My very first review for Newtown Review of Books is up. It is for Tania Chandler’s new release Dead in the Water. I am so excited. Go read it. It’s here. I feel like a legitimate member of the Australian writing community now.
I really have nothing more to add to this entry because I already say everything in the review. So here are a series of gifs to sum up my feelings whilst reading Dead in the Water.
Lisa Heidke is an Australian author, writing teacher and lover of colourful language. Like many writers her inspiration to write came from the bottom of a “writers’ juice” glass. It has been speculated by some that it was a Fluffy Duck, but I firmly believe that it was a white wine spritzer. Regardless, “writers’ juice” has proven it’s worth and value as a tax deduction yet again.
Lisa Heidke has published six commercial women’s fiction novels. Her works typically address the themes of career, family, rivalry, self efficacy, and love… a bit like life does. Her first published novel was Lucy Springer Gets Even published through Allen and Unwin in 2009. The initial manuscript had been short listed for the Varuna/HarperCollins Manuscript Awards in 2006. Lisa Heidke then published What Kate did Next in 2010, also through A & U. This had been short listed for the Varuna/HarperCollins Manuscript Awards in 2005. Claudia’s Big Break was released in 2011 followed by Stella Makes Good in 2012, and then It Started with a Kiss in 2015, all through A & U.
The Callahan Split was also released in 2015. It is of special note as Lisa Heidke decided to self publish it. Lisa Heidke decided that if she was to learn about the realities of self publishing she was going to have to do it herself. From hiring editors and cover designers, down to running competitions, she did it all. This has undoubtedly given her unique insights to share when teaching. I offered to design her cover. She turned me down, I cannot imagine why…
Find Lisa Heidke’s website here.
Find Lisa Heidke on twitter here.
Find Lisa Heidke on Facebook here.
If you have any additional information you feel should be added please leave it in the comment section. I’m particularly interested in exactly what she was drinking that fateful New Years Eve that she declared she would become a writer.
Hooray. I’m starting to get some reviews for What Happens in Book Club… and they’re fabulous. I am so excited that I am just going to have to share them with you. And please, if you love my book give it a review. It’s up on GoodReads as well. Love to hear your thoughts… and of course download What Happens in Book Club 2!!! I’m really excited about bringing out parts 3 and 4 next month.
Fresh from the oven, What Happens in Book Club: E2 (I’m Just Not That Into You) is here! Get it while it’s hot.
Following on from a disastrous encounter with a gassy Mr Bingley and a damp Mr Rochester, schoolteacher Gwyn just doesn’t seem to be able to keep herself out of trouble. Her mind is full of career ambitions but also of literary super hunks, especially a certain silver fox. What part of her brain will win?
And what’s even better, her best pal Maureen is back in town. Maureen is always a sure fire way to kick both fun and trouble up a notch. How will Gwyn’s steadfast friends, Mac and Selene, cope with the competition?
Enjoy the second part of Gwyn’s adventures where you get to find out if she encounters her knight in ‘silver’ armour again and if Shelley gives her more love than Austen. And don’t forget, what happens in book club, stays in book club.
Get it on: Amazon / Kobo / Scribd. / Inktera / Oyster / GooglePlay / Barnes&Noble / iTunes – for $1.99 USD
Find out where it all started in What Happens in Book Club…: E1 (It’s Not Me; It’s You) for FREE on iTunes / Kobo / Scribd. / Inktera / Oyster / GooglePlay / Barnes&Noble
It’s happened. It has finally happened. My book What Happens in Book Club… has been released out into the wild. Download it!!! Oh you want to know what it’s actually about and won’t just download a free copy because you love me… pout. Okay, I shall tell you all about my book and give you the links below in an official looking releasy thingo… but seriously download my book and give it a fabulous review. Things like “It was my cup of tea and my shot of tequila – 5 stars!!!!!” are welcome. “I liked it. I’ll be reading the next one. 4 stars!!!!” also appreciated. I’ll be your bestest friend!
What Happens in Book Club: E1 (It’s Not Me; It’s You)
Your book club reads books? That’s adorable, Gwyn’s book club drinks wine and rates the hunks from classic literature. Sure they were once a regular book club, full of feisty discussions about Proust, but that all changes after the most awkward book club meeting of their lives. When schoolteacher Gwyn’s generally conservative book club covers a popular novel of a more suggestive nature, Gwyn can’t help but think of all the literary hunks in a suggestive fashion.
Enjoy the delicious sunny Australian setting as Sydney schoolteacher Gwyn learns all about lust, love, friendship and herself. And always remember, what happens in book club, stays in book club.
Get it FREE here: iTunes / Kobo / Scribd. / Inktera / Oyster / GooglePlay / Barnes&Noble
Excerpt:
It’s over. I shift awkwardly in my seat, and we all stare into space, deliberately not making eye contact. Our book club is silent. Not a good kind of silence, an awkward silence. The dirty deed had been done; empty wineglasses sit on the dingy bar table between us, and we do not quite know how to move forward from this point. There needed to be empty shot glasses lined up as far as the eye could see for the girls and me to be able to meet each other’s gazes again. But alas, there are only a handful of empty wineglasses, and to be honest, most of them belong to my friend Mac.
“I think now that Fifty Shades is done, we should cleanse our loins with a classic of some sort,” Selene finally broke the silence. Bright red lips, slick black hair, and dark brown eyes. If she would just wear short black dresses instead of business suits, she would fit right in on the set of a Robert Palmer video. She is the unofficial leader of our little book club. After all, she is the one who put the post on Facebook asking for members.
“I think about a year of strong women is in order,” Mac agrees vigorously. Her face is almost as red as her hair. Wine flush or embarrassed blush? She dabs absentmindedly at a wine stain on the frilly long-sleeved blouse she is favouring of late. It must be another pirate phase or, failing that, Shakespeare? Mac is one of my dearest friends, so I should know all about her fashion wants and needs, but she changes fashion more often than I change my knickers, so it is hard to keep track of. “A year of classic, strong heroines.”
The rest of us still just stare at our hands, too embarrassed to look at one another. We would agree to anything at this point if it would just get us out of here. Some had skimmed through Fifty Shades and only read the sexy bits, desperados; some had flicked past the sexy scenes, prudes; and others had stopped reading because the sentence structure made their brains hurt, snobs. And then, of course, our snobbiest of all snobby members, Catherine, had failed to show up at all because she didn’t “do” commercial fiction. Either way, Selene’s own choice of Fifty Shades had stirred up something inside of us, and not just our judgemental attitudes, that nobody wanted to name or discuss.
Our book club is usually so boisterous that we disturbed other patrons. Thank God we know how to drink; otherwise we would be far too much bother. Instead, we are welcomed each month. Well, at least our wallets are. However, our once-a-month shrill disturbance at the Longie is practically a whisper this evening. We should have drunk more wine. All that is on the table between us tonight are those pitifully few empty glasses and a single copy of E. L. James’s Fifty Shades of Grey paperback standing erect in the middle of them. It almost seemed to pulsate and call out to people, “Look what these naughty girls have been reading.” Shut up, book!
“So, Pride and Prejudice?” Selene asks.
There was a general murmur of agreement with calls for a year of classics and then everyone but Selene, Mac, and I fled the scene.
“Well, that was awkward.” I finally found words.
Liked what you read? Read more for free on iTunes / Kobo / Scribd. / Inktera / Oyster / GooglePlay / Barnes&Noble
Loved it so much that you want to read the sequel? Get it on: Amazon / Kobo / Scribd. / Inktera / Oyster / GooglePlay / Barnes&Noble / iTunes for $1.99 USD
You know what I am tired of? The need for articles coming out in defense of Women’s Fiction, Speculative Fiction, Genre Fiction in general. Every day my newsfeed has multiple articles on this phenomenon, and sadly, they are still needed. For some reason people just cannot seem to get the point that we do not live in an English classroom where book titles are dictated by necessity so that knowledge and understanding can be tested in a standardized way that the government requires. In real life people can read and enjoy whatever they want… AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU TO TELL THEM THAT THEY CANNOT!
Sorry guys, I know I went all caps there. It got scary, I was even a bit scared of my own emotions but this book shaming is really starting to get my goat. And if there is one thing regular followers of this blog know, it’s that I don’t like anyone looking at or touching my goat, let alone taking it. Don’t make me go all Liam Neeson on your arse over my goat. I have a terrible Irish accent and nobody will benefit from this scenario. Now let’s get back to the heavy stuff. You’ve had your levity break!
This morning a picture captioned “A call for respectful discussion of Fifty Shades of Grey – It is okay to and welcome to criticize a book. It is not okay to be a terrible person” was on my newsfeed. Yesterday an insightful article by Marian Keyes entitled, “Please can we stop saying ‘chick-lit'” caught my attention. For the former here’s what I have to say, love it or hate it, you have no right to dictate to someone what they enjoy reading. I love reading James Joyce. People often tell me I am a shameless wanker and that Joyce is likewise a wanker and hence we should just die in wankerhood together. It isn’t going to stop me loving James Joyce. His writing just really sits well with me. As does Julian Barnes. It doesn’t matter what you say, I will continue to love them, and read them and reread them. And although I quite happily debate the merits of Barnes and Joyce with people and am fine with people not loving them, when people resort to name calling and put downs it’s a bit much. Those people are poo poo heads, yes I get the irony. Same thing with Fifty Shades, lovers, if it vibes with them, if they enjoy it, if it gives them a moment’s escape from their lives, go for it. Love it, read it. Get inspired, go read more books, yeah! Go ahead, don’t like Fifty Shades, criticize it, but when you start being nasty to people who like it, well you’ve lost the argument, you’ve lost respect, you’ve lost yourself.
As for Marian Keyes plea – please stop saying Chick Lit, I both agree wholeheartedly yet disagree at the same time. Does Marian Keyes, hate chick lit? No, of course not. Is she saying it sucks? No, of course not. Is she pointing out that the term is used as a put down? Yes. Is it a put down? Yes and no. The term Chick Lit is often used by men and women alike, to put down works that focus on women. Novels in this genre tend to have successful female leads, with professional ambitions and a quirky group of friends, add to this a man often comes along and catches the lead characters eye. Then things of course get complicated, job goes to shit, fall out with friends, love interest goes all skewwhiff, then the strong female leads, pulls herself together, gets her groove back, gets her job back, gets her friends back and then the cherry on the cake, last of all, gets her man. Sounds a lot like real life, professional woman + career goals + crazy friends + a bit of romance. Hardly something that should be put down. I mean people rave about the Bronte sisters. They write about the same stuff. “Oh it is just silly fluff, about love,” you hear people say. Yeah, because love is just so stupid. Having meaningful connections is just ridiculous and would never happen in great literature. Dickens, Shakespeare, Virgil, none of these dudes would ever write about silly love stories. To be honest, typically in Chick Lit the love interest is actually the icing on the cake. Don’t get me wrong, frosting is important, I like me a big chunk of butter cream. If I have the choice between frosted or unfrosted… well let’s just call me Elsa. But the female lead tends to have to sort out her career and friends first. That is the priority, it’s not that the love interest doesn’t get a lot of the word count dedicated to them, but the priority, the first things first, goes to career and bat shit crazy friends. Where would we be without out friends? How could we pay rent without our job? It’s a bit realistic isn’t it? Sure it gets mashed up with wit and humour but there’s a lot of deep stuff in Chick Lit, but there is a lot of truth and tragedy included. So why put it down? The answer is quite simply, because we live in a society that trivializes women and their experiences, and for women to get ahead they almost have to turn on their own kind. The bagging of the term Chick Lit is simply a manifestation of that. So as far as I can see you can call it whatever you like, Commercial Women’s Fiction, Women’s Fiction, Chick Lit, Clit Lit, Vagraphy (okay I made that one up, I just wanted to use vag somewhere for my own amusement), the same issue will arise. People will put it down. People, what a bunch of bastards. Hopefully society progresses, that’s what needs to happen, and we are getting there, but until then, no matter how many terms we throw at stories for and about women, they will get trivialized. They’ll sell, because us bitches be smart and good with the books and the learning and stuff, but it’ll be marginalized.
Whoa. Robin, what just happened? Did you just go all overt feminist on our arses. Yeah, I kind of did. Commercial Women Writers tend to do that. Sorry. We give you plenty of shits and giggles, but we give you a message too. Let’s just take a deep breath and hug it out.
This is escapist Chick Lit. If you’re after the meaning of life please go see the works of Douglas Adams or Monty Python. If you’d like to have a guilty giggle over posh Melbourne socialites then read Gucci Mamas. I have to say I love the name, and all the names of the Cate Kendall books. It really let’s you know that you’re in for a book of high class, high fashion and high drama. And yes, the book does deliver. There are laughs, there is mayhem, there are tragic issues which some of us can’t relate to but do get to live vicariously through for a bit. An absolute, switch your brain off and just be entertained delight. Loved it.
Warning there are some genuine issues faced in this novel some of which you may find upsetting if you have ever had an unsuccessful pregnancy. And despite the fact these characters do seem vapid on the surface you do grow genuinely attached to them, so you will feel for their circumstance. But generally it is a light and entertaining read. Perfect for those ladies who don’t have time to lunch but wish we did. 
You know what happens when you say I will never…? You end up doing exactly what you said you would never do. Well in Josephine Moon’s The Chocolate Promise, Ms Livingstone says an emphatic NO to relationships. You do the maths.
As I keep saying, I don’t do spoiler reviews, otherwise why would you need to read the book? But I do need to give away some information to actually say something. Nothing major though.
What I really loved about this book was putting good old Tasmania in the map. When you think romance you think Paris, Italy, maybe even New York. You don’t think Tassie. So I loved the fact that this story was partly set there. I loved that the book had plenty of chocolate in it, although I may have gained an extra pound or three reading the book. A girl has cravings! And I loved all those sweet (I request a pun hi5) moments. I actually learned some new chocolate facts. One can never know enough about chocolate. And I also just generally love the use of language. Just beautiful classic touches with terms like apothecary and the like. I just love those little details.
A really good read for anyone who enjoys commercial women’s fiction and chocolate… of which there is a 100% overlap. 😉
WARNING: Some stereotypical statements about over 50s are made but they are made in humour not in offense.
What I love about Stella Makes Good by Lisa Heidke is that it is Chick Lit (I do not use that term in a disparaging way, I happen to think there is nothing wrong with reading or writing stories for women and am a little bit “shame on you” about people who think there is something bad about that), that has an older female lead. It isn’t your standard mid 20’s woman coming to terms with finding her way for the first time, it is an older woman who thinks she has lost everything and then gets her groove back.
I do not giver “spoiler” reviews so I cannot go into too much detail. I will say that it has all those feel good and quirky elements that we love and expect when reading Chick Lit BUT it also focuses around older (not so much older, sheebers, they’re not in their 90s) women than usually depicted. It wrote about women in my situation, women with kids, women with husbands, and I loved that. We can still have fun, we can still have tragedies, and we can still pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and ROCK IT!
In short, this was a great read with great characters who were relatable. I’d particularly recommend it to people who love Commercial Women’s Fiction, and in particular women in their 30’s and up. However, there is something in there for anyone with eyes to read and a brain to process information.
So go buy it, borrow it or download it, if you have eyes to read, or ears to listen to an audio version, and a brain to process information, because, I think you’ll like it.
My first writing course of this year was with Dr Anita Heiss at the New South Wales Writers’ Centre and it was fantastic. The energy that she brings to a room is as impressive as her credentials. And with 12 books to her name and a PhD in Communications those credentials are pretty darned impressive.
But what am I thinking, if I have learned one thing from The Australians obituary for Colleen McCullough it’s that I should mention her appearance straight up. So forget about Dr Anita Heiss’s credentials for a moment, she has spectacular calves. I have to say the best calves I have seen on any lecturer. Now I don’t want other lecturers getting all uppity with me complaining about how this isn’t fair because I haven’t seen their calves because they always wear long trousers, because quite frankly I can only physically objectify what I can see. So if your calves are so magnificent then put on some shorts damn it and I’ll mention them next time, like all reputable journalists do. I also saw some rather impressive deltoid action as she hefted a sturdy table over head to set up her room. Oh yes, she set up her own room. She set up her own room in a killer pair of heels. Books, awards, PhD, internationally recognised and setting up her own room. Must admit I was slightly aghast and let out a little squeak, ‘Let me help you,’ but she was already pretty much done so all I did was pop two chairs out and put some props on tables.
As for the actual course. It was fun, it was informative and it was practical. Anita took us through her process for writing – synopsis, character profile, chapter break downs, research, writing, editing, and celebrating – and took us through activities for each. Well not the celebrating one, but Anita, should you ever like to have a vino, call me. I won’t go into detail for each one because… well… to be honest… that would kind of be cutting Anita’s grass. She is good enough to do talks and workshops for up and coming writers, giving back so to speak, so for maximum benefit you really need to attend in person.
Although I will not share all the ins and outs of Anita Heiss’s course I am willing to share the first 2,000 words of the project that I am currently working on. It is a first draft, and I must confess that I am one of those cheeky buggers that doesn’t edit until I’ve finished the complete first draft which won’t be until mid Feb, so there will be plenty of typos, spellos, grammos, wrongos and nonos. Just take your editing hat off, sit back, relax, and just enjoy the ride. We can spoon afterwards.
What happens in Book Club…
It was over. We all stared at each other in awkward silence. The dirty deed had been done, empty wine glasses sat on the dingy bar table between us and we did not quite know how to move forward from this point. There needed to be empty shot glasses lined up as far as the eye could see for the women in the book club to be able to meet each other’s gazes again.
‘I think now that Fifty Shades is done we should cleanse our loins with a classic of some sort,’ Selene finally broke the silence. She was the leader of our little book club. Bright red lipstick, slick black hair, if she would just wear a short black dress instead of business suits she would fit right in on the set of a Robert Palmer video.
‘I think about a year of strong women is in order’ Mac agreed vigorously. Her face was almost as red as her hair. She dabbed absentmindedly at a wine stain on the frilly long sleeved blouse she was favouring of late. It must be another pirate phase or failing that Shakespeare?
The rest of us still just stared at our hands too embarrassed to look at one another. Some had flicked through and only read the sexy bits, desperados; some had flicked past the sexy scenes, prudes; and others had stopped reading because the sentence structure made their brains hurt, snobs. Either way, Fifty Shades had stirred up something inside of us that nobody wanted to name or discuss. Our book club was usually so boisterous that we disturbed other patrons. Thank God we knew how to drink, otherwise we would have been far too much bother. Instead, we were welcomed each month. Well, at least our wallets were. However, that once a month shrill disturbance at the Longie had been practically a whisper this evening. We should have drunk more wine. All that was on the table between us was a few empty glasses and E. L. James’ Fifty Shades of Grey standing erect, it almost seemed to glow and call out to people, ‘Look what these naughty girls have been reading.’
‘So Pride and Prejudice?’ Selene asked.
There was a general murmur of agreement before everyone but Selene, Mac and I fled the scene.
‘Well that was awkward,’ I finally found words.
‘No shit, Gwyn,’ Mac slumps back in her chair and drains the remains of her seventh wine glass.
‘What was up with you?’ Selene clearly does not have a bad case of loving me this evening. ‘We rely on you to say inappropriate things at poorly positioned moments to lighten the mood.’
‘I wasn’t feeling it today,’ I mumble. To be honest after reading about a lot of sex I didn’t want to talk about it, I just wanted to go out and have it. However, as a boring schoolteacher, reading about a bunch of erotic sex was about as close as I was going to come to… well… cumming.
‘I’m feeling something.’ Mac has managed to un-potato sack herself and is sitting bolt upright, breasts stuck out as if attempting to push their way out of her pirate shirt into her attended targets hands.
‘You were quiet tonight ladies,’ the barman flashes his perfectly white teeth at us. As he collects our glasses, he pushes a strand of blonde hair away from his eyes. His electric blue eyes run a warm current up my spine. ‘I missed your laugh red.’ Mac dissolves into giggles on the spot. ‘Yours too red.’ He is looking at me. I feel like I am being struck by lightning as he focuses the full force of his charisma on me.
‘She isn’t really a red head,’ Mac throws water on our moment and it fizzles out. ‘I am.’ Dear God, are her breasts growing.
‘I’m sure I’ll find out one day,’ he flirts back, then walks back to the bar leaving Mac with a wink to keep her warm.
‘He’s so hot,’ Mac swoons back into her chair hugging her wink to her chest.
‘He looks like a lost Hemsworth brother,’ I sigh.
‘Forget that!’ Evidently Selene is still not happy. ‘You better bring your A Grade Ditz routine next month. Those bitches rely on it to make them feel good about themselves.’
‘Sorry,’ I frown at my hands. Selene rolls her eyes. ‘I’m just horny,’ I confess.
‘We’re all bloody horny,’ Selene explodes. A silver fox businessman at the bar looks over at us. ‘Get a bloody vibrator.’ Hemsworth from behind the bar stifles a giggle. This is not my day. Selene sits for a while fuming until she finally calms down. ‘Sorry. I’m just frustrated. We’re only running this book club so that we can find out how women think and write a book for them but tonight we got nothing! How does that help me get published? I’m just so frustrated. I want to write Fantasy, but nobody wants to publish fairy stories, so we try to write something people want but the people aren’t speaking to us. It’s just… I mean… I’ve gotta head,’ she kisses Mac and I on the forehead and says, ’emails tomorrow girls,’ and then vanishes.
‘I’d like someone’s head,’ Mac drools. She has somehow managed to get her hands on her eighth glass of wine whilst Selene and I argued. It is going to be a long night.
* * *
‘Did Hemsworth see me throw up?’ Mac is looking at me with such pleading eyes as I strap her into her taxi that I find it within my heart to lie to her.
‘No.’
‘Did he see me trip over?’ Yes, it was at that point that he called you a cab.
‘No.’
‘Good.’ Mac smiles for a moment and then starts to cry. I smile sympathetically at the driver before standing up, closing the door, and rapping the taxi on the roof to let him know he is good to go.
I stand back, breathe in the fresh night air, and stretch out my neck after the strain of carrying Mac to the cab. I can’t be mad, half the time it’s me. The North Sydney Street is practically empty at this time of night. Wednesday nights are not known for their wildness in these parts. I am sure Coogee would be off the hook right now but it is nice and peaceful here. I need a taxi of my own but it could be a long while. A miracle, a yellow glowing beacon comes swinging around the corner like a golden gift from the Gods, hooray, I am saved from waiting for hours for cab never to arrive and eventually walk home. I go to put my arm out to wave the taxi down but I am beaten. The silver fox from the bar has just exited the bar and already has his arm out waving down the taxi. What an arse hole. The taxi pulls up and he opens the door then pauses and stares back at me. He has the most amazing blue eyes that I have ever seen, his perfect lips break into a grin and he calls out to me,
‘Care to share a cab?’
I do not know where he is going but I do know that this is probably my last chance for a cab and so going a few minutes out of my way to drop him off is probably worth it. Besides, there are worse ways to spend an extended cab ride than gazing at that perfect mouth. Then again, my mother did tell me not to get into cars with strangers. Well I guess that decided it then. I nod enthusiastically and charge forward.
* * * * *
I stare out at a sea of bored faces. Fifteen-year-old boys and girls sitting slumped in their chairs as if I am their cult leader and have just given them a spiked “communion.” Me teaching Geography is definitely one of the signs of the apocalypse so there is probably some truth to this metaphor.
‘I’m bored,’ whines a girl wearing more eyeliner on her melon than I actually own.
‘Well of course you’re bored,’ I respond with a sniff, ‘this is Geography, I’m not a miracle worker.’ The class giggles in response. Always a good idea to humour the teacher.
‘Seriously Miss, this is so stupid, when am I going to have to know about costal management?’ Eyeliner questions me with a pout from her highly glossed lips.
Mental note: bring sunglasses to class, gloss is back in, big time.
I try not to let out a sigh. I felt the same level of What the fuck is happening to our society? when I was asked why we had to study The Removalists last week, because apparently domestic violence just isn’t an issue anymore. I take a deep breath to calm myself so that I avoid giving an impassioned speech that will only proceed to alienate the student, a feat I did not manage last week, and proceed to attempt to meet her needs in a way meaningful to her.
‘Tell you what,’ I bargain, ‘we get through all our work for the week today and we can watch an interesting show instead of working on Friday.’ Ah, the evil genius of the teacher, using media and celebrities to make points that our lame selves cannot. They will get educated quite happily if I tell them they are not learning.
A general murmur of agreement comes from the class and the previously roofied class turns into a class on speed. It is my turn to slide down in my chair in a rohypnoled state. I stare at the clock. I have an important email date with the girls at 3:05pm. It is important, it is tradition… its habit. We always have an email catch-up at 3:05pm. It is the one thing I can rely on. I may spend my rent money on shoes, I might forget my own phone number, I might even forget I’m a non-smoker and have a few cheeky cigarettes on a big night out… okay, a few packs, BUT, I know that every weekday, like clockwork, I will have a flurry of emails from the girls at 3:05pm. Easy for me, it is the end of my school day, but how the girls manage to schedule it in everyday is a miracle to me. A miracle that I am not question. I am just thankful that my high flying Executive Assistant pal Selene and my Banker buddy Mac can make time for a cretin like me.
TICK
The minute hand moves from 3:03 to 3:04.
‘Okay guys, time to pack up.’
A flurry of noise and activity erupts that makes me believe that perhaps I have just announced the end of the world. This may explain why the students are constantly bringing stashes of food to class.
‘Remember to put your chairs up on the desks,’ I yell over the thundering storm.
‘Miss,’ a tall boy, I always have to remind to take his baseball hat off, complains as he does every single week, ‘No other teachers make us do this. It’s so Primary School.’
Ouch, the ultimate insult. Unfortunately, I happen to like cut and paste, and glitter.
‘Yes, and that’s why I’ve got the cleanest floors out of everyone,’ I dutifully give out my standard response. ‘If you make it easier for the cleaners, they’ll treat you right.’ I finish it off with a wink and the lanky boy blushes a bit. Oh dear, another one. I will have a week of being stalked followed by months of being called a lesbian. Oh what fun. I hope that he is more creative in his toilet graffiti than the last kid. A picture of a stick figure with enormous boobs with my name written next to it is just so last week.
The bell goes and without awaiting any instructions, the students run for the hills.
I open up my laptop. Our group email has already started.
Selene: How’d you end up?
Mac: Drunk, but thankfully managed not to embarrass myself and got home in one piece.
Selene: Sure you did.
Mac: Seriously I did. Ask Gwyn.
Me: I had sex.
Selene: We need to meet now.
Mac: What the fuck?
Mac: Bullshit!
Mac: You lie!
Mac: Yeah we need to meet.
Mac: The Usual?
Mac: Come on guys, you’re killing me. The Usual?
Mac: 5pm?
Mac: Guys!!!!!!!
Selene: Chill out Mac. It’s been like 5 fucking seconds, not everybody types as fast as you do.
Mac: Shut up mole.
Selene: Game on mole.
Me: You’re both moles. See you at 5:30pm.
Mac: Fine. 5:30pm. You better be on time.
Mac: None of this 154 minutes late shit.
Mac: *15 minutes
Mac: Any details to share in advance?
Mac: Who was it?
Mac: Did I speak to him?
Mac: Guys?
Selene: See you at 17:30.
Mac: You girls suck!
* * * * *
Anita does have some Chick Lit writing tips publically available on her website that you may find interesting https://anitaheiss.wordpress.com/2015/01/08/some-tips-for-writing-chick-lit/ I highly recommend reading them. But I also recommend going to her courses. She is so fresh and invigorating that you will come away inspired and ready to embark upon some new challenges.
Write or Wrong 