Snotty Norman and Spotty Sally Find Fame

Living through the pranks and big personalities at Arden White Primary School was pretty tough but starting secondary school and finding out secrets about your form tutor on your first day can be life threatening! Snotty Normal and Spotty Sally are thrown together as they uncover a secret that could expose the awful things teachers do to naughty students. Who can they trust to help them tell the truth about Evelyn Winsborough Academy?

Here’s a little snippet from my first draft:

The ear-piercing sound of the first period bell resounded across the school, instigating a stampede of footsteps to the next class. The new year 7’s tentatively got up and followed Mrs Whitby to the door. Organised chaos awaited them outside. Shoals of students swam by, blotting out the view of the quad and the fountain. One by one, the year 7’s disappeared into the fray, pushing towards their next class and hoping for a gap in the crowd to actually make it there. Signs pointed each newbie in the right direction and within three minutes, the quad was clear, the corridors empty and an eerie silence replaced the noise of just a few seconds before. Snotty Norman sniffled next to Spotty Sally; both looked confused and afraid. They had missed their chance. All the other students had listened to Mrs Whitby’s boring chat about where to go and what to do next. They had not.

The school looked overwhelmingly big and daunting. Where was Geography Class 7T? Without knowing it, without feeling it, Norman and Sally edged closer to each other, feeling the comfort of having someone else just as daft as the other. What were they going to do?

 

 

 

How to Inspire Words

Have you ever been tempted to write a short narrative motivated by music? It is a wonderful exercise that produces different effects to the words, sometimes attaching a rhythm or patterning to the narrative.

In my endeavours to find ways to stimulate my writing, I try to choose music from different genres. It can inspire thoughts about characters or influence a scene that has been suffering from mental block. Sometimes, it’s just for fun to relieve tension and let the mind flow, unimpeded.

Today, I’d like to share with you a little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy. I’ve chosen an extended version that allows me enough time to become accustomed to the melody and then to submerge my mind into the emotional senses aroused by the music. Suddenly, the music speaks and all I have to do is note the words flowing from its narrative.

So, here it is – my little piece written under the influence of Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy! Enjoy.

Soft, sensual lips slowly murmured my name. I felt the quiver resonating through my body, sending shivers down my spine, extending outwards to my toes and the butterflies dancing under my ribs. Shadows of laughter hinted at those lips, so delicious and inviting. Yet, something held me back. Was it the unanswered question lingering in my dry throat, hungry for the lips to sate me? Was it knowing that once I succumbed to such sweet temptation, there was no going back? Or the fact that our bodies were entwined when they weren’t supposed to touch? Oh, sweet torture.

Angry, I let go of those long fingers wrapped around my waist. They slipped away, taking the warmth of their touch with them. Desolation engulfed my now hollow frame. How could I be so stupid? Those lips had promised salvation; knights willing to slay the hunger growling inside me like an ugly beast pushing and shoving at my maligned heart. Helpless, I watched as they turned down their protuberant smile and sharp lines invaded smooth skin around them. A sadness I had caused shaped something once so beautiful and eager. So easy it would have been to say yes; so easy to quiet the doubts pecking at my temptation.

Alas, those sweet persuasions were now far away and focused on a new prey, a prey eager to take the trip to fantasia.

I watch as they meet, the enduring touch divulging a missing innocence that was never there to begin with, the embarrassing tartness of such haste and machination. My heart cries at the betrayal but my mind celebrates its fastidiousness – the victory of overcoming a certain desolation that would have cracked an already fragile heart, the hurt that might have been suffered after such sweet salvation.

No. I refuse to watch any longer. After all, it is my birthday and there will surely be more hidden promises of amuse bouche awaiting to entice my appetite for amour.

 

 

 

Copyright  held by ©Eloise De Sousa (2019). All rights reserved.

Who’s Joining the Spoilt Miranda series?

It has been the long awaited sequel to Cecil the Bully and Spoilt Miranda. At last, their friends will be getting a chance to tell their own tale of meeting the infamous Ms Crow and her deadly stare.

Without further ado, I present:

Snotty Norman and Spotty Sally Find Fame

Now that the year 6 children of Arden White Primary School have enjoyed their summer holidays and forged new friendships outside the confines of the school grounds, we meet them again as they start their first day at Evelyn Winsborough Academy – a school with a reputation for aggressive behaviour and truancy.

Little do they know that the school has had a major overhaul over the last year. With sparkling new classrooms and hi-tech gear to keep the children occupied (and monitored), Mr Dank, the Head Teacher, expects a high standard of behaviour from the newbies. Unfortunately for him, he doesn’t know what’s coming his way as the notorious Arden White crew start their new year causing chaos down the clean halls and run riot over brittle-backed teachers.

Join the young ruffians as they encounter Ms Crow again in a comical calamity that leaves the teachers huffing and the children puffing to get out of her way!

 

My Killer

Cigarette smoke curls and licks at her frazzled locks, braiding them with a scent of something delicious and sensuous. I watch her sway before me. Her attempts to seduce are abysmal but I smile, my lips sticking to my teeth as I watch each layer removed from her body like onion peels.

Brown skin burns in the soft light and I desperately want to squeeze it between my fingers, feel its texture and warmth. But I stay my course. A gentle breeze lifts the cheap chintz curtains, exposing the street lights and dismal rain sloshing down the streets below. The air is a welcome break from the incense and heady perfume permeating every inch of this tiny room that she and I share. Our breath is mixed in these close quarters, almost tasting each other in its closeness.

Fingers test their boundaries as she snakes herself over my inert body, hoping for a response that will never come. What I want will make her scream – the kind of scream that sends nosy neighbours running and crying into their phones; the kind of scream that makes my skin crawl in delight and sends shivers down my spine. I lick my lips in anticipation. It’s time.

Her flexing muscles gyrate against my lap, working sweat through her armpits and at her temples. She’s ugly when she tries so hard. I snap her pretty little head with a flick before she can cry out. It’s a pity really. Such a waste of that gorgeous skin. Maybe I could take some and keep it for later? Yes. Waste not want not, and all that. Her muscles are still flexing as life flows out of her body. I mount her, feeling the power seep through my skinny body. Eyes once so bold now glaze over in a steady exchange with mine as I tilt my head left to right, a bird sitting on its prey.

Cigarette smoke slithers up the curtains and dances to the rain drops outside. My keepsake is carefully packed away in my briefcase and she is dressed in her best for her discovery later tonight or maybe tomorrow morning. I linger. It’s just that she’s so damn beautiful lying there in her dressing gown with her fingernails painted with matching toes. Those wayward locks are framing her face, exposing fine cheekbones I hadn’t noticed before. The light certainly gives her a mysterious flavour and I can’t resist kissing those luscious pink lips one more time.

With a sigh, I take one last look at the studio flat. The breeze has died down and the rain is no longer beating out its tender pulse. My exit will be observed at this late hour. Risks have to be taken by any doctor visiting his patient after hours. After all, isn’t this part of the service? I can feel my lips sticking to my teeth again so I blow out my cheeks as my gloved fingers trail down her fantastic body. Yes. I must go.

Until my next appointment, I shall have her to enjoy in my thoughts and in my fridge.

 

Review of The Iron Pendulum

An exciting new review of TIP showcasing the reader’s opinion on the crime thriller.

5.0 out of 5 stars Stunning
ByWilma Lettingson 18 June 2017
Format: Kindle Edition|Verified Purchase
A stunning thriller full of suspense and susprises. The opening scene sets up a great sense of intrigue as we discover along with the detetcives a very strange crime scene. Soon, another crime scene is discovered, this one even more bizarre and puzzling. You simply can’t help wondering what has happened and will want to know where the story is going. There are two people missing. We learn a little later on where the missing people are, while the detectives are still in the unknown. It’s hard to describe this thriller further without risking giving anything away.
It’s high octane, fast paced, well plotted and definitely a worthy challenge for those eager to figure a novel out before the debouement. A treat for crime fiction fans.

If this has sent your crime taste buds into a frenzy, click below to get your copy:

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