In the lead up to Christmas 2014 we will publish a series of festive and inspirational posts written by the authors at The Madeleine Milburn Agency.
Contemporary women’s fiction author, Anouska Knight, has published two heart warming novels: A PART OF ME (Harlequin, 2013) and SINCE YOU’VE BEEN GONE (Harlequin, 2014)
‘A brilliant page turner… we’ve discovered a real talent’ Lorraine Kelly
‘Warm, sexy and addictive’Jenny Colgan
Christmas Day with Anita Blake from Laurell K Hamilton’s Vampire Hunter Series
Anita Blake. That’s who I’d like to spend a Christmas Day with. Why? Because Laurell K Hamilton’s alpha female is baaaddaasss, that’s why. She’s badass and no-nonsense and juiced up with all manner of supernatural power and, in the vein of A Christmas Carol, I reckon there are a fair few wrongs that could be righted over the festive period with a necromancer/vampire-executioner/FBI special agent in your corner.
So it’s Christmas, the only place to start would be with a bevvie and a canapé. Ms Blake is a caffeine freak, I’d take that as an invitation to crack out one of my Ma’s legendary White Russians. It’s Kahlua and cream all the way in our house over Christmas… probably explains why the car feels so tight in January. Anyway, Blakey also has a penchant for penguins so I think I’d offer her the Emma Bridgewater cup I won on the Xmas raffle at the kids’ school fair last year. We’d finish our 1000cal mugs of creamy loveliness and she’d watch me shovel a couple dozen canapés down my throat. Then to business…
First up, unless too sozzled for action I’d get her to pull something epic out of the bag for the kids. Something supernatural and mildly terrifying so that they behaved for the rest of their lives and grew into well-rounded, sassy-brunette revering men. Then I’d give her a set of GHDs as a gift (we share a frizz affliction) and she’d be wowed by my intuition and styling tips and would return the favour by imparting a few butt-kicking techniques to use on bad guys, otherworl
dly beings and my husband should he subject me to any more episodes of American Pickers.
With barnets perfectly coiffed (and my new found expertise in the field of Chinese-burns) it’d be time to head into the big city and even up the balance. Anita would do her Robin Hood bit, only the on-acid version with superhuman abilities and great hair, taking from the filthy stinking rich (the ‘orrid ones, not the philanthropic ones) and punishing the wicked, while I’d keep an eye out for anyone in need of a good canapé to munch on because it’s Christmas, and you should share what you have and because the story of The Little Match Girl haunted me when I was a child.
Balance redressed, it would be time to settle back into the ‘warmth’ (chaos) of our family home, to tut at the excesses of this modern age whilst indulging excessively in more food, more drink, more re-runs of The Vicar of Dibley.
I’d have to watch her with the hubster, mind. Anita Blake is something of a minx. But then she’d see my eldest two thrash it out over that last Quality Street and my baby son coming at me in a gummed frenzy driven by insatiable milk-lust, and so Anita Blake Vampire Hunter would realise that there are beings every bit as formidable in my world as there are in hers. She’d behold the pile of spent toy packaging we’d somehow unscrewed, snipped and bolt-cuttered from endless toys at 5am while the kids had frothed at the mouth and we’d twitched with exhaustion, and she’d concede with a knowing nod that, surprisingly, we’re kinda badass too.
