Tag Archives: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

BLOG HOP: Sheep Dreams

30 Jun

Hello Blog Hopping Buddies! Here we are again!

Thursday, June 30th 2011:
QUESTION: If you could have lunch/dinner with one author, who would it be? What sort of restaurant would you select for the meeting? What would you want to ask him/her? How would you expect the conversation to go? Paint a written picture of the event. Question provided by affiliate author Faith Luna.

My response:

One author is so difficult to choose from with so many author friends I am dying to meet face-to-face, so I’ll go for the hugely famous J.K. Rowling and write a short story for a bit of a laugh.

I sat in the Ritz, the poshest hotel I’d ever been in and thought how lucky I was to be here, waiting for J.K. Roeling to come and join me. Not that I am a huge fan of the Harry Potter books, since she can be very economic with her words, and loves her adverbs.

I wondered if maybe that’s because she writes for children and we’re all taught at school to show the character’s emotions and actions through these simple, all encompassing words like sadly, huffily, eagerly.  How would she react if I asked her how she gets away with writing like that?  Excruciatingly huffily, I would imagine. Whatever her reaction, one can’t argue she can spin a good tale and get paid heaps to do it. And several times over.

I look at my watch then back at the entrance for the umpteenth time. Several people sitting around me at their tables are giving me sad, sympathetic looks. I shuffle in my seat wishing they’d pay more attention to what’s on their plates than me. Looks like even the rich like a good gossip or two.

I checked my blouse just in case it had come undone and my boobs were flapping around for all to see. Nope. They were safely tucked in.

Then it dawned on me. Oh! My goodness! They think I’ve been stood up!
What if they’re right?
How long should I wait until I should order my food? Should I order for both of us? My stomach churned. Not out of nerves. Out of starvation.

Surely she will call, or have one of her little people do it for her? After all, it was her that rang me up desperate to find out how I wrote how I did. Yes! I know! I couldn’t believe it either. But when J.K. (that’s what I call her when we are on the phone) said she was fed up with writing for kids and wanted to try something more sexy, what could I do? I couldn’t refuse a fellow writer in need, could I?

Well, that was like giving her the key to a sweet shop and telling her to help herself. From that moment on J.K. was like a bat out of hell on e-numbers. Like one of those bouncy, uncontrollable kids she writes for. She squealed down the phone speaking really quickly, saying how she couldn’t wait to speak to me face-to-face, and get my autograph. I’d never heard someone so excited before! She’d even written a whole new series for kids, but decided her real money lay in adult naughtiness and she wanted to give me her unwanted series to keep as mine. To do with what I please!

Around me the room filled with quiet, polite murmurs. I looked up and saw J.K. Roeling scanning the restaurant for me. I caught her eye and waved. She rushed to my table, very apologetic and thrust a huge bundle of paper into my hands.

‘There you go, Angel. My manuscript for that kids series I told you about. It’s all yours’, she said with a dismissive wave of her hand. She sat down and pulled her chair in close. ‘Now tell me,’ she whispered with an eager puppy dog look about her face, ‘how do I become an author as good as you…?’

I looked down at the manuscript and the world around me faded into the distance. I couldn’t see or hear anything. but my ticket to fame and fortune. How generous of her!
Suddenly the fire alarm went off  and the sprinklers came on. People everywhere panicked and screamed. J.K covered her bushy hair with her tracksuit hood. (She’d really let herself go lately).  ‘I’ve just had it permed,’ she announced flustered, ‘I can’t get it wet now it will frizz up and I’ll look like a poodle caught in a power line!’ She cried with a look of horror upon her face, already looking like a poodle caught in a power line.

In slow motion I watched her turn and look for the exit. A tide of sheep with the same idea, all charging for the dry chandelier decorated foyer, swept her away.

Someone tapped me on the shoulder. But I couldn’t take my eyes off the scene in front of me. The same person held me tighter and shook me harder, so violently I was just about to turn round and punch them in the face for being so annoying!
And then reality hit me.
It wasn’t the smoke alarm in the posh restaurant. I wasn’t even in a restaurant. It was the smoke alarm in my kitchen. I’d nodded off on my stool reading Harry Potter and the Deathly Marrows and he’d nearly been the death of me.
Well, he killed my lasagne and all my dreams of being the next J.K. Roeling.

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What’s your answer to this question?  Can’t wait to find out!

By the way, I really don’t think I’m better than J.K, (Rowling or Roeling for that matter) hopefully this comes across as very tongue in cheek. I probably didn’t even need to mention this, but… some of my blog posts have been known to rile a few readers ;)  *Blinks innocently looking as cute as Bambi nibbling on a purple pen*

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Yep, that's me!

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