Genre: Mystery & Suspense
About FenkoLocation: Haarlem, the Netherlands Home Region: Age:27 Website: http://fenko.livejournal.com/profile Favorite novels: To reign in hell, Stalking tender prey, Legend of nightfall Favorite writers: Neil Gaiman, Steven Brust, G.R.R. Martin Favorite music: mood music (Lost Prophets for this story) Non-noveling interests: roleplaying, boardgames, drawing, reading, comics/manga |
Joined: Oktober 2, 2007 This Year: Official Participant NaNoWriMo History: NaNoWriMo posts: 0 NaNoWriMo buddies: 12
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Synopsis: All Tales II
Though I won Nano'07, the novel itself was only half finished. This is my go to finish the story "All Tales Have Happy Endings" and give it the ending it deserves.
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Aidian is just another half-Irish art student in Rome. He lives there, makes plans for his life, falls in love, and writes his journal. What he didn’t plan for however, is a high-stakes illegal poker game to blow up in his face. Soon there aren’t many choices left.
Welcome to Rome, a city of contrasts, where you may find both angel statues and crime.
Excerpt: All Tales II
Prologue
“I am Aidian Romero and I lie too often”. That’s what I should say if I ever went to a Vices Anonymous meeting.
It all started off innocently enough. A boast to friends about something you honestly only ever dreamt about; a little white lie to a professor about obligations outside of college. But if it was all so innocent, then what happened to make the world stop making sense any longer?
Darkness has settled outside and in the corners of my apartment as well. For once I both cheer and curse the fact that I live alone in a city of millions. I am ultra aware of the rough feel of paper under my fingers as I write. It’s what I do. Writing often seems easier than talking to people. Especially now. Yes, especially now.
I remember Angelo saying it’s the bad moments in life that make us appreciate the good ones more. My insides churn and tie into a knot as I think of the last moment I saw him. Panic… blood… The pen shakes in my hands, it’s hard to write. I’ll appreciate the next good moment if ever it comes.
My thoughts wander back to Franca. In my mind’s eye she’s surrounded by sunshine and seems like spring season personified. If this dark season passes I’m going to tell her I’m sorry and mean it. For all the lies, but the last one most.
I am sorry if my writing makes no sense. I’ve taken the first page of this journal that I’m now glad I left empty and write this warning. I’ve messed up. If you read this without a blond-haired insanely stupid young man trying to keep you from it, take the journal to the police. As much as I hate to imagine – in that case I’m probably dead.
The story starts half a year ago…
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