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Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Dance of Revenge - Chapter One, Part I

When I was 14, I decided to write a book.

I think I was spurred on by the fact that I had written a pretty good 'novella' in my Year 9 english class the year before. It was called "Sailing Towards The Right Choice" and it was very much inspired by my love of Sweet Dream romance novels at the time. You know... girl meets boy, girl moves overseas and breaks up with boy, girl meets new boy, drama happens and girl breaks up with boy....that sort of thing. Anyway, I'd always enjoyed writing fiction back then (and since primary school), so I just thought....why not? I'll write a book. (As you do. Hmph!)

But I figured I had to up the ante a big. Move away from the 'teen romance' and get in to some adult type drama. I sat down and worked out a storyline (very much inspired by an old television series at the time called "Return to Eden") and started writing. The concept was interesting seeing that:

a) The main character is French and lives in France - The only french I knew was what I had learnt during one year in primary school. I could pretty much say "hello", ask "how are you?" and name a number of various fruits and vegetables and that's pretty much it. Besides that, I'd never set foot in France, let alone out of Australia at the time.

b) The main character studies ballet - I had never taken a ballet lesson myself, nor had I even seen a ballet production. 

c) There were sex scenes in the book - I was 14 when I wrote it, and wasn't even close to having sex myself. All that I wrote I'd either read in a Danielle Steele book or seen on tv.

I found my 'book' recently. Unfinished, but amazingly to me - 77 typewritten pages long! I started to read it, and I admit I shifted very uncomfortably in my seat. I wanted to correct a thousand things. And then I started to laugh. The story is not a comedy. Far from it. But it was the naivety in which I wrote, and the fact that at times my sentences just didn't make sense and there were some real corkers spelling wise (although, mostly I thought my spelling was pretty good)!

And you know what? I decided that I couldn't help but share. Why the hell not? I actually do want to keep this book for the rest of my life. What a trip. And what if something happened to the original? And so, here I am...typing it for both me, and (why the hell not) you. 

And so, every Sunday evening until I finish the 77 pages, I'll be posting a little of the book. 

Just quickly...the plot...

Sherrie is a fourteen year-old girl who studies ballet. Her mother marries a man that Sherrie doesn't like - for good reason - although she can't tell her mother why. Then she is told, in order to save money, she must give up her love of the ballet, and then a major accident occurs and Sherrie is separated from her mother and new stepfather. She has no recollection of the accident and she has no idea who she is. Has foul play been involved, and if so, will she find out and seek revenge? 

Intrigued? Yes? Ok, maybe not. But anyway, have a read. Be prepared to have a giggle. You'll notice I've made comments [in brackets and in red like this] whenever I want to note something. I've had to try very hard not to make amendments! It just wouldn't be the same if the original form is altered. 

Enjoy. Be kind. The author was very young at the time! ;)

Chapter One
Part I

Mrs Elizabeth Dolty stood in the doorway of the attic watching her fourteen year-old daughter do a series of leaps across the hard wooden floor. Her daughter’s grace and admiration of the ballet showed clearly as she danced, in her pink tutu, to the magnificent music of Swan Lake. [Clearly the only ballet I knew of without doing any research.]

Elizabeth thought that her daughter Sherrie was much like the country they lived in, France. Its beauty and romantic atmosphere could charm any person. [Cos….thats all I knew about France.] Sherrie had these gifts that proved her so sweet. Young men of her age group loved her the way in which Sherrie loved the ballet.

Sherrie’s slim and delicate body made two, three then four Pliés. [I had a book on ballet – no idea where I got it from – and just copied the dance movements from that. ;) ] She touched Elizabeth’s heart with her coordination. Sherrie’s long, golden hair flowed over her shoulder as she performed an arabesque penchée. She held her position until she caught sight of her mother’s beautiful body resting against the doorway. She stopped her dancing and moved towards the record player. She switched off the music and proceeded to wipe her brow with the towel that lay close to the record player. [Hmmm…bit repetitive, huh?]

“Hello mother,” she murmered. Her silky voice echoed the room. “Where’s lover boy?” she asked, sarcastically. Elizabeth knew who her daughter was talking about. [Well…you would hope so!] For she knew that Sherrie did not like Adam Brair. Her lover. [Just confirming they were, you know, ‘lovers’.] She sighed in disappointment. Why couldn’t her daughter like Adam? He was such a nice man. He was also a wonderful lover. He whispered sweet words in her ear when they made love and gently caressed her neck as he did. [Even though it reads that way, I’m quite sure my intention was not to make out that Sherrie should like her mother’s lover because he was good in bed. Pfffft.]

“He’s out,” she replied blankly. She watched her daughter relax and begin to walk towards her. Sherrie threw her arms around her mother.

“I’m sorry, mama. I did not mean to sound unpleasant.” Her mother hugged her back and sighed.

“Why can’t you like him, Sherrie?” Elizabeth pleaded. Sherrie became stiff and her face clouded over unpleasantly.

“We’ve been through this before mother. I thought you understood how I felt.” Her voice was angry and harsh. Her deep brown eyes took on an icy look. No, Elizabeth did not understand why Sherrie didn’t like Adam. He had only been nice and generous to her ever since Sherrie first met him.

“Sherrie, we need to talk about Adam and---,” Elizabeth’s voice trailed off. Sherrie looked at her with immediate alarm.

“You?” Sherrie asked feebly. Elizabeth drew in her breath awkwardly.

“Well…yes. Adam and I, and also you. Sit down over here with me, precious.” Elizabeth pointed her delicate hand towards the old wooden bench she had moved in to the attic the first day her and Sherrie had moved into the lovely and simple cottage. [A simple cottage with an attic big enough for a dance studio? Shows what little I knew about real estate back then. In France!]

Sherrie moved reluctantly over towards the bench. Her hands trembled, and so did her lower lip. A habit she had always had. When she sat down with her mother, Elizabeth noticed she looked terrified. Just like the day Sherrie had been bitten by a spider that had crawled in to her bed. Sherrie was in shock, her lip trembled along with her hands, and her eyes took on a shine of sheer terror.

Now looking at her daughter, Elizabeth noticed the same distinct way she acted. Sherrie had only been three then. Now she was fourteen. Her breasts had developed more fully [unlike mine at the same age…ahem], and her body began to take on more serious curves [ah, once again…unlike mine]. She had started her period just the month before last. [Ah, no comment on that one, thank you very much.] She was changing. She was growing. Elizabeth picked up her daughter’s soft, graceful hand and squeezed it softly. But Sherrie was not in the mood to feel comforted. She withdrew her hand and began to play with the ring on her middle-right finger. The ring had been a gift from her grandmother.

“Sherrie,” Elizabeth began, “please listen to what I have to say.” Sherrie played more with the ring. Another annoying habit. “Stop that ma fille.” Elizabeth spoke French this time. [Duh.] Something she did when she became annoyed or upset. [Why? She was French and living in France, right?] Sherrie obeyed and looked away from her mother’s face.

“Say what you must,” Sherrie whispered. Elizabeth sighed with relief.

“Ah, Sherrie. I love you so dearly. I am doing something that is good for both you and me.” She smiled, but Sherrie did not. Elizabeth was not discouraged by this. Her daughter would thank her for this one day. Elizabeth and Sherrie were not exactly financially well off. They had small problems with rent money and food bills. But all that would change. Elizabeth was sure of it now.

Elizabeth looked at her pretty daughter. Please understand, she begged silently to herself.

“Sherrie, look at me,” she begged with her daughter. Sherrie obeyed. “That’s much better. Now my darling, I will tell you my news.” Sherrie blinked and swallowed nervously.

“News?” she asked, her voice a little squeaky.

“Yes my love. News. Good news.” Elizabeth paused and drew her breath inwardly. “Adam and I are to be married.”

She watched her daughter’s eyes widen in horror. Then her lip began to tremble and she began to sob openly. Elizabeth went to throw her arms around Sherrie, but Sherrie just threw her arms away.

“Don’t touch me!” she sobbed. “Don’t touch me you…you BITCH! I hate you! I HATE YOU! How could you do this?!” She collapsed on the woolen rug near the window and sobbed loudly. Elizabeth, shocked, stood up uneasily. Her legs shaked. [Or shook. Whatever.] Never in her life had her own daughter called her a…a bitch! Never did she think her daughter could use harsh words as she did then.

“Sherrie,” her words came out unevenly. “Sherrie, Adam loves you. He loves me.” Her words tingled in the dark room. [Never heard of words ‘tingling’ before, have you?] “I love him.” Sherrie looked up from the rug, her eyes red and swollen. “He’s going to help us financially too.” Elizabeth tried desperately to get through to her daughter. “He wants so much to be accepted by you. It means a lot to him.” Sherrie’s eyes widened then lowered in anger.

“Like hell he does,” she hissed angrily. “All he cares about is himself! I hate him and I hate you for wanting to marry a creep and vulgar person such as Mr BRAIR!!”

Elizabeth became angry and hurt at her daughter’s words. She raised her hand and slapped Sherrie fully on her left cheek. Sherrie flung back her head and screamed. She screamed and screamed. Each scream more hysterically [or hysterical] than the first. Elizabeth stood in shock at what she had just done to Sherrie. The daughter she loved so dearly. She threw her arms around her daughter’s delicate shoulders. Sherrie sobbed on her mother’s chest. Elizabeth cried on Sherrie’s head.

“Please don’t hate me Sherrie,” she pleaded with her daughter. “Please don’t resent me for loving Adam.” Sherrie looked into her mother’s blue-grey eyes with sincerity.

“I do not hate you, mother. I only wish that…he didn’t come in to our lives.” Her eyes searched Elizabeth’s. But her mother shook her head.

“But he did ma fille,” she explained. They sat and rocked backwards and forwards until Elizabeth got up to leave Sherrie alone. Elizabeth looked at her daughter staring out the window and half smiled. They would work it out. Adam would help her.

So next week, find out why Sherries doesn't like her stepfather-to-be, Adam. Let's just say...he's not a very nice man. ;) 

Until next week....



Life In A Pink Fibro said...

LOL! The French, the ballet, the lover - so sophisticated! What a wonderful thing for you to have.

Thanks for Rewinding at the Fibro.

Kim H said...

What talent you had a 14! I was still writing horse stories at 14. I knew nothing about 'making love' and 'tingling'! LOL

Loved it. can't wait to read more now...So glad I found your blog via Allison's rewind:)

Romina Garcia said...

Awesome post...at 14 I was still trying to convince my mother I was old enough to shave my legs - but nothing much else!