National Novel Writing Month Special Feature
Welcome to the one-month-rollercoaster known as NaNoWriMo.
All over the world, crazy renegade writers - just like myself - spend thirty thrilling, frustrating, exhilirating, confusing and downright scary days writing a 50,000 word novel. About to enter its 21st year, The National Novel Writing Month is bigger, better and more barmy than ever before. I was a winner (which means I wrote 50,000 words in 30 days) in 2007 with my 70,000 word novel, The Mystical Wombat's Guide to Life, and last year with my crazy (and very British) spy-thriller-comedy, Travels With My Teapot (or Tea Ladies, Arise!) - which you can now read on Authonomy.com - and see an extract of it below... Read more about NaNoWriMo at www.nanowrimo.org.
Here's an excerpt from my 2008 NaNo novel, Travels with my Teapot (or Tea Ladies, Arise!)
Photo courtesy of FreeFoto.com
It is possible to have too many biscuits.
Unbelievable as it sounds, this was most definitely the case for Delora, tea lady at Number 21 Parkers Lane, the city residence of the Prime Minister. Ever since the sudden retirement of the former incumbent, things at the state residence had decidedly gone to pot.
‘What am I going to do with eighty-five boxes of Party Rings?’ Delora demanded.
Alfie, the delivery man, shrugged his shoulders unhelpfully. ‘T’aint my problem, missy. I’s only bringin’ what was asked for.’
‘Give me that!’ snapped Delora, grabbing his clipboard and holding it at arms’ length in order to read the impossibly tiny print on the delivery list, cursing her forgetfulness for leaving her glasses at home this morning. ‘Who ordered this?’
Tutting, Alfie peered over the edge of the clipboard and stabbed at the delivery note with a nicotine-stained finger. ‘Ul-ricke,’ he stated with all the sympathy of a disinterested teenager. ‘Says so, right there.’
Delora groaned loudly. Ulricke. ‘Right, I see. Well you just leave the boxes here and I’ll try and sort it.’
Alfie shrugged again and dropped the boxes off his pallet truck. ‘Whatever, missy. Makes no difference to me.’
* * * *
Benjamin Ulricke was not having the best day. It wasn’t even nine-thirty yet and already his desk was almost completely covered with yellow and pink sticky notes, all screaming for his attention.
Phone JT – URGENT 000-187-5476
Presentation meeting rescheduled to 10am today – no probs, I hope? Jan x
CALL Cm. GENEK RE: RECENT OPS REPORT (EXPLANATION NEEDED!) ext. 201
Biscuit fiasco! Tea Lady on WARPATH. Phone HR ASAP - K :oS
‘Oh ghaf,’ he moaned to himself, lifting the last note up and depositing it in his already overflowing waste paper basket. ‘That’s all I need.’
Problems seemed to have become Ben Ulricke’s stock-in-trade in the few short weeks since his hurried appointment as Operations Manager at Number 21. No matter how good a day he thought he’d had, the next morning’s screaming stickies proclaimed otherwise. He’d read all the manuals, endured the many hours of training by his predecessor – he’d even devoted extra hours at home studying books with authoritative titles, such as: Integrate Your Way To Office Success, Operations Management for the Faint-Hearted and Manage This! But still, difficulties, misunderstandings and downright blunders seemed to beset him at every turn.
‘The tea lady’s gunning for you,’ smirked Anna Hinchy from the Prime Minister’s Office as he passed her in the corridor en route to Delora’s work kitchen. ‘You want to check she doesn’t put something nasty in your tea.’
‘Can she do that?’ Ben replied, suddenly worried.
‘Well, all I’ll say is that one time when your predecessor upset her he mysteriously contracted a very nasty stomach bug. We almost had to move his direct line to the bathroom, if you know what I mean.’
‘Ghaf, that’s just brilliant.’
‘Relax, Ulricke. Just be nice to her and don’t mention anything about Party Rings, OK?’
* * * *
