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Part 1 Part 2 ***Trigger Warning – Sexual Abuse Within*** Date: Wednesday 26.01.2022 Location: Manchester, UK Age: 41 Weight: 67.1 Kilos Marital Status: Still divorcing… Dear Diary, I anticipate that this may be the hardest blog post I have written to date. You see, I have always known that I am a bit different than most, but not really sure why. I thought obsession, infatuation, and getting black-out drunk were all normal attributes to a gal, well, to us all, yet I have come to realise that this is not the case. Not at all in fact. For the last 3 months I have had weekly counselling sessions. Not for any specific reason other than I have always felt that speaking to a counsellor may unlock certain things to help me understand why I am the way I am. Certainly not because I have been through a trauma of some kind. Well, not that I realised at the start of it anyway. Since I can remember, I have always been drawn to a particular kind of man. To put it bluntly, the ones that are unobtainable. You know, the bad boys, the ones that do not want (nor are in any fit shape) to have a relationship. And most recently, married (well, separated in their mind but not in the wife’s) ... Why? I suppose you could say that I like a challenge. Mind you, they do say that red flags are not challenges, don’t they…? Anyhow, I ignore all those little warnings in the hopes that this isn’t what they really are, and in fact, plough forth regardless of every omen thrown in my face, because I can see what most wouldn’t; a guy that is simply in need of a decent woman. Little did I know that has nothing to do with it whatsoever! And seriously, am I the decent woman in this scenario? Probably not looking back on things, but hey – it all starts with fixing yourself first I’ve come to learn. Yup, I had been kidding myself for years. Apparently it all began at 14 years old when my shadow self suddenly appeared. At that age, I was entirely unaware that we all have a shadow self, in fact, it wasn’t until I started tapping into my spiritual side when the numbers wouldn’t leave me alone that I finally read up about it. Remember the numbers from one of my previous diaries? Anyway, for those that are like me and had no idea of what ‘Carl Jung’ coined the ‘shadow self’, it’s the dark side of our personality where the fear, shame, guilt, and anger live. In my case quite a bit more that also includes obsession and infatuation - in your case, it could be quite a bit less, but by not embracing that side of us we are subconsciously sabotaging our very own lives. I know, WTF right?! But how was I to know this back then? These days, I’m owning my shadow self, so much so that she has a name. Let me introduce you to Shaniqua. She’s not here right now, no, that’s all me - Lei, but she has been lurking within for all that time without me even realising it. Shaniqua is not a nice person unfortunately. She is an angry being that I’m glad I’ve not personally met. She has been known to launch an ashtray at some poor unsuspecting soul in the soup kitchen at 4am, start fights, sleep with random dudes, and be extremely rude to friends. And no, I’ve really not met her. She is not me. She is someone else entirely. When friends have regaled me with stories about what I did the night before, it’s like they are talking about a different human being, because I simply have zero memory of any of it. Not the guy I pulled, not the fight I started, not being thrown out of said soup kitchen for quite possibly injuring that poor unsuspecting soul, and not for being a vile nasty bitch to friends. Nope, in the words of Shaggy – ‘it wasn’t me’. And that’s the Gods honest truth. Shaniqua appears when Lei has had one too many drinks. Not all the time I might add. It seems to be when I find myself out of my comfort zone, let’s say in strange or unusual surroundings, occasionally with people that I don’t know. What happens is that Lei disappears into thin air and is replaced with the shadow one; I, as in me, quite literally no longer exist when Shaniqua takes over. Shaniqua is all dominant and all enraged. I’m not 100% sure what all of ‘her’ triggers are, but I’m getting there. So yes, it started at 14 so I believe. It could have been earlier, but from what I can make out, 14 was the catalyst. Back then, all the girls in my school were sexually active at that age, mostly with boys of our own age, but not me - nope, I thought I was the billy big bollocks because a 23-year-old was paying me attention, and lots of it. He introduced himself when me and my UK bestie Hannah were hanging around the shops in town one Saturday. He literally walked right up to us and said hello. God he was confidant. Not particularly attractive, but the bants and confidence had me hooked. And that was that, I started seeing him as much as I possibly could. Although, the fucker made me chase him because I couldn’t very well have him call my house in fear of my Mum answering and realising he was not of school boy age and taking him for what he actually was. A bit of a peado. Not that I saw it at the time… So, chase him I did. I found it enthralling. There is definitely something to be said about the thrill of the chase, even at 14 years old. And with that, obsession was born. Not quite Shaniqua just yet, but her embryo let’s say. Just recently, after my counsellor pointed it out in a very tactful way, I have come to see that what actually happened was child abuse. I mean, seriously?! I chased him. I called him to make arrangements! I initiated the dates. How the fuck can this be child abuse? But it was because I was having sex with a 23-year-old man who knew my exact age. In fact, he prayed only on girls of my age. You see, I wasn’t the first in my class to have a thing with this guy, and I certainly wasn’t the last… Although I almost see it now for what it was, I struggle because it was me that did the chasing. It couldn’t possibly be considered grooming, so what the fuck was it? Fuck’s sake, if I could only go back to that point in time and give myself a stern talking to... Not that younger me would listen. She didn’t listen to anyone or anything, hence ending up living it large in Turkey at sweet 16. Which is where the story really begins. And the funny thing is, I only realised this last night… At 16, I thought I was all grown up. Looking back now I realise I was nothing but a cocky kid, playing at being an adult. I wanted to do exactly as I pleased, and that’s just what I did. God, my first season in Marmaris back in ‘97 was nothing short of one long piss up with a bit of work as a transfer rep in between. I was out every night that I wasn’t working, and even some of the nights that I was - if I could make it to Daisy Bar before it closed at 4am. Sunworld uniform still on, with no fucks given! Unfortunately, I did not get on with the 2 girls I lived with which made life difficult, but as I had always felt like an outsider both in the UK and overseas, I just went with the flow as best I could. After all, we were all three there for the same reason, to live our best lives. And we did a lot of the time. Well, before the arguments got really out of hand and I moved out. But that’s another story for a different blog… There are 3 major events that happened during that first season. I believe that all of them contributed to the birth of Shaniqua. The second I remembered (finally) last night whilst lying in bed when I burst into tears at the sudden jolt of memory. It had been locked away in my subconscious for a very long time, quite possibly since that very first season. I’m not sure why I’ve not remembered it, but I guess it’s like I’ve always said; my subconscious blocks out memories that the conscious simply can’t or doesn’t want to deal with. Shaniqua deals with them instead and they are stored in her memory bank and not mine. You see Shaniqua is braver than me, and although I have always been confidant, Shaniqua will say and do what Lei wont. Shaniqua, I have come to realise, is a detached persona. A split personality. Does this make me a crazy person? Yes, when black-out drunk, but not during normal waking hours. Then I’m just me. Lei fucking Lawson. And me, Lei, is a kind, caring, empathetic friend. Shaniqua is none of those things. She is a cunt. Major Event Number 1: Not as major as the second two that I shall detail, but the memory of it even now makes my skin crawl. It was right at the beginning of the season in April, I was walking home alone from doing a supermarket run in Migros, slap bang in the middle of the day. I noticed this weird little red car following me. I always remember it as a Noddy car as it was so small and the driver looked like he took up the whole of it. The car kept turning around and driving past me, but as it was broad daylight, I thought nothing of it. Then finally, as I was on my last stretch home, not even 2 minutes away from my apartment, I saw the noddy car pull over and the door open. The fat sweaty driver did not get out as such, he put his feet on the road and simply sat there. I wondered what he fuck he was doing while feeling ever more anxious as I got closer. He was parked a little way from the road where I was walking, and thank God for that when I realised what the filthy fat fuck was doing. No word of a lie, he was sat there with his gut hanging out of his tight white vest, his dick in his hand - wanking, making grunting noises, while beckoning over to me in Turkish. I dropped my shopping and ran home as fast as my flip-flopped feet would carry me. And that was that. I told people about it of course, but this was Turkey in 1997, at the beginning of the season when the men folk had been starved of sex for the winter season, and this behaviour was considered normal to some. Fuck all normal about it if you ask me, but as it was my first few weeks in the country I was to call home for the next 22 years, what the fuck did I know? Major Event Number 2: I’m gonna say it was around May or June of ’97 and I was walking home alone from the beach front after a night of partying. I would peg the time to be about 04.30am. I was tipsy yes, but certainly not drunk drunk. It wasn’t a long walk back to the apartment that I shared with the 2 girls, in fact it only took around 10 minutes - and no one wants to spend money on a taxi for a 10-minute walk now do they? I noticed a guy quite a way behind me, so I kept my eye on him every so often by turning around and checking his distance. The fucker was catching up to me quickly so I picked up the pace and was practically sprinting home in my skirt and heels. Just 50 feet from the entrance to my apartment, this cretinous creature caught up to me and grabbed me. I couldn’t tell if he was Turkish or Kurdish, but what I do know is that his breath stunk of stale cigarettes as he tried to force his tongue into my mouth. His hands were everywhere, grabbing and groping. I screamed for help, but no one was around. I screamed and screamed then he shoved one of his hands in my mouth to stop the noise, while his other hand forced its way under my skirt, into my knickers and finally into me. At that point one of the balcony lights went on and an old Turkish woman came rushing out yelling at my attacker. He immediately ran away, leaving me stood there in shock at what had just happened, and, what could have happened had that old dear not have heard my screams. I feel extremely uncomfortable writing about it now. Probably because the memory has only just come back and it feels so fresh. But the only way to get past discomfort is to deal with it, and that’s hopefully what I’m doing by writing about it. The funny thing is, I’ve always commended myself on being very resilient, and thought I had brushed that incident off like water off a ducks back. As it stands, I didn’t. It simply festered deep within. Major Event Number 3: Another not very pleasant tale I’m sorry to say, but hey – when is life changing trauma ever pleasurable? So, this one happened toward the end of my first season, around September, I think. I was dating a lovely guy called Fatih. Oh my, how I liked him! He was not only attractive with his long swishy black hair, but he was also right up my street as a bad boy biker with his chopper and leathers. Yup, I was smitten. We’d had an argument over something small and silly earlier that particular day, so I had gone out that evening in the hopes of finding him and apologising. I called in a few bars, but no Fatih in sight. He usually didn’t hit the beach front till gone 12 anyway, so I decided to have a few drinks with friends I had bumped into before carrying on the search. As the night went on, and still no sign of my fella, I went to one last bar. I saw a friend of his, asked him if he knew where Fatih was, and was told that he was at this particular friend’s house. So, off we went in his car out to Aktas which is a 20-minute drive out of Marmaris into the sticks. Fatih was not there, but another guy was. So, we sat in the lounge and waited. The friend of Fatih proceeded to tell me that he was part of the Turkish mafia – nothing unusual about this as all the beach front boys thought they were ‘mafia’ in some way shape or form, but all they actually were, were walking penises. This one however may have been the real deal as he pulled out a gun and twirled it around in his fingers in expert fashion. Gobby little gob shite me was not impressed, and asked to see if it was real, and if so, loaded. Turns out it was and was. That’s when the fear set in. We as people, when faced with an uncomfortable situation, find that fight or flight usually kicks in. These days my ‘go to’ is fight, but back then, in this particular situation, it was very much flight. I was paralysed with fear. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t even speak. It was alarming to say the least that I had found myself out in the sticks with 2 dudes that claimed to be mafia, and no boyfriend in sight. Now I’m not entirely sure how the following event went down as my memory has a blockage still going on, but I woke up the following morning in a bed, naked, with Fatih standing over me demanding to know what happened. I believe that some sort of sexual act had occurred, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what. Fatih said I had slept with his friend – and yes, I undoubtably did - but was it consensual? Was it because I was scared? Was it because I feared for my life? Or did I actually want to? I couldn’t tell you because I simply don’t remember – yet. Maybe one day I will, just like I remembered the second major event last night. One thing I know is that every time I think back to that situation, I feel sick to my stomach. Maybe regression is the way to go if I ever want to truly know what went down that night. But do I really want to know the details? Of that, I’m really not sure. And there is it – that is when Shaniqua turned from an embryo to a real live being. Someone to deal with my trauma so that I didn’t have to. You could call her my protector. My saviour. My angry second self fighting for survival. My Mr. Hyde. My dual drunk personality disorder. Which is a real thing in case you wondered. I think I finally understand who Shaniqua, or my shadow self, is. And that is a layer of repressed emotions and anger that claws her way to the surface when that one too many drinks have taken a hold and she no longer gives a fuck. She wants to be seen and heard, and so she should - after all she has dealt with a lot over the years. Funnily enough, since moving back to the UK, she has not been seen as much. Maybe this is because I don’t go out partying hard like I used to back in Turkey, maybe it’s because it’s a different environment entirely, and maybe it could be down to simply changing my drink from light spirits to dark a couple of years ago. Either way, I’m not sure she’s needed now I’m back here in the UK on a permanent basis. Maybe her job here is done. Maybe there is no more threat. My ex-fiancée who got the briefest of mentions in my first diary, said just this weekend, that he thinks Shaniqua’s triggers were Marmaris itself. In fact, it was him that jolted that last major event into the forefront of my memory. He may not have got the best of write ups previously, but now that we are friends and not toxic partners, he may, just may, have helped me figure something out about myself. But I tell you what, if I can help it, I will do my utmost not to repress my emotions again. I didn’t think I did initially, however that has proved not to be the case from realisation after realisation I’ve been hit with since starting the counselling process. And a process is what it is. I know there is more to be uncovered, and I welcome it. I want to fix myself after all. I want to remember what Shaniqua has dealt with and lay it to rest. Believe me when I say there must be over 200 or more black-out situations that I thought was simply the norm that need the memories unlocking. And black-outs can mean only one thing – Shaniqua. All my love, Lei XXX ***New to my blog? Wanna know where it all began? Catch up right here with my first book 'The Final Summer of Vodka'***
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Date: Tuesday, 30 11.2021 Location: Manchester, UK Age: 41 Weight: 66.0 Kilos Marital Status: Still divorcing… Dear Diary, I’m bored. Very bored. Not in a ‘I don’t have anything to do today’ kind of way, more in a ‘my soul craves excitement’ kinda way. Excitement that I am struggling to find here in good old Blighty as a single forty something, wannabe socialite. Not even Tinder is holding my attention these days, but I will get to that later. For now, let me off load some shite that has been laying heavy for the past few weeks. Or could that be months? Ha - possibly even years…! What could possibly have happened to get this version of Lei that you are presented with today? Well, let me explain… So, when we first moved back, I didn’t think I would end up being a lone parent, I mean who the hell plans for that? Not me, no - I wanted someone to do stuff with. That’s the whole point of marriage, isn’t it? That you always have said person to hang out with, to go somewhere with, even if it’s just for a walk. Alas, my soon to be ex-husbando, even when we were together in Turkey, would rather sleep, game or smoke weed than do anything at all with his family. So since being back, it’s been me and Lennie taking on the world, and that’s all well and good when you have the motivation to do so, but somehow in the last 10 months or so, I seem to have found myself in a rut of never-ending boredom. The mundane that I once ran away from has landed right on my brand-new doorstep. You could say I’m falling asleep at the wheel, that I’m drowning in despair. Is despair even the right word? Probably not but I can’t think of a better one to describe the ordinary routine that is my life right now. Surely to God you’d think that I’d have completed my fair share of shitty times by now, wouldn’t you? Apparently not, because it seems I have not learnt my lesson yet, hence the repeating pattern of monotony. My problem is that I have literally no adult company to do things with other than my olds, and God knows if I spend enough time with them World War 3 breaks out in a heartbeat. Ah well, that’s what friends are for, right? Not in this country apparently. No one wants to do anything. Ever. I mean, I have the occasional visit to Cost-Co with Hannah, which sadly happens to be the highlight of my month. I also have the odd kitchen party that every so often involves people other than just myself, but even that has dwindled down to once every second month. So, like a good old alki, I drink alone in the hopes that the alcohol will bring with it some new inspiration. All it leaves me with is the booze blues and the terrible reoccurring thought that is this all there is? I mean really, is this all there is? I’d like to think that we were not put on this planet simply to eat, sleep, work, repeat. Or have I missed something and the rat race is what its all about? I hope that not to be true, because if this is it, then stick a fork in me cos I’m fucking done. I’m done with boredom, other people’s shit, married men looking for someone to spice up their lives, and my ex-husbando’s narcistic ways. Where the hits keep coming by the way. You would think that now it’s been over a year since splitting up that he would have got his shit together. He hasn’t. He is an emotional grim reaper feeding off his own sad existence, and I’m at the point now where I no longer care what happens to him. Making a statement such as that simply isn’t me. I’m not that person. In fact, I carry other people’s feelings a tad too deeply being somewhat of an empath, but come the fuck on - are you really blaming me for owing a grand in rent and having a drug problem? Really!?! Isn’t it time that you fucked back off to your homeland and went bullshitting to your own Mother and not mine? No? I must be confused then. I know what I sound like; a bitter, vengeful, soon to be divorcee - and that, dear diary, makes me sick. I’m not normally a miserable person, but UK life seems to have knocked the spark right out of me. Or could that have been the ex-husbando? Either way… I’m usually the life and soul of the party, but somehow, my flicker of hope has gone out. The internal flame that usually keeps my head above water has all but died in the bleakness of my new life. If I had a tiny violin, Id get that fucker out and write myself a masterpiece. Who knows, I could go on to become the Beethoven of the blues. Wouldn’t that be something? Finding fame in the face of forlornness… I often find myself wondering if I should really have come back to the UK after all. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to still be tied to the ball and chain – absolutely not, but my social life was a lot more sociable when I lived back in the bubble of Marmaris. Days out, nights out, weekends away – all were on tap in good ole Turkey. That’s because I had friends a plenty that were available to do shit with on a moment’s notice back there. Over here, not so much. I have friends of course. I’m not a billy no mates - although it certainly feels like that 95% of the time. My friends here don’t have kids Lennie’s age. Hannah (41) has 2 kids both above the age of 12. I see her probably about once a month, and it is always when the kids are at school so that we can actually chat. Sometimes it would be nice to see her when we have the kids all together and go out and actually do something. At least then I would feel less guilty about not doing so much with Lennie after school and on the weekend, but Hannah has many friends that she needs to get around, and I need to remember that it’s me that needs to fit in with other people seeing as I’m the one that fucked off for 22 years. Diana (47) is kid and care free. I absolutely envy her life. She made a conscious decision not to have kids, so can basically do whatever she wants, when she wants. She can have sex on the kitchen floor without worrying about the kids walking in. She can take off on holiday on a moments notice, without having to plan it around school holidays. Not that she does either of those things, but the fact of the matter is, she could. If I didn’t have Lennie, what would I be doing right now? Living it large in Vegas no doubt, tearing up the strip, living my best life. I can still do that one day I suppose. One day when my looks have left me and I resemble Hugh Heffner’s same age wife, not the dolly bird he was married to when he died. Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice! Anyway, back to Diana. She also lived overseas for 12 years. That’s why we get on so well as we are the only people in each other’s lives in close proximity that understand how hard it is to fit back in when one has been out for quite some time. She gets my boredom. Or is it loneliness? Either way, she gets me. Our kitchen parties are epic. They consist of food, enough booze to keep 10 people partying for 36 hours, banging tunes courtesy of Alexa and my excellent taste in music, and laughs that you don’t find in ‘normal’ people. Those kitchen parties were the only thing to get me through the week. Yup, the thought of our Saturday shenanigans literally stopped me from diving into depression head first. But now she is seeing someone, so that’s put paid to that… Mind you, she’s still not having sex on the kitchen floor, even though she has herself a fella. What’s wrong with this picture? Working from home doesn’t help of course. You meet no one when working from your kitchen table, but I have run my company for the last 12 years and I don’t plan on stopping any time soon. I did think of taking on a little part time job to get me out of the house during school hours, but school hour jobs simply don’t exist, as much as my Dad tries to convince me otherwise. I’ve looked at supermarkets to restaurants, but nothing coincides with those bastard school hours, well, not in my town anyway. Life is just different. I suppose you could say that I’ve found it hard to re-integrate into normal society. I find the whole Monday to Friday schedule absolute bollocks. I managed to avoid it for a long time, yet now I find myself slap bang in the middle of it. That’s what happens when your kids are of school age. Mind you, I wouldn’t be without my 6 hours of freedom daily, I just hate being locked in to a routine of sorts. Monday morning comes and its up at 7am to get Lennie ready for the school run. I then come home to work, veg out on the sofa in between answering emails, then back on the school run at 3pm, home for bath time, dinner, bed time, etc – then wait for a suitable time before I call it a night. That suitable time used to be gone 11pm, and is now 9pm as I have nothing to stay up for – quite literally nothing to keep me downstairs and in the land of the living. Then I get up on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday and do the exact same all over again. Hooray for cheap Aldi red wine on a school night! Although sometimes, once the bottle of red runs out, I go on the hunt for whatever shit I have in the booze cupboard, usually resulting in shots of pink fucking gin. Gin is so 2020 that I can’t even bring myself to drink it normally, like in a balloon glass with slimline tonic! Malta, August 2020, ruined that for me. Saturdays and Sundays are the worst as I need to entertain Lennie for the full day, and she takes some entertaining, let me tell you. Have you ever been to a soft play on the weekend? Fuck me, you really have to be desperate to find yourself in the clutches of that madness. But, desperate times call for desperate measures, so soft play on a Saturday is occasionally our thing, and not a sodding cheap thing at that. 6 quid to get in – not bad right? Not when you add on the food and drinks required to keep a 4-year-old from a massive meltdown that you just know is going to happen if you don’t give in to the demands of cake, popcorn, chips and diet coke, adding up to usually over 20 quid a hit. And don’t get me started on the mass of screaming brats terrorising their parents, other people’s parents, and the staff in there. I can all but stand my own kid being a little cunt, but when you have over 50 of the fuckers, all ganging up together, taking sweet revenge for not letting them wear a T-shirt in minus fucking 3 weather conditions – it might be time to look yourself in the mirror and seriously question your previous life choices… Then we have Sunday. Quite possibly the most boring day of the week. I usually wake with Lennie eyeballing me, demanding to watch my phone, plus a hangover from my kitchen party for one. And why oh why do kids insist that 6am on a weekend is a suitable time to get up and start the day when I have to drag the wee shite out of bed during the week? What sort of cuntery is this? And then, the routine starts all over again. Until school holidays that is, but that’s a totally different story that I simply am in no mood to get into now. It may push me over the edge considering we have the Christmas holidays coming up. Just fuck off life. My olds help out and have Lennie every second weekend to give me a break, but only for the Saturday night. What do I do with said free evening I hear you ask? Get pissed of course. Usually in a kitchen party for one, that ends in me texting various male suitors in the hopes that one of them may bring some much-needed thrills to the table. They usually don’t even bring the vodka…! Dating apps have been a distraction from the boredom. In fact, Tinder has been a good friend to me. Or a bad friend – I can’t decide which. The dates I’ve had so far have been interesting to say the least. They have ranged from me back dooring it after 15 minutes, to dating a dude for 4 weeks, all the while ignoring every red flag along the way just because he ‘seemed’ to be on my wavelength. That was until I saw him from what he actually was – a master manipulator. No thanks magic fingers, you are not for me. Although could you leave said magic fingers at the door on the way out? Yup, I’ve met some characters in the last year of being officially single. None that have held my interest for usually longer than the initial first date though. I often wonder, is it them or is it me? Am I so difficult to please now I’m in my forties? Or do I simply now know exactly what I want and I won’t settle for anything less? And what is it I want? Well, the banter, lightening, fireworks – the lot! I certainly don’t want a friend with benefits, nope – I want the real deal, and this time it has gotta be for keeps. Yet all I ever find myself with is one big hangover and a total regret for having the date in the first place. And sometimes, thrush. WTF Tinder, why can’t you put a nice-looking chap with something about him in my periphery? Why all the no hopers that still live with their Mum and work at KFC? I’ve nothing against KFC by the way, I simply don’t want to date a dude in his forties that works there...! And what is it with men with filters? I mean, eww gross! No pal, I’m not going to swipe right if you have dog ears, just like I hope that you wouldn’t if I had them! Fucking hell, what happened to the single people of the world in my age range? I used to think that British blokes were the creme de la creme of having their shit together, but boy was I ever wrong. Or is it simply me after all? I supposed the grass is not always greener, but then again, neither was the Turkish mud. I’m not one to stay in a dead relationship if its making all involved unhappy just for the fact that I’ve got someone. Hell no, that shit was not, nor ever will be, for me. Some people try to reason staying because of the kids – clearly, I’m not one of those people, nor do I understand them. I mean, why bring up a child in unhappy surroundings when both parents would be happier apart, therefore making the upbringing of the child a better one? Albeit, I am talking about if the other parent, you know, the ex-husbando for example, would take an active part in the kids’ life. Ruefully, he doesn’t. If he did and we had shared parental responsibility, I could take myself off to groups / clubs / get togethers with like-minded people. Spiritual folk, fellow tin hat wearers, people that question the Cabal. You know the sort. Or am I simply talking out of my arse as per usual? Anyway, one thing that I have found is that I don’t like small talk - dating apps have taught me that. Let’s get straight to the good stuff like what do you think about before falling asleep at night, are you having the Covid shot or not, and what happens when you die. This type of convo is a dying art with the millennials of today. Unsolicited dick pics, however, are not… Mind you, a good-looking throbbing dick pic would not go a miss once in a while, but where the hell are all the attractive scholngs these days? This one time, probably about a year ago when I first dipped my toe into the online dating world, I got sent a dick pic like no other. It looked like the dude had some sort of STD, maybe gonorrhoea, that resulted in him having a deformed penis. Why! Why send that fucking ugly weener to anyone other than a medical professional in the fucking clap clinic? Didn’t he know it simply was not a normal member? Had no girl ever told him that if that thing was to go anywhere near anyone, one would become sick for centuries? I mean, come the fuck on Sean, that dirty dick pic is the last thing that would get any gal wanting to suck on it! As fucking if! And with that, it’s time to finish my brandy and call it a night. After all, its 9.20pm and I’ve nothing left to hang around downstairs for on this odd evening. Not even a minging dick pic. So for now I shall bid you adieu and hopefully wake up tomorrow with a different outlook on life. One can hope… Love Always, Lei xx ***New to my blog? Wanna know where it all began? Catch up right here with my first book 'The Final Summer of Vodka'*** Date: 12.10.2021 Location: Manchester, UK Age: 41 Weight: Just kill me now Marital Status: Divorcing Dear Diary, My name is Lei Lawson. I am a 41-year-old, soon to be divorcee, single Mum of a 4-year-old child of Satan (or Turk in my case). It’s been quite some time since I put pen to paper (or, typed and blogged). I most certainly have another diary in me, alas, now is not the time. So, for now, a blog post it shall be. You may wonder why you are hearing from me now, instead of say, when I have the motivation to start an actual diary? Well, I feel compelled to get certain things off my chest you see. The time has come to unburden and offload, and then, maybe – just maybe, I won’t feel the need to kill someone on a daily basis. What is it they say, the truth shall set you free? Fucking hope so because I’m being made out to be the biggest villain in the history of women. Should my ex have his way, I would be burnt at the stake, along with the rest of my kind. My kind being cheating whore British bitches. Oh yeah…. I’m not going to lie, it’s been a hard old slog. I won’t go as far to say that I have been to hell and back, but in the last 2 years it has come pretty damn close. But, nothing can keep a good woman down, and that dear diary, is exactly what I am - no matter what shit comes out of the Turks mouth. Obviously, I know I can be a bit of a cunt on occasion, can’t we all? But on this particular occasion, I think I have been pretty fucking tolerant. Now, there are always 3 sides to every story, mine, his, and somewhere in the middle therein lies the truth. But as this is my blog, my truth goes something like this: Having a baby does something to even the most fucked up of human. Shit the bed, learning how to be a brand-new parent was literally NOTHING like I thought it would be. Not one thing other people said prepared me for it, and oh how they tried. 1, 3 and 5am feeds were the norm. As was looking like I had got dressed in a skip. Thankfully, at 7 months, Lennie Mai slept through when I stopped giving in to her milk whims, and she realised that water was shit and not worth waking up for. Bravo – water weening does actually work! Getting out on time anywhere was a thing of the past. I would rock up to meet friends a good hour and a half late because I forgot to factor in getting the baby ready. FML, no one warns you about babies on changing tables, do they? For one, you can’t leave it up there alone, and for two they like to piss 3 foot in the air while up there naked, spraying everything in sight. So timekeeping tends to go right out of the window when you have to do a wardrobe change, mop up a puddle of piss, wipe down your pissy baby, then battle with the fucker to bend their knees to get into an outfit. Oh the life of a Mum. A Mum. Not a Dad. Well, not Lennie’s Dad anyway… Don’t get me wrong, he would do the occasional early morning feed if he could hear her crying through his gaming earphones in the lounge. And he would also change a shitty nappy. And once in a blue moon he would have a go at feeding her, all the while shouting from the rooftops what a ‘hands on’ Dad he was. My arse. Obviously, the vast majority was left to me, as I knew it would be, and do you know what? I was fine with that. Of course, I missed sleeping a full 8 hours, and I kinda missed my old party girl lifestyle, but hey – I had me a baby, and a smiley one at that. Yes, when she was good, she was bloody golden. Her laugh was, and still is, infectious. These days, her chubby baby cheeks may have gone, but her sassitude is on a whole other level. I sometimes wonder if I actually miss the first 6 months of parenthood? Hard to fucking say. She developed the terrible twos at 11 months old. And that’s what I’ve been dealing with ever since. Nothing at all wrong with a spirited kid, in fact, its kids like mine that are the future leaders of the world – but fuck me, meltdowns and me do not mix. I had no idea back then how to deal with them, and I’ve still no idea now. I’ve googled the living shit out of how-to sooth a kid in full on demon mode, but nothing worked. Super Nanny I am not. I mean what are you supposed to do with a possessed little toddler when they are following you around trying bite, scratch and kick you? Shout, cuddle, make soothing cooing noises, walk away and ignore them? Nope – because none of the above helps. In fact, fuck all helps. Especially not the onlooking public casting judgments left right and centre when a meltdown occurs in a supermarket. All because you are trying to be a good Mum and not give in to every item that Satan has thrown in the trolley. Who needs a pack of adult nappies anyway? Oh me, cos I still leak when I sneeze. Or laugh. Or cough. Or its cold. Fair play Lennie, I’ll let you off with that one. So, lets fast forward to April 2019 when me, the terrorist and the Turk moved from Marmaris to the UK, something I never ever thought would happen, yet it did. I kissed goodbye to 22 years of life in Turkey and boarded the plane into the unknown. I mean, not entirely unknown, I am British ffs, but with 22 years out of ye ole British life, it was an adjustment to say the least. We ‘back doored’ it for the Turk to move here. Basically, he got a tourist visa and never went back. That’s all well and good until you realise that said Turk is not able to work on a tourist visa and is under your feet 24/7. And that, dear diary, is when the seed of rot began. I started to pick up on all his little nuances that once were never an issue because he was always out at work, but now began to grate on my every last nerve. Who knew that my husbando was such a lazy, unwilling, unmotivated shit house? Well, me, had I have paid more attention to him than my new born, but that’s hindsight for you. I was going to leave him before now you know. On more than one occasion. Why didn’t I before having the baby? Because I wanted that baby, but if I had, Lennie Mai wouldn’t be here, and I would still be in Turkey, married to the wrong man. As it turns out, Lennie Mai is here, and that’s what its all about. What’s the ‘it’ that I’m referring to? Well, if you remember back to my very last diary, I may have mentioned that she is the prophesy. That has not changed. Maybe my meds need to, but that vision has not. She is the John to my Sarah Connor, and that is the only way I can explain it. But can I just ask, how the fuck do I have a 4-year-old? Seriously, does time turbo charge when you pop a sprog as I don’t remember it speeding by this quickly pre-sprog? Anyway, I digress, something else that hasn’t changed. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought the Turk to the UK and perhaps continued living through those rose tinted glassed in Marmaris, but just as in ‘Lost’ – it only ends once, and the ending probably would only have happened here. One thing about them rose tinted glasses, they have a smashing ability to get smacked right off one’s face. And they did. With the full force of the UK. I can’t explain it. All I can say is this: Yes, we were chalk and cheese in Turkey, but moving to the UK really highlighted everything about our toxic relationship. And toxic is exactly what it was. I see that now. Not that this is a great example, but he never wanted to do anything. You would think that he would want to get out and explore his new surroundings, and be excited by it, yet it was a job to get him out of the house and over to Chester for a half hour on the pedalos. And even when on the pedalos, all he would do is moan, so much so that we would simply go home again. It got to the point where I would take Lennie out with friends instead, while he sat in the house and gamed. Just the way he liked it. But was that the way I liked it? Somewhere within all of this, sex started becoming a chore, and that very same chore started to become unbearable. I did not wish to have his hand on my leg let alone his penis in my mouth. Gross, just gross. So our ‘planned’ regular twice a week jump became a ‘planned’ once a week duty, that became once every 2 weeks, then once a month, and so on and so forth. I say ‘planned’ as it wasn’t a spontaneous session of lust and passion. Oh no. He didn’t even sleep in bed with me. Nope, that stopped years ago as he said he didn’t want to wake me up when he couldn’t sleep, so, since before even Lennie was born, he’s slept on the sofa, both back in Marmaris and here in the UK. If I’m honest, I don’t for one minute think it was so that I wasn’t disturbed. I think it was because he was addicted to his bastard gaming, and nothing and no one could shift him once he sat his lazy crack on his gaming chair. It didn’t start off like this of course. When we were dating, he was still working in the bar so if he was coming to my house, he would jump straight in bed and jump my bones. It was only when we first moved in together that I saw the first glimpse of the gaming addition. But even then, it was not a ‘red flag’ as such, because he was more interested in me than the games. Alas, I clearly lost my shine. At first, I didn’t think I minded him not sleeping in bed, after all, who doesn’t love to be spread starfish on a bed all to themselves - but looking back now, it really took its toll. ***Shit, emotion alert *** Was that just a twinge of sadness I felt? Fuck me, I suppose that writing about this is bringing back old feelings that should have been dealt with by now, especially since it’s been one full year since he moved out. Alas… I think it’s pretty fair to say I have not processed my emotions well. Not. At. All. In fact, before, during and after the move out, I didn’t cry, not even once. This could be because I gave him so many opportunities to be the man that he should have been, telling him what would happen if he didn’t pull his big boy socks up, having my parents come in to mediate one evening and him losing his shit in front of them – well, my tears were cried inwardly and for a long time. And I was simply done. I had got to my breaking point. Actually, I was probably there 3 years ago, it just takes me a little longer to action it than most. What was so bad I hear you ask? Surly you don’t need to go out with your hubby all the time. No, you’re right, I don’t, but once would be nice. I guess you can say it was an amalgamation of many things. Once he finally started work, the choice of what he spent his money on was questionable. He spent it on the same in Turkey, yet it wasn’t so much of an issue there. So why here? Well, it was supposed to be a fresh start. After all, it was him that suggested moving and living a better life on the gold paved streets of the United Kingdom. You know, the country that hands out cash to foreigners like its going out of fashion. He blamed Turkey for his depression when we were there. Inflation and shit wages are absolutely enough to make a man depressed. But then, on coming here, he blamed me instead. That does something to a gal. Can you imagine being ‘the cause’ of someone else’s depression? I hope you never will. You start to question yourself and everything you have ever said and done. Unfortunately, everything is taken literally with a Turk because they don’t have that grasp of UK chat. And why should they? I don’t have that grasp of Turkish chat either, so it leaves you stuck in between a rock and a hard place. Or, was it manipulation on a grand master scale all along...? Either way, the paranoia and accusations of cheating were becoming a bind that I didn’t wish to be a part of any longer, and I told him so. As did my parents when they were round for mediation, when he finally showed them his true colours. His sheer rage came out that he usually only saved for me, and I know it sounds selfish, but I’m glad they got to see it. Don’t get me wrong, the dude is not a wife beater. A narcissist yes, but a wife beater no. Had he have been a wife beater; I would have been up and out years before. Anyway, my Dad walked out of mediation. He couldn’t take it anymore. The fist smacking on the kitchen table, the brazen disrespect for me, plus the absolute ridiculous shit coming out of the Turks mouth was simply too much for him. He gave me a hug with his eyes and I knew then that he finally understood what I was going through. Sweet relief. It had been suggested, not just on this particular evening, that the Turk perhaps go and seek help from the doctor in the form of anti-depressants. Can you imagine how that went down? Like a shit fucking sandwich let me tell you. God forbid the suggestion that he was not always right and needed to seek medical help! I mean, who on earth did we think we were? No pal, you picked the wrong woman and the wrong family. We can not and will not be manipulated. Well, not anymore anyway. So, the evening resulted in me announcing divorce if he didn’t visit the doctor, and him telling me he would never ever divorce me, nor would he ever go to the doctor as it wasn’t him that had issues. Clever little cunts, narcissists. He did in fact go to the doctor when he realised I wasn’t joking, and was put on anti-depressants. Hallelujah! Finally, life may become more tolerable, I thought. Short lived unfortunately as frankly he had no intention of staying on the meds, it was all for show, because again, it wasn’t him that had the issue… So, back to a shitty little life for me. Personally, I don’t see the shame in taking anti-depressants. In fact, 3 months after Lennie was born, I started taking them. At his suggestion too may I add. I know, the injustice of it all! I’m glad I did to be fair, as it made life just a tad easier for a while. I let his shit slide and played at being a good wife. But shit can’t be hidden forever when it’s not meant to be. Not even the fucking tablets could help me tolerate the intolerable for the foreseeable. The straw that broke the camel’s back was when me and my Mum were walking through town one day and she said how sad she was to see me stuck in a loveless marriage. Loveless marriage, say what? That, dear diary, was like a smack in the face because, right up until that very moment, I didn’t realise that I was not in love with the Turk anymore. But that’s Mums for you, they see everything, especially the things we don’t. The Mother had also said that I had made my bed, and as sad as it was, that was my life now. But it didn’t have to be, did it? Surly there must be another option? There must be a way I could find my path back to being me again? And that my friends, is where I shall leave it for today. Its time for a coffee and a fag, and binging 'The Real Housewives of Cheshire'. Always a good reality escape for an hour or so. Love Always, Lei xx ***New to my blog? Wanna know where it all began? Catch up right here with my first book 'The Final Summer of Vodka'*** Let me tell you about Daniel Lewis-Dayle... We go back quite a way, all the way to when I was still repping in fact. Ahh, those were the days ;) So, my good friend Dan is a busy young chap – amongst sponsoring a film and starring in Panto’s, he has also recently written his third erotic novel of the Connor Candlish series. Not long ago I was in the UK for a 3 week holiday, and whilst there I managed to pin Dan down for a catch up, which is quite a hard task considering how he bounces around like tigger! Lets take a look see at just what Dan has been up to recently... Let’s catch up - tell me about book 3 and what’s new? 'Spurned Lovers' picks up immediately from the ending of The Black Orchid so we instantly find out who has been shot on board the USS Vivandier. The story then starts to take a turn back to the beginning where Connor and a friend from his old band opt to open a bar back in Marmaris, which of course holds some memories for our lothario. Cast your mind back to book one, where Shannon and Sian had an incident. There are a lot of new characters in this book. Although he is only mentioned in Book one: A Man Of Freedom, we finally get to meet the infamous Samuel Chetwynd (or Chet) as he is known. They are drawn back together by a chance meeting and Chet forgives Connor for walking out of their band all those years ago, and they decided to invest their money in a new venture. We also have the mysterious O'Neales (Mick and Angie) who sell them the bar but with a twist. One of them is linked to someone from Connor's past but how? Life and love will never be easy for Connor. He loses his lovers Chris and Anastasia in one way or another and the guy just doesn't know how to be alone. I developed one character who actually is not named for this reason. This is a Romanian Gypsy woman who warns him that if he continues to think with his organ there will be consequences to pay. Needless to say this woman crops up a number of times and results with one of his lovers walking away from their life. This is when Connor says "Enough, let's start afresh". Of course because of this, Connor has the chance to taste new forbidden fruit in the form of new relationships. Welcome Chet's wife Rayleigh, his sister Chloe, holiday rep Kelsey, and PR Consultant Gabe - all interested in Connor's appendage. We will also see Connor slip back into his rep role on a number of occasions. I think he misses his life. Remember the end to book one? We are now working up to the revelation which is to be revealed in the final book of the series. I like to leave lots of clues and twists and turns as to who is responsible. A lot of readers message me with comments like "I did not see that coming" and "You should write for Hollyoaks" But I think my favourite accolade at the moment is "This really puts 50 Shades into the Disney Category". I like that. As you should Dan, that's quite the compliment. Are there any original characters returning? Chris, Anastasia, Lana (whether short term, long term, dead or alive - I will not reveal) all return, as does Lei Lawson, your very own lead character from The Marmaris Diaries. 'Spurned Lovers' also has a hint of book one with lots of references to Connor's past as a holiday rep, including returns from Sandra and even the recruitment officer for Fantastical Holidays, Jayne. Once more Connor cannot stop himself getting involved in the rep lifestyle. We also have the stories end for one or more particularly nasty characters which of course eliminates them from the ultimate conclusion. I was happy to read Lei had returned, after all, bar the main character, she is obviously my personal favourite in your books ;) What about Ophelia? People don't like what Connor does to Ophelia and he starts to realise that he is responsible for her mental health. Connor himself goes on a mission to help her, but there is an ulterior motive. Needless to say, she will be angry with him and with good reason. Who do you like to write about in your books? It has to be Ophelia. I think she is the glue that makes Connor slip between sane and insane. He even admits on more than one occasion he still would! Dirty boy. What inspired you to write the Connor Candlish series? As an actor, I am very open minded and I needed to write in my spare time. Connor Candlish initially started out as memoirs from my days of repping, then I ended up putting sex in the story, and gradually Connor was born. The series will culminate in a murder of the hero and each story will develop characters and reasons why someone may want him dead. Lovers can become enemies and enemies may become lovers. Remember this is Connor so he cannot really keep it in his pants long so he is bound to get into trouble in this ongoing series. OMG, so we already know that Connor is going to die at the end?? Bad times. Ongoing series? Tell us more.... I have 5 books in mind for Connor. Book One: A Man Of Freedom, Book Two: The Black Orchid and Book Three: Spurned Lovers are already out. I am currently working on closing Book Four which will be entitled ‘Journal Of An Unloved Woman’, and then tie everything up in a gripping finale which will finally reveal the killer. What makes Connor tick? Sex. He loves it and cannot get enough of it. This book will see Connor begin to realise that sex can be used as a weapon both for and against him. I think people will be surprised with his choices. People who have read it have said they love how they change their opinion on Connor. Connor is initially unlikable as I wanted to make him a real person with flaws and someone who has a past. Eventually time and incidents move him forward into the protagonist and the reader will see him change and develop to cope with whatever he faces. I must admit, I didn't like Connor to begin with, I thought he was arrogant and unlikable, then all of a sudden he just grew on me! How do you bring the characters to life? The characters are pretty much all based on people I know or have known. Because they are real people, I was able to write them and their personalities to fit. Names were chosen because of the story, or if they sounded right for the part. Ophelia is actually a real person but she is not as crazy as her character in the book. I would also like to point out that although ‘A Man Of Freedom’ was majority fact based with a few twists, no one actually died. This came with the ongoing development of the story. Can you describe your writing style? My style is all about short snappy sentences and phrases. I like to be straight to the point. I choose this as it helps to keep the pace, reader involvement and the movement of the story. I do not like reams and reams of prose, where the author takes a long time to get to the point. As a reader, I like to work with my imagination, so as an author I want the reader to experience a fast read. How long have you been writing? I have written stories for years. My first short story was one called ‘Malin’ and it was about a girl who was being bullied at school and she fakes her own death. Years later, she returns to the four bullies and psychologically drives them to a similar fate. I did not publish this, so I may return to this at some point. Another story I wrote was about a young boy who was being sexually abused by his own father and he blames himself for the abuse until he has his own children. Then of course there was ‘Auriala’. This has currently been taken off sale by myself so I can re-launch the series when the time is right. I wasn't happy with them, and if I am not happy then maybe my audience wouldn't be. So I want to revisit them now that my writing has developed. Your other stories sound interesting, especially 'Malin'. Im looking forward to seeing what becomes of them. Who is your favourite author? Now imagine if he/she was writing a new novel and incorporated Connor Candlish into their work. How would the story go? I have such an eclectic taste of literature but I have to say I love Anne Rice who whilst famous for her Vampire Series, also wrote erotica called ‘Beauty’, which is based upon Sleeping Beauty, and let's put it this way - the prince doesn't wake her up with a kiss. So there are two scenarios here. First Anne Rice, Vampire writer. In this case because Connor likes men and women, I think he would be bitten by Lestat and they fall in love. Perhaps Lestat would just end up killing Connor in the end. Secondly there is the erotic series. In this case I would say Connor would be best suited as one of Beauty's suitors. They enjoy a romantic time before Ophelia pops along and goes a little bit mad with him. Hollywood is calling, you are on the casting call. Who are your stars? Connor is sexy, and needs a sexy cast. Connor needs to be played by a stud so that people want to make love to him. So it has to be someone like Chris Hemsworth. I would like someone like Ansel Elgort (Baby Driver) as Chris, and perhaps Gareth David-Lloyd (Torchwood) as Greg. I would also love Chris Pratt to have a cameo in it somewhere... Perhaps he could play Chet? I think the real Chet would actually love that idea. Then there are the women, and Hollywood has a lot of sexy ladies. Maybe Jennifer Lawrence for Ophelia or Anastasia? Both beautiful blondes who get to sleep with Thor. I am sure Hollywood would have a massive audition front, however I would not mind the raw talent of the unknown. I have a friend called Siobhan who would be ideal as Angie O'Neale from book 3. Working in theatre and indie films it is really important that an unknown gets the chance to shine, because that is how I gained my opportunities. Connor Candlish is an official sponsor of the movie ‘Crispy's Curse’ which is about a killer clown which I also starred in. Well done on the film, that's really cool news. So, you consider Connor Thor like...? Who would you have to endorse your novel? I am lucky enough to already have a few. A model called ‘Dark Raven’ is the cover model for 'Spurned Lovers', and she is all about what this book series is - sex appeal. As mentioned above, I have also sponsored a local movie called 'Crispy's Curse', in which John Williams advertises my work for me in this film. I have to admit I was over excited when I first saw my book on screen. Quite right too Dan! Which book has made you cry? The Chronicles Of Narnia. Well really it was the last book ‘The Last Battle’ which made me cry when the secret was revealed.... It would be nice if Connor can do this to his fans. Who is your favourite underappreciated Author? This question is similar to my opinion on acting, and I would like to support an indie writer so to speak, so people like yourself Louise. I would support any new writer with a critique I hope they would accept. Ahh thats ace! You have always been great with reading over my books and giving me your honest opinion before going to print. Do you believe in writers block? Basically I have a similar philosophy to my good friend John Evans, author of ‘The Unwilling Recruit’ which is "if you have an idea, write it down, if you don't then don't". I personally have periods of time where I simply do not put pen to paper, and there are other times where the total juxtapose hits me and I write, write and write. So my work ethos is to multiply by factors of two or three so I can keep on top of my projects no matter what happens. And readers block? Yes. Philip K Dick novel ‘Valis’ actually scared me. I tried and failed to read it countless times because it is written in so much depth. I completed it in stages. This is why I prefer snappy sentences but this book made me think. What is your advice to anyone who wants to write? Don't let anyone tell you differently, you do what you want. Second, write for yourself, and not for the audience. You must enjoy writing. Finally, write what you know. I am happy to help anyone who asks. And finally, in 5 words or less, can you describe your newest novel? Erotic, Suspense, Series, Summer, Fun. Thank you Dan, as always you have been great to interview. Now where's my whisky? You can also read the interview that Dan had with me when 'Once Upon a Whisky was released right HERE Dear My Loyal 5, Well, the time has arrived and the next Marmaris Diary has been released! Yup, all has been completed from the editing and countless re-writes right the way through to the proof reading and cover design. Its been a hard old task and I thank God all is now done. I swear, the whisky wont be the death of me, but this bloody book will ;) So without further adieu, here are the links to buy in both Paperback and Kindle/Kindle App: PAPERBACK KINDLE Before I sign off for a long arsed break from writing, can I trouble you to leave a little review when you have finished the read? Reviews help big time so the more I have, the more the book is promoted on Amazon. If you do decide to leave a review, please click the above Paperback and Kindle links as its right there that you can pop your feedback down as well as buy the book. Put it this way, I will love you forever ;) Its finally here - I am super excited that I can finally reveal the newest Marmaris Diary book cover! I hope you like it as much as I do! Let me know what you think :)
#Amazon #Kindle #Paperback #Ereader #TheMarmarisDiaries #Part2 #TheFinalSummerofVodka #LeisBack #OnceUponAWhisky G'Day Vodka Lover!
Just a quick update as Im in the process of choosing a cover for the new Marmaris Diary (May 2017 release) and wanted to get your opinion on this one. I really like it, but its not about me - Its about YOU and if YOU really like it! So, let me know your feedback, what changes you would make, etc, so I can make any final adjustments and hopefully a decision. Thank you in advance, your help is always appreciated :) Mucho Gracias, Louise & Gucci 'Dear My Loyal 5,
With my good friend Dan's release of his new book 'The Black Orchid', a follow up to 'Connor Candlish: Man of Freedom', I thought it best to pin him down now for an interview before he gets too busy for little old me... He was gracious enough to accept and gave me a great big dirty scoop on his latest naughty novel :) So Dan, tell me about Connor Candlish – The Black Orchid? This is the sequel to 'A Man Of Freedom', and I have been messaged by fans requesting the sequel. Now I will be honest, I had already written most of it and was waiting for a release date. So 'The Black Orchid' picks up just days after the end of 'A Man Of Freedom' and follows Connor on a few months of his life after the tragic events in Marmaris. There are many twists and turns in this one, and it has become darker, and sexier. I have even had marriage proposals because they think I am Connor…. Well what can I say? Haha no way! That's mental! But have you accepted any, that's what we want to know!!! So for readers that don't yet know, what is 'The Black Orchid'? 'The Black Orchid' is a strip club in Blackpool, which is owned by an unlikely friend. Connor is reluctantly forced to take the role as a manager, and is not prepared for half of the things he encounters inside. The Black Orchid was born from a variation of bars I used to drink in when I lived in Blackpool, old and new. Here Connor will meet a new woman who is hiding something from him….. Clues are a big part in the characters as well. For example…. Who is Anastasia and what is she hiding? Also, look out for the lies he is told. Sounds ominous! Who's new in Book 2? This book is mainly set in the UK so don’t expect Connor’s past to remain far behind him! There are several returnees and also a whole new host of characters. Here we have a gorgeous dancer at the strip club, along with the security team, and let’s not forget Chris’s parents, who say they hate Connor, but …. do they? A friend literally asked me to write her into the book, and I did; Allie is a lusty older landlady who likes her rent in a sexual form. He really is a lucky man. OMG that!s funny, when I was reading the parts of Allie I did wonder who you had based her on! Lets be clear here, its definitely not me :) How true to life are the characters names in your story? As this book introduces a new series of characters, the majority of them are made up from people I know. There are some exciting new characters coming up and I have based them on friends. We have bouncer Steve who works at The Black Orchid - he is based on my friend Steve and he will probably slap me when he sees what I have done. Anastasia is also a real person – but with a different name. The girl in question knows who she is and loves what I have done with her. Like it! You hint at returning Characters? Can you tell me who they might be? Remember the hippies? Well they make a brief return. A lot of the originals return, especially the dreaded Ophelia, and it’s safe to say Chris is somewhere in the loop. Also check out Lana in her new role. Then there are the enemies…. Remember, this book is building into a murder mystery, so look out for the clues. Will my very own main character Lei be making a return? In a way. You will need to read it to see how. :) Is Connor still a….. well…. Tart? Yes ! Definitely. He is still confused over whom he loves, and I promise you he gets to find love at least once in book 2. But knowing Connor he will not keep it tucked in his pants for long. Or does he….? You may be surprised by how vulnerable Connor is now. Interesting! I wonder if Anastasia has anything to do with that...? Is he still sleeping with anyone with a pulse ? Yes. Why not? Connor is young and attractive. When you read this book you will see how his heart is broken, and why he sleeps around. I think deep down he is in love and it just keeps eluding him. Will the fans still love to hate him? Yes, I think he needs this. There are moments when you really love him, but then you think…. What a dick ! In this book I really felt for him so I totally get what you mean here. How much of the story is true? Again, it is a highly true account, but maybe only 60% I only wish that my life would be 100% like this. Who knows maybe book 3 will be? Dan if your life was 100% like Connor's you would be dead by now :) If you can choose one celebrity to endorse your book now – who and why? Chris Ramsey and the team on Virtually Famous would be ideal. As the author, who would play Connor in the Movie? And who would be his co-stars? I still say Chris Hemsworth as Connor, but now we have a whole plethora of partners, so let’s add Elle Fanning as Anastasia and Tom Felton could be the love interest for Lana. Possibly also Eva Longoria and Matt Bomer as Chris’s parents. (that’s actually a really sexy pairing). Eva Longoria would make the best Eve! Will there be a sequel ? Definitely. I am currently working on Book 3; yet to be named. It will go back to the sun and is based in Mallorca and Marmaris. It will see Connor and one of his lifelong friends running a beach front bar in his Bermuda’s and with much much more. BUT, who will he be with sexually? Who knows? This IS Connor we are talking about..! And Louise, you have come to know Connor quite well now, what do you personally think of him? Well, in the first book I hated him then I liked him, then I loved him. In the second book I really felt for him but found him sexy as hell still. What Connor gets up to sex wise has me blushing and thats saying something! The guy is a good egg but is totally misunderstood haha. And finally, how can readers discover more about you and you work? Blog: http://dantobiaslewisdayle.weebly.com/ Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/daniel.dayle And - https://www.facebook.com/dannylewisdayle/ Twitter: https://twitter.com/DanLewisDayle1 Amazon Author Page: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1534825495/ref=tsm_1_fb_lk Also available on my 'Order My Books' page right here on my website! And... You can read my very own interview on my latest release 'Back in Blighty' that Dan conducted here on Dan's website: READ IT HERE Dear My Loyal 5, As Im celebrating the run up to the release of the NEW Marmaris Diary, I decided to do a FREE giveaway of the mini e-book spin off 'Back in Blighty' for a limited period! Read it HERE for FREE TODAY ONLY! Can I ask a favor? Once you have read it would you mind popping a little review on Amazon? This would greatly help in getting my books out there and each positive review that is left is directly helping me on my journey as a writer. You can do this HERE. Also, if you havent reviewed #TheFinalSummerofVodka as yet, would you take a minute to do so HERE? 'Back in Blighty' Blurb: Lei Lawson is back, but this time on UK soil! This short 'spin off' following on from 'The Final Summer of Vodka: The Marmaris Diaries', sees Lei on holiday in the UK. Follow her shenanigans, shopping sprees, home comforts, old friends, old flames, and off course boozy nights out in the run up to starting a new Marmaris diary. What has Lei been up to in the 5 years she has been diary dark? Has life changed for our wannabe socialite? Does Lei end up with more than just a hangover at the end of her holiday? Read on to find out more in this UK based novelette before she heads back home to Turkey. Thank you in advance for reading and leaving a little review, and if you haven't already, feel free to sign up to my NEWSLETTER for news on the NEW DIARY released in May! All my love, Louise (and Gucci) xxxx Dear My Loyal Five, I am pleased to announce that I have a release date for my 'spin off' novelette in 'The Marmaris Diaries' Series. Title: The Marmaris Diaries: Back in Blighty Release Date: Monday 16th January In the spin off we see wannabe socailite Lei take a 3 week trip to the UK where she may end up with more than just a hangover. Follow her antics and shenanigans, and see just how much has changed in the 5 years that she has been diary dark. And... The best bit about it is; You can read it absoutely FREE if you have subscribed to my newsletter!! If you havent subscribed, you can do so right HERE Please share this page so that all 'The Final Summer of Vodka' lovers get a FREE copy before it goes on general sale :) Im super excited that I have been able to release this as a novelette and that I can keep it in The Marmaris Diaries family (lets call it book 1.5 as book 2 is on its way), and I simply cant wait to hear what your thoughts on how Lei's life has changed! Although the novelette is somewhat different to the first book 'The Final Summer of Vodka', I hope you enjoy the read. I will alert you by email as soon as the book is free for you to download on Monday 16th Jan onto Kindle or your Kindle App, so please keep an eye on your junk mail in case my newsletter update lands in there accidentally :) All my love, Louise xoxo |
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