Paula may have made it… to Heaven

My summer writing project is at an end. The first draft of my comedy novel, Paula Goes to Heaven has been completed. Just in time, as I am about say goodbye to summer holidays and re-enter the land of the living (and go back to work to earn a living – sad face).

Dead as a dodo, Paula emerged from my debut novel, Life Without Me. She was the heroine’s wayward and rather wicked sister who inadvertently committed suicide. It was really meant to be a cry for help, but Paula got carried away, and then there was no going back.

She is now on her way to Heaven, though her route to paradise isn’t as straight and narrow as she would like it to be. For one, she is re-directed to Hell and instructed to abandon all her hope. But Paula never does as she is told. Plus, she has a child to deliver from Evil.

While I am waiting for my first draft to undergo a cooling-down period before editing, I have been playing with the cover. With my new graphic tablet (that’s me finally catching up with technology!) I have mocked up two provisional covers, jut for fun. Which cover looks better?

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Life Without Me – trailer

Life Without Me is a prequel to Paula Goes to Heaven. It introduces Paula in all her earthly prima donna glory.

Life Without Me is currently on special at £0.99/ $1.25 kindle and £7.99 paperback on Amazon https://www.amazon.co.uk/Life-Without-Me-Anna-Legat-ebook/dp/B00TF70FWC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501150413&sr=8-1&keywords=anna+legat

Paula Goes to Heaven

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Does this woman belong in Heaven? Don’t answer it – it’s a rhetorical question.

Do you remember Paula from Life Without Me? The washed-up actress with a chequered past and a ferocious sexual appetite? You may remember that she is dead. Your memory does not deceive you – she is. And she is on her way to Heaven. It’s a long and bumpy road, considering that her starting point is in Hell. Plus she has a lot of baggage: two men and a child.

So, this is my summer writing project: a story of Paula’s journey to Heaven. Will she ever get there or will her past catch up with her? Do you have the nerve to find out? Huh?

BTW: Life Without Me is now on special at £0.99 Kindle and down to £7.99/£6.60 for a paperback. A chance to discover Paula’s humble beginnings! https://www.amazon.co.uk/Life-Without-Me-Anna-Legat-ebook/dp/B00TF70FWC/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1500985915&sr=8-1&keywords=anna+legat

Medicinal value

My teapot and I have suffered minor contusions of late: I’ve been constantly knocked down by bouts of colds and flu, and my teapot’s lid was dropped (by me) and a chunk of it chipped off.

My mother always told me that there was nothing a plaster could not cure, so I plugged the crack in my teapot with a strip of waterproof plaster, and voila it is as good new! See?

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Unfortunately, no amount of plasters could stem my runny nose… Perhaps a bandage? Has anyone tried that remedy?

Ageing disgracefully and with style

I put on the skates, and I am a little girl again: eight or ten at the most. The blades of my skates slice through the ice. I can hear a clank and a swoosh, the wind in my pompom, cheeks burning, cold air in my nostrils, expelled in rapid vapours, forming frosty droplets on my scarf. I’ve lost my gloves – again. My fingers are red numb claws. I perform a pirouette, the spikes of one of my skates are the pivot and I draw a circle with the other foot. The air can’t keep up with me. I halt, let it catch up, and proceed backwards, knees bent slightly, bum defying gravity as I draw curvy patters on the ice. Another twirl, and I launch forward. I used to be able to do this – I lift one leg, an arabesque begins to form, a bit floppy, like a penknife that I can’t quite fully open. But I gather speed – I’m a bird swooping down-

-and down I go.

The spikes on my blade catch on something; I am catapulted – briefly, given just enough time to realise that I’m going face down, crash landing into the unforgiving ice. Just enough time to twist in the air to save my face. Hip first. Knee caught halfway through a protective kick. And then the ribcage slams down.

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Someone asks me if I’m all right. I nod, but I’m lying. Too embarrassed to admit that my vision is blurred and the blood has drained from my brain, leaving me lightheaded and faint. Daughter drags me to a bench. ‘You told me to fall on my bum. Why didn’t you?’

Where was my big, cushioned bum when I needed it…

Today, the day after, I am no longer a little girl of eight or ten at the most. That girl would be back on ice despite those minor bruises. She wouldn’t even remember that fall. She has run away and I am left on my own: an old woman and her swollen knee, her cracked ribcage that hurts with every intake of breath, and a huge purple bruise on her hip. I can’t recall where and when the hip came into it.

Husband offers an anti-inflammatory painkiller and I say no. I refuse to grow old gracefully. Whenever would I take a painkiller after scathing a knee when I was eight! I am not going to start now. I suffer my debilitating aches and pains in dignified reticence.

I will be back to the ice rink next week. Wearing knee pads.

The importance of being idle

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I am not a natural early riser. My alarm clock and I aren’t the best of friends; more like cats and dogs. Every morning the bloody thing growls at me, digs its teeth into the delicate fabric of my dreams and shakes me awake, my dreams shattered in an instant. I fight back, best as I can. I kick and scratch, I hiss, but I stand no chance. In the end the damned yapping ankle-biter wins. I hate the bastard.

But there is a light at the end of the tunnel. There are my Fridays: late-rising days. The yapping ankle-biter is where it belongs – in a dog-house. I sleep. Dreams seep into my slowly unfolding reality. Ideas form in my well-rested brain, come and go, sometimes vanishing without a trace, leaving only a hint of themselves, a niggling something that follows me around like a scent of something I once knew, a long time ago, in my childhood. Books and stories write themselves before my closed eyes, and they are out of this world – unique, one-and-only, unimaginable. If only I could remember them…

I love my late-rising days. Idleness breeds creativity. A well-rested brain busies itself with its own occupations, because let’s face, one is never quite perfectly idle. There is always some activity. Only when we go about our daily routines, imposed on us by the circumstances of our everyday obligations, we lose that subtler, more refine side of us, that side that is so ethereal and so elusive that it evaporates on contact with the hard-biting reality (in my case, my hard-biting alarm clock), like camphor. I so love capturing it on those blessed Friday mornings. It feels like stealing, like catching beautiful butterflies in a net. It is bad and frowned up by our labour-intensive reality, but God, it feels amazing!

I can understand now why great writers need to take the risk of abandoning their day-jobs to be able to write. Writing is a take-it-all occupation, which requires late rising and altogether a form of firm detachment from time and place. It is a risky affair, an affair with impropriety, a costly affair at that! But that is the choice one has to made: forsake one’s financial security to capture those elusive snippets of dreams and stitch them into a grand new story. I bet Jane Austin never had to use an alarm clock. I don’t believe Stephen King does, either.

What speakers do best

I am a proud owner of the first draft of Wide Angle, a Gilbert and Alice mystery. It is a light-hearted look at crime, something one would call cozy crime, the sort you’re not afraid to take to bed with you at night. Murder happens, naturally, but amidst all that bloodshed there is room for quirks and oddities, eccentricities of the highest order and outright silliness – generally speaking: my life and the people that populate it.

Don’t let any writer tell you that any similarity between the characters in their books and any living (or dead) persons is purely coincidental. No such thing as absolute fiction!

To give you an example of the kind of real life incidents you may find yourself cosied up to in bed when reading one of my books:

Yesterday, I asked Daughter to carry a pair of heavy speakers to Husband’s study. My back, you see, is shot due to a spot of aeroball. She obliged (grudgingly) and placed the speakers oddly in the doorway, kind of facing each other, like so:

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I was intrigued and confused by that awkward positioning, but you see, I shouldn’t be at all, because the speakers were doing what speakers do best – they were speaking to each other!

You can see it, can’t you?

 

Praise for Life Without Me, my debut novel

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Life Without Me by Anna Legat, published by Accent Press, May 2015

Magic realism with humour and depth

“Great debut novel; intriguing storyline, humour, attention to detail and a bit of raunchiness too!

Funny, fast paced and original romp through a very different kind of family life. I love Anna Legat’s writing – it’s gritty, acerbic at times and peppered with laugh out loud moments. This book is totally unsentimental, and sometimes too close to home for comfort, but very entertaining all the same.

Life Without Me offers great escapism.

It’s a well written story and observation on modern family life. A clever idea written in a style that keeps you on the page.

This is a fast paced, punchy and gripping novel with no holds barred.” Amazon customers

“The characters are extremely well developed and the story flows smoothly. There is just the right amount of personal angst and tension throughout the book.” Dianne Klein

“A brilliantly written and unflinching story of a family falling apart, written from the unique point of view of a woman whose very existence is hanging in the balance between life and death. An enormously enjoyable and accomplished debut novel.” Grace Lowrie, author of Kindred Hearts.

“Life Without Me takes the reader on a keyhole-peeping ride. The writing is excellent, acerbic and funny. The reactions of the people around Georgie are told through her eyes as she watches from that limbo-land where souls go before they disappear into the afterlife. This is my favourite genre because the “magic” elements throw light on the human condition in ways that realism cannot. I found it easy to go with the scenario and enjoyed the ways Legat played with it. There are reminiscences of The Lovely Bones here, but with a much lighter story to tell. This is an engaging read with multiple storylines coming together to reveal an intricate plot, in both meanings of the word. Although this is a cautionary tale, Legat doesn’t preach. Life Without Me is told with both humour and depth. And just as you’re wondering how it’s going to end, Legat plays with the “magic” to treat the reader to a couple of final twists.” Virginia King, Goodreads.