Whisky - it's what the lady wants

Inspiration is a funny thing, you never know when it might strike.  There are ways that you can kick start inspiration but other times it comes out of nowhere.  Last week, whilst I was working diligently on the novel, I suddenly wanted a glass of whisky.  This surprised me as 1) I'm not much of a drinker and 2) it was the middle of the day.  I'll admit to being partial to a nice smoky west coast whisky but not in the middle of the day all on my lonesome.  Still the nagging voice about whisky did not go away, after a couple of days of wanting whisky and not drinking any I started prodding at this overwhelming need.  


I have a habit of getting a bit overly involved with characters that I make up.  However, despite being nominally in charge of my own imagination I was unprepared for Simone, who being in some emotional turmoil was feeling more than a little unreasonable.  

Writing out a first scene with Simone to set up what is going on has at least calmed her down a little.  She no longer demands drinks in the middle of the day.

Here's a quick sample of my first draft for an opening scene:


Simone? Open the door.” Max hammered the front door. He’d been here for 10 minutes and he knew she was in there. He could hear her, singing. It was a miracle all the dogs in the neighbourhood weren’t howling along. There was a brief lull in the music. He pounded the door again. Eventually he heard someone scrabbling at the locks.

Simone opened the door, her hair was sticking up on one side as if she’d woken up and forgotten to comb it. She had serious panda eyes on the go as well. Not that he blamed her for that. The last few days hadn’t been easy.

“Hey Max. Maxxy boy. How. Are. You.” Simone poked Max on the shoulder and grinned up at him.

“Sober.”

“Bummer. I’m not.” Simone waved him into the house and walked with elaborate care towards the kitchen.

“I heard about Finn.” Max closed the door and nudged the pile of post to one side with his foot. He pulled off one shoe and noted there was one abandoned black stiletto on the wooden hallway floor.

“This is a shoe free household!” she bellowed from the kitchen. “Because God forbid you mark on the floor and walk.” Simone came back into the hallway and stared at Max. She was holding two glasses both half full with an amber liquid. “I’ve been wearing stilettos. But I took them off.” The whisky sloshed around in the glasses as she gestured vaguely in the direction of the shoe. “I’d let you wear them.”

“Thanks Si, I’m good.” Max looked at the two glasses in her hands. “How much have you drunk.”

“I am having a whiskey tasting.” She held out one glass.

“Ehm. Is this Eric’s?”

“Possessivenesslyion is nine tenths of the law.” Simone inhaled deeply through her nose and exhaled out her mouth.

“Are you going to throw up?”

“Nope. Take the damn whiskey.” Simone weaved a bit where she was standing.

The glass was waved around in front of his face. Eric was going to be pissed about this. Max grabbed the glass and took a swig. “Gahrg. Shit. That’s strong.” It burned down the back of his throat and left him with a mouthful of ash.

“Cask strength.”

“Warn me next time.” Max shook his head to try to clear some of the fumes. He took a deep breath. “None of this has been your fault.”

Simone walked back towards the kitchen, casting a glare back over her shoulder. “Fuck off.”

Undeterred Max followed her. On the counter was Eric’s entire single malt collection, in front of each bottle there was a glass.