Dear Susanna,
I am writing in response to the Urbis opportunity involving your company.
I have completed the final edit of my second novel, “Afterlife”, which I would like you to consider.
A brief outline;
“Afterlife” is a completed 80,220 word adult novel.
What happens after we die? Not a question about heaven and hell, what happens here on Earth, to those that knew us or were somehow touched by our presence?
What happens after our life ends?
When Chris Pendergast dies in a car accident, the after effects of this single incident have a far greater impact than merely leaving a grieving widow.
The ensuing chain of events shatters marriages and creates new relationships, permanently redirecting the lives of all concerned.
Yet, with the exception of his wife Shirley, none of those affected knew of him as anything other than as a casual social acquaintance.
This novel explores the way many people live within the stereotypes others have defined for them and how, once they step outside of these comfort zones, there is no predicting who they eventually become or what they may eventually do.
The potential market for this novel is primarily female, late twenties onwards that have outgrown Mills and Boon and are looking for a more mature work.
At the end of this query letter I have attached some samples from the novel.
Some more information about me;
Born in England, but having worked around the world, I elected to retire early and live abroad. I have spent the last three years concentrating on writing fiction, both for adults and for children.
This was preceded by some twenty years of publishing non-fiction.
During these last three years, I have completed 2 adult novels, one children’s book, and thirty short stories for adults. I am now working on a new Novel.
I have been writing since I was sixteen, I am now fifty nine, but this was initially mainly poetry. Helping my mother edit her two novels, during my early twenties, introduced me to the both the joy and the hard work of writing adult fiction.
I also worked for two years as a sub-editor on books and magazines, which greatly improved my technical writing abilities.
However, I still chose to move into a professional career in IT, and my fiction writing became a part time hobby.
I found that I could not be very creative this way, partly because of the contrast to my non-fiction publishing for my career, and partly because that just did not suit my approach to writing – hence my retirement to concentrate on fiction.
During the last twenty years I also worked part time as a counselor, primarily for the abused, both adults and children. I draw heavily on this experience in my adult fiction.
I look forward to hearing from you,
Avedis
Samples:
Prelude – October 1986
From the driver’s seat, looking through the windscreen, everything appeared as either black or shades of black. To call any of these gray would be a misnomer.
Black silhouettes of trees on a marginally lighter black sky, and a black tarmac road snaking away into the distance.
Chris occasionally struggled to see the nearside curb, his right headlight was good enough, but the left barely provided a blurred lightening of the dark surrounding. Not very good for a two year old car. Heaven help anyone, or anything, close to the curb. He would not see them until far too late. He would have to have the lamp adjusted, or the bulb replaced, whatever was required, tomorrow. It was making night driving difficult.
Most of this part of the road was straight and overtaking was allowed, but with the lack of traffic that hardly mattered. The broken centre white line flashed by, like some insane visual Morse code, all dashes and no dots. In the oppressive dark of the night, the endless black of the tarmac and that Morse code slowly hypnotized.
He was in countryside, and trees lined the road on both sides. Sometimes the higher branches stretched across the tarmac, dark hands reaching out from either side, sometimes meeting in the middle like dark claws shaking hands. Lit from below they seemed unreal, threatening, eerie .
He had switched off the cassette player at the start of the journey, wanting the silence and his thoughts for a while. That had proved a dangerous thing to have done.
He considered that car journeys were a waiting game. You walked to the car, climbed in, started the engine. Engaging the gears, you moved off. Eventually, you would arrive at your destination.
In the meantime you waited for those two events to converge, the journey itself melting into an insubstantial memory, and you could you proceed with your life.
In the meantime you ticked off the miles, ticked off the seconds, the minutes, the hours.
And if you found the ticking of the passing seconds matched the timing of those Morse code dashes, you had better open the window for cold night air or drink some coffee, do something to ward off that nodding head, those closing eyes.
The silence, losing himself in his thoughts, this had brought that risk closer.
Suddenly a road sign flashed past, a sign he recognized. What the hell, that shouldn’t be here, not yet, it should be a long way ahead. He looked at the clock. No! He had been driving for over an hour, he had read the sign correctly, it was in the right place. An hour since he had left, since he had kissed his sleeping wife. An hour since he set out, once again, for an early morning meeting at head office, so far from home. He had little memory of most of that hour of driving, no recall of controlling this steel and plastic cocoon at high speed. He had been in robot mode. Shit, that was scary.
A bend was coming up, so he slowed down slightly. This car was fantastic, lots of power and clung to the road no matter what he did, yet a little caution might be appropriate. He wondered if he had shown such caution while in robot mode.
The bend was tighter than he expected, damn them for not bothering to put those warning arrows on the roadside.
It was also a far longer curve than he was prepared for, he didn’t remember it being like this last time.
Thank God, or at least Mercedes, for ABS and traction control. It was ABS that made him break two habits of a lifetime – buying a relatively new car and buying Mercedes, he usually bought much older second hand Alpha Romeo’s.
To justify his purchase, he had told his wife “If I have to drive so much, I need all the help I can get, have to stay safe for you.” His wife, Shirley, had just smiled. He had no need to justify anything with her, if he wanted it, then it was fine by her.
Suddenly Chris was pulled back to the present, there in front of him was the nightmare all fast drivers risk. A parked lorry at the apex of the curve, the driver, lit up by the headlights, leaning into the upturned cab, and no red triangle to give advance warning.
Chris started to wrench at the wheel, but it the short space of time available, this only resulted in his hitting the rear of the lorry at a slight angle, an angle that meant his driver side took the full force of the impact. He was dead within seconds.
If he hadn’t died just then, he would have been heartened to see the dawn just starting to give its light.
Chapter 1.1 – The News
(We witness Shirley being told of her husband’s death by the local policeman – Tom. He is not a bit player, we follow his story later in the novel. This sample follows on after Shirley closes the door on him)
Shirley walked down the hall and into the living room. She glanced at the clock, Chris would be arriving at the hotel soon and call her. Chris would have been arriving, would have been, not possible now.
She always slept lightly when he went away, which occurred usually at least once a month, so she had no trouble waking at Tom’s knocking. She had slipped on a robe and come down to answer the door thinking Chris had come back for some reason. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he had keys! When she saw it was Tom, she knew what it was about and merely waited to see how bad it was. She always expected it, but not for it to be that bad. Chris had always seemed immortal, one of those strong enduring survive anything people. Not someone who would die in a stupid car crash.
She sat down. The house seemed empty. It had never seemed empty before when Chris went away. It was light outside now, she had missed the dawn. Chris hated making these early starts, driving in the dark. When he called it was always light, “Morning love, I’ve arrived safely”.
It had been a long time since they had shared a rising dawn, but he must have seen many of them on his trips.
Chris, always to be referred to in the past tense now, past tense, Chris was, Chris used to, Chris would have, she must remember that.
Damn the man. They had only just started on life together, they had so many plans to see come to fruition. Driving a stupid car and crashing it and dying were not one of them. Damn him, damn his cars.
She remembered that they were going to see her friend Sally this weekend. Not a good or close friend, the visit was merely reciprocation. Sally worked at the vetenary surgery with Shirley. Chris had popped in one lunch time, when Shirley introduced him, he had surprised her by politely offering a dinner invitation to her friend. Sally had surprised everyone by accepting. The evening had turned out alright, polite chat, not all work related. Later, they both felt obliged to accept when she offered to return the favor. Chris had laughed, “Hope she’s better at cooking than she is at conversation”
Shirley had better phone Sally and cancel. She looked at the clock again, no, silly, much too early to wake her. Do it later, it would be OK, today was only Tuesday. Tuesday. Tuesday. Would she always remember Tuesday? The day Chris died. Or would she just remember the date, what date is it? She had better take note, she needed to know the date Chris died, it was important. “Oh Chris died on the…., it’s been two years to the day now, since Chris died”. Chris died.
The phone rang. Was that Chris calling in? She rushed to the phone and picked it up, listening for the voice on the other end. It had all been a terrible mistake, mistaken identity.
A woman’s voice, “Shirley, this is Mary. We have heard what has happened, I am so sorry. Are you alright?”
Yes, I’m fine. Chris has died and I am happy as Larry. Was just planning what to have for breakfast.
She put the phone down without speaking. Of course Chris was not going to call. Chris was dead.
She looked at the clock again, how long has it been since Tom left, how long before that when Chris actually died, she needed both the date and the time. Should she call Tom to ask? No, it would be in the paper, they would say at the inquest, there would be an inquest wouldn’t there? A man doesn’t just die and disappear without an inquest does he? She must remember to take note.
What would the inquest say, “he died because he drove too bloody fast, ignored his wife’s warnings, nagging, requests”? Arsehole, arsehole, arsehole. Oh Chris……
No one heard her finally break down and cry, sobbing her heart out. By the time she was ready to face others, the signs would have gone, dried up, she would have her face back on, they would all think her hard, tough. Life goes on.
(The chapter continues…)
Chapter 1.3 – Time
(Two months have passed. Shirley has gradually become adapted to life without Chris. Here, she has a relapse – which leads to her meeting another main character, Harry).
One day, she just had to get out of the house. She had no need for shopping, no one she wanted to visit, no where she wanted to see. So she walked into the garden. At the boundary of their land, her land, Chris was gone, at the back of the house, there was an old fence. Chris had constantly put off repairing it, so it was barely a barrier to anything. She had chided him, “You really should do something about that fence, before it collapses.”
He had merely nodded, “Sure, one day. No hurry, we don’t have anything to keep in or out do we”.
She walked up to it now, leant on it while trying to understand what had motivated her to leave her sanctuary. It wasn’t just the silence in the house.
Sometimes the isolation changed from numb existence to heartache and despair, to the yearning for company, compassion and tenderness. She was overcome with a desperate need for the touch of another, a voice other than her own. A battle to be won because there was no choice, Chris was gone, she wanted no one else.
Today was one of those times.
After he had died, there was shock, numbness. And rising above the grief, gratitude that he had arranged for sufficient insurance to pay off all the debts, the house loan, plus enough for her to live on for many years. “I’m glad to say, you’re pretty much set for life” her lawyer had told her. Yes, set for life. A life without Chris, without love, without him. Yet, part of her was grateful. She would not have been able to cope with working, commuting, dealing with money problems. There was the feeling of betrayal, an unclean guilt that such feelings should be there. The fact that money, the house, everything was now meaningless, that she was merely grateful she did not have to face the world, this did not diminish the guilt. And there was pain, deep suffering and personal loss. She was a survivor. Everyone always told her she was a survivor. He used to tell her this. “You’re my woman of strength and pain”. He said this because he knew of her history. He promised to always be there so that she would never need to survive again. They had built a life together. The house was their dream, their escape. The isolation was heaven. To have achieved it so soon after becoming married, to both want the same thing and actually have it, they felt blessed. Blessed in having found each other and blessed in creating the life they wanted. “we are so lucky” he had said.
Death had no qualms, no respect for sanctuary. And he was gone.
She believed in God, yet now found that no belief in an afterlife eased the pain, there was no panacea of feeling that he watched over her. Yes, his grave was there, what was left of him remained in that cemetery. She never visited it, him, she wished she hadn’t respected his wish to be buried, it should have been cremation and spread the ashes, then no guilt over ignoring his grave. She had paid to have someone care for the site, place fresh flowers sometimes, though who would see this, who would care, she didn’t know.
She hoped one day she would find some basic peace. If anything, her love of the place, the isolation, was growing. Except on rare occasions, such as today. Her normal way of fighting these unbearably sad days was work. For some reason, that would not do it today, so she had come and rested her arms on this fence.
She stared out across the grasslands towards the distant small wood at the foot of the hills. Sometimes the two of them had stood here looking out. “This is it, isn’t it. This is perfection. What more could we ask for.” he used to say.
While she stood there, a bird would fly by, some small or large animal stumble past, busy with its own life, and she would be momentarily lifted by the privilege of being able to glimpse a moment of its life.
Once, long ago, during a similar period of loneliness, before she met Chris, she had adopted a cat, a feral (something that was tame and now is wild). The little thing was skinny, full of cold, and scared to death. She spent weeks nurturing it, feeding it with food and love. Gradually it became nearly used to her, under great persuasion with toys and patience would reluctantly and suspiciously begin to play with her. But the cold would not go. She tried antibiotics, still the cold remained. Finally, the vet sent some blood away for a test. It was leukemia. “The kindest thing”, he had said over the phone, “is to put the little thing down immediately. Stop it suffering any more”. She was torn, but eventually and under pressure, agreed. “OK”. After replacing the phone in its cradle, she had thought again and immediately phoned back, but was too late. “It’s at peace now Shirley, all for the best”.
Again she had replaced the receiver. Suddenly pain, loss, all had welled up in her. She had actually cried “Oh no” out loud and burst into violent sobbing. It had been uncontrollable for ages. Her eyes, her lungs, everything aching from the fierceness of her crying. Eventually it had subsided. She had shocked at her reaction then.
Staring across the paddock, she saw two geese fly past, side by side. One male, one female. She remembered hearing that they mated for life.
She heard herself scream “Oh no” and burst into the same violent emotional outbreak, echoing now that long past outburst, that long buried pain. This time her cries, her pain was far deeper than when Tom had first told her of the accident. It reached down inside her, pulling out every heartbreak, every hurt from her past and from the present.
Suddenly the top fence rail snapped, rotten from weather and worm. She fell heavily onto the second and third rails, each also snapping under the sudden strain, and both woman and wood collapsed into the dirt.
From behind her, a man’s voice spoke gently, “You cried before the rails collapsed. How did you know?”
She twisted her head and neck, stared back and up to see a man standing there, gormlessly staring, his arms limp by his side, making no move to help her.
The mixed emotions of embarrassment, shame, and anger at having been caught off-guard, exposed in her anguish, welled up. She clumsily struggled to her feet.
“Who are you? What do you want here?”
(For most of his life Harry had been considered the village simpleton. He left school early and found a niche as the local handyman. Now, at just over forty years old, it is in this capacity that he initially forms a relationship with Shirley. As the relationship progresses, Shirley sees another side of the man and gradually nurtures and encourages his personal growth. Their relationship takes a turn and they become both emotionally and sexually involved. The relationship then fails, based on mutual misconceptions. Harry then takes more interest in his hobby making first furniture, then wooden sculpture. His work is ‘discovered’ and he gains fame and fortune. Running parallel to this, he forms a new relationship with another woman in the village – this time based mainly on sex. The woman, Rose, know about his previous relationship with Shirley, and is aware that he is still in love with her. Rose then falls pregnant to Harry but does not want this to force them into a more permanent relationship. In this scene, Harry is attempting to ‘do what is right’.)
Chapter 3.10 – The Gift
Rose was wondering just what might have happened, Harry had been insistent on seeing her today, as early as possible. Had Shirley changed her mind? He had certainly sounded very happy, so whatever it was could not be bad news. Well, not for him. She had found an increasing tendency to consider changing her mind about his role in her life. If Shirley had taken him back, she could scrub that idea.
They had decided to meet at the café where Rose had once bought him breakfast, so long ago it now seemed. She arrived first, but had only just taken a seat when he came in. He breezed past the counter, grabbing two menus on his way, and swooped into the chair facing her at the table.
He smiled at her, “My turn to buy breakfast, I owe you one.”
Rose sat fidgeting with her cutlery, both tense and worried. “To be honest Harry, I’m not that hungry. What is this about?”
His face changed, the happy grin morphing into something far more serious. “OK. Straight to business. Rose, whatever we decide, or what you decide, about where our relationship goes from here, there is one relationship neither of us can change. I don’t want to change it, I want to honor it”
Not sure where he was going with this, she just nodded. “I don’t dispute it Harry, I never would”
His smile returned again, “Good. Then I can do something for my child, and you have no reason to refuse me”
She put down the flimsy knife and fork, placed her hands flat on the table, and stared hard at his face.“You’ve lost me again Harry”
His smile, the smile that first made Shirley warm to him, the smile that still melted Rose’s heart, the smile without guile that seemed to shine straight from his soul, she wanted to lose herself in that smile.
Harry continued talking, “You know what has happened to me, with my work. I already have more money than I know what to do with, and my agent says that this is just the start.”
Why was he talking about all that, what had it to do with her? “I’m pleased for you Harry, you deserve some good fortune.”
He shrugged, then continued with enthusiasm, “I’ve no idea if I deserve it, but I have a good idea what I want to do with it. I’m going to buy my child a house, a good house, a house with a garden, and a pond, a house my child will be happy to grow up in”
Rose was stunned. Her first reaction was fear, fear of entrapment. Yes, she was considering having him fully in her life, but he wasn’t going to buy his way in. “I can’t, won’t accept that Harry”
He became agitated, as though he had secretly feared this response from her. “It’s not yours to refuse, I am buying it for my child. I guess that means you have to live in it, at least for the next few years, until our child becomes an adult.”
(Rose had been married, her affair with Harry adulterous. Her husband had always claimed that their lack of children was due to Rose’s infertility. When she became pregnant she found that he had been lying to her all these years, in fact had known that he was the infertile partner. They were now in the throws of a divorce)
Her settlement had gone very badly, she had little money and, she had to admit, was struggling desperately. Not paying rent would help a lot.
Harry hadn’t finished. “I will also start paying child support.”
This, none of this, was what she hoped that they would be talking about. Confused, her responses were totally unplanned, she felt lost. “No Harry, I don’t want money from you!”
Harry had planned for her reactions.“Again, not your choice Rose. I have more than enough.”
She snatched at the cutlery again, waved it around for a moment or two, then threw it back down on the table, “Oh yes it is! And it doesn’t matter how much money you have, it’s your money and not mine.”
Harry remained calm, “I can force this, though I’d prefer not to”
She suddenly felt cold, drained, her face white, “And how would you do that?”
He shrugged, “I can go for a DNA test, then notify the social services, the IRS, they will force you to take it.”
She stared coldly at him,, “You’ve thought this through, haven’t you!”
Harry did not want to hurt Rose, far from it. Yet he knew how stubborn she could be. This was for her own good. He would, therefore, make sure that she knew she had no choice. “No, my lawyer did. Rose, I know you are proud, and I know you don’t want me to buy you. This has nothing to do with whatever decision you make about us. This has to do with me being a father, a good father. That is my right. If you want us to go separate ways, that is your choice, that is your right, though I’d push for visitations once the child is old enough!”
She had instantly picked up on his ‘go separate ways ‘ and was surprised at just how much that idea hurt her. “Hey, this is going far too fast for me, I still haven’t bloody given birth yet, though I hope to God it’s soon”
He felt for her. She was in the latter stages of her ninth month, she was past that golden bloom and just wanting the baby out. “I know. You should be preparing for the birth, preparing for being a mother, not having to deal with money worries. Especially not when the father is here and happy to help.”
More confused than ever, she almost pleaded with him. “Can I think about this?”
He merely nodded, “Sure, think all you want. Just don’t take too long to come to your senses eh. We will need to start looking soon, though I’ve seen a few places I like”
Rose drove home in a daze, her mind slipping from being totally phased out, numb and dumb with shock, then spinning and going through so many ideas, thoughts. She needed to sleep.
(The story continues…)
Review item
Add to faves
Ratings & Rankings
