Fiction Facts....
I began writing fiction around 2006. In 2008 My Weekly magazine published my Moments of Truth trilogy...and it just went on from there. That's fact. Now for the fiction....
Moments of Truth - Trilogy by Kate Harrison Whiteside
Published in My Weekly: Barcelona July 12, 2008; London July 19; New York July 26.
Trilogy follows Lauren and her relationship adventures and misadventures from the Barcelona holiday with her boyfriend, to when reality about her estranged mother hits at home in London, to the truth revealed to her best friend in New York.
My Weekly called them: "captivating", "revealing', "spellbinding". Excerpts below.
Moments of Truth - Trilogy by Kate Harrison Whiteside
Published in My Weekly: Barcelona July 12, 2008; London July 19; New York July 26.
Trilogy follows Lauren and her relationship adventures and misadventures from the Barcelona holiday with her boyfriend, to when reality about her estranged mother hits at home in London, to the truth revealed to her best friend in New York.
My Weekly called them: "captivating", "revealing', "spellbinding". Excerpts below.
Moment of Truth: Barcelona
The minute I see my reflection in the window of Modart’s on Carrer d’Asturies, I know it is time for a change. The mannequin stares directly back, wearing my turquoise ankle length skirt, my brown leather sandals, my striped cotton top. The only thing keeping us from being identical twins is her new, lime green handbag and her entourage of male mannequins.
A warm Barcelona breeze lifts the hem of my skirt, tickling my calf. A stream of sweat winds its way down my spine. But, I stand frozen in the middle of the street, a still life, while a tide of humans flows around me. The meaning of the scene escapes me, but the impression it leaves lingers. My watch says it is time to move on. Geoff is in the city somewhere.
I glare back at the tall, willowy version of myself on display behind glass. By changing my position slightly, and correcting my pigeon-toed stance, my image melts into hers. When I move my head slightly to the left, the window reflects a two-headed model.
This is insane. What is someone sees me? I really need to get a life. A young couple stop in between us, boldly kissing and blocking the reflection. They move on, holding hands. My eyes follow them. That could be us. A movement catches my eye. Suddenly, the mannequin becomes three headed.
“Geoff!”...
A warm Barcelona breeze lifts the hem of my skirt, tickling my calf. A stream of sweat winds its way down my spine. But, I stand frozen in the middle of the street, a still life, while a tide of humans flows around me. The meaning of the scene escapes me, but the impression it leaves lingers. My watch says it is time to move on. Geoff is in the city somewhere.
I glare back at the tall, willowy version of myself on display behind glass. By changing my position slightly, and correcting my pigeon-toed stance, my image melts into hers. When I move my head slightly to the left, the window reflects a two-headed model.
This is insane. What is someone sees me? I really need to get a life. A young couple stop in between us, boldly kissing and blocking the reflection. They move on, holding hands. My eyes follow them. That could be us. A movement catches my eye. Suddenly, the mannequin becomes three headed.
“Geoff!”...
Moment of Truth: London
Darkness is falling when I get back to my West London flat, after flying home from Barcelona without my boyfriend Geoff. Pushing open the door, I accidentally knock over the jar of what I have come to call Geoff's "leaving stones". It's a heavy jar.
Over time I have put a stone in it for each time he has walked out on me. Now I have left him. It's over. It wasn't working. It wasn't going to work. And, to be honest, I feel rather relieved. Kneeling down, I return each pebble to the jar, open the front door, make sure no one is watching, then dump the whole lot over the hedge into my neighbour's garden.
Feeling rather smug, I go back inside to see what post will be there to greet me.
The flashing light on the answering machine competes with the insipid mobile ring tone reminding me I have messages. I ignore both and check the post.
The floor is littered with flyers and bills. But a post card from New York catches my eye. I flip it over. My friend, Jo, is planning our next girls-only-get-together next month in New York. We have been best friends since grade school, but there is something I must confess to her. I made a bit of a mistake with her Sam. And since I am in closet-clearing mode, starting with dumping Geoff in Barcelona, maybe now is the time to tell her the awful truth at long last....
Over time I have put a stone in it for each time he has walked out on me. Now I have left him. It's over. It wasn't working. It wasn't going to work. And, to be honest, I feel rather relieved. Kneeling down, I return each pebble to the jar, open the front door, make sure no one is watching, then dump the whole lot over the hedge into my neighbour's garden.
Feeling rather smug, I go back inside to see what post will be there to greet me.
The flashing light on the answering machine competes with the insipid mobile ring tone reminding me I have messages. I ignore both and check the post.
The floor is littered with flyers and bills. But a post card from New York catches my eye. I flip it over. My friend, Jo, is planning our next girls-only-get-together next month in New York. We have been best friends since grade school, but there is something I must confess to her. I made a bit of a mistake with her Sam. And since I am in closet-clearing mode, starting with dumping Geoff in Barcelona, maybe now is the time to tell her the awful truth at long last....
Moment of Truth: New York
New York. That's where I'm headed - to the city that, according to Frank in his classic song - is so good they named it twice. Well, it's in this fantastic, amazing city
this weekend, that I'm going to confess my terrible sin. Then, mayube, I can get out of this final, horrible mess I've created and get on with the rest of my life.
Firstly, I broke up with Geoff in Barcelona. Then, back in London, with the help of my friends, Tanny and Marcos, I've come to accept the fact that my mother is going to marry Dad's funeral director. Now there's just one more thing to sort out, and I'm home free. At least that's the plan....
this weekend, that I'm going to confess my terrible sin. Then, mayube, I can get out of this final, horrible mess I've created and get on with the rest of my life.
Firstly, I broke up with Geoff in Barcelona. Then, back in London, with the help of my friends, Tanny and Marcos, I've come to accept the fact that my mother is going to marry Dad's funeral director. Now there's just one more thing to sort out, and I'm home free. At least that's the plan....
Wanted on the Voyage
Published in My Weekly 2012 Annual
Story based on a photo they sent to me to write about. I fictionalized my grandmother and grandfather's meeting and moving from the UK to Canada in the early 1900's. Having been an immigrant to the UK, I wanted to explore how it felt the other way - in the only way I know how - writing about what I imagined happened.
The London docks beside the Queen Mary are a masterpiece of mayhem. People struggle through the pandemonium, buskers try to out-play each other and vendors try to out-shout each other. Raggedy muffin children peck at pockets like chickens. Trunks and cases are thrown about with complete disregard for contents. I look up the Thames towards the outline of the Parliament buildings, where Father took me once during a land tax protest. But he was not in the crowd.
I look down at the one-way ticket in my hand. All it took was a dare, whispered in my ear at the tennis end-of-season party. Until then, the biggest gamble I had taken was placing secret bets on the horses through out gardener's son. But this time I'd staked everything on love...
Story based on a photo they sent to me to write about. I fictionalized my grandmother and grandfather's meeting and moving from the UK to Canada in the early 1900's. Having been an immigrant to the UK, I wanted to explore how it felt the other way - in the only way I know how - writing about what I imagined happened.
The London docks beside the Queen Mary are a masterpiece of mayhem. People struggle through the pandemonium, buskers try to out-play each other and vendors try to out-shout each other. Raggedy muffin children peck at pockets like chickens. Trunks and cases are thrown about with complete disregard for contents. I look up the Thames towards the outline of the Parliament buildings, where Father took me once during a land tax protest. But he was not in the crowd.
I look down at the one-way ticket in my hand. All it took was a dare, whispered in my ear at the tennis end-of-season party. Until then, the biggest gamble I had taken was placing secret bets on the horses through out gardener's son. But this time I'd staked everything on love...
