I wrote a novel

please don't read it I'm scared

I find this very scary, but in a I want you to like my work way rather than a you’re going to judge me way.

Below you’ll find the beginning of my novel, Good Morning (this is a working title, and it’s literally titled this right now because that’s the first line of the book. I know - very lazy).

I guess this is the elevator pitch?? Good Morning is a witchy, queer, spicy, murder-mystery-ish (ish cos you know who did it from the beginning) comedy?? (I think I’m funny idk if you will). Is it a romcom? Might be a romcom.

Anyway, enjoy the prologue.

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Prologue

Daphne

“Good morning,” yawned the guy in my bed as he rolled over to face me, his morning breath suffocating me like a leaf blower on full blast.

“Morning?” I echoed, half expecting an answer to one of the many questions rolling around in my head. What drugs did I end up taking last night? Why did I go to sleep with socks on when I literally never sleep with socks on? And, most urgently, who (in the actual fuck) is this guy?

“Not a morning person, huh?” He crumpled his face and reached for his jeans, which were folded neatly on the ‘getting ready’ chair in front of the mirror next to my bed, with the speed of a sloth on tranquilisers.

He wasn’t bad-looking: fluffy blonde hair, slim yet ridiculously ripped figure, angelic eyes, and a cute little smile. No, he wasn’t bad-looking at all. In fact, he was super extremely good-looking. Not really my type, though, considering I’m a lesbian.

“So…?” I offered, annoying myself at this point with the completely unanswerable questions. “What…?” I tried for the dreaded question but struggled to find the words. Urgh. If I were him, I’d have turned murderous by now. But he just laughed at me, pulled his socks up, and shrugged. His back was carved like one of those nude statues of Zeus stolen by The British Museum.

I wrapped the loose sheet around me, suddenly conscious of my nakedness. Of everything I’ve done in my twenty-five years of life, surely waking up next to a handsome model-man with no memory of the night before has to be the craziest. Did I mention I’m gay?

“If you’re trying to ask if we had sex…” His innocent smile twisted into a cheeky, half-smirk that threatened to implode my entire world.

“…then the answer is yes. We had sex.”

This is the part in the film where I throw myself back down on the bed, screaming NOOOOOO at the ceiling before they cut to me retracing my steps from the night before.

“Not very good sex,” he added, reminding me I’d been silent for at least thirty awkward seconds. “But it was sex.”

“That last part felt unnecessary.” I shoved my face into a pillow and rolled over, hoping that if I closed my eyes tightly enough, I’d wake up yesterday and relive the day over and over again until I got it right.

A man?

In my flat?

Walking toward my bedroom door?

“Breakfast?”

Offering me breakfast?

“Or I can just leave. If that’s better for you?”

At least he can take a hint. I stared at him, wordless. God, this man must think I’m completely out of it. Or insane. Or both. And now he was in the hall, slipping his shoes on and nodding to himself. Or maybe at me. A silent agreement passed between us, and he headed for the front door.

The heaviness of my eyelids threatened to carry me back to sleep. Had I even slept properly? The only person who could tell me was walking out the door.

“The aesthetic of your house is cool.”

I jumped up, startled to hear him still in the hallway.

“Are you, like, some warlock or something?”

I followed his voice to find him gripping one of the crystals I’d inherited from Nana - purple amethyst by the door for protection. Next to it sat my pink Himalayan salt jar, two singing bowls, and a book of herb spells I’d picked up from one of the many local magick shops.

“Yeah, haha.” I laughed, completely unconvincing. “A warlock. Sure.”

He scanned me with those brown eyes, and I felt like I was going to faint. Whether from the extreme hangover I just realised I was having or the fact that this strange man I apparently slept with was questioning me about witchcraft when I’d clearly (in my head) asked him to leave, I didn’t know. I stumbled a bit, grabbing the amethyst from him with a defensive tug and placing it back where it belonged.

“I’m going now. Thanks for… umm. Last night,” he forced.

“Yeah, thanks.” It came out way more sarcastically than even I expected.

He was finally actually going, leaving me with an overactive imagination and a complete identity crisis.

Thanks, I mocked at the closed door.

For a split second, I stared at the empty hall, struggling to believe myself. How had I made such a mess of such a simple night? Would I ever know what got me into this mess? How could I…

It would be ridiculous to chase after him. Instead, I paced back and forth, overthought and overthought again until…

“Wait!”

I screamed, sprinting down the path, still wrapped in a sheet and nothing else. The cold air hit me (and my nipples) immediately.

What the fuck was I doing?

“Don’t go. I need to talk to you.”

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Don’t tell me what you think cos I’m actually very anxious about this

love you thanks for reading bye

xxx