One of the most frequently asked questions levelled at a writer is, “Where do you get your ideas from?”
Only yesterday a friend of mine asked me that very question in relation to my latest novella, Wednesday on Thursday. She also asked me when I’d be writing a sequel called Thursday on Friday!
Like all authors, I get my inspiration from everywhere and anywhere- and it doesn’t always wait patiently to be invited into my imagination. Often it rudely trespasses across my mind, shoving aside the plotlines I’m already working on, with the audacity to declare that it needs writing up right now!
The queue of ideas in my head from unexpected explosions of inspiration is incredibly long. As a consequence, it was over a year after I’d had the initial idea for Wednesday on Thursday before I had the chance to scribble down a rough plot outline. It was another six months after that when I had time to begin to write this story of words, sex and coffee.
And the initial inspiration… there was a man sat in the corner of my local coffee shop. He had a very particular sort of smile on his face as he bent over his newspaper; an espresso in one hand, and a pen in the other. I didn’t know him, but there was something about him that screamed out loud and clear that his mind was full of images that had nothing at all to do with the newspaper crossword he’d started to do.
His expression, the strong smell of coffee and the partly completed crossword started something snowballing in my imagination…Frankly, words turn me on. Intelligence turns me on more…and a nice smile…well…I risked a covert glance at his eyes…
That was that- I had found my hero for Wednesday on Thursday. I still have no idea how I didn’t sit down and start writing the story there and then- must have been the novel deadline I had looming! I also have no idea how I kept my eyes off him for the rest of the morning…Okay…so maybe I didn’t!
There are rumours that the coffee guy has “a thing” about words.
Shrugging off her friend’s concern about the way the man in the cafe stares at her every lunch hour, Wednesday can’t see how his love of words could possibly be hazardous.
The fact is, Wednesday rather enjoys being the centre of an attractive man’s undivided attention. His dark blue eyes alone have provided her with many delicious erotic fantasies, a welcome distraction from the pressures of the real world and a dull job.
It’s totally harmless…
…until there’s an accident with a cup of coffee.
After soaking Wednesday with a hot latte, the coffee guy’s attention suddenly becomes far more enticing—and dangerous.
Drawn into a bizarre world of human behavioural research, where crosswords are used to initiate sexual experiments, Wednesday finds herself driven, not by a desire to further scientific research, but by the need to be rewarded for her hard work by the coffee guy’s captivating research assistant.
A stunning redhead by the name of Thursday…
Extract from Wednesday on Thursday
… Wednesday had selected her clothes with more care than usual. She told herself she was wearing her best underwear because it gave her more confidence. It was absolutely not because she’d spent a largely sleepless night dreaming of the coffee guy’s expression as he ran his shrewd gaze over her jet black satin bra with matching knickers.
With one extra button open on her shirt, Wednesday left her flat, raking her hand restlessly through her long chestnut hair. She kept telling herself that he was just a bloke who got off on the power of making her feel sexy. That was perfectly all right by her, because he clearly had no intention of doing anything beyond titillating her imagination.
Wednesday had experienced her fair share of relationships during her twenty-nine years, but no-one had ever managed to arouse her with a single glance before.
‘For goodness sake, woman, you don’t even know his name!’ Even though she kept trying to talk sense into herself, the four hours until lunchtime couldn’t pass fast enough.
By the time her break finally arrived, Wednesday thought her heart was going to thud right through her chest with nervous tension. Walking into the café, she was more than usually aware of the sound of her heels clattering across the wooden floor.
Wednesday forced herself not to look for him, to just queue up for her latte and toasted sandwich as she always did. Even though she managed to prevent herself from obviously surveying the busy room, she covertly hunted for him nonetheless.
He wasn’t there. A sensation of disappointment gripped her. She felt stupid; humiliated even. But only briefly.
There was an envelope on her regular table.
Sitting down with her food and drink, Wednesday gaped at the cream coloured envelope. Her name was written in clear script across its front.
Wednesday took a soothing sip of her drink as she wondered if the coffee guy was hidden nearby. She had an uneasy feeling that, if he was secretly observing her, he’d be getting off on watching her reactions. Struggling to steady her erratic breathing, Wednesday was more than a little aware that her tits were doing their best to burst through their satin holster.
Exhaling slowly, she opened the envelope.
The words had an instant impact on her internal temperature gauge. Wednesday’s body began to alternate between flushing with heat and shivering with cold, as if she was getting a fever and a chill at the same time.
Forgive my rudeness for not having properly introduced myself before now.
My name is Lucas.
I will be blunt. I find you fascinating, and would like to make love to you. I would like to say my intentions are honourable, but they are not. They are lust-driven, and I feel it only fair you know that from the start.
If you are interested in knowing more, then please come to the address below once you have consumed your toasted sandwich. If you choose not to visit, then I will leave you in peace from this moment forward.
Whatever your decision, I would prevail upon you to keep this correspondence private.
56 Chambers Way.
P.S. I apologise for the coffee incident. I trust I did not damage you. I will make the sincerity of my regret known to you should you decide to be my guest.
Wednesday didn’t finish her lunch.
Her legs had started taking her in the direction of Chambers Way without bothering to ask the rest of her if it was a good idea or not.
She knew the address.
The building, a private block of flats, was only two hundred metres from the office block where Wednesday had been employed as an administration clerk for the past two years.
Knowing she’d never forgive herself if she didn’t find out what was within Flat 1, with her pulse racing, Wednesday hovered outside a dark green front door.
A door that led to Lucas and whatever he planned to do by way of an apology.
Without allowing herself to think about what she was doing, Wednesday knocked twice…
PS. Thursday on Friday does have a sort of ring to it…ummm….