Rebecca Emin's Blog

“Where are you going to?” a voice asks.“Oh, just the city centre,” I say, as vaguely as possible, instinctively drawing my handbag further onto my lap as I wriggle back on the seat at the bus stop. “You just missed your bus,” the stranger continues. “The next one’s due in thirteen minutes.”“Hmm,” I say, gazing ahead.  I just want to sit and enjoy the warmth of the setting sun, but now I’m wishing I’d driven and not risked getting mugged… or worse.“Did you know you can get the 31 into the centre?” he asks.I glance at him now. “No I didn’t,” I say. “Where are you headed?” I ask, simply because it seems rude not to.He mentions a town a few miles away. The number 31 bus.
I get my mobile phone out of my bag. The basic, cheap one that’ll tell any potential thief I’m not worth mugging. I pretend to send a text.He mirrors my behaviour, reaching into his pocket to get his Blackberry out.“I’ve been trying to get hold of my other half all day,” he says. “I can’t contact her.”“Maybe she’s gone out?” I say, looking at him properly for the first time. His chin is covered in soft down. I realise he can’t be more than fourteen. “But it’s weird though, I’ve been trying to contact her on Facebook and she hasn’t responded,” he says.“She’s probably had a busy day, you know. Gone out without her phone or something,” I suggest, wondering if this boy-man is being dumped for the first time but doesn’t yet know it.I want him to talk more now, to find out more; work it out.
“Oh look, that’s me,” he says. “See ya,” he yells over his shoulder, and he bounds over to the approaching bus enthusiastically.“’Bye!” I yell at his back.I hope she’s just been busy.I guess I’ll never know.

Imagine, if you will, a tall, skinny girl with red hair. Almost fifteen, and it's the mid eighties. She's not in the 'in crowd' this girl. There's a lot of listening to music, writing angst poetry, and reading magazines, with a particular penchant for the agony columns. She sent a poem off to a magazine and that was her first ever publication.

Obviously, I'm talking about me above. Yes, my first ever publication was at the age of 15. I've written about it in detail in another blog post, but Nik Kershaw was on the front of that magazine, which was amazing to me at the time - I loved his music, and he was... you know... a boy. Ooh!

Anyway, fast forward to today, and I've a 100 word story included in a book with Nik Kershaw on the front. Even better, he's written in it too.

This book is the brainchild of the delightful and incredibly talented Caroline Smailes, who put out a call for submissions for 100 word stories inspired by videos on YouTube.

I realised instantly that I'd need something quirky to be in with a chance of getting published in a collection like this. As much as I love a good lyric, I actually picked a song that I struggle to sing along with. This music video provided an accompaniment to the first holiday my husband and I went on together in 1998 when it was at it's peak of popularity in Europe. You will probably recognise the tune from a certain rip off English version of the song but believe me, the original is vastly superior, even if you don't know what he's going on about.


It was the video that inspired my story, My Morning Cappuccino. I think you'll be able to guess why, when you read it.


Imagine, if you will a child today. A child who doesn't say much, but lives in fear. A child who has suffered at the hands of others. This child needs someone to turn to. The charity One in Four helps people who are sexually abused. Think about that title - One in Four.

All profits from sales of this book are going to One in Four. I am so proud to be a part of it.

Buy your copy now from:  
Amazon.co.ukAmazon.comAmazon.de

Grimoire Books have set up a 4 day Kindle promotion of my debut novel, to help celebrate the launch of my second novel. We are at the half way stage at the moment, so I thought I'd share the links for anyone who has missed it so far.



FREE through 31 May

Grab your copy from: Amazon.co.uk Amazon.fr Amazon.es Amazon.de Amazon.it Amazon.com


Sam Hendry is not looking forward to starting at her new school. Things go from bad to worse as the day of truth arrives and all of her fears come true... and then some.

When Sam meets a different group of people who immediately accept her as a friend, she begins to feel more positive.

With her new friends and interests, will Sam finally feel able to face the bully who taunts her, and to summon up the courage to perform on stage?

I would just like to say a massive thank you to everyone who helped make Monday's launch of When Dreams Come True so much fun by blogging, tweeting, re-tweeting, joining the event on Facebook and/or Goodreads, and sharing on FB... and even purchasing the book. It was wonderful to see so many people getting involved.

Sarah Franklin, Caroline Smailes & Ben JohncockI am absolutely sure that I haven't made it around to thank everyone personally yet and I am also sorry this post didn't go up yesterday, but it was one of those busy days... you know the kind. Mainly dominated by yet another emergency dental appointment but luckily rounded off by a lovely event in Oxford, Short Stories Aloud, a fantastic evening with actors reading short stories. The actors (Steve Hay and Julie Mayhew) were amazing and the chance to do a Q&A session with authors Caroline Smailes and Ben Johncock afterwards was great. There was also cake. Need I say more?

Thanks for reading, and please do come back tomorrow where I will be taking part in the launch of 100 RPM. Yay!

Thank you for visiting my blog today, as I celebrate the launch of When Dreams Come True. Some of my blogging friends have signed up to tell us all about their dreams, so please do look at the links below and see what stories they have to tell.

I will be having some celebratory giveaways which I have listed here.

Please grab yourself some virtual cake and fizz, come and join us on the Facebook event page, and also visit some of the wonderful blogs on the linky list below.




The Blurb:
Charlie is happiest when biking with Max and Toby, or watching films with Allie. But when Charlie reaches year nine (age 13), everything begins to change.

As her friends develop new interests, Charlie's dreams become more frequent and vivid, and a family crisis tears her away from her friends.

How will Charlie react when old family secrets are revealed? Will her life change completely when some of her dreams start to come true? 




Where to Buy
When Dreams Come True is now available to order via any bookshop or online in various places including:
The Book Depository
Amazon.co.uk
Amazon.com
Smashwords
Barnes and Noble
Diesel
Lulu
Kobo 
& via Apple iBooks 


 

My second novel for 10-14s, When Dreams Come True, launches tomorrow. Hooray!
You can:
Join my author page on Facebook where giveaways have already started running
Join the Facebook Event
Sign up for the blog hop (and get a free eBook)
Add When Dreams Come True to your shelf on Goodreads - and enter the giveaway while you're there
And please come back and visit this blog tomorrow! It will be lovely to see you here.
#WDCT

This is a story about a girl from London, but sadly she's too foul-mouthed to be in any of my books for 10-14s. However, she is the type of person that two of the characters in my third novel will have come into contact with.

This story is for 14+ year olds, and definitely not for people who don't like swearing.



Rosie Sumner


“Oi, Rosie, what’ve you been up to now?” Billy McKenna shouted as the policewoman pushed me towards the squad car. I shrugged at him. It was none of his goddamn business.PC Smithwell put her hand on the top of my head to make sure I didn’t smash it on the top of the door. It was just as well, I hadn’t slept in days and I wasn’t concentrating properly so her hand took a bashing. “I’m sorry, innit,” I muttered. “Don’t worry, just get in the car; let’s get it over with shall we?” she said.I saw the net curtains twitching all the way up the road. Probably the most excitement that shitty little street had seen in a long time. I couldn’t wait to get away from all the nosy, gossiping neighbours.
They didn’t put the lights and sirens on as we drove away. I was gutted – that was the bit I’d been looking forward to. As they pulled into the station car park, Officer Smithwell glanced back at me. “What?” I asked, without thinking. I could do without being the centre of attention; people looking at me like that make me nervous. “Nearly there,” she said. “Just wait a sec while we park.”I rolled my eyes. As if I’d try and make a jump for it while they were still driving.“Can I have a smoke?” I asked.PC Smithwell looked shocked. “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ve been nicking my Dad’s for years,” I replied. “Please. I’m craving it; I’m proper hooked.”“Okay, just one,” she said. I figured she wasn’t all bad then, even if she was Old Bill.
I took the cigarette out of the box she offered me, and as she held a light, I inhaled my first nicotine of the morning. “God, that feels better,” I said as I exhaled. “Bloody grateful, I have to say.”PC Smithwell smiled at me for the first time. I don’t know why she was so fucking up-tight; it was alright for her with her fancy uniform and her neat hair. I was the one sitting in the back of the car.
“Come on then Rosie, let’s get you processed,” she said once I’d finished my smoke.Processed. What the hell was that meant to mean? I shrugged.Smithwell got out of the car and came to open the door for me. I had tried myself but they had the child lock switched on. Bloody cheek. She took my arm as we walked towards the door and as it swooshed open I smelt the weirdest mixture of cleaning fluid and stale urine. The piss was coming from an old tramp in the corner, I think. It certainly wasn’t from me.“We’ve got a room booked,” Smithwell told a man behind a desk. All I could see at the time was a sign saying, “bullet proof glass” on the screen. The man must’ve pressed something as another door beeped and then opened. Smithwell took me into a small corridor.“Right, Rosie. We’re in here,” she said, opening a door to Interview Room 1.
I walked in; saw a table in the middle of a bunch of chairs, and a plate with biscuits on it. My stomach gave a massive rumble and I picked up a biscuit and shoved it into my mouth whole, before thinking about asking.“I’m starvin’” I said. “I haven’t eaten for a couple of days.”“You’ve been busy haven’t you,” PC Smithwell said. Busy alright.“Do you want a drink?” she asked me and I flinched involuntarily. “I mean, juice, tea, coffee,” she said. “Orange juice would be ace,” I said. I gulped it down in one go when she’d poured me some. It was quality stuff, not like that cheap shit we had at home. When we used to have stuff like juice.
“Okay there’s someone here to see you now,” Smithwell said. “You’d be well advised to answer their questions as best you can.”I mumbled. I hate questions. They always cause trouble.
The door opened and a tall man walked into the room. He looked smart and happy, he smiled as he looked at me, said, “Hello, I’m Brendan Masters,” and held out his hand.I rubbed my palm on my jeans before taking his hand. He looked proper clean and smart, I didn’t feel right shaking his hand in my state.I noticed Brendan glance at PC Smithwell and for a fraction of a second his face looked different, kind of puzzled and questioning. No idea what that was about. He opened a notepad.“Right Rosie, what’s your date of birth,” he began.I told him and he wrote it down.“Okay you don’t have to answer anything you want to, just tell me to stop if you feel uncomfortable,” he said.“What happened to the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the fucking truth?” I asked.“Oh, sweetheart, you’ve not been arrested,” PC Smithwell said.“But Dad said it was my fault,” I said. I couldn’t understand what the hell was going on. Dad was yelling at them when they came for me but no-one had bothered to tell me anything.“We’ve brought you here to get you somewhere safe, Rosie,” Brendan said gently. “We’ll find somewhere for you to stay while we find out what’s happening with your Dad.”“You mean… you mean, I don’t have to go back there?” I asked. “Thank god for that, I was wondering what he would do to me when I went home.”We talked a bit more and then there was a knock on the door. “This is Mr and Mrs Cordon, they’re going to have you to stay for a while,” Brendan said.I looked at the people, they looked smart and friendly. “How old are you, Rosie?” Mr Cordon asked.“I’m nearly thirteen,” I replied.I saw them look at each other and Mrs Cordon looked like she was going to cry.It was only when we left the council offices that we walked past a mirror. My right eye was swollen, black and purple. Thank fuck I don’t have to go back to stay with Dad again.

Today and tomorrow, Nothing But Flowers is free for Kindle.

This book contains my short story On The Corner of Clerk Street along with some other fantastic post-apocalyptic stories. I have read the book myself and can tell you it is a thoroughly enjoyable read.



Grab your copy from Amazon at:Amazon.co.ukAmazon.comAmazon.de

Nothing But Flowers - The Blurb
In a devastated world, a voice calls out through the darkness of space, a young woman embraces Darwin, a man lays flowers in a shattered doorway, a two-dimensional wedding feast awaits guests, a Dodge Challenger roars down the deserted highway…and that’s just the beginning.

Inspired by the Talking Heads’ song of the same name, Nothing but Flowers explores the complexities and challenges of love in a post-apocalyptic landscape; from a take-away coffee mug to a gun to the head, a fortune cookie to a guitar, the open road and beyond. Poignant, funny, horrifying and sensual, this collection of short fiction leaves an indelible mark on ideas of what it means to love and be loved.

Today I am over on Chris Morton's blog, Flash Fiction and Other Stories. Chris asked me some very interesting questions, which were a pleasure to answer.

While you're here, feel free to sign up for the launch party for When Dreams Come True which is taking place on 28th May. I am hoping everyone will have some amusing dream stories to share!

Have a lovely weekend!

All About Me
“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?” I ask Sally one last time.“No, my head’s really bad. You go. Have fun, Tim,” she replies. She comes over and gives me a hug, which is about the most she’s done lately, and I kiss her on the cheek and wish for a fleeting second that it was how it used to be.
There was a time, when we first lived together, she’d glance at me at any time of day or night, and give me one of those looks. It would lead to a frantic scramble up the stairs, plenty of giggling and all that other stuff. Or sometimes we didn’t make it up the stairs, just to the stairs, or not even beyond the sofa. The cab driver switches off his ‘for hire’ light and I think of the light in Sally’s eyes. The spark that isn’t there any more.
The taxi ride is mercifully quick and I meet my friends at the bar as planned. By the end of the evening and a few too many shots, they peel away and leave me with the sense that the night is too young to be over just yet. I leave the bar, walk up the pedestrian street and pulses beckon me from several doors; the thud, thud, thud of music takes over my body and I want to dance again. It’s been far too long.
I look down at the sharp creases in my shirt. There’s no doubt about Sally’s ironing skills, so at least I’m dressed appropriately. As I walk towards the welcoming doors of a club boasting a seventies night, the bouncers don’t even speak to me, they step apart and let me through as the sound of Dancing Queen fills the air. I go straight to the dance floor and immerse myself in the atmosphere and the music.
After a few songs, I'm too warm and my mouth is dry, so I head to the bar. I order a beer and look around at the other clubbers. The air is heavy with humidity, the scent of perfume, and a sense of possibility.
I see a woman waving at me. I do a double-take as she looks like Sally did when we first met, only this doppelganger still has the spark in her eyes, not like the burnt out husk at home.
Before I know it I’m standing in front of her, smiling. She looks up at me and nudges her friend. “Can I get you a drink, girls?” I ask, thinking it best to not alienate her from the offset by ignoring her friend.“Oh yes please, vodka and coke they say in unison.”“Make mine a double,” Sally’s lookalike says to me, winking.They follow me to the bar, giggling, and I wonder where this is going to lead.As I hand them the drinks they thank me and turn to walk away.“Hang on while I get mine,” I say.The pretty one turns around. “What do you think this is, Grab A Grandad Night?” she hisses at me. They look at each other, laugh, and make their way back to their vantage point near the dance floor.
Suddenly sober, I leave the building and walk up to the taxi rank. I’m never going to be a grandad. I can’t even be a father. And besides, I’m only thirty four, surely I don’t look that old?
I let myself into the house as quietly as I can. The room’s spinning but there’s an eerie silence so I can tell Sally’s taken herself off to bed already. I go into the kitchen and make myself a pot of tea. Sally always insists on a pot, and I’m in the habit of it now.
I take my drink through to the living room and settle into my favourite chair. The house looks immaculate. Sally must have been busy when I was out. I picture her upstairs, breathing deeply and smiling in her sleep.
It’s only when I lift the china to my lips, that I spot the envelope on the table.