http://www.julie-cohen.com/blog

Thanks!

Julie x

I’m not surprised. You are a great writer!

Best regards, Judith in Canada

I see the most recent one was posted in May, so I hope this this blog thread is still open. Here is my first few paragraphs of something I was working on a while back. Any comments would be welcome. leo_ann81@hotmail.com

Rachel O’ Connor rested her glasses upon her head and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head had been pounding like a bongo drum for what seemed like forever.
She’d been working on this merger since after lunch and a quick glance at her watch told her it was almost seven thirty. She felt almost guilty about saving the document. The merger needed more time and dedication than her migraine headache was able to give. As the computer shut down she tidied her desk.

She’s a work-a-holic who’s dedicated to getting the job done event to the detriment of her own health and personal life. She feels guilty at leaving the job half done. She’s also a neatness freak.

“You’re leaving early.” A fellow associate commented.
Rachel looked up and tried not to grimace. Wendy Johnson, who Rachel secretly thought of as Woo-Woo Wendy because of her penchant for all things mystical stood in the doorway expectantly. Wendy’s wild frizzy blonde hair stuck out from her head as if she’d been scared stupid and her chunky gemstone jewellery clanged and rattled as she stepped into the doorway. Rachel smoothed down at her own cream suit and thanked the Lord she had a personal shopper who kept her from making horrible wardrobe faux pas.

Rachel is a bit judgemental and reserved. She is in strict control of her working life where she knows what’s expected of her but is very unsure of herself and her personality. She lets a personal shopper choose her clothes rather than risk wearing something in appropriate. She’s afraid of what people will think of her.

“Yeah, I’ve put in way too many hours this week to work past eight on a Friday.”
Wendy chuckled. “Great minds think alike.”
Rachel packed her laptop into its case, shrugged into her coat and slung the laptop bag over her shoulder. She clicked her desk lamp off and grabbed her purse. Wendy was still standing in the doorway.
“Did you get my e-mail?” She asked.
“Is saw an e-mail from you but the it wasn’t categorised by my inbox as high priority, so I didn’t open it. Was it urgent?”

Again very focused on her job. Only work related things need to be addressed during working hours.

“Kind of.” She hedged as Rachel locked her office door.
“Alison’s baby shower is on Tuesday as it’s her last day. Kerry and I have taken up a collection and we were going to go shopping tomorrow morning but she called in sick today.”
They headed for the elevator.
“Since you’re the only other female associate on our team, I wondered if you’d like to come along.”
“I um…” Rachel fumbled for an excuse.
“That’s if you don’t have plans, I mean.”

Rachel is out of her depth when the conversation turns other women. She’s nervous of going shopping with someone she’s already made her mind up about in case she might like them but doesn’t want to lie about her commitments or hurt Wendy’s feelings.

Onzo Palatini clicked shut the door of his red Lamborghini Diablo and took his first view of the modest two-bedroomed Victorian semi he had bought ten months before. Small and modest, it had suited his needs perfectly, as had the area.
He took a broad sweep of the road, noting the eclectic jumble of house styles that crowded the street, from late Victorian up to the present day. The haphazard nature of its development had always been one of the things that he’d liked about this road when cycling through as a student, but that was not why he’d chosen to buy in this area. It had more to do with the fact that it was only a twenty-minute bike ride to North Oxford – far enough to feel independent, but close enough to get to without any trouble. Then there had been the strong community that his agent had heard about when researching a place to buy. Onzo had thought that would appeal to Ally after several years working on projects in rural Latin America. And it was a ten minute bike ride into the centre of Oxford across fields and University Parks.
What had sealed the deal was learning from the electoral register that Ally’s former school friend Christina lived next door. His eyes flickered briefly to the adjoining house where pots of sunny flowers clashed madly with a bright red front door. Amusement briefly showed in his dark, sombre eyes. They suited their occupant perfectly.
So he had bought the house, sight unseen, and then set about having it turned into the sort of place that would appeal to an idealistic environmentalist. You couldn’t see the solar panels from this side of the house, nor the insulation under the freshly rendered house, but it had been retrofitted throughout to make it as low energy as possible. And then it had been eco-painted throughout in her favourite sunny yellow.
As Onzo’s eyes wandered to the dark blue door, triple-glazed windows and freshly painted cream render, he shook his head a little at how much the whole thing had cost. But now that he was actually seeing it in person, he was pleased with the efforts that had been made baiting his Ally trap. It had been worth every penny.
Once the house was complete, he had sat back and waited for others to reel her in. And they had. Spectacularly. Ally had been living here for six months and still had no idea that he was her landlord.
Not that he was the only one keeping secrets.
At that unpalatable thought, he pushed himself away from the car, through the wrought-iron black gate and walked up to the navy blue front door.
As far as he knew, she still hadn’t told anyone. But then why would she after all this time? And she’d been avoiding him, which was also hardly surprising.
Until now, he’d let her.
But no more.

“You need therapy,” Helen said cuttingly. “Or some kind of psychological help.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just a bag of neuroses, aren’t I?” Elisande looked at her reflection in the shop window. “After all, if someone looks like I do, they obviously need a lot of psychiatric treatment to cope with it.”
The woman looking back at her from the glass scowled too. Only two inches short of six foot tall, with incredibly long, slender limbs and a head of thick, black, nearly waist length hair, most passers-by gave her more than a second glance.
Helen tossed her head and sniffed.
“That’s assuming you’re not already in therapy.”
“You’re saying I should be?”
“You’re selfish, ill-mannered, egotistical and arrogant,” her sister said scathingly. “You’re not a nice person to know anymore, Elisande. You need help.”
With that, she turned and walked off into the bustling Christmas crowd. A moment later, she was lost from view.
Elisande stared after her, shoving her hands into the pockets of her thick sable jacket.
‘Not a nice person to know…’ Helen’s words repeated themselves in her head, over and over. Not a nice person. After everything she’d done for her family over the last ten years. Elisande choked back a sob, feeling her throat close up.
The thronging mass of shoppers seemed somehow to recede into the distance around her, and she suddenly felt very alone. She walked slowly along Oxford Street, her eyes on the pavement in front of her. No one bumped into her.
She shed the sable jacket and dropped it around the shoulders of the first beggar she saw sat in a doorway.
“Don’t flog it to buy drugs,” she told the stunned, dirty woman who sat on a piece of cardboard with a paper cup by her crossed legs. “Keep warm.” And then she poured a handful of pound coins into the cup.
“Merry Christmas,” the beggar said, still staring at her in shock.
“Bah humbug,” muttered Elisande.

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