My debut novel! Published by Random House, it's soon to be made into a film under the bastardised title 'Me Ted and my Head'. Even the potential casting of Matthew McConnaughy in the leading role may not be able to save their re-writing from shabby audience grabbing guff, so I've decided to treat you to extracts from the unpillaged original...
A week had passed since my last meeting with Tim, a week of turning and twisting myself into knots in bed, of damp sheets wrapped around my insomniac legs like fabric worms or worse, snakes. In daylight hours paranoia overwhelmed me. I'd stopped speaking to my friends, my publisher; my answering machine was backed up with unheard messages like menstrual blood behind an unchanged tampon. The fridge was bare of all but a jar of capers, some Tesco Finest chutney, a microfilm bag full of cracked black pepper blinis and a soggy lettuce. The night before I went to see Ted, I ate the capers with the chutney and lettuce on the blinis and was very nearly sick.
That oh too familiar dawn light came seeping through my eyes many hours before I was to see him, dripping gulf streams of fear through my cavities. All I could see were his eyes, were they blue? Green? In this light (this light was my mind also) everything seemed grey, even my timid streaks of legs on the grey bed sheets (they really were grey, with blue sequins on, which seemed grey but were actually of course blue).
The room in which he saw his patients - sepia
Me - grey
The window behind his desk - opal
Me - grey
The coarse skin around his fingers - pink
Me - grey
His name his face his lips his brave hands oh Daddy - gold
My mystery my mystery my mystery my mystery
I had felt him touch me as he walked behind me in the consulation room, I felt him touch my neck (I think) and I should have been mad with rage And I was And I liked it.
Indexical Self-Cut - *A short squib read at the *‘*Doubting Thomas’ symposium at the University of Sussex, 18th April 2018. * In a 2007 exchange with the critic Sam Ladkin, th...
4 days ago