9.08 a.m. Tomorrow is the day I leave my attic prison and return to being a normal writer.
In order to research my new novel, about a kidnapped woman imprisoned in an attic, I asked my boyfriend Keith to attempt a fake kidnap on me in our local supermarket carpark.
After bundling me into our car he locked me away in our attic, for two weeks.
Whilst up here I have been trying to live like Vivian, my main character. I have been making notes about my own fear, anguish and turmoil, endured with being kidnapped by Keith. It is my intention to feed this into my book, once I start writing.
In my book Vivian finally escapes her attic prison by seducing her captor, Frank (a.k.a Keith), overthrowing him and escaping.
Keith does not know this yet but I am about to become Vivian and test out my plot idea on him.
9.10 a.m. Eating biscuits and sat on Wikipedia trying to think of ways I can seduce Keith.
After two years of living together, and in that time acquiring a big fat mortgage, adopting a hormonal cat called Margaret, coming to terms with his obsession for watching sport on TV and going through with my decision to give up my well paid job to become a full time writer, romance doesn’t come naturally to Keith and I.
His idea of romance is to have a cuddle just after ‘Match of the Day’ and this will only be upgraded to something else, if, his favourite football team Liverpool have won.
If they haven’t won then I don’t get anything, as he needs some quiet time to reflect on where his team went wrong.
My idea of romance is to be taken out in a rowing boat on our local park lake and for Keith to recite some of my own romantic poetry, whilst rowing. I then like to be taken for an icecream followed by a brisk (I can change my mind a lot) walk home for a cuddle on the sofa. It only leads to something else if….Keith hasn’t annoyed me that day.
I am amazed no one on Amazon has bought my book of poetry titled ‘Feel, Think, Love’ – again, must be another cover issue.
Obviously as I am up here in the attic I don’t have a rowing boat or a TV with some football on it to work with, so I am stuck on how to seduce him.
9. 34 a.m. I am just lying down in a bid to connect with my character Vivian on a deeper level, to understand how she seduces Frank. I am hoping she can teach me a thing or two.
Oh…ok…Vivian…I can work with this. Look naturally beautiful. Yes. Not a problem.
9.45 a.m. Keith has entered the attic.
‘I am going to work. It is my twelve hour shift at the factory remember!’ he announces.
I am laid on my makeshift bed looking longingly at him; big eyes and pouting lips. Switching to Vivian, my character, comes easy to me.
‘Are you feeling alright love?’ asks Keith, before taking out his tissue to blow his nose.
‘Are you going to come and see me after your shift?’ I whisper; still giving him the big eyes and pouting lips.
‘I might go straight to bed!’ he says, stifling a yawn. ‘Oh…my mother is coming over to feed you later.’
‘What?’ I screech, sitting bolt upright at the mention of Pamela, his annoying mother.
‘I am working so my mother offered to come and feed you. She’s bringing you a portion of curried mince beef!’
‘Why did you do that to me Keith?’ I screech.
‘Calm down Tina, it’s only my mother. Do you want me to come up and see you when I get home?’ he asks.
‘No thanks!’ I snap, turning back to Twitter.
All plans for seduction have been put on hold.
12.45 p.m. I am busy tweeting about my new book which is still not written. The attic door is flung open and there stands Pamela, Keith’s mother, carrying a tray of food.
‘Here we go J.K. Rowling, I have made you some nice curried mince!’ says Pamela, handing me the tray and letting out a little sigh of contentment, as she glances at her favourite culinary number.
‘Please don’t call me that Pamela!’ I say. ‘J.K. Rowling and I are two very different writers!’
‘You are all the same to me!’ Pamela gushes.
I stare at the plate full of curried mince. Pamela can only make one food dish and has stuck to what she knows for over thirty years; minced beef, sultanas, apples, carrots with some curry powder.
Keith think its wonderful that his mother has mastered one dish in her lifetime whilst I often fantasise about tracking down the person who wrote down the bizarre recipe for her back in the 70s and shout at them about my two years of culinary suffering.
‘Tuck in now, have a break from writing your story about wizards,’ says Pamela, stuffing her hands in her floral apron and beaming with pride at the meal she has just presented to me.
‘My book is a serious thriller Pamela!’
‘Yes ok, did I tell you about the disaster I had in my pottery making class this week?’ she asks, shaking her head, a look of concern spreading across her face.
‘Yes you did!’ I lie. ‘You can go now Pamela” I say gesturing to the door.
‘J.K. Rowling has kids you know!’ exclaims Pamela, heading for the door. ‘Maybe you and Keith could start a family and I could feed you all?’
‘Goodbye Pamela!’ I shout, imagining Pamela serving up a baby food version of curried mince.
I get back to thinking about my book.
Vivian is moaning inside my head. She should be grateful, she only has evil but sexy Frank to deal with. I dread to think what would happen to her if she was taken hostage by Pamela; forced to eat curried mince, made to listen to her latest pottery making crisis and asked repeatedly about when she is likely to have kids!’