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    One Day in September
    One Day in September
    One Day in September
    Ebook84 pages1 hour

    One Day in September

    By Matthew Turner

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Today may seem normal, but four early twenty-somethings will soon learn it isn’t. Set the day before TICK to the TOCK, this prequel novella changes everything.

    Split over six parts, One Day in September follows the lives of Dante, Danii, Ethan, and Wilbur unravel during a seemingly normal day. Shops, pubs, bars, and beds set the scene, but what makes this day special as all four lives interlink with one another.

    As Dante tries to get over Danii, and Danii forgets about Dante, Wilbur and Ethan get caught in a chaos of New Adulthood. Relationships, friendships, careers, and confusion, One Day in September: The Complete Series sets the scene for TICK to the TOCK to take you on a rollercoaster of emotions.

    The journey begins now, but tomorrow holds the secrets.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherMatthew Turner
    Release dateJul 24, 2014
    ISBN9781310165351
    One Day in September
    Author

    Matthew Turner

    Matthew Turner is a British Author who lives in a small town in Yorkshire, England. Having previously published three novels and a non-fiction business book, he wrote Beyond The Pale on the back of interviewing hundreds of successful entrepreneurs, authors, investors, and thought-leaders. Gaining a unique insight into areas such as mindset, flow, and personal development and gaining a reputation for crafting compelling stories out of other peoples’ lives, Matthew builds relatable fables for those looking to live a meaningful and purpose-driven life. As well as writing for himself, he ghostwrites both articles and books for other successful entrepreneurs and thought-leaders, in-between spending time with his two children.

    Read more from Matthew Turner

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      Book preview

      One Day in September - Matthew Turner

      ONE DAY in SEPTEMBER

      BY MATTHEW TURNER

      Smashwords Edition

      Published by Turndog Publishing

      Copyright © 2014 Matthew Turner. All Rights Reserved

      ———————

      love & living begins now

      ACKNOWLEDGMENTS:

      Writing a book is a lonely endeavour, but to say it’s a lonesome task is simply not true. I have many people to thank, but will try not keep you. After all, you have a book to read, right?

      To begin with, let me pay homage to my gorgeous son, George Lee Potter—or as I so lovingly brand him: Kid Turndog. You are my shining light and daily muse. Thank you for being here and smiling when I see you. It warms my heart.

      Second, I must thank my parents as they give too much and take nothing at all. The words I cannot say in person shall be said here instead. I hope this is enough—and don’t worry, I aim to pay my debts (both financial and emotional) in full one day. And to my other family and close friends, I love you too. Whether I see you often or not, you know who you are. You have a special place in my heart and I know, whenever I require guidance or good-times, that you have my back. Thank you!

      As One Day in September is part of a larger body of work (Tick to the Tock) there are several people to thank for their amazing offerings. Firstly, Susan Gotfried, my editor, and Kirsty Vizard and Amanda Liston, both of whom have helped take Tick to the Tock and One Day in September to where it is today. I don’t deserve your support, but I’m sure glad to have it.

      It would be a shame to forget about Beyond Parallel, too, and all of the people who have taken time to read and review. You may not know it, but your feedback helps me each and every day. The love spurs me on, and the criticism and advice is what drives me to be better. Without Beyond Parallel, this book wouldn’t exist, and without the feedback from my first novel, I fear the second would be nowhere near as good.

      THANK YOU ALL!

      And that about covers all I need to cover. Although it would be a shame to leave without arguably the most important thank you of all: to you, the reader. There’s nothing greater than when someone cares enough to read my soul. Cheers

      ____________________________

      .

      Dedicated To The Kid, My Son, My One—and—Only

      ____________________________

      11.32am—Wilbur Day

      This world is spectacularly imperfect, but I’m gifted to be part of an existence with such vibrant colour. No more than here, right now—in front of a wall of varying shades of paint and pastels and chalks—is this glorious insight into the world’s most precious resource present: colour… lovely, ticklish, seducing colour.

      It isn’t only red, it’s: auburn, cardinal, burgundy, rose, ruby, scarlet, vermillion, flame, folly, lust, magenta, and my favourite, crimson. Sure, to the novice, ruby and rose are red, but to the eye of the creator it’s the difference between perfection and despair. Some may say I spend too much time in art shops like this, but I disagree, because other’s don’t spend enough precious minutes in places that matter. A wall of colour matters. A tabletop of paper, each unique to the touch and varying in shades of beige, is important. Row after row of brushes and pencils and the aroma—oh-my-oh-my—what a pleasant and familiar taste on my tongue it is, like at home in my studio, or back at school during the only class I cared for, or late at night—making love—on top of a freshly crowned masterpiece as the process either destroys or completes it.

      I pick up a brush and flick it through my fingers, savouring each sliver. It’s dull outside, not to the point of rain, but I fear this day will never kick on with a flourish. A few weeks ago, I wore a thin shirt and rolled my light green chinos up into a shorts-pant hybrid. I needn’t wear socks and sunglasses never left my forehead, and I was warm all of the time so long as I kept moving. No longer the case, I’m afraid, for now I wear a maroon speckled tweed jacket and a thicker pair of chinos that soak up the heat and light. And although I still drift without socks, my chilled toes dance.

      Autumn should be my season of choice, as it’s the one time of year where colour doesn’t exist in a single form, rather in multi-hue. The browns and reds and maroons are delicious and tempting, and ever so inspiring, but the chill and damp and windy wetness drags me down, down, down.

      I miss summer’s smile already, a delicate touch that posses everyone and opens a window into an existence of fabulous opportunity. Ethan, Dante, and I drank care-free cider on a patch of sun in one of York’s lovely parks, and we did not care whether it was a work night or school night or any other night for that matter. We simply appreciated the now and the fun, and the liveable life of spontaneity—well, to an extent, anyway. After all, Ethan has his limits, and they are far more limited than most. Oh Ethan, m’boy, you crazy fool. I love you, but how we are friends I do not know.

      The sun sneaks through a patch of cloud, creeping around the corner and stalking the streets residing outside, not yet peeking into this shop, but I sense it wants to. It’s curious, the September sun. It’s jealous of its July cousin, a sun that peers down for hours each day. Oh poor Virgo sunshine, what a shame you remain behind clouds, forbidden to come out to play. I wish you could, and maybe, just maybe, if you broke the rules, you could and would.

      I’m no longer stood in front of the colourful array of paint, rather holding an art book of some kind—although I don’t recall picking it up. I’m trapped in here, and lonely, and maybe I should have stayed in bed, but that wouldn’t have worked either, because once up I must be up, up, up and at the world, and kicking stones and imagining the unimaginable and playing and laughing and inventing. This is the worst time of day. I could call Ethan, but he wouldn’t answer, and although Dante would—oh Dante, m’lad in shining hope—he wouldn’t chat for long; instead insisting I get ready for my show in a few weeks time.

      Ah yes, I say out loud, I think. That is why I’m here right now,

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