I am currently writing a novel I hope to publish, so far I have written roughly 120,000 words, this is an extract – I am actually a little nervous about posting this as currently no one other than myself has read my writing so I would love to know what people think of my style of writing!
The novel alternates between three different (first person) viewpoints of three characters who start off seventeen, one of them popular and selfish, one of them introverted and previously bullied by the popular one, one of them best friends for ten years with the introvert. This is five years later, the introvert Seth (who has a band with friends Luke and Jonathan) has become famous with his band and is trying to adjust to life as a celebrity. This scene is set at a dinner party that Seth and Luke attend with other famous faces. The first two paragraphs are very long as you can see, so if you don't want to read them by all means skip them both and start reading from paragraph three.
(Not suitable for younger readers):
I was lunching with a few other famous faces and we were pretty much all honoured to be in each other’s presence. Luke was there with me… Jonathan’s invite never arrived. I did mention on the phone to Samuel Yale’s PR that we were a three part band, after all, and she apologised but insisted there was a table for eight booked and the other six seats were already filled… I was ashamed of myself but I didn’t push the matter further. I’d defended Jonathan right back in the beginning when we could’ve lost everything and rather than being in the most expensive restaurant in LA I’d probably be sweeping the aisles in my local supermarket. This time I wasn’t prepared to push my luck because I was too star struck.
Samuel Yale, the Samuel Yale who’d just won the Oscar for best actor two years in a row was there in front of me! He’d flown to the restaurant in his own personal jet after holidaying for two weeks on his Hawaiian island complete with a staff of forty who performed any task from cleaning his Jacuzzi and maintaining his private spa to installing the latest top ten hits into his jukebox and giant karaoke machine.
Samuel was recently headlining all the papers after a fan literally died from shock at his feet after meeting him. Although her family was devastated there was no way Samuel could be held responsible or sued for a couple million, loose change for him life changing sum of money for them, and it didn’t take long for Samuel’s managers to drag out a story from a year earlier about the girl’s previous eating disorder that had caused her to regularly collapse from exhaustion and a doctor’s claim that it was possible she’d had a relapse and was secretly starving herself yet again (after all she’d hidden it from her parents for three years the last time and they only realised when they saw her ribs protruding from her T-shirt) so the fact she’d collapsed and died when meeting her idol was a mere tragic coincidence. A couple of weeks later a story had emerged that the girl’s dad was on benefits and suddenly an anonymous friend of the family was bribed into claiming the family was always looking for an opportunity to scrounge money and it was possible they’d exploited their daughter’s death to line their pockets. The previous national heroes were instantly transformed into national villains even receiving death threats on the way home until out of desperation they moved countries and have since disappeared without a trace.
At this time Samuel Yale publicly paid a hugely generous donation to charity, maintaining his squeaky clean image, and as another coincidence his latest blockbuster release coincided with all this press coverage, elevating his status yet again. I was starting to question the credibility of the whole story and wondered how far someone would go to boost their media coverage. I was waiting to bump into that girl who’d ‘died’ on the streets any day now. It was hard adjusting to the fact that fifty per cent of my world was staged and every word or move made by someone in the public eye could have been carefully calculated weeks before and with the help of shady characters behind the curtains. "All the world’s a stage and all the men and women merely players" had never been truer in anything other than my current world.
Another face I was interested in at the table that night, was Cindy Davies. A new sensation who’d shot to fame with her sitcom ‘Call Your Lawyers’ about a man who had an epiphany after falling off a ladder that he could make millions for himself by suing his way through life (ironic that Samuel Yale should be present at lunch with her after his recent suing case in the media). But because of the moralities, the show didn’t want to publicly promote scamming companies, his attempts always had to miraculously and hilariously go very, very wrong.
In one episode, he went to lunch at a restaurant and sprinkled fake rat droppings on his food then called over a waiter to complain, who had seen through his lies, sniffed a ‘dropping’, eaten it and claimed that they were chocolate raisins, maybe the man should try a more gullible restaurant. Feeling defeated, he’d mumbled that they were right and asked for another plate of chocolate raisin-free mash potatoes. The waiter had delivered it and the man had commented that the pepper heads sprinkled on top were delicious. Switch to a shot of the chef bursting out the kitchen with a rolling pin trying to squash the rat that ran between his feet, the man looked at his plate in horror realising these droppings were real.
In another episode he’d been at the office and poured water all over the floor then hid all the wet floor signs so the cleaners wouldn’t get a chance to put one down, and was planning to pretend to fall so he’d get a chance to sue his boss. However, having hidden the wet floor signs and returning to the scene of the crime, he’d seen his work colleague and long-time crush walking towards the wet patch, so ran over and pushed her out the way – pushing her to the ground, in front of everyone, she then sued him for violence in the workplace and so his chances at winning her over shrunk even more. Cindy Davies was currently working on a movie made from her sitcom, where the lead character Dale accidentally finds himself working for real conmen through a comedic series of misunderstandings and then gets arrested and takes the wrap for the whole thing. Apparently Davies was going to appear as an extra at some point, a waitress in a restaurant or a prison guard, and the audience were supposed to spot her cameo.
Also present were Sahara Cameron and James Stan, probably the most famous couple in the whole world. News of plane crashes and hundreds of tragic deaths ended up on page three if a new picture of Sahara at the shops or walking down the street ended up in the press’s hands. Next to James was another anonymous woman, pretty in a quirky way and clearly shy, she kept glancing round nervously and her hand was holding James’ on the table top, which seemed inappropriate with his wife on the other side of him. I was surprised she was there because me and Luke had been told that these seats were extremely exclusive. Who was she: their babysitter? Personal assistant? Was it necessary for her to infiltrate their social life as well as work life?
‘Do you know who she is?’ I whispered to Samuel, sat next to me.
‘That’s James’ wife,’ he informed me without even looking, signalling the waiter to bring over another bottle of wine so expensive and exclusive it came in some miniature bottle that looked like a tacky hotel room freebie.
‘His… wife?’ I stuttered and looked over to Sahara. Had she heard us?!
‘That’s right,’ Sahara smiled her perfect thousand dollar iconic smile that at that moment was hanging on the bedroom walls of hundreds of hormonal teen boys. ‘Roxy’s been married to James for four years. I’m his best friend.’
‘But…’
‘Do you really think I’d go public with my real wife?’ James asked me. ‘Do you have any idea what it’s like, maintaining a relationship in the public eye? The number of fake cheating scandals that come out, having a reporter leaning over your shoulder if you try to have a heart to heart, a photographer trying to peer through your bedroom window when making love? Believe me, if Sahara and me were for real, stress would’ve split us up years before. If they catch me with Roxy,’ he put his arm around her, ‘I just say she’s our live-in nanny and they leave her be. It’s brilliant. No one cares about my one on one chats with my nanny apparently about bed times and cutting chocolate and sweets out of the kids’ diets. But if me and Sahara so much as smile at each other every media psychologist and body language analyst comes up with a million different interpretations behind it: I love her, I hate her, we’re splitting up, we’re having a baby, so on and so forth insert bullshit here. Everyone’s entitled to their privacy, right? I never planned to give up my integrity for this business so as long as I flaunt my fake life in public it creates a diversion for the public and I can enjoy my real life in peace. Sahara here’s a life saver.’ She smiled at me again.
‘It’s fine for me. On my own I’m not that special, but as part of a duo act with James we’re dynamic. It’s always great being able to stage a break-up and make-up fight if we need a little publicity. If there was a photographer here right now I’d probably throw my drink in James’ face just to spice things up a little.’
‘Hey, this is an Armani suit!’ James joked. ‘I’ll have to insult you in public when I’m wearing my T-shirt and sweatpants in future.’
‘You know I’m sure my grandkids will have been born and taking their first steps and unscrewing the cork by the time you bring me my bottle of red Mr thinks-he’s-too-good-to-follow-the-laws-of-time waiter, come on I’m dying of old age here already!’ This outburst was from Tommy Kingston, last famous face at our table, comedic genius who let arrogance and fame go to his head. Not blessed in the looks department, not blessed in the charm and natural wit department, a few tacky comedies he starred in somehow whirled him to stardom, thanks to a huge audience of uni kids who after having finished their drinking games of 'spin the bottle' and 'truth, dare or remove item of clothing' would want to watch a cheap movie with an easy plot to follow and as much swearing and nudity to provide them with a whole evening of whooping and being grossed out. Cue Tommy Kingston. Short little fat man who now milked his fame as much as humanly possible by letting every person around know that they were beneath him and would never amount to his fame and success. I could tell he used to be bullied at school, as a previous victim myself I just knew. I used to be bullied so as a consequence I tried to avoid any discrimination towards others at all costs because I knew how it felt to be on the receiving end.
Tommy did the opposite, he turned into a bully himself as his own personal revenge. Every time he asked his butler to throw out his meal because it was burnt and to start over, what he really meant was ‘take that kid-who-hid-my-towel-in-the-boys’-changing-rooms-after-swimming-practise-I-was-left-naked-and-laughed-at, bet you don’t have a staff of fifty and someone who will tie your shoelaces and lift your glass to your lips every day for the rest of your life’. Every time he slept with a young beautiful fan and then ignored her and threw her out his trailer in the morning, it was his way of secretly mocking all those high school girls who laughed when he asked them to prom and proclaimed that their grandma wouldn’t touch him with a bargepole, a paper bag over the head would be an improvement.
Tommy Kingston was not a pleasant man to be around.
‘Ey, it’s mister about fucking time!’ He cried as the waiter wheeled over a tray with an ice bucket containing Tommy’s bottle of wine on its surface. He was a young nervous guy who probably didn’t want to get into trouble with Kingston’s PRs and managers that he always insisted bringing everywhere with him like a child that insists on keeping their cuddly toys with them as magical protection to ward off monsters lurking in cupboards and under the bed. Even if Kingston’s house was up in blazes and there were flames licking at the door of his room, he’d be on the phone to all his staff and insist they pull up a limo outside, then wait it out for them to drive across town to save him rather than bother leaving the house by himself, even though he’d only have a matter of minutes left to live.
‘I know this is a French wine but that didn’t mean I’d wait for you to walk all the way to France to get it!’ He mocked and no one laughed. ‘Go back to… wine tasting college, right? No wonder you turned out a nervous wreck, you spent your years in education pissed out of your tiny brain!’ The waiter rubbed the back of his head and glanced around the room, waiting to be dismissed. ‘Ok get lost kid, that’s your cue to leave us big shots alone before I get you fired.’
‘Pick on someone your own size Tommy,’ Samuel sighed as the waiter hurried away, the quicker he walked the stronger the chances were he’d keep his job.
‘He’s old enough to get hired so he’s old enough to not get patronised and be treated like a fucking adult in the real harsh world!’
‘Well you don’t live in ‘the real harsh world’ Tommy, you live in a glossy bubble of ignorance where you’re constantly wrapped in cotton wool and your loyal followers of suck-ups stick band aids on your grazed knees and kiss them better. And when I said size, that’s not what I meant…’ Samuel looked Tommy’s podgy physique up and down and Tommy blushed. Samuel was the icing on the platter of celebrities at the table and everyone knew it. No point questioning his words. He turned to look at me and with him all other eyes focused on me too. ‘So how are you finding all this, Seth?’
‘All… this?’ I asked quietly.
‘Well come on now. Sixth months ago your mum was still washing your underwear for you and running your baths. Everyone reacts differently to this sort of lifestyle. Knowing that thousands of kids out there right now are turning to you to be their role model and inspiration – it’s both a burden and a blessing. I mean, you remember arguing with your parents and running up to your room and slamming the door? Your music is the music they’ll be turning up deafeningly loud to drown out their mum yelling at them to pack their bags and try surviving on their own two feet rather than treating the place like a hotel. Right now Seth, there’ll be girls and boys out there listening to your voice, looking at your face, dreaming of you, idolising you. It’s a pretty big thing to swallow, I suppose, especially when you can’t actually see any of their faces or expressions. Seeing is generally believing after all. It only really sunk in for me one time when I was sat at the back of a bus, sunglasses and hat on, and this girl in front of me pulled out a magazine and opened it to an article about me. I couldn’t even see her face. All I knew was that she was reading it intently, that right at that second when I was sat behind her and she was completely unaware, she was reading my words and forming her own opinion from them. She’d actually stopped on that page to read them. I’ve always wondered who she is.’
‘Yeah right,’ Tommy muttered, his pride still wounded from earlier.
‘And then the burden is of course that if you so much as swear in a song and someone who’s deemed “under the influence” in other words an adolescent is quoted saying the same thing after the song’s released you can immediately be labelled a bad role model and the one to blame, and you can even be sued or forced to rewrite the song. Just make sure you take it all on the shoulder, and never read into it too deeply. You could drive yourself insane questioning your own morals and asking yourself the consequences of anything you’ve broadcast to the public.’
‘Ok,’ I nodded and desperately tried to digest his words. Let him pass his torch of wisdom onto me.
‘Now you listen to me Seth,’ Samuel said and stared at me. ‘There are some people that think our world is shallow. My mother, she said to me before, you spend six hours in make up every morning and during that time a doctor somewhere has performed life saving surgery, a politician is budgeting the educational system that funds the future of millions of children full of potential, and what’ve you done? You’ve discovered what shade of blusher goes best with your complexion!’ I laughed at Samuel’s natural charm and he smiled at me. ‘But she’s wrong. Because everyone needs diversity in their life, particularly if you are that doctor and you have had to make a judgment call that could save or kill your patient. They need superficiality in their lives to balance things out, to watch our shallow yet entertaining movies and shows, to switch off their minds to a dying patient and a mentally ill sufferer and all the responsibilities that rest on them. Otherwise they’d go insane. Without us, they wouldn’t be able to calm their nerves enough to hold that scalpel without their hand shaking. Diversity is the key to a healthy lifestyle. Being in a loving relationship, yet being entirely independent. Using your intellect to improve the lives of others, yet being able to indulge in selfishness and basic primitive pleasure. We nourish the pleasure seeking side to people. For a healthy lifestyle they have to deal with the rest themselves.’
‘I…’ I blinked at him with wide awestruck eyes. ‘But some people use the virtual reality as a replacement for their real lives. Isn’t that partly… our responsibility?’ I blushed and looked away. ‘Sorry!’ I blurted out quickly. He lived and breathed his lifestyle so to insult it was to insult all of him.
‘People aren’t so easily under the influence. Or shouldn’t be, anyway. If they were then that whole myth about vegetarianism being a chain reaction should’ve ruled out all the carnivores already. You know, one vegetarian’s moralities and healthy diet plans will influence at least one person, who’ll influence their friends, on and on…’ he paused and looked at me. I couldn’t hold eye contact so I looked at the floor, praying he knew I was humbled to be paid so much attention by a big shot like him. ‘You know I envy you,’ he said quietly. I looked up in surprise. ‘The way you reacted a moment ago. And just now. You still get embarrassed. And surprised. People envy me because I’m calm and collected, but that’s who I’ve become over the years, it’s not who I was originally. Always being in the public eye means I’ve learnt never to show my emotions. Never get angry. Never get sad. Never be overly enthusiastic about anything, it will be scrutinised and misinterpreted by the public. And as a consequence I don’t really feel much of anything anymore. I can’t think of anything that would stir really strong emotions in me. I’m so used to being watched, I don’t care anymore. I don’t remember what embarrassment and a need for privacy is. I have no desire for it. And that can’t be normal. I feel no other feeling but contentment. It’s good wine,’ he commented louder for everyone else to hear. ‘That’s what this does to you,’ he carried on to me. ‘You become so accepted by everyone that you have nothing to fear or feel anymore. All you can seek out anymore is pleasure. None stop pleasure. It’s like always winning the lottery, over and over and over, and the fear and excitement of losing just… doesn’t exist anymore.’ He gripped my hand. ‘Do you remember what it feels like to be unsatisfied? Unaccepted? To have flaws? If you do, hold onto that feeling and you just might stay true to yourself.’
‘Sure I do,’ I nodded at him.
‘Grab his arms!’
‘Hold him down!’ Laughing. Kicking. So many faces looking down in disgust. Trapped in my own skin, knowing I’m stuck forever living as this deformed person who can’t be normal.
‘Please…’ That desperate, pathetic voice of a person I’d never want to be friends with, a person I’d tell to get a grip and not be so weak… is it really, mine?
There’s one person not laughing. One person who isn’t simply joining with the crowd to feel united and thrilled to be a part of something, honoured to not be chosen as the victim. A person leading the crowd and with nothing but hatred burning in his eyes. The emotions conveyed in his expression are not the sort a boy his age should have learnt unless he is mimicking another. A person who has the power to stop this whole charade as the others are simply his followers. If only I could find the right way to plea with him, make him understand my fear and humiliation and the feeling of utter isolation and being so publicly on display, like a zoo animal trapped in its cage. ‘What have I done to you?’ I asked him. Not the others, just him.
He looked at the boy standing next to him who grinned at me with malice shining in his eyes. His hand roughly gripped the back of my head. And shoved my head down. Forcing me against my will. Into the grimy water. Into the darkness. Water shooting up my mouth, my nose, I open my eyes and stare at the toilet bowl, my eyes burning. I hear the sound of the flush. Water rushes into every part of me, choking me, water drips down my shirt collar chilling my skin, lungs bursting, head throbbing, the faint noise of laughter still audible, wondering if my life could really end in a situation like this, so misunderstood, stripped of my humanity…
I coughed and spluttered into my glass. Samuel patted my back.
‘Are you Ok kid?’ He asked me, trying his best to convey concern.
‘Do you want some water?’ Sahara asked me and I managed to calm down and stop choking. I looked at her, she watched me with respect and I had a flashback to watching her in the cinema as the next Bond girl. That feeling I’d felt before being in the restaurant, that I was in a daze, in a bizarre hazy dream, was replaced with a shocking realisation of where I was, who I was and how far I’d come and all that I’d survived in my life. I knew where Samuel was coming from. His advice would not be wasted.
‘You remember how it felt to be a regular human being?’ He said into my ear. I smiled at him. I smiled at these fantastic people surrounding me. I wanted to go back in time and push those boys off of me, lift my head out of the toilet bowl, put my arms around myself and assure myself everything would be Ok, I had to be strong, pull through, and understand that I was a person far more capable of anything than those boys could even comprehend. But I couldn’t. I could only appreciate where I was now.
