So there’s this book I wrote.
Started out in the last year of university, oh some twelve years ago now. This guy named Sean pretty much arrived fully formed in my head and then proceeded to talk at varying levels of fury and delight and general noisiness for the next decade or so. He didn’t like the first version of the novel I wrote at all. Quite possibly it infuriated him so much because I didn’t give him the ending he wanted that he stayed silent and glowering in the back of my mind ever since.
Until I happened to be in the middle of another rather ambitious novel. That’s when he suddenly decided it was time and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. (what, this doesn’t happen to you? fictional characters behaving like they’re really real?) And so I found myself pretty much hijacked into writing Calling Pomegranate. One NaNoWriMo, one Camp NaNoWriMo (the inaugural one, actually) and almost a year later, it was done.
If I tell you the working title was “The Hades Novel”, does it tell you everything you need to know?
Okay, perhaps not. Hehe.
Isn’t that a wonderful cover? Courtesy of the extremely talented AngstyG.
What do you do if the people who are supposed to shield you when you’re at your most vulnerable are the ones who hurt you the deepest?
‘Calling Pomegranate’ is a modern twist on the myth of Hades and Persephone, a love story of sorts set in an unnamed Sydney that shifts between the dark subconscious and sunny reality.
When Sean meets Cary, he’s at his most bored and she at her most self-destructive. What’s supposed to be just a party shag turns into a series of conversations of eviscerating honesty and unexpected humour as they recognise the damage of grief in each other. The sex doesn’t hurt, either.
Sean discovers Cary’s submissive tendencies, a thing that frightens him even as he takes on the responsibility. She tells herself it’s just sex and distraction, he knows it goes deeper than that … but can he convince her — and himself — that there is a happily ever after?
A novel about the crippling effects of love and fear, about fearing to love because everything you’ve ever been taught is that love wounds.
And another excerpt from much later in the novel that’s almost all cute … just in case you worried that it was all angstangstANGSTangst. Argh, no. Plenty of schmoop, too.
A lot of music and film and mythology and Sydney went into the writing of this so I may very well ramble on about all of that in the weeks to come. Cos lord knows I love nothing better, hee hee.
Hope you like it!
(I never did finish that other novel. Hmm. Maybe one day.)