Penny Hooper's Blog, page 12

It’s My Mistake – Chapter 1 – UPDATED

NB: I have decided to go back over It’s My Mistake and re-write it slightly as I wasn’t happy with it. I’m not suggesting this ‘second edition’ is perfect, but I am at least a little more confident with it. Hope you enjoy reading!

Please be warned, this story contains strong language and scenes of sex. There are also instances of drug and alcohol abuse, violence and rape.

Chapter 1

“Mrs Mark?” I heard someone call. My head shot up from my mobile phone.

Miss! For the last time it’s Miss! I thought from within my panic.

I groaned and stood up from the hard and uncomfortable plastic chair that I was sitting on and walked extremely nervously towards the two beady and judging eyes that stared at me.

The woman who owned the eyes held open the looming door for me to walk through. It was the same door that people before me had walked through and had come out looking scared shitless but with a mix of relief that the torture was over. I trudged through it self-consciously into the room that laid in wait behind.

I woke up feeling fine this morning. Better than fine, I was excited. I knew I had this meeting, it had been circled on my calendar for weeks. I counted down the days. I deliberated for hours, if not days, over what to wear to it. I had my hair cut the weekend before. I’d even had my nails painted, not something I was too keen on doing. It was a waste of money in my opinion. But I wanted to look the part. Have every chance of acing the day. I told myself over and over that I would ace the interview and I would finally get a job in a hotel like I have wanted for years!

But after watching those worried and upset looking faces pile out of the room I was about to enter, my confidence slowly disappeared. These people looked way smarter and even more confident than I am before they entered. I was way in over my head.

Especially when I had this obnoxious woman finally give me the usual up-and-down look like she had given all the others. Maybe the casual yet slightly formal look wasn’t the best look to go for?

After the hours I had spent in front of the mirror, risking running late for my interview, I had finally decided on a casual yet slightly formal look. I had gone through a number of dresses; smart dresses, dresses with those girly plaits in them, a dress with a cardigan, a dress with a blazer. Until I realised it was a little cold and wet today in London. And tights didn’t seem to be working for me today. So, I settled on trousers instead. But smart trousers looked too smart, jeans looked too formal. My expensive black shirt I got from a Debenhams sale that was now two years old, looked too formal, like I was about to go to a funeral, my pink blouse seemed to girly and gave the wrong impression, even plain t-shirts looked too casual.

I walked in, nearly tripping up as my heel caught the edge of a carpet tile and I stumbled into the room. I felt the palms of my hands go instantly sweaty.

I was being stared at by three faces. Silently judging no doubt. One of the faces was of a woman, with pursed lips and glasses with a thick rim hanging onto her thin nose, her hair was short and wiry, as if attempting to look young and hip but failing miserable. Next to her was a slightly younger person, a man this time, but still much older than myself, judging by the greying hair on the sides of his head and his thinning hair on top, I would have said he was in his late forties. But the other man had caught my attention; he was handsome. A thick square jaw, cleanly shaven, piercing blue-grey eyes under a small mat of dirt-blonde hair. He also wore a curiously wicked smile on his face as if he was amused by my appearance.

You and me both fella.

I stole a glance at myself in the reflection of the large mirror wall behind them. I looked stupidly under-dressed. I should have gone for a dress. Or maybe my trouser suit that I had left discarded on my bed. I was wearing black jeans and purple court heels, and a plain black t-shirt with a deep purple blazer. My long brown hair looking a mess because I had been sat running my sweaty hands through it nervously. I was starting to think I didn’t look right for the role.

“H-hi,” I stuttered, when I realised no one was saying anything. Maybe it was up to me to start this interview? Maybe this was part one of the test? Had I failed already?

“Mrs Mark, it says here that-” started the older man with the greying and thinning hair. He looked down at some paperwork in his hands as he spoke.

“Miss,” I corrected confidently, while interrupting him speak.

The man looked up from the paperwork and glared at me. I felt my palms getting sweatier. “Excuse me?” he frowned at me.

“I- I’m not Mrs Mark, I-” I started, but got interrupted.

“You’re not Mrs Mark?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at me, “Then who are you?”

“No, I mean, I am, but I’m not-” I got interrupted again.

“Deborah called for Mrs Mark, why have you come into this room if you are not Mrs Mark?”

“No, wait, you misunderstood!” I panicked. This was going terribly wrong already. “I’m single, I’m not-”

“That’s good to know,” the young handsome man suddenly said. I glanced at him and saw he now had a large grin on his face. I gulped. Was he grinning at me? Yeah, probably because I was an idiot for even thinking I could get this job.

“Look, whoever you are I suggest you-” the woman started, but she got interrupted. Not by me though.

“What’s your name?” said the handsome man, sitting forwards on his desk curiously staring at me as if he was talking to me and ignoring the others in the room. I felt suddenly warmer than usual. His bright grey-blue eyes were staring right at me.

“It’s Miss Mark, not Mrs.”

The woman and the older man both sighed in unison as the young man gave out a hearty laugh.

“Why didn’t you say that then!” said the woman.

“I tried-” I sighed.

“You just assumed she was someone else, Mirren,” said the handsome man, sitting back in his seat, looking casual yet confidently business-like. But his piercing eyes had not left my face. “You just assumed that she came in here after someone else’s name was called and didn’t give her enough time to actually explain. In fact it is our mistake for wrongly assuming she was married, it can actually be highly offensive.”

The older woman sat up straight suddenly and looked visibly upset that she had been caught out being rude to someone, even the other man looked a little taken aback, his face even went a little pale.

“But she did just stand there and stutter!” the woman named Mirren started to defend, “all she had to do was say that her name was Miss Mark and not try and hit on the men in this room by telling them she’s single!”

“I don’t think-” the older man started, but got interrupted. This time by me.

“Excuse me!” I snapped, I knew this interview was pretty much ruined now anyway, so it was pointless trying to be nice to these people, but I wasn’t going to let them get away with insulting me! “I walked into this room feeling a little self-conscious, I’ve been looking forward to this bloody interview for weeks; I really want this job, so I was a little nervous!”

“Dressed like that?” the woman whispered and snorted a little, after composing herself from being spoken back to like that. I don’t think she intended me to hear her.

“I’ll admit; looking at how overly dressed you lot are, and the other unsuspecting idiots out there, who have dressed in suits, I do feel just a tad underdressed and out of place. But I didn’t want to be one of those ‘in-your-face’ suit dressed women in high heels trying to show off my tits to get the job,” I realised too late that my voice was getting louder. “But after meeting you, I feel that actually I’m not right for this job, and my full and undivided commitment would be wasted here in this company and I’d rather find another hotel that accept me for my experience and drive and not because I wore a suit that I’d be stupidly uncomfortable in anyway!”

I span round and went to leave the room without another word, but something else got my attention; the carpet tile I nearly tripped on, it was clearly poking up looking frayed and menacing waiting for it’s next unsuspecting victim to trip on it. I wondered how many people had already nearly tripped over this obvious health and safety risk.

“And for fuck sake, get rid of these damn carpet tiles before someone trips and hurts themselves!” And I finally stormed out of the room without another word.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you have wattpad, feel free to follow the story here, where it is updated more frequently: https://www.wattpad.com/story/124947755-it%27s-my-mistake

Paying for Reviews – BEWARE!

Since becoming a self-published author, I have come across a wide range of new challenges. And I don’t mean just the usual publishing and marketing challenges. I mean, what happens afterwards.

I’m not going to pretend that my published book; ‘It’s My Mistake’ is a working masterpiece. I have had a few good reviews, but I’m not letting them get to my head. I’m too much of a perfectionist to believe it. I wrote the book quickly, and I know there are mistakes (no pun intended) in it.

But aside from that, since actually committing to publishing the book, I have had a string of emails through my website, private messages and tweets through twitter from people claiming to want to help you.

Yes, it’s lovely to know I’m being head-hunted (although, I know it’s got nothing to do with my writing, it’s all about them making money) and it’s nice to know there is a wealth of help out there. But I have to admit, it’s a little annoying!

For the time-being, I am not in a position to be able to pay anyone anything, I can barely get my own hair cut lately. I am not in full-time employment, I am a student. I write on the side as a hobby, for now. I am not pushing sales on my book, I am not approaching newspapers, magazines, radio stations, etc, to try to market my book, I am just a woman sat at her computer tweeting and posting blogs every now and then.

Once I finish my degree, I will be taking a year out (at least) to relax, move again (as I had to move in with my parents for a while) and take a holiday that I desperately need (I’m thinking for my 30th birthday this year). Then, and only then, can I really start thinking about making my writing career (if I can call it that) professional.

But while I’ve been just dabbing into the world of an author life, I have noticed that there is an awful lot of people / companies out there that pray on people like myself who are new to the game.

One in particular I will mention, because I want to expose them, is a ‘company’ on Twitter calling themselves ‘Booktasters Authors’ (I think they have a few names on Twitter, this is the one that contacted me though). They approached me back in November with a simple question, “Hi Penny, Do you like to get your book reviewed?” (see pictures at the end of this blog post)

Now, firstly, am I the only one that can see that that question is grammatically incorrect? Or are they asking me if I like the actual act of getting reviews?

Normally I don’t tend to reply to DM messages on Twitter, I get annoyed with the automated messages. Tweets, however, I do try to reply to. But I figured I’d see what these guys wanted. So I responded.

It turns out, this ‘company’ is offering ‘free reviews’ for your book if you sign up your book to their community. The catch is… you have to PAY to sign up.

So… you PAY for REVIEWS!

Apparently not, apparently the community of reviewers aren’t paid themselves, they are reading your book for free, unpaid, and in return are giving you an honest review.

But I was trying to make a point that I am still out of pocket, and then getting reviews in return.

Now, even if I HAD the money to fork out and get my book reviewed and help it’s sales, and that’s if I wanted to do that (as I am in the process of re-writing It’s My Mistake) I wouldn’t do it unmorally. I do not want my name tainted. I don’t want people to see my name, see my books and think ‘she buys her reviews, I don’t want anything to do with her or her books’.

I know, there is a very big possibility that if I get more reviews on Goodreads and/or Amazon, more people will want to buy and read my book. But I do not want to get there by paying a company to give me those reviews. It’s not honest.

Anyway, at first, I figured I’d just ignore the message. I wasn’t going to continue in a conversation and waste mine and their time. So I just ignored it.

Apparently they weren’t taking my silence as a no. A few days later they emailed me again. I knew right away something dodgy was going on when they wrote “We are very passioned to take…” Wait… ‘Passioned’? I’m not entirely convinced this is even a word. Microsoft Word doesn’t register it as a word, but I did find it online. But either way, what was wrong with writing ‘passionate’?

I just figured, if I didn’t reply again, they’d get the message.

Apparently not. If you see in the pictures below, they very unprofessionally sent me two emoticons. Ha!

I figured I needed to shut this down quickly before I got anymore emoticons… who knew what ones they’d send next!

So I replied, rather politely if I say so myself; “Thank you, but I don’t pay for reviews.”

Ooo… they are sneaky buggars. The next message (oh yes, they replied, persistent I’ll give them that) was sent the same day and they were trying to explain that I don’t pay for reviews, the fee is for offering the book to their community, some ‘managing process’ and guaranteeing a posted review on Amazon and Goodreads.

I just laughed when I read that. The way I see it… I pay them > they give me reviews back. Doesn’t matter how fancy you try and make it sound, what I’m getting in exchange of my money is reviews. I’m PAYING for REVIEWS.

So, not only am I out of pocket, but the readers are getting my book for free!

The thing that started to really annoy me though, was their persistence. Bearing in mind that this last message I sent them was the 3rd of December (2017) and their reply was almost instant. I ignored them and they didn’t take the hint… again.

Seven days later, I get another message. Another unprofessional one with one of those emoticons again.

I ignored it and made sure I wasn’t following them. (It turned out I was! I quickly rectified that!)

I got another message on the 13th of January. Clearly they didn’t get the hint when I not only ignored them, but I unfollowed them too.

It was at this point that I realised I wasn’t going to get rid of them politely. So I had to block them.

Now, the reason why I am writing this post is because I am not only annoyed that I was getting harassed by them, but that they are probably harassing other people too. There are a lot of new authors out there that are probably thinking that doing something like this is a good way to make a name for themselves.

DON’T! I am fed up with seeing people who are not genuine. I know it’s a harsh world out there, but do not fall prey to these people. Do not pay for reviews. You worked long and hard on that book, people should be paying YOU not the other way around.

And do not contribute to a world of con!

 

Here are the screenshots of the messages I received:

 

[image error] [image error] [image error] [image error]

 

Penny’s Book Reviews

I have unconsciously decided that my new year’s resolution is to read more. Being a self-regarded bookaholic as well as a struggling author, I realised that I wasn’t reading as much as I should (I can’t really count my psychology books for my degree, that would be cheating!)

I have my excuses, of course; being ridiculously busy. But I decided that I shouldn’t make excuses and read those books I bought and get that To-Be-Read pile down. So, the next time I buy a load of books, I don’t feel so guilty!

Anyway, I decided that it would be a good idea to write a short review of what I have read so far this year. Give you my personal opinions of them.

The books I have read this year, so far, are:

This Savage Song, by V. E. Schwab
The Undesired, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir
The Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger

 

This Savage Song, by V. E. Schwab

My first thoughts; brilliant, couldn’t put it down. Want to buy the sequel asap!

If you like YA in a dystopian / sci-fi / futuristic setting and monsters this is for you! The book is based in a world where monsters are real, they are real because of a ‘phenomenon’ where any act of violence, murder or genocide creates these monsters. There are three types, each getting even more deadly than the next. But it has a twist. The book is split into two views, a view of a girl and a view of a boy – but he’s not quite a boy, he’s actually one of the monsters.

I’m going to leave it there as I don’t want to give too much away and of course make this post too long. But one thing that struck me as a little far-fetched in this world was that one of these monsters, which feeds off human souls, do so by playing music. So one of the characters is always carrying around a violin. That was a little weird for me, but once you get around that, the overall book is really good.

Still going to buy the sequel.

Star rating, I’d say 4/5.

 

The Undesired, by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

This one, left me feeling a little weird. Like I was missing something. I’m undecided on this one, I have to admit.

I like the fact it was based in Iceland, I love reading books that are based in new places and I might learn a little bit about that place. Even if it might not be 100% true, it still gives me the element of wanting to learn more.

The book starts off really interestingly, it starts with ‘The End’ so you read the rest of the book wondering how the characters got to that point. Although I was a little worried it would ruin the experience of mystery, but it didn’t really.

I will admit, I had trouble putting the book down, as I found myself wanting to know more. But there were times where I could see what was going to happen. Sometimes these bits are fun, you get a sense of “I knew it!” and I don’t necessarily mind that. There were also times where I was left guessing. But when I got to the end of the book and I realised there was no more left – and yes, the ending was interesting and unexpected! – I still felt like I was missing something. Like there was parts in the story that didn’t really make sense.

Star rating; 3/5

 

The Catcher in the Rye, J. D. Salinger

Now, this one is a classic. And maybe I read it with high expectations because it was a classic. But I wasn’t overly enthralled by it.

I got this book from a friend, when I was going through a really REALLY rough time. I had just broken up with my boyfriend (whom I bought a house with) and I was extremely depressed. It was a lovely gesture from my friend, but I was left wondering ‘why’ when he bought it for me. Why this book?

At first, I found it a little difficult to get into. A few chapters in and I was wondering where the story was going. Feeling a little curious at the characters and they were going too. Until I got half-way through and realised that there wasn’t really a plot like we get in these days, there wasn’t a huge ‘Hollywood style’ adventure that the main character goes on and I was left wondering ‘why?’

I will admit though, that I did have trouble putting it down. I did want to know what the character was going to do next. And started to grow sorry for the boy and wanted to just climb into the book and help him.

And it wasn’t until the end of the book that I realised at least one point the book was trying to make; the boy was going through a rough time and was just trying to figure out his life. He was sixteen, he was starting to go from a boy to an adult.

I read reviews on Goodreads about the book and one person made a very valid point, that I can’t really agree or disagree because I don’t personally know the answer, but the book was apparently written in the time just after the war, and it was the first book of its kind; to show the true nature of what the world was like in those times, through the eyes of a boy trying to struggle to adulthood.

I think I gave it a 3/5 star rating on Goodreads, but I believe it is somewhere between 3 and 4, maybe 4/5 if I was being generous.

 

Now… onto reading my next book 1985 by George Orwell!

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Chapter 2

Note: Please read the Prologue and Chapter 1 first.

Chapter 2

Taylor

Taylor woke bolt upright in a panic, sweat dripping down her face and back. She stared wide-eyed out into the darkness of her room trying to gather her bearings and calm her erratic heartbeat.

“What-?” she muttered to herself in the middle of the dark. Of course; she was alone. She was always alone. She preferred to be alone. So no one was there to hear her.

She rubbed her clammy face nervously and peeled her reddish brown hair off her forehead from where the sweat had made her hair damp and stick to her face. She noticed her back also felt hot and sticky from even more perspiration.

She span round to look at her phone, which was sat untouched on her dark brown and cheap bedside table resting next to the half-empty bottle of whiskey that she only bought on her way home after work. She ignored the bottle, too confused and disorientated to really care about alcohol at the moment and picked up her phone while her head swam. She pressed the button on the front of it and the room lit up from the screen. 22:11 flashed at her from the dark. With a groan of frustration, she threw herself back onto the bed. It was still Thursday night, it wasn’t even the morning yet.

She draped her long pale and thin arm over her forehead for a few minutes, going over the strange dream that had evidently woken her up. A strange horrific creature was laughing at her, large horns protruding angrily from his head, sharp yellowing teeth behind an evil grin, black leathery wings spread intimidatingly wide and a sharp tail wiping back and forth as if mocking her.

But as well as laughing that she could hear in that unusual dream, she could hear other voices; shouting, yelling, crying and screaming. The sounds pierced through her as if they weren’t coming through her ears but through her soul. It was mixed with a vague yet strange burning smell that she could almost still feel lingering in her nostrils.

She pushed the thoughts back and sat up slightly to grab the bottle of whiskey from the bedside table with a slight grumble and took a large swig. She had work in the morning and she already wasn’t looking forward to it. At least the whiskey would make it easier to bear for now.

She took another large swig of the liquor, replaced it on the bedside table and laid back down on her bed and closed her eyes, trying desperately not to think about the strange dream and instead focus on trying to sleep.

***

Taylor woke up with a start yet again and stared out as the morning sun was slowly making its way up. She groaned and rubbed her face. Her head felt a little fuzzy and she was sure something had woken her up, something a little weird. But she just brushed it off as another strange dream, remembering the first time she got woken up.

At least this time she knew it was the morning and she knew her alarm would go off at any minute; the sun was up. Although she didn’t feel quite awake. She felt like she could sleep for days.

She fumbled around on her bedside table and picked up her mobile to check the time, it flashed 05:33 at her a little too cheerily and she groaned again. In only two minutes her alarm was going to go off.

She let her arm fall onto the bed, her mobile phone still in her hand as she stared up at her ceiling, she aimlessly looking at the strange pattern as she tried to remember why she felt so tired. She knew why her head swam, that was because of the alcohol. It did that the morning after a long night drinking. She only drank in the first place because she didn’t sleep well the previous night. But the tiredness felt like she hadn’t slept again.

That’s when she remembered the dream. She frowned heavily as she tried to remember the details. The strange red and horned creature wasn’t hard to forget, but she was trying to remember other details. There was someone else there, but she couldn’t remember who it was, if she knew the person, if it was a man or a woman, or if it was another one of those creatures. But then, surely she’d remember if it was a creature?

She also remembered having a strange feeling when she woke up. That was what creeped her out the most. And it wasn’t just the feeling, it was the voices, the shouting, yelling, crying-

Suddenly her head came alive with voices and she gasped, bolting upright. They got louder and louder the more she thought of them until she closed her eyes almost instinctively and they suddenly vanished.

She frowned and opened her eyes out into the morning haze that was in her bedroom and wondered what that was all about? She remembered suddenly that that’s what had woken her up the second time. Voices. Strange voices that felt like they were coming from within her, rather than hearing them through her ears. She tried to think about what they were saying, trying to figure out what it meant? Did she hear any words?

Suddenly her head swam with voices again and she screamed, holding her temples and willing them to leave her alone. Just as quickly as they came, they went again.

She stared wide-eyed out into the strange normalness of her bedroom but jumped when her alarm went off on her mobile. She looked around and found her mobile alive with noise as if it was reminding her that there was real world outside of her craziness.

She pushed the thoughts about what happened back, deciding to find time to think about what just happened later and pushed herself up. She had a busy day ahead of her. She looked at the empty bottle of whiskey on her bedside table, realising that she had actually drunk the whole lot last night. Besides, if she got up now, she could make it to the corner shop before work. With an exasperated huff, she threw the covers off and pulled herself round to the edge of the bed. Her feet, which were still loosely in yesterday’s socks, hit the old cream carpet below her, it was a slightly comforting feeling and brought her marginally back to reality.

She sighed. Back to the grind of another work day. A job which she hated. A job to pay for a life she hated. But what other choice did she have?

She looked back at the empty bottle of Jack Daniels next to her bed. There was a glass next to it too. She had missed that the first time she looked. It was unusual for her to even bother with a glass. But she hadn’t meant to drink the whole bottle. She had thought if she got a glass, she wouldn’t drink the whole lot. Again. Clearly she was wrong. Again.

There was still a bit of the golden liquor in the glass. She sniffed and snatched the glass up in her shaking and clammy hand and downed it in a quick effortless flick. The welcoming warmth hit the back of her throat after the alcohol had made it to her stomach. When the short yet sweet experience was over, she slammed the glass down on the bedside table and reluctantly pulled herself off the bed to trudge to her bathroom, leaving the empty bottle and glass on the table, used and abused. A headache was already starting to form.

***

Only ten minutes later, Taylor stood in her compact kitchen, feeling refreshed and a little more awake. Although she was ignoring the headache. Probably a hangover. She grabbed a cereal box determinedly from the cupboard above her sink and poured the contents into a bowl that was sat on top of the kitchen counter top. The news playing in the background on her small and cheap flat screen TV which was sat lonely in the living-room. She watched it while shoving a large spoonful of cereal into her mouth and lent against the divide between the kitchen and her living-room.

She had managed to find some clothes after having a shower, changing out of yesterday’s shirt that she slept in. She was now dressed in yesterday’s simple black work trousers and a clean plain white t-shirt. It wasn’t a work t-shirt, it was actually an unused gym t-shirt. It was plain enough not to notice it was though. But just in case, she wore a black jacket over the top of it anyway. The jacket was well-worn, the colour was fading on the outside, the reminisce of the old dark black was seen around the pocket on the front and the sleeves were starting to fray where they were slightly too long, which she liked, as it kept her wrists warm. She seemed to always get cold, especially at work when the air-conditioning was always on, even during the winter.

She watched the news play while a frown steadily creeped onto her face. Something had caught her attention.

“A young man by the name of Samuel Chaudhary has been reported missing, his mother last saw him at six o’clock yesterday. He is reported to have gone out with friends after having dinner with his parents but has not returned home since. Samuel is twelve years old and may have been out with friends of the same age-” said the news reporter with a tight blonde bun and a sympathetic face that appeared to be just the right level of professionalism without looking upset at the report or too happy. Taylor hated that, seeing a news reporter that looked too happy when reporting bad news.

Taylor wondered what it would be like for that poor mother knowing that her son didn’t come home that evening. She wished she had a mother who would be worried about her own whereabouts if she went missing. What if she were to just pack a bag of essentials and disappear? Not show up at work. Not tell anyone she was leaving. Would anyone care? Her own mother had died a long time ago, a particular time of her life that she wasn’t too keen on remembering. And she had no other family. No father, sisters, brothers, aunts, uncles, not even grandparents. It was always just her and her mother. It wasn’t until recently that she started to wonder why there was no other family, it never occurred to her before that it was a little odd. Her hand automatically went up to the small scar on her cheekbone, a habit that she had only recently gotten into.

The news reporter moved on to the next piece of news, explaining that there was a strange sighting of a flying animal seen in the early hours of the morning. But Taylor snorted at the media hype of what was probably just an escaped parrot or something and turned off the TV. She remembered there was something like that that happened before and it turned out to be a large African Grey parrot, someone’s pet that had accidentally escaped and caused a bit of a stir.

After taking the last spoonful of cereal she placed the bowl lazily in the sink unwashed with the rest of the unwashed plates, bowls, cutlery and even a discarded pizza box from two nights ago and grabbed her work ID from the side. She had to leave early anyway, she needed something from the shop. Something which she was supposed to have left of last night if she didn’t drink the whole bottle. It was Friday today, she would need it after she got home. It was going to be a busy day.

***

Taylor sat slouched on her usual bus in a daze. The number 1a, which she caught from her usual bus stop at 7:05. She simply sat and stared out of the window, her face resting lazily in her hand, while her arm was resting on the side of the bus’s window frame uncomfortably, watching the pitiful world go by.

She watched a young woman attempting to walk down the road in the opposite direction the bus was travelling. A red faced screaming toddler squirming in his pushchair as the young mother apparently still half-asleep spoke into her mobile phone. Taylor wondered who she was talking to. A boyfriend? A friend? A work-colleague to explain she was going to be late for work yet again because her son didn’t want to put on his shoes again?

This led Taylor to wonder what everyone else in the world was up to. She wondered if maybe there were others out there that had lives more interesting than hers. Or at least lives they liked. Or did everyone else in the world get up every weekday, to go to a boring job, only to come home to eat and sleep, drowning their sorrows into a bottle of whiskey at the weekends? Although those days were starting to seep into the weekdays now. She wondered what her life would be like if things changed? What if she didn’t have to drink? What if-, her life had more meaning?

But before she had chance to daydream about what her life would be like if she didn’t have to work, didn’t rely on alcohol anymore and that she had a bigger greater purpose in the world, she felt a strange feeling resurface in her chest and she suddenly glimpsed someone walking unsteadily in an alleyway.

Luckily the bus slowed down for a set of traffic lights which had moved from amber to a rather definitive and resounding red and thus giving Taylor a direct view of the alleyway. She peered curiously out of the window and saw a strange person. He was wrapped up in some sort of fabric to keep himself warm. His slightly dark face looked sunken and in pain, dark circles framed his strange eyes. She would have just thought the poor guy was just a homeless person out on his luck looking like he had just resurfaced from a safe place to squat for the night. But those eyes didn’t sit well with her. They were too dark. Unnaturally dark. She wasn’t sure if what she saw was right, it must have been a trick of the light or something, because not only was he in slight darkness from the alleyway but it was another typically British cloudy day.

But just before the bus jerked forward again to continue past the now green traffic lights, knocking Taylor’s elbow off the window edge and breaking her eye contact, the man managed to look right at Taylor. His face furrowed into a curious frown as if he somehow knew she had been there watching him. Those dark eyes weren’t just dark, they were completely pitch black.

What was also curiously interesting, was that not only did the man have strange pitch black eyes, which she realised were exactly like the eyes of the creature in her dream last night. But she realised that feeling was the same feeling she had in her dream too. A feeling she couldn’t quite explain, it was just there in the depths of her being. It was like trying to explain that she heard voices, but they didn’t come to her ears, but from within. So was the feeling.

Suddenly a mixture of voices came into her head again, just like they did in the morning. She gasped and closed her eyes tightly and pointlessly shut as the inside of her head came alive with a mumbling and muffling mess of sounds. She knew it was talking, but she couldn’t make out words let alone sentences. She held her hands to her temples and groaned, the more she thought of them, the louder they got.

“SHUT UP!” she yelled suddenly. Her voice reverberating in her ears. The voices stopped. She was left with dead silence again. Only the hum of the bus’s engine and the surrounding traffic was heard. No talking.

She blinked and looked up, seeing a few faces curiously staring at her from their seats around her. Of course, the voices were in her head, no one else could hear them.

‘Am I going mad?’ she thought to herself as she deliberately diverted her attention to the outside world once again, but noticing a few people still staring at her curiously. Even the bus driver was looking in his rear-view mirror to see what the fuss was about.

She sighed and took out the bottle of alcohol that she had bought from the shop that morning, she had told herself she wasn’t going to take even a sip until she was home and could finally relax. But it didn’t take her a lot to convince herself she needed a sip. Ignoring the strange look she was getting from a young girl in the seat on the other side of the bus, Taylor unscrewed the cap and took a large swig of the calming liquid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you would like to read more, please visit my wattpad account here for more sample chapters: https://www.wattpad.com/story/124077410-rose-garden-sanatorium

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Chapter 1

Note: Please read the Prologue first!

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Prologue

Chapter 1

 

Martha

The doors swung open suddenly making Martha jump. Her cup of tea splashed all over her white blouse and dull grey skirt. She was standing in one of the rooms off the White Drawing Room at Number Ten Downing Street, one of the nineteen State Rooms in the building, when he bounded in. A tall, dark haired and magnificently handsome man.

She had never seen such confidence in anyone before, the man strode in with such authority that she wasn’t sure if he had more right to be there than the Prime Minister himself. Accompanied with his confidence, came a sense of power and intrigue that sent shivers down Martha’s spine.

She realised that she had never seen this man before, normally she was good at recognising people who come through Number Ten Downing Street, which was the current home of the man she worked for; the Prime Minister of the United Kingdom.

The newcomer wore a black peacoat with the collar up, a simple grey scarf tucked underneath to hide his neck from a cold that Martha wasn’t sure currently existed this time of year, supplemented with a pair of simple dark blue jeans and black shoes to match his look. Although Martha wasn’t sure what look he was going for – if he was indeed going for a particular look. People who walked through this office usually had either the; ‘I’m an important person’ or the ‘I’m a rich person with a large bank balance’ look. The newcomer was hard to read.

Aside from his attire, he appeared younger than most of the people that walked through the hall. He had short black stubble framing his sharp masculine facial-features handsomely. His dark short hair looked windswept and interesting. Martha certainly thought he was interesting, but she also had a horrible feeling he was trouble. How did he even get in?

“David in?” he asked, as he waltzed passed her as she held her now empty cup of tea in one hand and her work phone in the other. Both currently forgotten about as she watched in shock as the man bound towards the double doors on the other side. He gave her a smile, finding her reaction amusing.

“Y-you can’t g-go in there!” she stuttered, her confidence gone and she started to visibly shake.

She looked around for the security guards. ‘Where are they?’ she thought, ignoring the wetness on her chest as the tea soaked through her clothes.

“No?” he stopped and turned around, the double doors only a foot away from behind him. He raised an eyebrow at her, holding his handsome yet devilish smile.

“No,” she said with more confidence, but then added; “Un-unless you h-have an appointment?” Although she doubted he did, it was late at night. The only reason she was there was because a meeting was overrunning.

The man walked up to her and stared into Martha’s brown tired eyes, she felt suddenly inferior than him. He was much taller than she was and towered above her. Plus, her simple loosely fitted grey suit, greying brown hair with natural fuzzy curls and her slightly wrinkly and round face was no match to him.

“And what if I don’t have an appointment?” he breathed, determinedly.

The woman wobbled on her feet and silently wished there were more seats at Number Ten. She swallowed nervously and stared back into his piercing blue eyes. “Then I w-will have t-to call security.”

“You could try, but they’re all unconscious,” he smirked, then walked away. Without another moment’s hesitation he bounded through the big double doors to where the Prime Minister was holding a meeting.

The secretary stood wordlessly for a moment, her mouth slightly agape in awe. After a few seconds, she rushed out of the room towards the main staircase and peered over the ornament black and dark wooden banister to see one of the security team was led face down next to the large world globe at the bottom and she gasped in horror.

***

Belphegor

 

“David!” Belphegor bellowed, his hands wide open as he bounded into the beautiful White Drawing Room. The room was too elaborate for his taste, white walls with gold decorations, gold trims on the high ceiling, gold frames around the paintings, even the sofas near the fireplace and the extravagant chandeliers hanging heavily from the ceiling were gold. The only thing not gold was the large rug in the middle of the floor which was red with a few splashes of blue in with the fleur de lis. There was probably more money in this building than there had gone into running the whole of London.

The Prime Minister, who was standing and talking to a balding man in a chair opposite him, span round to see Belphegor stride up to him confidently. Belphegor even heard the Parliamentary Private Secretary, Martha, rush in behind him.

David was a young Prime Minister, taking up the position confidently only last year – much to the dismay of many of the Members of Parliament in the opposing parties who disagreed that David was fit for the position. David was in his late thirties’, described to be a ‘young-hip Prime Minister’ by a local newspaper recently, a short man with a square face, although attractive in a boyish way. He was in the process of holding a private meeting with his Secretary of State for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs; MP John Didcot.

John Didcot was a balding middle aged man, with a heart-shaped face. He had little bags under his grey-blue eyes, which sat underneath a mess of unruly eyebrows which were currently furrowed into a frown. Unlike the Prime Minister, who was wearing a sharp black suit, Didcot was wearing a navy blue suit which looked a size too big for him and a rather long red tie that appeared to curl slightly at the end.

“Who are you?” the Prime Minister asked the newcomer, his face visibly falling and shifting into an unfamiliar nervous stare, “and how did you get in?”

Belphegor wasn’t surprised that the guy didn’t know him. They hadn’t formally met. But he had probably been giving a file all about him when he first made it to office, there were bound to be pictures of him in there over the years, but of course humans weren’t too good with remembering faces from pictures and some pictures were probably very old.

Didcot moved slowly to perch on the edge of his seat as if waiting to get up at an opportune moment if he needed to run for the exit, so Belphegor walked further into the room after grabbing an apple from a fruit bowl and stood deliberately behind him.

“I’m sure you’re aware of who I am,” Belphegor replied finally as he carefully inspected the apple in his hand and looked up at David, “my friends call me Bel.”

He ignored the last question, about how he got in, that one was a little trickier to explain. Although he could have just said ‘through the front door, I have a way to open it without a key and I also knocked your security unconscious without lifting a finger,’ but one of his rules was not to expose himself for who he really was. But he was sure telling the Prime Minister his name was allowed, especially if he didn’t recognise him, how else was he going to get him to listen to him?

“Bel?” the balding man spoke suddenly, turning around slightly to look at Belphegor as he towered behind him. “What do you want? Are you going to kill us?”

Belphegor looked down at Didcot and smiled at him. At this Didcot went to get up and rush for the exit, but Belphegor casually placed a hand on his balding head and forced him to sit back down again, without much effort.

“Don’t be silly, John. If I wanted to kill you, I would have done so years ago!” Belphegor snorted.

He remembered walking passed Didcot once on the street as he made his way home. Belphegor knew Didcot, he made sure he knew all the Members of Parliament. In fact, he kept up to date with the news all around the world and he recognised Didcot easily when he passed him. He even made sure Didcot saw him as he walked deliberately close by him and smiled playfully at him. Didcot wasn’t too pleased with this, giving him a rather rude comment and mentioned something about ‘the youth of today’. Belphegor thought it was highly amusing since there was a large age gap, but not the way Didcot had thought.

But Didcot, not only wouldn’t know who Belphegor was by meeting him on the street, but he would never remember as well as Belphegor that they had actually met briefly. His memory was naturally less superior than Belphegor’s.

The Prime Minister stood staring at Belphegor for a few seconds before he looked over at his Parliamentary Private Secretary, Martha, who looked like she was visibly shaking. She must have seen the body of the security guard currently lying unconscious on the floor downstairs. He was alive, he wasn’t allowed to kill anyone anymore, but Martha didn’t know that. She looked at the Prime Minister and then down at the mobile phone in her hand, and then back up at the Prime Minister. “Shall I call the police?” she whispered slightly, trying to talk only to David, but Belphegor could hear her, he had better hearing than all of them in the room.

“The police?” he snorted, “Not a wise idea!” as he folded his arms across his chest, looking from one person to the other, enjoying their discomfort.

“Are you going to explain who you are and what you want?” the Prime Minister tore his face away from his personal secretary and looked back at the strange man interrupting his meeting. His voice had risen angrily and authoritatively.

Belphegor looked at the Prime Minister, his smile fading and now looking serious, “My name is Belphegor, it might be in your best interest to listen to me,” and then calmly took a bite from the apple.

At this the Prime Minister’s face fell. Belphegor knew he would at least recognise the name, he was undoubtedly told about him the day he became Prime Minister. It was all in that file; Belphegor’s personal file the government had on him. He’s seen it before, it was pretty big. David probably even had a debriefing with Duncan himself, the Director General of the most secret government service there was. Belphegor wondered if he would have taken up the position if he knew about him before running for Prime Minister, his whole world would have been turned upside down upon learning about the secret world that has been hidden for decades. And one of the most fearful beings from that secret world was currently standing right in the middle of Ten Downing Street, right in front of him, looking human.

 

 

Rose Garden Sanatorium – Prologue

Note before you can begin reading the Prologue:

This chapter is the very first of my new Rose Garden Sanatorium series, book 1. It has been been changed and edited a lot since I first posted about this, so this is to update everyone on it’s progress.

Enjoy reading!

 

Prologue

Sam Chaudhary

A large swarm of pigeons suddenly flew up in a panic, disturbing the long since settled dust. Their wings echoed as they clapped in the vastness as if they were applauding the perpetrator that spooked them. Most vanished out through the large hole in the roof. Others, which were only a few, nestled elsewhere; atop of an old door or the other side of the room bobbing along the floor in fear.

They were originally hiding safely in a derelict building. A building that many years ago once held many people. Doctors once would have walked around in their white coats, holding patient records in their hands and with their stethoscopes hanging around their necks looking important. Nurses also would have rushed around with bed pans and other equally rudimentary items, wearing aprons with large red crosses on them and with their hair pinned back into tight buns. Patients would be seen in straitjackets screaming at the top of their lungs when they were due for more sedatives.

The building now, however, was eerily silent – yet if you listened close enough you would swear you could hear a distance ghostly scream. There were scattered red bricks from the broken walls, broken windows boarded up from the outside and graffiti clinging helplessly on the peeling walls. It was obvious the building was no longer in use.

The pigeons made the boy jump as he walked into the open hall, he had accidentally spooked them while he side stepped past a weed that had decided to reclaim the area. His foot knocked a loose brick which had caused the pigeons to scatter. He stopped to regain his breath and slow his beating heart.

The boy was young, his round slightly tanned Asian face still had a hint of baby fat lingering in his cheeks and his short dark hair complimented his dark brown eyes. He stood holding the zipper on his jacket, close to where his beating heart sat pounding in his chest. His jacket was slightly dirty from months of use and not seeing the inside of a washing machine. It was his favourite and deemed lucky jacket, it was dark red with black trim around the collar and cuffs, contrasting with the blue in his jeans, which were slightly too long for his legs, evident from the fraying at the bottom, where his brand new Nike trainers would catch them when he walked.

‘It’s just an old building,’ he thought to himself, hoping to calm his nerves as he looked nervously around himself. ‘There are no monsters!’ he added, sighing deeply. He remembered what his mother would say to him every night when she would tuck him into bed. That was when he was younger, of course. He was far too big now to be tucked in at night. He was twelve and a half, thank you very much. But his mother’s sweet voice automatically filled his head; ‘Monsters aren’t real, beta,’ she would say. ‘Beta’ being the Hindi word for ‘son’. She would do that occasionally, adding in Hindi words into sentences, she didn’t want him to lose his Hindi roots.

After composing himself a little, feeling a little more confident no monsters were going to jump out and eat him, he decided to continue moving onwards and through the vastness of the open hall.

‘The quicker I get it, the quicker I can get out,’ he thought to himself as he climbed over a fallen wall, the broken red bricks threatening to pierce the skin on his legs.

He walked quietly and as quickly as possible to the other side of the hall to another corridor, the smell of urine potent in this part of the building as he neared a door separating the hall from the corridor ahead. He also noticed another smell lingering in the air, yet he didn’t think much of it; he had a job to do.

The door, mould threatening to consume it from the bottom upwards, was leaning awkwardly against the corridor wall, one hinge still attached, the other not. Although he was sure his friend told him he’d have to open a door at the other end of the hall? Maybe it just fell down since his friend had been there?

The boy looked down the corridor to another door at the far end. That was the last door he needed to go through, he was nearly there. He walked slowly, stepping over some broken glass and side-stepping past an old chair left discarded and lonely in the corridor. Feeling proud of himself for getting this far.

But something made him stop; a sound. He listened out. He could hear someone muttering, and it was coming from that room beyond the door. He realised that strange smell was stronger here too. He certainly wasn’t imagining it. He couldn’t place what the smell was, but he knew it was some sort of incense, it reminded him of his Aunt Mysha.

He stood there for a few seconds, in panic. He knew if he ran away now, he’d have his friend at him, telling him he was a wimp for not getting the item he was supposed to get. That damn brick. But if he stayed here, and whoever was the other side of the door was a murderer or something, he’d be dead.

The muttering started to get louder as he stood there, the person was talking louder now, and the boy realised it was a woman’s voice. Spiked with curiosity, he couldn’t help but walk towards the door slowly and quietly. Maybe, if he got close enough, he could hear what she was saying.

The closer he got, the louder the voice got, but not just because he was getting nearer, she was getting louder. Now able to hear her, he started to realise that she was repeating something, although he just could not work out what she was saying, she was speaking a foreign language. The only word he picked up was ‘mammon’ or something similar.

‘What is she doing?’ he thought, ‘And what language is that?’ He crept closer to the door, his curiosity getting the better of him. He was now right by the door, if he just peaked through the gap, he’d be able to see into the room. He could already see shadows dancing across the walls and floor, there was some kind of light and a waft of that strange incense smell too.

The boy shifted his weight slightly on one leg, so that he could peer round the corner of the door, the room slowly came into focus. There was indeed a woman; a woman dressed in all black, she had one hand up in the air, as if she was waving to someone and the other held something burning. She was now shouting, which the boy was grateful for as he was worried she would have heard him by now otherwise.

He saw the brick laying in the middle of the room on the floor, with a very delicate carving of a strange symbol in its side. But he knew there was no chance he was going to be able to go in the room and get it without being noticed. But before he could turn around and leave the building empty-handed, a strange cloud like object started to form before the woman.

Transfixed on the sight, he watched as it swirled and swirled, getting bigger and bigger until suddenly it somehow imploded and vanished. But it didn’t vanish into thin air, it vanished into a crack, a crack that had formed in thin air. The woman stopped shouting now, the room fell eerily silent. The boy found himself going rigid, not just out of terror, but worried about making a sound.

Suddenly, the crack started to open up from the other side, it was as if something was trying to come through, like a rip in fabric. But he could just about see the other side, where the room was beyond it, there was nothing there. The crack started to get wider and wider and a terrifying clawed red hand reached through. The boy’s eyes went wide and he held his breath as he saw the red hand tear the crack open up in one swift movement and the whole red body attached to the hand climbed through, horns, tail and wings included.

The boy let out a squeak of terror accidentally and covered his mouth with his hand, but it was too late, the creature and the woman turned round, both staring right at the boy, both with the same horrifying pitch black eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If you like this, I have more already written and posted on a WattPad account:

[WattPad currently seems down (probably maintenance) will add link later!]

[image error]

Standing up to Bullying – don’t stop the dreamers!

I found out this morning that people in the village have been talking about me (I’m not surprised, it’s what they do best; gossip). But what made me laugh was that someone mentioned I’m writing a book. I am. But I am doing so much more than that. And I don’t mean my university studies either. I mean my scheming. I have ideas. Ideas that I want to turn into plans. I am using my time to not only write (and finish my studies) but to come up with a plan for the future. The future isn’t exactly set in stone. But I have an outline of what I want it to look like.

In the past I have spoken out about my ideas, my dreams, some haven’t worked out (most of them actually), either because I changed my mind or because other things have got in the way (like my studies getting in the way of my plan to travel the world for charity), and I’ve had people ridicule me (including family) and try to push me down, but I haven’t let it deter me. It just makes me stronger. I don’t care what people think of me, think of me what you like, but I know who I am and I’m going to keep pushing to be the best version of me as possible.

Do you think Marie Curie would be in history books if she gave up when she was refused entry to Krakow University because she was a woman? She was later given two nobel prizes. She was the first woman to recieve one. The first person and only woman to win twice. The only person to win in two different science fields.

Do you think Galileo Galilei would be in history books if gave up when the church tried to thwart his ideas that Earth wasn’t the centre of the universe and revolves around a sun?

Do you think Thomas Edison would be in history books now if he gave up when he tried thousands of failed attempts to create the first lightbulb?

I’m not saying I will be in history books, or find the cure to cancer or even do anything worthy at all, that’s a bit pompus, but I am saying that people doubt people who may one day be brilliant all the time. That’s what keeps me going, when it feels like everyone is against me. I’m not interested in getting into a history book, I’m not even interested in being formally recognised for my efforts or possible future accomplishments. But I am interested in proving a point. Proving that people shouldn’t look down upon others, don’t push them down because you think it’s funny, to fit into a crowd, or because you think they’re just ‘talk and no action’, those people, with the dreams and the ones we should be supporting.

I am also interested in pushing people to follow their dreams, no matter how silly they feel they are (unless they’re morally wrong, then I have a problem!) and being the best version of themselves.

Yes, I am writing a book. I would love nothing more for it to inspire people. But I’m not building my hopes up that it will. I’ll push really hard for it, but I’m not setting myself up for a fall just in case. I am also studying psychology, and want to push hard to get a PhD one day, contribute in some way in the world of knowledge.

I also still want to do things for charity, it might not be that round the world trip, I did a charity abseil (found my weakness is in lack of support though thus not much fundraising happened, so am finding other avenues to help instead) but I also have the idea to set up a business, a social enterprise to bring people, companies, charities and the community together to make the world a better place.

Feel free to think “She’s all talk and no action”. I might not accomplish everything, but I’m going to still damn well try to do my best! But I don’t care what you say or think about me. I care about helping others. DONT push other people down to make yourself feel better, THEY might be the next Marie Curie or Thomas Edison!

[image error]

No one likes you! – A short story.

A short story,

Based on a true events.

By Penny Hooper (aka The Girl Who Whispered)

 

Early 90s

“Are you okay?” said a big scary woman in her strange blue clothes said as she bent down to look at me.

I nodded viciously, hoping she would just leave me alone. It was easier to just sit here quietly. I wouldn’t get in trouble if I sat and stayed quiet. What if I wasn’t allowed to speak to strangers? I didn’t know this woman. Even if she looked like she worked there.

She smiled at me and just walked off. I sighed. And tried to calm my beating heart as I sat on the hard plastic chair in the corridor of the hospital.

But I didn’t know what to do. What do I say? Do I say something? Do I sit and wait? Do I find him? Or had I been left here? I had no concept of how long I was sitting there panicking. I knew I was there to think about what I had done. Dad was angry with me the moment he burst into my room. I hadn’t even got in his way yet. Or said something wrong to him. But I had an idea of what it was I had done. He tried to get me to speak. I refused. He got angry.

But I couldn’t think about what I had done. I only sat, tried not to cry – I wasn’t allowed to cry – and hoped that he would come back for me. Eventually.

I couldn’t forget what happened to me though, even though I wasn’t thinking about it at the time. I hoped one day I might forget. A kid at school had trapped me in tables and chairs. The teacher had called us all over, I think it was reading time, but the kid, he was ignoring the teacher and was instead moving the tables and chairs to trap me. I don’t know why. Was this a game? He was laughing. Or had I done something wrong? But the teacher had called us, she wanted us all over to her, we would get told off if we didn’t!

I got told off. For not going over to her. For playing. I didn’t know I was playing. I was trapped. I couldn’t go anywhere. How could I explain that to her? But I just wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be there anymore. What did I do wrong? How could I have done that differently?

I had decided not to talk anymore. The grown-ups didn’t listen. They didn’t see and they didn’t listen. I was just a kid. But it was okay, that kid was a boy. Boys will be boys after all!

But why did I feel so bad?

I had gotten home after school and refused to talk to mum. Mum didn’t like it. But dad was angry at me. I don’t remember exactly what happened, it all went by in a flash; he took me in his car and drove me to the hospital, told me to sit, I obeyed and then he walked off. Taking a cigarette out and walked off without even looking back at me.

After what felt like hours, I saw out of the corner of my eye, dad was coming back. I felt a little relieved. I hadn’t been left here. I wasn’t going to have to live on this plastic seat for the rest of my life. But I was also nervous. What if I did that wrong? What if I sat here wrong? What if I was supposed to do something? What if he yelled at me again? What if he forced me to speak again?

 

 

Early 2000s

I sat in my class, staring at my book and scribbling notes hurriedly, trying not to look at anyone. I didn’t want to grab someone’s attention and then they pick on me. If I ignored everyone, maybe they’d leave me alone. I already had a bad day in my previous lesson. Physical Education. PE. I hated PE. It meant changing in a room full of other girls and playing sports that I hated and wasn’t even good at. It was a good lesson to have others laugh at you too. At least if you’re writing and got your head in a book, the other students can’t see how terrible you are. I was stupid after all.

PE was up there with Drama. I hated Drama too.

“Oi, you talking yet?” I heard someone whisper behind me. I felt every muscle in my body go tense. I hadn’t been small enough. Someone was talking to me. I pretended I didn’t hear.

“I thought you had a sore throat?” another kid said from behind me, I recognised her voice, “Been going on for a few years now hasn’t it? Faking it much?”

I gulped as I felt the tears in my eyes again. I had already fought the tears back after my PE teacher told me off for having an attitude. I didn’t have an attitude. I didn’t hear her call my name and then turned round to see her staring at me angrily. I got called into her office. The smelly PE office. She told me off for ignoring her. I wasn’t ignoring her. I crossed my arms, not knowing what to do with them. They felt suddenly heavy and in the way. I got told off for crossing my arms.

I can’t do anything right.

“She’s such a looser,” said one of the girls behind me and the other one giggled as if it was the funniest thing her friend had said.

I stared at the same word on my page in my school book, attempting to control my shaking and my beating heart and blinked away the tears. I wasn’t sure what was worse, the popular kids name calling me and throwing things at me or the kids that weren’t popular, the smart ones, calling me names now too.

I sat and pretended I was somewhere else. Anywhere else than here. Well, maybe not home.

 

 

 

Late 2000s

I heard whispering and giggling from behind me as I sat on my computer. I looked round at the two girls that used to be my friends. They stopped and turned round as if suddenly getting caught doing something wrong. They had.

Were they upset with me? What had I done? I know I was hanging out with my two guy mates more. I got on with them better. We had more in common. It was cool to hang out with them. But I had no idea that the girls didn’t like me anymore. I still said hello to them, asked them how they were. Although one of them completely ignored me that morning. I didn’t know why.

I looked back round at my computer, I was trying to figure out this problem. I was starting to think college wasn’t for me. My two mates sat next to me were happily tapping away on their keyboards, they looked like they knew what they were doing. But I couldn’t get past this one bit. How could I do a whole two years of this?

I sighed just as I heard whispering and giggling again. I turned around and noticed the two girls were looking at me again.

“Do you have a problem?” I said loudly, everyone in the class looked round at me.

But to my joy, the two girls stopped, went pale faced and looked back round at their own computers. They left me alone from then on.

I felt proud. I’d spoken up for myself.

I found out a few days later why they didn’t like me. I had said something to one of the girls. Apparently she took offense. I didn’t mean to be nasty, I was just joking with her. Had I of known I upset her, if she told me, I would have apologised. But instead she decided to pick on me. But I had enough of that at school.

College was supposed to be different.

 

 

 

Sometime between 2012 and 2013.

My heart dropped when I saw the text message that my boyfriend had been deliberately trying to hide from me. I know he had. He said he didn’t. But I wasn’t stupid. But when I read the text message over his shoulder I saw why he was trying to hide it from me. His brother had text him to tell him that I need to suck it up and go to the New Year party because he wanted to see his brother.

I snapped. I was angry. Hurt. Upset. Both at his brother and at my boyfriend too.

“That’s it, I’m not going now!” I said.

He looked at me in shock.

“I’m not taking that!” I said, “I’m sorry! But that is just an asshole thing to say! I’m not going to make a scene there! I was just worried about that guy being there, he doesn’t like me, and you know I’m nervous in big groups of people!”

I remember the day I met the guy in question. It was about a year ago. I was at my boyfriend’s parents’ house. He at his brother had decided to have a few friends over for a barbeque, I met a load of his friends for the first time. I was stupidly nervous. I was trying to fit in, feel included. A song came on that reminded me of an ex and I told my boyfriend’s brother he was a chav if he listened to that song. It was a joke. He thought it was funny and turned it over. His friend didn’t. He had a go at me. Thought I was calling him a chav for liking the song. What was worse though, I went inside feeling stupid and all eyes were on me. Everyone hated me. My boyfriend followed me in, asked me what was wrong. He was there, he heard what went on. But had no idea why I was upset. He even told me that I was being rude for calling him a chav. I never called him a chav. I called his brother a chav. It was a joke.

But we had been invited to a New Year party at my boyfriend’s brother’s house, only that guy was going to be there. I was nervous. I was worried that he was going to have another go at me. I also wasn’t doing too well. I was lonely, missing my very few friends back home who were slowly forgetting me. I had moved far away from my hometown. I was upset too and struggling to stay happy, I had lost two grandparents and another grandparent was seriously ill and my childhood dog had died. I was tired too. Always fighting battles.

And now, I felt even worse because I felt like I was the bad person for not wanting to go to a New Year’s party and my boyfriend was starting to resent me and none of his friends liked me.

This was supposed to be a happy time of my life. I had escaped my parents. I had moved in with my boyfriend. We were living together in our first house. It was supposed to be new and exciting. But I was still miserable. I was starting to believe that I was supposed to be miserable. I must have done something really bad in a previous life to deserve this.

I just wanted to be happy.

 

 

 

Present day

“Why you taking your phone? To take a selfie in the bathroom?” my dad jeered as I stood up to go to the toilet. We were in a bar.

I looked at him in utter shock. Did he really think I was one of those girls? Who goes into bathrooms just to take a photo of herself? I wasn’t one of those girls.

“She doesn’t have any friends to show it to anyway!” my mum commented and I snorted and just walked off.

Any normal day, it would have been funny. It would have been me that said instead of her.

But today, it wasn’t a normal day. I wasn’t in the best frame of mind to take those jokes. But I couldn’t complain. I couldn’t fight back. It was best I just said nothing. Or just made a joke back, pretend I thought it was funny.

I walked into the bathroom and sat on the toilet, staring at my phone.

It was true. I don’t have any friends. Aside from the odd one or two I sometimes speak to. I looked at my last text message on my phone. The last text message was just an automated message with a code to log into a service. Probably PayPal. That was two weeks ago. The last text message I actually got from a friend was six months ago.

I sighed and locked my phone up. It was pointless having a phone. No one called. No one text. It was my parents’ choice that I had a phone. I was happy without one. At least if I didn’t have one, I wouldn’t have a constant reminder that I didn’t have any friends. I didn’t have anyone that cared. I was alone. A loner. A loser. Billy no mates.

Even my dad didn’t like me. Didn’t even know who I was.

Maybe I should have changed those settings on Facebook. Then I’d get a few people who would notice me today.

Today was my birthday. No one remembered.

No one liked me.

Using constructive critism… and not throwing in the towel!

I’m feeling 100% well lately, but I’m still going to attempt this blog post!

A couple of days ago I decided to reach out on a Facebook Group called ‘We love reading books.’ What better way to get advice on your writing but from book fans!?

[image error]

So I wrote a post asking if there would be anyone who’d be interested in reading a few chapters of my ‘Rose Garden Sanatorium’ so that I could get feedback. I was actually surprised that a LOT of people commented back jumping at the opportunity! So after sending out a load of personal emails with a PDF of the first few chapters, I’m starting to get a little bit of feedback.

Of course, my skin isn’t that thick to deal with negative feedback, not because I was shocked to hear my work isn’t perfect! But because I have low self-esteem in general.

[image error]

But after getting the feedback, I realised that- okay, so THAT person didn’t like it – Well, not the story, but the writing style, he did say he’d like to read more! I have had some ideas on how to improve it!

I also got a lovely reply back from another reader and she was very nice. She was a lot more supportive in the sense that she told me she loved the story and did give me some feedback on how to improve it a little too.

And what is interesting, is that, I actually feel all the more happier now that I have used that feedback and done a few alterations. It’s that little bit better than it was before I sent it out.

Earn money being a Smashwords affiliate!

Any book lovers, bloggers, reviewers, authors, writers (or anyone for that matter) want to earn money being a Smashwords affiliate?

All you need is a Smashwords account and a PayPal account!

I just came across an article today that explains how you can earn money by just promoting books! I thought it was a brilliant way to help authors get their work out there, by offering promoters a small cut of the profits!

So, for example, promote my own book and you could get 11% (going up to 15% soon!) of each sale you helped get!

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/744287

(for advice on how to do this, keep reading! You need to set up an account with Smashwords and give out a special link for it to work!)

(P.S. My book is now currently on sale, 50% off! Was $1.99 now only $1.00 for a short time. Ends 16th October!)

So, that means, if you share a link and someone buys that book from that link, not only does the author get a cut of the sales but so do you!

All you need; a Smashwords accound and a PayPal account!

How do you do set up and earn?

First, sign up to Smashwords!

Here’s the link: https://www.smashwords.com/signup

Sign up for a FREE Smashwords membership!
Click on the hyperlink to activate your Smashwords membership
Go to your ‘Account Page’
Follow the ‘Affiliate System Management’ link
Click on the ‘Affiliate Marketers’ sign-up button
Read the Terms of Service agreement and click to join the program

It’s that easy to set up!

Next, you want to promote some books to start earning. Read on, to learn how to do this.

Promote and earn!

Once you’re Smashwords account has been created, all you have to do is copy and paste the special link on the webpage!

For example, my own referral link is: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/744287?ref=PennyRose88

Your own link will be similar, but instead of ‘PennyRose88’ it will have your own username. E.g. if you’re user name is ‘JohnSmith’ then the referral link will be: ‘[…]books/view/744287?ref=JohnSmith’

This can be found at the bottom of the book page, like this:

I have suggested you get a PayPal account and link that, only reason is, you do not have to wait for a certain amount to be in your account before you get paid. So, there is no waiting until you’ve got $50 in your Smashwords account before you get paid. If you use a PayPal, payment gets to you every month, minimum is $0.01!

(This information is true as an author, this information MIGHT be different for an affiliate, so please check terms and conditions first!)

I’m forever grateful for those who promote/support my books! Marketing it the hardest part of being a self-published author. But what better way doing it, by getting paid to do it!

Thank you for taking the time to read this.

Also:

Earn money blogging! Love photography? Maybe you have a story to share? Click here to read how you can earn money on Steemit to blog about the things you love!

Feel free to check out my work:

My Normal: A short story, By Penny Hooper

Rose Garden Sanatorium: Prologue

It’s My Mistake: Chapter One