Supernatural musings
Twenty or so years ago I wrote a novel called Essence of Lavender. I didn't send it to any publishers, agents etc, I just loved it. It was my baby. It was so special to me I didn't keep it with the other novels I had written (all hard copies, all written on a trusty old Amstrad 8256) - oh no, I put it away in a safe place.
I have absolutely no idea where that safe place is.
I am now attempting to rewrite it and I just know that as I type THE END the original copy will resurface.
What this does mean is that there are two major changes to my life as an author. The first change is that this novel is in the supernatural genre. Beautiful, Angel and 34 Days are all psychological thrillers. The second change is that with this book I know the story, know the characters. All my other books have started with a sentence, and I've taken it from there. No plotting, very little note-taking, let the story go where it will.
Lavender is different. I have even plotted chapters out (although I may have wandered off track a little and I'm only just starting chapter six!) but it feels as though it's writing itself.
I now have just over 12,000 words under my belt, and planning on a minimum of 1,000 minimum per day starting 1 August. I'm going to have my personal NaNoWriMo although it will be a NaAugWriMo. To keep me on track I'll make my journey public on here.
Here's a little excerpt from Lavender - hope it grabs you!
He walked across and waited for John to climb out of the truck then took him over to the bin.
The smell was even more overpowering.
‘What the...?’ John’s eyes were beginning to water. It was foul.
‘It’s the bin. Now, as far as I know, the only thing in it is that bunch of flowers that Rose put in – you know, the bunch that Matt bought her. I opened it briefly and you can’t even see them in the bottom. The whole bin’s a bloody mass of worms, maggots and all manner of other bugs, John. I thought the two of us could deal with them, cos I’ll be honest, I haven’t a clue what to do.’
John looked at his father-in-law. ‘Bugs?’
‘Yep. I’m not normally a queasy chap but that sight fair turned mi stomach.’
John turned and put his hand on the lid. It was hot. He slowly lifted it and then slammed it shut. It was like a horror movie. The whole interior was moving, a whirling vortex of anything that crawled, all trying to escape the confines of the bin. The smell was cloying, sickly, putrid.
He stepped away and turned to Alan. ‘I reckon only fire will kill that lot but I’ve no idea how we do it.’
‘It’ll destroy the bin.’
‘That’s not the problem. We can get another. How do we get fire in it? As soon as we open that lid they’re going be on the move. And if we put the fire in and slam the lid down it will put out the fire.’
Alan was quiet for a moment and then said ‘What about making a fire and standing the bin on it? If they escape out the bottom as it melts, they’ll drop into the fire.’
‘Okay. Let’s seal this top down with duct tape so that we don’t have it bouncing up and down while we’re moving it, and we’ll build a fire in that boggy bit down the bottom, near the pond. I’ll sort it out after; make it look good again by the time of the wedding.’
Alan nodded and headed for the garage to get the duct tape. He began to seal it and left John to go and start the fire. The heat coming from the bin was starting to become pretty intense and as he stuck down the duct tape the edges of the tape began to curl. It briefly occurred to him that they were forcing their own heat in order to escape, and then he laughed at himself. ‘Reading too many Stephen Kings,’ he said quietly.
He pulled the bin behind him and headed down to the pond. John had started a fire and they waited until it became really hot before manoeuvring the bin into the middle of it.
They waited.
The bin began to melt at the bottom and then the sides began to bend out of shape. It sank lower and lower, the plastic spreading out and giving off a chemical smell that hurt their throats as they breathed. They had expected to see all the different creatures tumbling out as holes appeared but that didn’t happen. The duct tape curled and came off the sides, leaving it attached only to the lid. John used the hoe he had taken down with him to control the bin on the fire and flicked open the lid, now free of every piece of duct tape.
He jumped back as the lid fell open. There was nothing inside.
He looked at Alan. ‘What...?’
Alan shrugged, feeling helpless. ‘I don’t know, John. We both saw them. There were millions of them.’
John threw the bucket of pond water on to the fire and then went to get another one. Alan remained staring into the flames now dying down; he had no idea what had happened, but he knew what he had seen. And he knew what John had seen.
They finished putting out the fire and walked back up to the house, unable to say anything. Neither of them could quite believe what had happened.
‘I’ve got one of the old bins, the metal ones, in the garage. We’ll use that until we can organise a new one. I’ll go and get it. You go in and tell Flora we’ve got rid of them.’ John turned to go in his garage.
He went to the back and pulled out the bin. He’d used it for various things at various times and now it was being returned to its original role in life. He carried it round the side of the building, past the kitchen window, to the vacated spot left by the burnt bin. It was awkward to carry and he grinned to himself as he remembered the dustbin men of old who had manoeuvred these bins with consummate ease. They were worthy of his admiration he thought, as he went to stand it in its designated place.
On the ground where the old bin had stood was a sprig of Lavender.