Some of you may have noticed something special about me. It’s something very integral to who I am and it reflects a lot in my writing style. Anyone want to take a guess? Yes, that’s right. I am British.
I was born and raised in a little town south of Manchester, spent some time over the river from Liverpool when I met and fell in love with my now husband and now live in a different little town to the East of Manchester. I’m a Manchester United fan and I am very much an English Lady, so much so I’ve used it as an internet handle for years.
You might notice a certain British quality to my writing. Often I write about English towns and cities. I love to write about Scarborough, my favourite seaside resort which is situated in Yorkshire and I do try to bring a realistic view of Britain to my writing. Editing is always fun as all the editors I work with are American. There is always some Brit word that trips them up!
Here’s an example of my style from Getting Intimate. John has just thought of the perfect way to get his girlfriend back after a terrible misunderstanding.
The lady at the posh card shop in the high street looked horrified as I literally ran through her door in my stinking workout gear from the night before. Sweat flowed down my face, my hair hadn’t been brushed and no doubt my eyes were red from crying. She probably thought I was drunk or high on something. I really didn’t care though. I just panted out my request.
“Have you got any Valentine’s cards?”
“Not on display. Sir, its August -- you’ve missed it by 6 months.” She looked more confused and disdainful by the moment.
“I know, it’s just I need one today. Do you have any in storage?”
“Well, I probably have a few left over. Hang on one moment please, erm, sir, I’ll be right back.”
I stood by the counter, enjoying the cool air from the desktop fan whirring there. I heard a drawer sliding open and moments later she was back, holding a small pile of cards in her hands.
“Thank you.” I cracked my first smile in almost a day and to her credit, she smiled back. Wary and quite tight-lipped, but a smile all the same.
I flipped through the first few. Far too jokey and blokey. The next batch was too sentimental and twee. Then I found it. It was a simple little card with an embossed red rose on it, like someone had made it by hand. It was perfect. I paid the lady and thanked her for her help then ran out again, I imagine much to that poor woman’s relief.
I knew exactly what to write and it took only a moment to do it. I sealed the envelope, wrote her name on the front then jogged through the mid-August heat to her house. I popped the letter through the door and ran home, the sun beating down on my head and flesh, heating me to an uncomfortable degree. I deserved it, though. I deserved to feel those punishing rays. I had broken the heart of the girl I loved.
I hope you enjoy my particular way of writing; I am sure my British side will always shine through!