Flash Fiction ACNE

I thought it started at the same time as my acne, but my sister says it was much earlier than that. There was a cream, a clear gel, ‘Retin A’ that Dad applied each night religiously to every spot I had on my face, my back and even my chest.

‘Apply with cotton wool’ was written clearly across the tube because it could strip paint off any wall, but he only used cotton wool on my back. When done, his strong hands would grip my shoulders guiding me round towards him. I'd stare at the floor searching for faces in the wood, avoiding looking at his pile of clothes folded neatly at my feet. Then I’d be kneeling, my navy knickers the only cover I’d be allowed until he was ready.

I’d screw my eyes tight and visualise Mum, not blind nor deaf, sitting downstairs on the sofa watching Coronation Street and drinking weak Nescafe as he stripped my skin barer than any wall. My only witness, a voiceless tube of Retin A.

Submit To You

This poem of mine is the tamer of the two that are published in (the hopefully still available) Frisson - An Anthology of Erotic Poetry (ISBN 978-0-9768730-5-1)
 It's great as a performance piece as the Erotic Poetry Roadshow proved last year (Thanks Rose Drew and Alan Gillott) It is a tribute to The Story of O in case anyone was thinking it was all about me ;-)

The Yew tree beckons, commanding us
Branches leer notching one more mark
as damp splinters gouge into my back
engraving your full name on me

Salt water lures us to the waves
as within you tether me deep
We dance our descent with its taste on our tongues
as you and sand shred my inner skin

Let the carpet have its turn, I say
Unfettered I consent to the crop
Haunches high you bind me in desire
making my knees and elbows bleed

Shackle me to the stone wall
Cold on my face, I surrender
and yield me open, defenceless
Dominate as mortar brands my cheek

Demonstrate your addiction to me
Mainline me non-conformist sex
Liberate my rousing dark side
and let me submit to you

Wendy Wonders What's Wicked With Sue Moorcroft and What on Earth's a RoNa?

Q So what’s your news? A I have big news, actually – Dream a Little Dream has been shortlisted for a RoNA!

For anyone who doesn’t know what I’m talking about, ‘RoNA’ stands for Romantic Novel Award, and those awards are run by the Romantic Novelists’ Association. There will be a glitzy awards event at the RAF Club in London’s Piccadilly on the 26th of February where the winner of each category will be announced and the awards presented by Richard and Judy. Dream a Little Dream is shortlisted for the Contemporary Romantic Novel Award. (Pause for me to do a few cartwheels of glee.)

The winners of the five categories go forward to the Romantic Novel of the Year Award in May.

Q Congratulations! So what does this mean for you?

A It means I can buy a new dress, handbag and shoes and have my nails and hair done.

Q Seriously …?

A Just the nomination is a great accolade. I’m not looking past that because I’m up against really stiff competition. But I’m pleased it’s Dream a Little Dream that has got me onto a shortlist I’ve yearned for, because it’s a book that I loved writing and researching. It was like taking a dragon for a walk – it suddenly took off with me clinging on.

I might wear a dress I’ve only worn once and just go for new shoes. I have a fantastic purple evening purse so if I could just get shoes to match …

Q So what’s Dream a Little Dream about?

A Liza Reece dreams of taking over the holistic centre where she’s a reflexologist. Readers may have met Liza already as she’s the sister of Cleo from All That Mullarkey. She was far too much fun and too naughty to leave in Secondary Characterland so I gave her her own book. She’s managed to mess up the cosy loved up relationship I’d left her in so I needed to see what happened.

Dominic Christy has dreams of his own. He has an unusual take on dreams because he has the rare sleep disorder, narcolepsy. He has his own take on Liza, too … and he’s not afraid to tell her.

Anyway, they both have dreams. And if Dominic’s come true than Liza’s can’t and if Liza’s do, Dominic’s can’t. Someone has to give up something, so what’s it going to be?

Q Wasn’t the research for narcolepsy daunting?

A In a word – yes. But I became really interested in the whole thing and was lucky enough to get in touch with a guy who has narcolepsy who gave up a lot of his time to helping me because he’d like the facts about the condition to be more widely known. You can read an interview with him here.

That’s fascinating! Great interview, too.

Q What’s the dress like?

A It’s navy-blue lace in a sort of fifties style, with a petticoat. Purple nails and bag look good with it so I think purple shoes would, too, don’t you?

Q Totally! Or shocking pink. The RNA’s colour is magenta so you could match that.

A That’s an idea. Then I’d have to buy a new bag as well as new shoes.

Q But that’s OK. It’s an awards night. And you really get to meet Richard and Judy?

A I suppose that only those who win a category can absolutely depend on it. But maybe if they like the look of my shoes … Judy Finnigan looks like a shoes woman, don’t you think?


Sue Moorcroft writes romantic novels of dauntless heroines and irresistible heroes. Love & Freedom won the Best Romantic Read Award 2011 at the Festival of Romance and Dream a Little Dream was nominated for the same award 2012 and for a RoNA in the Contemporary Romantic Novel Award category. She's a Katie Fforde Bursary Award winner.
Combining writing success with her experience as a creative writing tutor, she’s written a ‘how to’ book, Love Writing – How to Make Money From Writing Romantic and Erotic Fiction. Sue also writes short stories, serials, articles and courses and is the head judge for Writers’ Forum fiction competition.
Check out her website www.suemoorcroft.com and her blog at http://suemoorcroft.wordpress.com/ for news and writing tips. You’re welcome to befriend Sue on Facebook or Follow Sue on Twitter.

A Bad Day

(Another performance piece, so take a deep breath before reading it, as it's read all in one go! And if you like it please share it with your friends. Thank you.)

 

When I'm having a bad day

I write with a grin

venting and penning my thoughts

that are rich

in shit and in flavours

that won't dance on your tongue

but choke you to death

and feast on your heart

and scratch you and scream

pushing you down the steps

with a smile on the face

that curls up its lip

and bites your arse over

leaving teeth marks

and grabbing for flesh

before drawing blood

that sits on the chin

is wiped by a hand

that’s sharpened its nails

not caring who stares

with eyes that are open

and searching for fear

in those that may challenge

the words from the pen

that fly off the page

leaving black on the hands

and the heart of a writer

with no control left

Why do I write romance?

I wrote this rant as a performance piece, so it's not really supposed to be read, but I think that not so many of you will get to see me perform it, compared to the number of you who can read it, so I thought, what the hell, you'll have to imagine me. It's quite easy really. You raise your volume and lock eyes with your pretend audience. 

I've only ever performed this once, at the Guild Hall earlier this year. It was in its raw state of the elusive first draft, that even Stephen King says that we share with no-one. However, I only had two first drafts with me, so having no choice, I went ahead and it went down so well that I decided that this first draft actually was my final edit. So here it is, not tweaked, nor revised, and please bear in mind that my leading men are my imaginary characters. 

Hope you enjoy it.

Why do I write romance - A rant.

Because

There is no romance in my life.

I’ve been saying it out loud for years, but he can’t seem to hear me, so I thought 

maybe I’m not speaking loud enough, 

maybe I’m not making myself clear, 

maybe I’m only dreaming I’m saying it, 

so

I thought the best thing to do was to bring it here and say it out  loud to see if you can hear me.

THERE IS NO ROMANCE IN MY LIFE.

NONE.

Can you hear me?

There are no flowers, no hearts, no chocolates, no gifts.

Actually, that’s a lie, there was a memorable gift for my last birthday – a fly-swatter. Yes, you hear me correctly, a fly-swatter. Not an all-singing all-dancing electronic thingy – not a real instrument of torture and death – just a flexible tennis racket style one that works perfectly well, entertaining me – my sitting room is like a graveyard in the summer mornings – but, 

the point is, 

it’s not very romantic, is it?

So as I say,

THERE IS NO ROMANCE IN MY LIFE.

NONE.

Did you hear me?

Yes?

Good, then I shall continue dreaming, writing romance and having affairs left, right and centre with my leading men.

Fever Pitch

And no, not as in the film/book by Nick Hornby, but as in pitching your novel to a panel of agents at the Festival of Romance. Sunday morning 10-11.30am. Your opportunity to be given feedback on your synopsis and opening 500 words. A most special treat, enabling budding authors a little insight into the world of publishing and an almighty helping hand on your way up the long and lonely ladder that is writing at the novel length.

So, we’ve arrived on Friday, sorted ourselves into our rooms, slapped on our glad rags and danced the night away at the awards ball. Our table has been dubbed the ‘naughty table’, the title being carried on from last year and we most certainly were the loudest table when our gorgeous friend Celia Joy Anderson received the New Talent Award earning herself a contract and a launch date of the 1^st August 2013 for her novel.

Then Saturday buzzes by in a haze of workshops, readings, rockstar parties and the unforgettable Romaniacs’ Quiz. All of these activities and more building up to the Pitch Your Novel to the Agents Panel on Sunday morning 10-11.30am. I’m about bursting at the seams with excitement when the incredibly hard working organiser of the Festival of Romance, Kate Allan, informs me that I can have a spot in the pitching. An early night is required, but impossible to get, and a last run through of the synopsis and first two pages before dropping into a sleep that would compare well with a short course of death. No sleepwalking this time. (That’s another story for another day!)

Sunday is finally here. My alarm wakes me in plenty of time to shower and eat a leisurely breakfast, having first checked out that everything is gluten free. Now, if you are intolerant of a food type you will know that on a day like today the last thing that you need is that food. But somehow I manage to consume some gluten, maybe from the hash browns or a crumb of bread that’s dropped into the beans. Something, somehow got into my food and I knew, before I even finished my breakfast.

Out of kindness to you, my readers and to save face for myself, I shall spare you the details, but suffice it to say that I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the bathroom and three immodiums later, and feeling much the worse for wear, I arrived at the Pitch Your Novel to the Agents Panel at 11.10am in time to hear the opening 500 words and synopsis from Laura E James.  Now don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed what little I heard and it is definitely a novel I shall buy, but the most important part of this exercise was the agents’ feedback.  It was thorough, direct, questioning and invaluable.

And thanks to probably only the tiniest speck of gluten, I missed my chance. Winding myself up to a fever pitch all weekend ready for the Sunday morning panel, you’d have thought I’d be devastated, and I was, but somehow, because the weekend was so glorious, I brushed it off. Me, the ruminator, brushed it off.  I don’t know when it happened, but sometime over the weekend, and most likely to do with my group of friends on the ‘naughty table’, I accepted that there are some things that I cannot change, and turning the clock back and not eating whatever it was, is not possible. 

Looking forward and staying positive is all I can do. And for us on the ‘naughty table’, it is what we do and that is why, even now, I feel no sense of loss or missed opportunity and for that I have to say Thank You to my lovely friends Laura E James, Debbie White, Celia Joy Anderson, Caroline Bell Foster, Gilli Allan and Liz Crump for your positivity. Thankfully, it is contagious.