It took me a while to pick up the courage to narrate the stories for the audio versions of Twelve Roses for Love. I must thank Monisha Gumber for giving me the opportunity, in the first place to even consider doing audio versions of the stories, and in the second to encourage me to “go for it” and do the narration.
After a few tries, the first story I narrated was La Blue Luncheonette. I thought the whole thing had to be done in one “take”. So, I sat down with a glass of water and after a few tries I got it all into one continuous recording. Phew! It was only after she complimented me on, “doing it all in one go,” did I realise that I didn’t have to.
When it came to narrating Hearts for Valentine, I was much more at ease about the mechanics of the recording. However, the story is a bit of a tear-jerker and I worried that I might break down while narrating it.
I must confess that while doing the recording I did succumb to the words and the emotion of the moment (isn’t that what method actors do?). But… technology to the rescue! I stopped. Got my emotions under control. Used a few handy tissues. Had another sip of water and carried on. The audio expert who puts the visual and audio versions together has the necessary equipment to fix these stumbles and I think we have a good smooth rendition.
We have chosen several stories from the collection but haven’t translated all of them into audio versions. If you like these stories, I think you’ll thoroughly enjoy the others in the book. Trust me, although this is a collection of tales centred around the theme of love, they aren’t all about romantic love, there’s even one in there that I think will have you holding your sides laughing!
One after another nine of the stories from my short story collection, Twelve Roses for Love, are being featured by Vachi Audiobooks. This is a unique and refreshing way to listen to or read-along as a story unfolds. As one listener said to me, just close your eyes and let the words flow directly into your mind.
This story presents a mystery. Anita, the main character in our story, has nurtured a soft spot for her old school friend, Jake for many years. He was her secret love. Now, ten years later she is being invited to join the class reunion. She’s apprehensive. Life has been a bit hard on her and although she was once the school beauty she has let herself go. Now, she doesn’t want to attend the reunion for fear that they’ll tease her for putting on weight. And, for fear that Jake, who once seemed to care for her, may not care for her any more.
She meets him… or does she? You decide. Is he for real or a figment of her imagination?
In Twelve Roses for Love I wanted to highlight not only romantic love but love in so many different ways. This story addresses the all-important issues of ‘self-love’. Confident, happy people are often unaware that their very confidence and that glow of being comfortable in their own skins stems from the fact that they are loved.
This is supposed to be a natural phenomenon. But it’s not as common as we believe. I have read of, heard of, listened one-on-one to people who haven’t been nurtured in that beautiful cocoon of parental and familial love that some of us take for granted. And this was the background to the story that grew from a poem I initially wrote about domestic violence. I had read many cases of how abused young women try and cover up their bruises with make-up.
At that time I had taken up the challenge of writing a poem-a-day and the prompt was ‘Dark Lipstick’. A short poem was born on this subject. Later, I explored the sentiment of the poem and made it a bit longer for Womania, a winter festival in Bahrain in 2019, created by a friend who runs a PR, communications and advertising company called CreaTree Services. The event was developed to highlight the need for women’s empowerment.
Finally, when I was sorting through various short stories that I have written over the years, to include in Twelve Roses for Love, I came upon this poem. I remember looking at it and thinking, ‘Hmmm, self love, I really should have a story that talks about that.’ This story grew from that poem. You can read or listen to it here.
This is a small collection of twelve widely different stories that are all about love – not all of them romantic love. There’s the love that grows between sisters, a story about a woman who learns to love herself, the deep abiding love of an older couple, and so much more.
Courtesy a friend and Vachi Audiobooks nine of these stories are now being featured on their YouTube Channel as audio stories with a ‘read-along’ capability. There’s one story: First Impression, First Love that contains a riddle. Listen to it carefully or read it in my book, available on Amazon as both a Kindle and paperback here.
To visit the Vachi Audiobook YouTube channel, click this.
There’s an additional incentive for the story First Impression, First Love. If you can “get” what the story is really about, I will give the first five correct replies a prize – a personalised poem created exclusively for you or a special someone. Now wouldn’t that make an unusual stocking-stuffer for Christmas?
On the advice of a fellow-author, publisher and friend, I decided to re-jig the contents of Twelve Roses For Love. This meant that the first story, the one about Saint Valentine, became part of my author’s notes. As a result I was one story short. So, the paperback version of Twelve Roses for Love has an extra story, for some reason that extra story hasn’t uploaded to the e-book version. I’m working on fixing that.
In the meantime, I think it only fair to share that extra story as a free read here. I’m hoping that when some of my followers read this one, they’ll realise that the stories contained in Twelve Roses aren’t your typical romances. There are a few that are, and as I have mentioned before, there’s one rather amusing and saucy story at the end of the book. For now, here’s your bonus story…
Dark Lipstick
Theresa still couldn’t believe she had put up with all that for so long. It had been an almost textbook case. How had she, of all people, allowed herself to become that person. She loved Jake. Correction, she told herself as she sat on the bed in the women’s shelter, she had once thought she loved Jake.
He wasn’t your typically handsome guy that she’d met at the gym two years ago. But there was something about him. An almost shy lop-sided grin, dark brown hair that fell over one eye, which he constantly pushed back. They had dated. He’d told her he’d had anger-management issues and the gym was to help work these out.
She understood. That’s kind of what she herself was working on. But hers were more a case of self-esteem. Feel good about your body and yourself, all the support groups had said. And it had worked. When she met Jake, she was trim, the curves were where they should be and she had muscles.
“I’ll arm wrestle you,” she’d said to Jake who had an impressive set of biceps himself. Her smile always lit up her face and danced in her eyes. Who would have predicted that that would be her undoing! The friendly roughhousing in bed began to lead more and more often to Jake actually using his strength against her.
The first time he was all apologies. The classic, “I’m sorry babe, I didn’t mean it, it will never happen again.” Followed by flowers and chocolate.
She’d worn dark lipstick to work and made some empty silly excuse about slipping in the bathroom.
Later he was all sarcasm, laced with jealousy, for what she never knew. “You think you’re kick-ass tough? I’ll show you who’s tough.”
The dark lipstick was always handy, a great cover-up. But her eyes held the hurt she continued to hide.
Then quite by accident he figured the button to push to hurt her the most was to undermine her hard-won self-esteem, “You don’t smile any more. It’s the only time you’re pretty.”
Theresa looked at herself in the mirror then. It was true. Her face only lit up when she smiled. She wasn’t pretty. Her face was too long and her hair hung lank unless she washed it every day. She bit her lip, the tears welling up as she repeated the mantras that were supposed to build her up, “You have to love yourself.” What the hell did that really mean? And what was there to love? A face too long. Arms too thin. And ever since she’d stopped going to the gym her muscles had gone slack sagging under the weight of her low spirits.
With hindsight she saw that it wasn’t a case of anger management for him. He just enjoyed the power it gave him. Last week she learnt what it meant to love herself. Last week he had pushed that button way too far when he came to her in the kitchen and for no reason twisted her arm, his lop-sided grin twisted into a grimace, and his words twisted into an auger of hate, “You’re ugly bitch!” He’d yelled, “And I’m going to make you uglier so no one will ever look at you again!” He raised a broken bottle to strike her.
In that moment Theresa knew what it meant to love herself. It burst with all the warmth of a heart full of deep, fathomless love. A love so pure it gave her the strength to wrench her arm out of his, raise her leg and land a full-bodied kick in his groin. As he doubled over, she grabbed the hot pan from off the stove and struck him in the face. He fell down and passed out. She felt for his pulse, knew he was still alive. Then she packed all the things that were hers and walked out.
“No,” she said, “that’s enough!” She smiled grimly to herself. “Whatever it is long, thin, ugly, it is my face and I love it.”
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