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SARAH FISHER
DOB: 18/08/1977 Occupation: Full-time student (studying BSc Equine Science) Likes: Writing and reading fantasy, my horses, my dog, studying mythology, the ocean, playing the drums and living life to the full! Dislikes: Moths, robots and politicans!
While studying for my first year degree exams and desperately needing some kind of 'escape', I simply had an idea for a book, picked up a pen and started scribbling! I am currently nearing completion of my second fantasy novel, Dreamwriter.
The trailer for Dreamwriter - story of what happens when one girl's dreams become a reality.
MY ACCOMPLISHMENTS:
Ran the Flora London Marathon last year in aid of Cancer Research!!
I am a regular news and reviews writer for a Hollywood website.
Sommer loved her job. That was apart from her boss. Miss Dukes was a tall, lean spinster who had been manager of the library for as long as Sommer could remember. She had often been told off for talking too loudly in the quiet reading area during the school holidays.
At sixty four, Miss Dukes was a staunch feminist who lived with her elderly mother in a three storey, Victorian holding on the edge of town. With steely green eyes and greying scraggly hair that was always tied in a tight bun, she resembled the stereotypical strict head mistress of an old all-girl’s school. She was always meticulously turned out in a grey pin-striped jacket and pencil-thin skirt and tiny, rimless spectacles balanced precariously on the end of her hooked nose. Miss Dukes’ intimidating appearance was further accentuated by her constant belligerent nature and was renowned by staff and customers alike for her patronising lectures and high regard of self importance. But over the years, it was something Sommer had grown to accept and on occasion, disregard.
It was Monday on a typically frosty December morning. Sommer had fought her way through the icy winds to the welcoming warmth of the library, but was soon chilled by Miss Dukes’ frosty reception.
‘Chop, chop young lady, we have lots to be getting on with this morning,’ she barked from her desk.
The manager’s office was a glass pained room that stood to the left of the entrance and in front of the long, wooden main counter. This meant Miss Dukes had a bird’s eye view of all the comings and goings on. Her keen eye had caught many a thief trying to walk out with a book stuffed under their jumper. She would sit there for hours, guzzling black coffee and watching the CCTV monitor like a hawk scouring a hay meadow for its next meal.
Sommer hurried past the office to the small staff room next door, stuffed her key into her coat and hung it up on the hooks behind the door. She glanced at the kettle, her dry throat crying out for a gulp of sugary, warm tea, but she knew by the impatient tone of Miss Duke’s voice there would be no respite for her today. Fearing another infamous time keeping lecture, she made her way to behind the counter, all the while trying to attach her name badge to her jumper. But in rushing, she accidentally pierced her thumb with the pin and let out a loud yelp that echoed around the rafters of the empty library. Miss Duke’s snapped her head up and glared at Sommer over the top of her glasses, a menacing glint flashing across her eyes. Seeing this, Sommer quickly sunk below the counter and flicked the switches that brought the computerised tills to life in a furore of rattling and beeping. Out of sight, Sommer took the opportunity to catch a few breaths and suck on her thumb that was now oozing blood from the tiny pin-prick. She managed to fasten her name badge properly and combed her fingers though her hair, trying to compose herself before re-emerging into the path of Miss Duke’s military-style glare. But on surfacing, she was relieved to see Miss Dukes was now twittering on the phone to one of her fellow feminists about the meeting they had planned for that afternoon. Blowing her cheeks out with relief, Sommer opened the back of the book return bin, pulled out the books inside and began stacking them in piles on the counter. She could hear Miss Dukes bidding her goodbyes, the familiar click of the phone being placed back down and the sound of her low healed shoes clacking across the wooden floor towards her. The only things more annoying than the sound of Miss Dukes shoes was the sound of her voice and the tight scowl that sat with an irascible permanence across her long, sunken face.
‘Here we go,’ Sommer muttered under her breath.
‘I shall be leaving you in charge this afternoon Miss Knights. I have a meeting in the board room upstairs at two, but never fear, I shall be keeping my eye on you.’
‘Yes Miss Dukes,’ Sommer replied in her most compliant voice.
‘Oh and after you have scanned in those returns, section five needs a thorough clean. And when I say thorough, that is exactly what I mean.’
‘Of course Miss Dukes.’
‘Remember to take the books off the shelves before you clean them, I do not want a half baked job like last time.’
Sommer nodded, trying her best to block out the whiney tone of Miss Dukes voice as she picked up a book and began scanning it back in.
‘Before you do that,’ Miss Dukes said, pulling up her sleeve and tapping the antique gold watch on her wrist, ‘mustn’t keep the customers waiting now.’
Sommer looked up at the old wooden clock above the doors just as the main hand clicked to the hour. Miss Dukes certainly ran a tight ship and this sometimes made Sommer's job feel more like a stint in the army.
‘Oh and a coffee would be nice sometime this morning. You know how I like it, strong, black, no sugars.’
DOB: 18/08/1977