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Cinnamon Twigs: The Life and Pseudocide of a Celebrity

Novel By: freeburian238author
Memoir



‘I can’t remember a time when I didn’t expect to be famous.’

This is the extraordinary story of Daniel Mace, Hollywood star and bestselling author. All he's ever wanted is immortality, the Holy Grail. To be remembered when he dies.

But as the world of celebrity begins to hurtle from its axis, he realizes that the only way he can make his story remembered is through denying the press an ending. Even if it means devastating the woman he loves. Like a phoenix building itself a nest out of cinnamon twigs, he prepares to become reborn…

A poignant memoir about love that transcends time itself, ghosts and pain, Daniel’s account is utterly compelling and unforgettable.
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Chapters:

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Submitted:Apr 25, 2013    Reads: 38    Comments: 7    Likes: 6   


DARREN FREEBURY-JONES

Cinnamon Twigs

The life and pseudocide of a celebrity

© Darren Freebury-Jones 2013

Cover photography: © Nicola Pearce

For the memory-makers.

"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,

Or what's a heaven for?"

ROBERT BROWNING

"For every man alone thinks he hath got

To be a phoenix"

JOHN DONNE

PROLOGUE

The rain drummed incessantly on the windowpanes that night. I was sitting in my bed, reading alone and remembering when I'd been a writer. My eyelids were bound by heavy sleep. Too tired to reflect on Dorian Gray's plight, I folded the corner of the page and placed the book next to my bed, beside the oil lamp. I'd been reading a lot during those latter days.

I closed my eyes and let darkness engulf me, trapped myself in the limbo between sleep and wake, dreams and reality. I eventually dragged myself from that darkness, pushed the blanket away and wiped my damp brow. The rain still drummed on the windowpanes. Harder now. Even more relentless. I sat up and brooded in silence, steeped in memories, letting the sound of the rain filter through my thoughts. A heavy storm made its way to my window - as fitting as any use of pathetic fallacy in my novels.

I swore and peered through the glass. The wind blew hard and the storm's cheeks cracked, bringing a mysterious chiaroscuro to the landscape. The rumblings and peals of thunder grew louder.

I gave up on trying to go back to sleep and gazed at the contorted shadows creeping across the flashing walls. I remained motionless for a moment. Until an unexpected presence entered the room. My heart beat hard against its cage as I closed my eyes, hoping the feeling of dread would pass. But it wouldn't.

When I reopened my eyes, a flash of lightning revealed a figure standing beside me, within touching distance. I strained to see the figure clearly: a woman with blonde hair and strikingly blue eyes that sparkled despite the darkness. I couldn't make out what she was wearing. I was drawn to her familiar face as she smiled at me.

'W-what?' I stammered.

Another flash of lightning tripped across the room. In that instant, she became distinct, raising her finger to her lips in a childish manner, telling me to hush.

I leapt out of the bed and called her name.

She'd gone, sunk into the darkness. Into nothingness.

What was she doing here? I thought to myself.

I made my mind up at that moment.

I believe I've told my story truthfully in this book. I've been completely honest about my life and how my experiences have shaped me as a person.

I'd tried to escape my previous life, the superficiality of the tabloid press. So I chose to deny the world the satisfaction of a narrative ending. But it had been wrong to give up so much. I'd neglected my memories. That night, I began to learn the most important lesson of my life, acknowledged my transgressions. New memories were waiting for me. And those memories were at home.





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