Plenty of women had overcome more tremendous obstacles so why was I feeling sorry for myself? I steeled my spine and decided to make some real decisions. In the middle of the detritus which was now my life, I found a wonderful and caring man I fell hopelessly in love with but the problem was he didn’t live in this country and he was a successful and driven attorney. What would he want with someone like me? Unemployed, two children, divorced and somewhat shaky ambitions at an age where most women had it made, were married and excelling towards middle age. My life was a mess and I needed a man like a fish needs a bicycle (thanks, U2!).
I took a long hard look at my life and realized I had failed to plan and therefore I had planned to fail.
When I stood at that podium and looked at the few family and friends who had bothered to show up at my dad’s funeral, my life became so clear. My father had had so many chances; so much lost opportunities and had blew all of them due to fear and inertia. I was my father’s daughter; I was falling into that same black hole of despondency with no way out.
It took another fourteen months before I had the actual courage to see out my dream and make it a reality. Isabelle Solal had written a book, In The Past Imperfect, and her good friend, Sion Dayson, had promoted it on her blog. She was tired of waiting for the agent who would never accept the publisher who could never take a chance and had decided to self-publish her fictional book on Amazon. Was this possible? Could I self-publish? Could I take my book which I had tried to find an agent for the past eight years or so and do it myself? Say it isn’t so!
I was so excited about the possibility of publishing, I dug it out of the place it’d warmed my different hard drives and laptops over the years, decided at over one thousand hard back pages, it was much too long to publish as a full length novel, chopped it up into eight parts and hit publish on the first part.
I was ecstatic as I had done my own cover (a beautiful statue which captivated me while I was on my European vacation) and it was just so perfect. Unfortunately, no one else knew I existed and that is when I realized publishing was more than just about hitting a button. I had to make sure my novel was edited, the right cover was used to attract attention and there was a whole list of indie writers I didn’t know about but they were there and ready to be at my service.
In the beginning, I only used Kindle’s Direct Publishing board because that was the only one I knew about. Another writer, Athanasios, who wrote a thrilling book titled Mad Gods, told everyone on the KDP boards about a new Facebook board group called Indie Writers’ Unite. I joined, Cheryl Bradshaw, the creator of IWU accepted me, and the rest is history.
I wish I could say I am selling thousands of copies and I got the guy but that isn’t life and nothing happens without time. I am selling and many people have discovered my work; I have met some of the bravest men and women on the planet at IWU and I feel like a million bucks even if my life still isn’t a bed of roses. The guy, like everything good in life, will take some time and I am willing to put it in and make the effort; nothing worth anything is easy to accomplish for the matter.
I love to write so that is what I’m doing. I enjoy writing whatever moves me, thus I have work in several different genres including Women’s Literature, Contemporary Romance, Paranormal, Science Fiction and Fantasy. I also plan to do a novel I have had in the works for a while that is firmly Mystery with a Thriller twist.
For the first time, I stayed true to myself, my ambitions and what I want my life to be and represent. I know it will get better and all my dreams will come true—many of them already have. My life is still changing, still revolving but I have come out ahead, stronger and more positive than I ever thought possible. I learned the hard way either I write or I can simply subsist and die.
Life is like writing; it isn’t about perfection but it is about the possibilities we are given every day, the decisions we make and what we want to do with them. It is about forks in the road and deciding which direction to take and making the best with whatever is thrown at us once we make our decisions. It is the way it should be and that is simply imperfect.
About the Chick
Danielle Blanchard Benson was born and raised in the San Francisco Bay Area in California. She currently resides in Las Vegas, Nevada. Ms. Blanchard Benson has written The Beautiful People series and Forever 27: A Novelette. She is currently working on The Vamp Saga (Death Wish: Book I will be released on November 25, 2011), The Pop Stars series (The Catalyst: Book One will be released December, 2011), The Plague series (The Beginning: Book I will be released in February of 2012), The 27 Club Series (Soul Survivors: Book I will be released April, 2012) and DeGeneration (Love Voodoo: Book I will be released July of 2012).
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Forever 27
Danielle Blanchard
An Excerpt
Chapter I
July, 2025
It was shortly after the ungodly hour of three a.m. when Anaïs van der Hoet received the call. She tried to ignore her mobile but the theme from Kleptokrat’s “Rise up & Fight” droned like a deafening roar in her subconscious psyche.
What the hell anyone could want from me at this time of the morning is beyond bullshit, she thought angrily before she pressed the “receive” button and greeted with a terse, “Yeah?”
“Hey, it’s Klaus. Are you up?”
Anaïs scrunched up her nose in distaste. She hated the guy with a burning passion and the feeling was mutual but if he was calling her, there was a problem which obviously concerned Erik.
“What do you think? I answered your call, didn’t I?”
“Don’t be such a bitch. Look, how fast can you get here?” he implored frantically.
“Depends on where the hell ‘here’ is,” she responded sarcastically.
“Erik’s flat—you know it like the back of your hand. We need you here immediately.”
She cursed silently as if she’d been asked a trick question. “Which one? He’s got flats in Hamburg, London, and New York amongst other places.”
“We’re here in Paris. You know where his flat is in Passy. You need to get here immediately.”
“Make it about forty-five minutes.” She openly yawned on the phone. “I’ll be there as soon as humanly possible.”
“Danke,” Klaus responded softly in German.
“De rien,” she replied automatically in French but he’d abruptly ended their conversation.
Anaïs rolled out of bed and immediately staggered to her bathroom where she started the shower and shed her nightclothes then and there. She climbed in and tried to stop her restless mind from racing.
Erik was her life—well, at least he had been at one time. They’d broken up well over three years ago and he’d gone through a succession of quick love affairs though none of them seemed permanent. He was the lead guitarist for Kleptokrat, a hard core German band which seemed to fuse Rammstein, Metallica, and Marilyn Manson in a beautiful if not haunting way. They had become huge superstars overnight; it helped they sang in English and were all great looking guys with killer bodies and looks. They looked like pin-up boys for the Brown shirt movement in their native Germany.
Each of the five members was built, muscular and biker-like with plenty of tats, sexy ivory skin and hair which varied from shades of blond to the dyed blue-black look Klaus favored at the moment. They liked to portray an image as being scary and frightening, the type of man no woman worth her grain of salt would ever want her daughter to come in contact with if she knew what was good for her. Thank the stars Anaïs was no ordinary daughter and her parents had always believed in giving her the freedom she wanted to do whatever it was her heart desired.
A strange young woman of only twenty-six, she had a gorgeous honey-hued complexion, naturally golden hair she dyed dark auburn and beautiful, intriguing hazel eyes. She was tall, almost five foot eight, and model slim. She would have p
referred to have inherited her mother’s more voluptuous appearance but suffice to say, this hadn’t occurred.
Her parents were ultra-left wing liberals who reared their only daughter in the United States but exclusively in France after the right-wing TEA party had taken control and blessed the country with their first ultra-conservative government which went about dismantling every social program in the United States. Merely two years after the government had come to power, the American dollar collapsed and along with the catastrophe, a once-mighty country sat precariously on the brink of a civil war.
The scales shifted when the TEA party candidate was impeached, a more moderate President took his place and, the “Peacemaker” as he was known around the world, signed a major deal to incorporate all the English-speaking countries into one union, simply known as the Anglophone Union.
The AU had one currency, known as the AU Dollar, and were currently in talks with incorporating another former British colony to the Union, South Africa.
This immediately reminded Anaïs the only reason why such news should be on her mind at all. Her father was South African, born and bred; a Boer, as they were known in their native homeland—ethnic Dutch folk who had left the Netherlands ages ago to make the Dark Continent filled with red sand their home.
It was ironic to Anaïs that most of the European blood in her genetic lineage called a place like South Africa home whereas her mother was a hodge-podge, all-American mutt (mixed with African, four different Native American tribes, French and Scots-Irish); the main one in their family with all the wanderlust and their primary reason why they’d moved to France in the first place.
Anaïs grew up tri-lingual as she spoke English, French, and Afrikaans with ease. She’d also learned German and Dutch over the years from time spent in the Great Nordic Regional Union—also known as the GNRU.
It was weird for her to think about the past or the fact she had met Erik and Klaus Wiesenheimer in Aberdeen where she’d been working for a while shortly after she finished university in Paris for lack of anything more interesting to do. She’d only completed university because it was her parents’ wish for her to do so and finding any sort of professional job in the Francophone Union without education was damn near impossible. Not that she ever imagined herself working a nine-to-five job for the rest of her life. Her only passion was singing—pit was the only ambition she’d ever had in her life.
Erik and Klaus, along with the rest of the members of what would become Kleptokrat, were all working on the oil rigs as it was quick and easy money for not much time and once they’d saved enough, they could purchase decent equipment and focus on making their dreams come true. Anaïs met them by accident one early evening while serving lagers at the local pub. The band came in and all sat at the same table. Apparently, they didn’t realize there was no service unless they approached the bar and put in an order.
She walked over to them, casual yet sexy in a pair of black skinny jeans and a form-fitting magenta sweater—it was Aberdeen after all and thus cold as hell.
“Boys, there is no waitress. If you want a round of drinks, one of you has to get up and order at the bar. In this case, I’ll make an exception and take your order. What will it be?”
“Just a couple pitchers of lager, luv,” Erik had stated softly though she had picked up on his German accent.
He was dangerously good-looking with his scruffy blond hair, a goatee which hid the most luscious lips, Teutonic bone structure and clear gray-blue eyes. There was an instant attraction; unfortunately, Klaus felt it too and made it his life’s mission to tear them apart.
It hadn’t been an easy task. The boys stayed until last call and Anaïs started talking to them about bands. They told her about theirs and how they were toying with the idea of a female lead singer. Klaus looked annoyed when Erik had asked her to try out but he’d acknowledged she could and the rest was history.
Kleptokrat was a homegrown hit from the beginning. They were a hard rocking version of the Sneaker Pimps with a more talented female lead singer. Erik and Anaïs wrote most of the material, while Klaus did little more than grumble and criticize. Unfortunately for her, she had no idea he was plotting the whole time to have her thrown out of the band.
The ending between Kleptokrat and Anaïs was as painful as it was violent. There’d been a secret vote and everyone agreed that while the material and the songs were great, they would be much more powerful if sang by a male voice: Klaus’ voice to be precise.
Contracts had never been signed, copyright deals had never been exchanged so not only was Anaïs tossed out but she couldn’t even take her own material as there was nothing to prove she’d help write it in the first place. She and Erik desperately tried to make it work but everything slowly fell apart, especially once her boyfriend got hooked on the powerful drug, VA Neg-Ad, a powder-like substance which was a lethal combination of pharmaceutical cocaine and vampire blood.
She’d said goodbye, cried her heart out and listened to vintage Amy Winehouse but nothing seemed to bridge the hole in her heart. Her only relief came from crying and writing poems which would eventually be pieced together with music.
While she and Erik had been together, he’d taught her how to play both acoustic and electric guitars. She was a quick learner and soon she was singing in small hangouts all around the Ile-de-France area. Her music, a heartfelt combination of Janis Joplin, Amy Winehouse and Tina Turner was a hit with the indie crowd and eventually, she managed to get her own record deal. She’d recently released her first album simply titled Music or Death. It was an aptly named first album project as all her songs were deeply personal acoustic and electric guitar melodies with a drum, percussion and a bass guitar section. Her voice was so extremely powerful; she didn’t need a lot of work in the studio as she was completely and overwhelmingly gifted when it came to music.
All these random thoughts from her past disappeared as she quickly thought of Kleptokrat’s rise to the top. Anaïs was strictly small-time. She was a well-respected indie artist who had recently won a Grammy but she wasn’t in the same league as her former band. They were multi-platinum artists with three studio releases under their belt, an unlimited budget and money to burn. Anaïs often wondered how they managed to become so lucky in the first place, after all, it was as if their meteoric rise had literally happened overnight.
She quickly got out of the shower, dressed in record timing in the original hipster’s uniform of dark blue jeans and white tee shirt with an open beige sweater coat and drove her vintage Mini Cooper from Versailles to Passy, an extremely upscale area of Paris proper in the sixteenth arrondissement.
Klaus met her outside and grabbed her by the arm harshly. “What the fuck took you so long? I called you hours ago.”
“I said it would be about an hour and it was,” Anaïs responded arrogantly.
He turned her towards him angrily. “The problem is you’re wasting time we don’t have. Erik is in a bad way and he needs you now … desperately.”
The look in his sky blue eyes finally began to scare the life out of her. Klaus was all ice and he cared little for anyone outside his youngest brother. They were fraternal twins; so alike yet so different. Whatever had him spooked, it wasn’t the least bit good.
“Before I go upstairs, it’s best for you to give me some background information,” she began softly.
“No, it is best you see for yourself.”
She followed Klaus and boarded the tiny elevator. It was quick and deposited them to the Penthouse in what seemed a matter of moments. He still had a painful grip on her hand as he dragged her to the double doors and barged in as if he owned the place.
White and black votive candles were lit everywhere. The place was a mixture of extravagant opulence and apathetic decay. No surface in the place had been wiped down in months. The wood floors were covered with drug paraphernalia and other detritus including empty food containers, liquor bottles and cigarette butts. Whatever the fuck Erik had involved himself i
n wasn’t pretty.
She couldn’t help it as the tears came. What had happened to her precious lover? Should she have stayed or allowed jealousy to get the best of her? What would have become of him if she had cared more about anyone else other than herself for a change?
The answer came quicker than she imagined as Erik wandered barefooted into the hallway. His beautiful flaxen strands hung greasy and limp, he was red-rimmed and glassy-eyed; he didn’t look well as his athletic yet slim physique was too thin for his height. He wore a pair of black stovepipe jeans and a black wife-beater. A freshly-lit cigarette was smoldering in his left hand and he looked distracted and ill at ease.
“Hello, sweetheart,” Anaïs murmured in German.
Erik’s eyes focused on her and he smiled warmly. “Liebling, is that you? Really you?” he inquired in disbelief.
She nodded her head in an effort to stop the tears from rolling down her face. “What’s going on here? According to Klaus, you’re in a bad way.”
Erik sank against the closest wall and allowed himself to slowly fall to the wooden floor. “Can you get the fuck out?”
Klaus knew it was him who Erik was addressing. He stared at her forlornly. “If you need anything, I’ll be next door.”
“Anaïs has nothing to fear from me—I wasn’t the one who stabbed her in the back, remember?”
The brothers glared at one another before Klaus looked away and silently retreated. The double doors slammed with a sound which vaguely resembled the closing of a tomb.
“What’s going on here, Erik?”
He dragged from his cigarette before flicking the ashes to the spot on the wooden floor next to him. “Remember that old saying? You know, before we got famous and we would talk for hours at a time. You used to tell me, ‘when you dance with the devil, the devil doesn’t change, the devil changes you’. Do you recall that?”
She sat next to him and grabbed his free right hand. “How could I ever forget?”
“You were right and all along … I never got it. I’m paying though. I couldn’t possibly understand the consequences of my actions but …”
Indie Chicks: 25 Women 25 Personal Stories Page 7
