sucker-punch you to the point that you can’t even remember your own name, as a woman in lust, I’m not fairing much better. I feel permanently drained and yet never more alive, totally numb but sensitive to every colour and sound that surrounds me. I’m a walking contradiction and a walking hard-on and quite frankly I’m finding this physical epiphany really quite knackering. I’m totally worn out from shagging, screwing, spooning, sucking, screaming, squatting, swallowing and a whole host of other ‘ings’ that I could think of if I wasn’t so dog-tired.
I ‘m neither use nor ornament to anyone. I can’t even cope with the most basic of tasks. Paying credit card bills, peeling carrots, painting toenails, checking lottery numbers, you name it, if it doesn’t involve a partially clothed Aiden Costello then I have no inclination or motivation to involve myself. In the past two weeks, I’ve forgotten Christy’s birthday (which may be reluctantly forgiven but never forgotten), I’ve gone nearly 24hrs without eating a morsel of food - this from a woman who was once the scourge of the ‘all you can eat buffet’ and last night, I didn’t even flare up at the words ‘replacement bus service’ when I stumbled, delirious and intimately bruised into Waterloo station. It’s like I’m incapable of feeling any emotion, good or bad, unless he’s near me. Unless he’s inside me.
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