HERE IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF THE LADY JEWELS DIVA® NOVEL
A must have for any Jewels Diva enthusiast!
This book is dedicated to Dominic Power, David Tennant, the boys from Top Gear, Simon Cowell, Graham Norton, Chris, Sam, Alex, Andrew, Ben and Christopher from The Bill, Kerri-Anne Kennerly, Jamie Malcom, Karl Stefanovic, Lisa Wilkinson, Carrie Bickmore, Charlie Pickering and Dave Hughes.
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How do you stop the pain?
How do you recover from death?
Someone tell me because I don’t know.
How do you stop the pain of death?
How do you survive death?
Good? Well? Badly?
Death is unsurvivable. Unrecoverable. The pain. The fear. The nightmares. Jack Hammer going off in your head twenty four seven. You become insane. Living on that island called Insanity. Is there a manual on how to survive death? Does it tell you how to be happy after it? How to ignore the pain and heartache? I wish someone would tell me coz I don’t know how to survive death. There’s no book. No brochure. No manual.
No. No fucking manual on how to deal with surviving death.
No. No fucking manual at all.
Here’s to another day as a starving writer.
Well…okay, not starving. In fact, I eat quite well. And I was making a bit of a joke. Guess it fell flat! Flat like my publishing career which seems to be going nowhere. But let me get back to the point I was making.
Another day as a struggling writer.
Okay, we’ll try that one. Sitting here, staring at the laptop for hours each day. Trolling through as many webpages as possible, trying to find another publisher or agent to send my new manuscript to. Deleting emails from those who have said no, crossing them off my list and seeing that list grow smaller and smaller, wondering if all the months and years I’ve been doing this is worth it.
Bring bringgg. Bring bringgg.
My hands absentmindedly reached for the remote to turn down Karl and Lisa on Today and pick up the phone at the same time. “Hello.”
“Hello Ms Diva I’m Bob Sampson from UK Publishing I want to publish your book.”
I stared at the pc screen, suddenly seeing nothing. “Say what?” I frowned at the computer.
“I want to publish your book I’ve read your manuscript and loved it I want to publish it for next year. Get it out as soon as possible.”
I forcefully tapped a few keys, trying to get back the web page that had disappeared into the internet’s nether regions. Then I realised what he’d just said and thrust myself into a standing position. “Wait…you what?” I yelled, not believing what I’d just heard.
“I want to publish your book Ms Diva next year but in the meantime how would you like to come to London?”
I…surely…had not heard…him correctly… He wanted to publish my book. My book. My little old book that little old me had written. And what was that about London? “Ah, wait a minute, what did you say?” I heard his laughter down the line all the way from London. The other side of the world.
“I want to publish your book and want you to come to London so we can meet and you can sign your contract.”
“Bloody hell,” I murmured, slamming back down onto my seat. I stared blankly at the screen, my mind going a million miles a second.
“How soon can you come to London?” I heard. “I can put you in a nice hotel for ten days it’s right around the corner from my office we can talk about the book’s cover and promotion while you’re here.”
“Ah,” I muttered. “Ah, ah, I, ah, don’t know. Ah.” I was trying not to panic, trying to quell the feelings inside of me that were threatening to overload and overwhelm me. “Um, ah, need a passport, and ah, visa, I, uh think.” For some reason I was spinning around in my tiny lounge room, moving my head from side to side as if my eyes were looking for answers to my ever increasing anxiety and delusions of grandeur.
“Okay well how about you get those in order and I’ll email you all the details then you just let me know when you can come,” he said, expecting a reply I assumed.
“Ah, okay, um, have you got my email address.” Like hello! Of course he did. Just like he had my phone number.
“Of course I do I’ll be in contact soon I can’t wait to meet you Ms Diva I’ve seen your website and I have a feeling this is going to be a hoot.”
“Um, yeah, ah, okay,” I managed, and heard the line go dead. “Bloody hell!” exploded out of me. “Bloody hell! Bloody hell! Bloody hell!” I sat there shaking, my muscles clenched around every bone in my body. I got up and walked around. They want my book. He really wants my book. They want to publish my book. Bloody hell! I suddenly realised what it all meant and started jumping up and down as I squealed, “He’s publishing my novel. He’s publishing my novel. Woohoo!”
I threw myself onto my couch. “Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Okay, get yourself together, there are things you need to do.” I got up and sat in front of my computer, which seemed to have stopped throwing its tantrum. “Okay. I need a passport and maybe a visa,” I murmured, tapping into the Australia Post website for passport details. I didn’t have one so I was going to need one. After finding the closest store that did passport applications, I shut down the pc, quickly changed, grabbed my keys and ran for my car.
*****
Standing at the counter I asked for a passport application and got my photo taken. It took all of half an hour but then there was a problem. I needed someone I wasn’t related to or living with to fill out part of the form to prove who I was. Bugger! Who was I going to pick? I thought about it then headed off to see the person in question, breezing into the store and striding up to the counter in front of Maureen. “Hey ho, I need your help with my passport application.”
She looked up from the counter to stare quizzically at me. “Why are you getting a passport?” She went back to squinting at the price tags in her hand.
“I, ah, I need to go to London.” I hadn’t told anyone I’d written a book so I wasn’t ready to mention I’d been picked up by a publisher.
Her head shot up in. “Oh goodness. Really? Did you win a holiday or something?”
“Um, yeah, or something.” I twitched nervously. “Anyway, I need a part of my passport filled out by someone who knows I am who I say I am. If I don’t have one, I can’t go.”
“Of course, dear,” she said, and turned to look for Susie, the assistant. “Can you take over for me dear? I’ll just be out the back for a few minutes.”
“Okay,” bubble headed Susie replied as Maureen and I headed for the back room.
I handed her the application to fill out, and after reading that she needed her passport or electoral role details, she dug into her bag and pulled out her passport. “Mmm.” She read the questions. “Mmm.” She filled them in. “Mmm, yes it’s her.” She signed the back of one of the photos. “Mmm.” She wrote her name. “Yes it’s me. Today’s date. My signature.” With a flourish she whipped her pen across the line. “There you go.” She handed me the form. “How long will you be gone for?”
“Um, not sure. Ten to twelve days or so,” I said, safely tucking the papers into my folder. “Well, gotta go, thanks for this.” I raced out the door and back to my car. Without breaking any laws I sped back to the Post Office and ran inside.
OH. MY. GOD! The line is so long!!!!!
“Ugh,” I mumbled under my breath and through gritted teeth, throwing my head back and staring at the ceiling. Oh God please make this go quickly. I dared not mumble anything else as the person behind me was mumbling herself about how long the line was.
Slowly the line moved towards the counter. It also snaked out the door. I looked at my watch for the millionth time.
Bah! Only two minutes from the last time I looked.
After what seemed like an eternity I finally reached the counter and handed over my papers.
“Okay,” said the clerk, pushing my application back at me. “You need to go stand over there.” She pointed to a spot five people down the counter. “And someone will be with you shortly.”
I stared at her dumbfounded. After waiting for what seemed like hours in a line that was still out the door, I now needed to wait again. But it was all for a good cause. I hung my head in defeat and dragged my feet to where I was supposed to wait.
I stood on the spot and scratched my head. I looked around. I studied my nails and straightened my clothes. I moved my papers from my left hand to my right hand. I looked at the ten people who went up to the counter and got served. I watched the hands on the clock tick over.
FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES!!!!!
God-all-bloody-mighty the place is going to shut before I get out of here.
“Next.”
Ah….finally!
I stepped up to the counter and shoved my application at the woman. I just wanted to sit down and rest my weary legs, but nooo, she kept me waiting another five minutes before calling me into a small room off to the side for the interview. I collapsed into the chair and heaved a sigh.
“Is that your name?” she shot at me.
“Yes.”
“Your address?”
“Yes.”
“Your signature?”
“Yes.”
“Mmm.” She held the photo up and stared at me. “Is that you?”
I so desperately wanted to roll my eyes but wearily fought back the urge. “Yes.”
She signed off on the application. “Could take anywhere up to two weeks but you’ll know when you get it.”
Well duh! “Thanks,” I mumbled, and stood up. Walking out of the Post Office and to my car I felt the excitement building. I was going to London. The other side of the world. London, England. A place I’d never been before. Hell, I’d never been outside of Australia before.
OH. MY. GOD!!!!!
I shook myself back into reality and drove home to plan the trip coz there were lots of things I was going to need.
*****
The next day I emailed the publisher, letting them know my passport was on its way and asking them all sorts of questions. What was the weather like? What kinda clothes did I need? Did I need any legal documents for the contract?
Since it was going to be awhile till I got a reply, I headed for my blog where I wrote a post letting everyone know what was going on, and if any of my UK followers were interested, we could get together for lunch or something.
Thanks to my blog being connected to my Twitter, Facebook and MySpace pages, everyone would find out. What a way to publicise! After logging off I headed for my bedroom. Half hour later I stopped to see I’d made quite a mess. Clothes were strewn over the entire bed, and my suitcase lay on its back on the floor, with shoes falling out of it and tumbling across the carpet. I sighed and rubbed my eyes.
None of this is worth taking. Certainly not the suitcase. But can I afford new stuff?
Mmm, I scratched my head. I could buy new stuff. But can I afford it? My finger shoved itself into my mouth and my teeth clamped down on its nail. Mmm, I could if I got an advance on the book. But what if I don’t?
I sighed again and glanced over my clothes. “Well, there’s some stuff here I could take,” I said in a small voice. “But I definitely need a new suitcase.” The moth-eaten red case sat depressed and lonely. “Let’s just wait till the reply from Bob and then I’ll see what I need.” So with that I set to work writing list after list of what I would need and what I would take.
*****
I had a pretty good list the next morning and a pile of nice clothes to go with it. I’d been so excited I’d worked until midnight when I’d fallen into bed exhausted. Now, I’d woken up to good lists, good piles and congratulations from my followers.
‘Oh my God! I can’t believe you’re getting published.’
‘Hey, I can’t believe you’re coming to London. We’ll have to catch up.’
‘Oh my God! Congratulations. Make sure I get an autographed copy.’
I checked my emails and printed off the one from Bob Sampson. Knowing I had work to do I sent a quick thank you post out on my blog then logged off and walked into the bedroom reading my printout over.
“Weather’s cool to cold, ten to fifteen degrees. Need warm clothes, jeans, jumpers, coats. Bring a few party outfits for dining out. Don’t forget camcorder and camera for recording the big event.”
Oh crap!
I don’t have a camcorder. I’d been looking, but being the stingy person I am, didn’t want to pay too much for it. And I needed that on top of a new suitcase and new clothes.
Oh bugger!
I pulled out the phone book and scoured for video cameras and luggage. If I paid cash I might be able to get them cheaper. I scoured for ages, even jumping back online and completely forgetting about lunch. Finally, around five, I stopped and gathered my papers. I was going to need to go shopping for more than clothes and luggage.
God!
All for ten days.
*****
Until my passport came through the only thing I could do was shop and blog. For three days I drove around going to as many shopping centres in my area as I possibly could. And while I was bone weary, worn out, exhausted, tired, falling apart — you get the point — I had acquired a brand new blue camcorder which I got for two hundred, and a three piece luggage set consisting of two suitcases and a cabin bag for two hundred and fifty. All in bright turquoise blue.
I also managed to grab myself more jeans, jumpers, tops, a few party pieces and not to forget some decent underwear. After all, you never know who I was going to meet.
Mr Right maybe?
*****
I jumped online that evening and headed for my blog, ripping out a quick post, letting everyone know what was happening. I popped over to Twitter and brought up another window for Facebook.
‘Hey everyone,’ I tweeted. ‘My passport should be coming any day now. Done a load of shopping too.’ I hit the tweet button and switched to Facebook.
I saw about twenty-five personal messages, clicked on the tab and started reading.
‘Come see me when you get here.’
‘Hey bitch, how ‘bout a fuck when you get here?’ I hit the delete button on that one. “Stupid prick!” I muttered.
‘When is your book going to be in stores?’
They were all pretty much the same so I got through them quickly and then checked out the replies on my profile page.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Jewelsie’s getting published! About time too. Don’t forget me when it’s out, and can you autograph my copy?’
“Yes Cyn, I can,” I murmured and flicked back to Twitter seeing a few replies there. Congrats coming from my tweeps and people I watch. Authors, celebs, ordinary folk who think I’m funny enough to follow.
‘What did you buy? Tell me everything.’
‘Well,’ I tweeted. ‘Got a flash new blue camcorder, luggage set and some fancy clothes.’
A few seconds later. ‘You’ll have to take pics and post them so we can see you in them.’
‘I will. Can’t wait for my passport. Not long now peeps, then I’m off. And I’m off now. Been a long week and a long day, see y’all tomorrow.’ I logged off and headed for bed.
*****
Four days later I held my passport in my hand.
I could not believe I had it. That I was holding it.
With my photo and name on the inside. That new passport smell wafted up and into my nostrils. I took a deep breath.
God!
It was time!
Time to go to London!
I sent an email off to Bob letting him know and then set about packing my stuff. “Neatly pack jumpers here.” I picked up my new jeans. “These go there. Tops tucked in here, underwear…coats…shoes...boots…t-shirts.”
I don’t know how long it took, all day I expect, because when I finally put my head up it was almost seven p.m. “Shit. Better flick the TV on and grab something to eat.” I ran into the lounge and turned on the TV to catch the opening titles of The 7PM Project. Whipping up a plate of food I flicked through the channels during an ad break. Half hour later I was back to packing and finally slamming the lid shut I checked the clock. Nine p.m. I don’t know how many times I’d packed and repacked, not to mention packing my blue pc bag with all its goodies I was going to need while I was over there.
Nintendo, digital recorder, camera, iPad, iPod, iPhone and charger, camcorder and battery, pc, power cords, mouse and pad, notebooks, pens, pencils, sharpies for signing autographs, containers, bags, other stationery. It wasn’t just me I was taking. It was my life as well.
*****
The next morning I checked my emails and found one from Bob. He’d already paid for my ticket over and it would be waiting at the counter in two days.
TWO!!!!! DAYS!!!!!
Shit! Fuck! Bugger!
I panicked!
How could I not?
In two days I was headed for London. The other side of the world. London, England. A place I’d never been before…
Wait…
Haven’t we had this conversation?????
Anyhoo, I set my plan into motion!
Jumping online I let everyone know I was heading for London in two days and would be staying for ten.
‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’ I tweeted. ‘I’m coming to London. I’m coming to London.’
Cynthia replied via Facebook. ‘It’s a pity I can’t come see you but you know I’m nowhere near London!’ Cyn lives in Canada.
‘Yeah well, next time I write a book I’ll try and get it picked up by a Canadian publisher so I can come and see you.’
‘You’re on!’
*****
After making sure my house would be looked after while I was gone, I was ready when the day finally arrived. Having locked my cases and bags for the last time I checked to make sure the house was in order.
Windows locked?
Check!
Doors bolted?
Check!
Gas off?
Check!
Electricals unplugged except for the fridge?
Check!
There was a honk outside and I saw the taxi waiting. I gathered up my coat, cases and bags, locked the door and rolled down the path to the car. After loading up and heading off, it took forty-five minutes to get to the airport. I didn’t mind. It gave my nerves time to calm down. The problem was, as the airport came into view, they stirred up again.
Planes flew overhead. Cars drove past. People milled around or stood in lines. I alighted and thanked the cabbie for the ride. Taking my bags as best I could I found the check in counter, got my ticket, business class no less, sent my cases off on the conveyor belt, went through security and found a seat in the waiting area of the international section.
International!
International section!
I was going international!
I straightened my clothes and glanced out the window.
SHIT!!!!!
The plane was massively huge and I was insanely small.
BLOODY HELL!!!!!
I was going international all right!
All the way in a massive white bird!
