That's so funny that people have the feeling that they've read this story elsewhere. These are the authors whose books have a permanent place by my bed: Maud (natch), Barbara Pym, Madeleine St John, Jilly Cooper, Nevil Shute, Beryl Bainbridge, Tom Hodgkinson, and C.S. Lewis. Their teabags have had a good long soak in my hot water. I don't know if anyone cares or not, but music has an equal influence. I've read countless "how to write a novel" books, but the one thing that's helped me most is the musical structure of a song. That will account for why there are often some unintended rhymes in my sentences. Weird, I know. Listen hard to Radiohead's Jigsaw Falling into Place or Lightspeed Champion's Dry Lips or Enya's Storms in Africa for the ultimate 'how to guide'. Think of the voice as the narrator, the instruments as the characters, the melody is the theme, and the beat is the plot. At least that's how my brain works.
Some writing tips that have helped me: (bear in mind, I'm a pantser.) Firstly, write what you DON'T KNOW but are desperate to find out. Secondly, if something strange comes up in your draft, a detail that doesn't make sense, trust THAT. You will find that detail becomes a key to the story you never realised you were going to tell but wants to come out. Thirdly, follow your characters around and let THEM work it out. Fourthly, give yourself a word limit. Tell yourself that you have to find a way to tell your story in so many words and NO MORE. That will force you to get to the point and prevent you feeling overwhelmed. Been there, done that.
To the Guest who found some typos - I would never delete you or anyone else. I never have in my 10+ years here, and if you've read any of the reviews from my other stories, you'll find a whole lot of criticism that made me cry. Oh well, those of the rules of the game. I am playing with characters that YOU LOVE (otherwise what are you doing here?) So, I've got to expect people will feel protective of what they love. It's not going to stop me playing, however.
I expected some backlash regarding Una because I haven't done her justice yet. I know in my head how she feels and how she sounds, but I haven't done enough to get that across. That you just went with it shows a staggering amount of goodwill. So, thank you.
Incidentally my fave line was Teddy's "Who was that again? Oh, the mousey one on the edge of the party." Hands up, who's been THAT girl :o/
love, k.
P.S. Alinya: of course, I went there!
P.P.S. PB: you big squish!
19
Something was bound to go wrong but for now let's go into what went right. Firstly, Teddy was the perfect gentleman and asked Una questions about the Island and what she was planning to do when the summer was over; nodded at all her answers and offered her his arm when she started to wobble.
Una had let go of his hand early on, as soon as the rest of their set had wandered from sight. She had hoped to overtake them all, but she had short legs, and they had disappeared into the trees rather fast.
She soon found she needed Teddy's steadiness because she had taken whisky for the very first time. Not a sip either, a great big slug. That was what it felt like too, a sock to the gut, when she discovered Walter's favourite song. Many long years ago he had once said he would think of her whenever he saw the moon.
Yes, she loved Walter in secret, since she was a little girl. And not only because he was beautiful, thoughtful and clever. Una loved him for deeper reasons than that; loved him for his painful sighs and mixed-up feelings and his unsaid but obvious – to her at least – fears.
If he had been cross-eyed and bucktoothed, she would have loved him all the same. And there were times (she could scarcely admit this, but then God already knew) when she used to think that if Walter should come back hurt or disfigured, she might be given the chance to prove her love for him. But he was dead within a year of enlisting, and now everyone thought he belonged to the whole world.
As if his poem becoming famous wasn't enough reminder. Now the man Walter rescued had returned all thanks to Ken: the conventionally popular version of a once in a generation man. Ken was Walter without the depth, that's what most girls said. You could take Walter to meet your parents – but you'd rather take Ken to bed.
Una wobbled so much at this point that Teddy had no option but to grab hold of her arm. She certainly was little, but my word, the muscles in her bicep were rock hard.
They had reached the Manse now, which lay to the left of the valley just beyond the graveyard. Withdrawing herself from Teddy's grasp Una bid him goodnight and pushed on the back gate. It wouldn't give, and more, she could hear the muffled coos of Jerry and Nan coming from behind the fence. So, she went up the side of the house and saw Rilla pacing along the front porch. She must be waiting for Ken. And there he was coming out of her front door - what had he been doing in there? The two of them were holding hands and he seemed to be reassuring her about something because Rilla had a doubtful expression on her face. It did not appear that their conversation would be over very soon, so Una decided to return to the back gate and wait. Jerry wouldn't linger there forever. Father wouldn't allow it, and neither would Dr Blythe.
She hadn't got as far as the back gate when she smelled the smoke of a cigarette.
"I didn't know if Rilla – and Nan - would need to be walked home or not," Teddy said.
Rilla appeared right at that moment with Nan on her arm. The two of them were grinning like tigers. Wasn't it wonderful, they had the best news: Jerry had just asked Nan to marry him! He was going over to Ingleside first thing tomorrow to talk to Doctor Blythe about it.
"Oh Una," Nan's smile was so big she could have eaten herself. "I love your brother so much; do you know what he did? He applied to see if he could transfer to the college in Charlottetown to complete his degree."
"Jerry's not going back to Redmond?"
"No, the silly goose couldn't bear to be away from me for another minute. We want to set the wedding for next month. If we do it quickly, I doubt we'll be stepping on anyone's toes."
If Nan could have eaten herself, then Rilla wished the world would swallow her whole. Ken was supposed to ask for permission to marry her tomorrow, and now of course, he couldn't. They only put it off because of Teddy's birthday. But what did that matter now, why did she care about some ol' lance corporal's feelings – even if he had a dreamy voice?
She was pleased for Nan, of course, it was only right that she marry before her baby sister did. Though that didn't stop Rilla's worry that her grin was about to make her teeth shatter like a china plate.
The sisters linked arms with Teddy and drew him away. He guessed the Captain had gone on to the cottage. Una had simply vanished.
No one missed her, and no one should think badly of those who didn't, because that was what Una preferred. They all knew, or at least suspected that she still held a candle for poor old Walter. He was killed in action in 1916, and her grief and devotion only got stronger with every year.
Haunted, that's what Una was, and if he was a ghost, then she was determined to be a ghost too. They tried their best to show their love, but like a finger poking through smoke, none of that love made a dent on her.
...