Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

I wrote The End yesterday and should have cheered, but I didn’t.

My mind was racing, already planning the editing process.

I had waited so long to get to that moment; I couldn’t wait to start.

But I had a character fix to sort out before I could do any of that.

This story is about sisters Charlotte and Angela. Estranged sisters, and one of them, Angela, is lacking a little spark. Well, quite a lot of spark, really. She was a complex woman to create, and I needed her to work against her sister often.

This should have been easy, or so I thought, for I have a sister and our arguments have been legendary. Only now, I realise what was missing. My experience has always been one-sided. I am an expert on what kind of sister I am and why, but I have never considered what goes on in my sister’s head.

This is shameful, for I am proud of how I can head hop from one character to another. So, why hasn’t it worked this time?

To be fair, it does work, but not with the spark I wanted. I think I should be looking at Angela’s back story, too, just in case the answer lies there.

Overall, it’s a great way to start an edit, that’s for sure…

Excerpt from Folly’s End

I found my sister pacing up and down in the kitchen like a caged tiger with a bottle in her hand. Judging by her state, it wasn’t her first drink by a country mile.

I scanned around the kitchen, looking for clues. Piles of food were on the counter, along with several bottles of wine. She had obviously been shopping, but what had she used for money?

She turned and saw me, and the fury in her eyes made me step back.

‘Where the bloody hell have you been? I thought you had abandoned me and gone back to London.’

Frantically wondering what I could say that wouldn’t ignite the situation any further, but knowing I didn’t stand a dog’s chance of that, I took my life in my hands and walked past her to fill the kettle. The bottle in her hand was nearly empty, so I was on dangerous ground. I realised that it wouldn’t really matter what I said. ‘Been shopping, I see. How on earth did you manage that?’ I kept my back to her, probably unwise, but the state of her was not improving my own temper.

‘What’s it to you? You had gone, so I decided to venture out on my own. They gave me credit if you must know.’

Charming, I thought. I made the coffee and an extra strong one for my sister. That’s when I did something foolish.

I grabbed one of the bottles of wine and smashed it in the sink. I went for another, but Angie flew at me, hands like claws, aiming for my face. I hurriedly put the bottle down before I was tempted to smash it over her head.

What followed was a distressing catfight. I was bigger and stronger but almost no match for my sister’s drunken fury.

At the heart of the battle, I somehow managed to punch her on the chin, and she dropped to the floor like a stone. She lay there unconscious for a few minutes, then sat up and was violently sick. She was sitting in a puddle of vomit, her trousers soaked. She wouldn’t look at me, but her temper seemed gone. There was so much I could have said, but nothing that would have helped. All my good news would have to wait.

‘You need to shower and change your clothes, Angie.’

‘You don’t say. Any other helpful advice forthcoming?’

‘No, but when you sober up, I have good news.’

I

All feedback grateful welcomed…