Julia London Author Novels & Stories

“Peter was a writer.” Julia leaned forward and noticed freckled blood on the pages. A flutter of unnerved sickness in her stomach; she had a diary just like it tucked away in the drawer beside her bed. Once upon a time she’d filled her book with lies on the rare chance that someone would come across it, scour the contents, and say, Wow—what a life this gal’s livin’! But as things complicated, and reality-based drama proved spectacle enough, her literary lies faded, and not too long after, the journal was abandoned completely. This perhaps revealed truths in Julia that she didn’t entirely like admitting to.

“What do you think?” I didn’t answer. I’m busy admiring everything in silence. The bed also carried an elegant canopy, one in dark colors. The sheets had an amazing rose embroidery. The closet looked gigantic, with an innate elegance. My room was the only one that had a bookstore, so I assumed Donovan had investigated me in some way. A rose rested on the comb, so I went over to take it between my fingers. “It’s beautiful,” I sighed. “It’s totally Juliet!” Julia exclaimed.

Clara was gone. But she hadn't been erased. In the center of the pier, resting on the weathered wood, were Two Copper Rings. They weren't charred. They were polished, shining in the first light of a new, terrestrial dawn. And beside the rings was a single, physical book. The one from the London library. Hope picked it up, her fingers trembling as she opened the cover. Inside, in Julian’s sharp, executive hand and Clara’s flowing, teacher’s script, was a single note:

God knows how they know each other,'' sighs Julia. Gray was about to stop her but then she said all the things like a storm. '' Is that so? They must be old acquaintances. Is she from here? '' Mr.Campbell asked. ''Nicholas said that she's back FRom London, she's a great artist there,'' Isabella replied.

Every ounce of me wanted to go smack Julia in the head for giving me such a scare. I thought somerhing big was there! No! It was just the same ole news about a freaking weirdo named Oly London who had some psychotic belief that he became Jules! Like can a human being be more cruel to themself? And some sick fake fans even support him! Don't they realize how scared Jules actually is of this lunatic?

~ Lily ~ I couldn’t stop trembling. It had been two hours since Julian left my office, and each time my shaky hands reached for my coffee, panic grips me. His words kept repeating in my head: “I saw them, Lily. At the mall.” He said. How did he find them so quickly? He was Julian Stone, so why wouldn't he? He owns the city. I had taken every precaution over the last six years. I chose London to be far from the Stone family. I changed my name, created a new life, and built walls I thought were high enough to keep Julian and his world out.

She did wear glasses, but always had the best frames, the ones that enhanced her fox-like face more than detracting from it. 'I never read anything by her.' I remarked. 'She's a bit like Kelly Link, or Caitlin R Kiernan.' Lacey answered, turning back to look at me. 'Just as weird, but not quite as good.' Julia said, from where she was sitting beside me. Julia was the punk/artsy friend, and, unlike Lacey, she looked exactly like you'd expect. Right down to the dyed pixie cut. 'I never read them either.' I admitted. Though I did read some Caitlin Kiernan later on, something about messed up kids in Alabama and angels and spider creatures. It was good, but Julia was right, it was weird as hell.

Zane grinned, stuffing the spent monster back in his pants. “Same to you, daddy,” London winked, wiping down the shiny jeweled toy and putting it back on the shelf. London may have been known as a high riding bitch of the publishing world, but being a bitch was who she was, it was the fiber of her being and the core of her soul. This bossy bitch knew how to get what she wanted, and more importantly how to keep it.

" _ Sincerely, _ _ Julia _ She gnawed the cap of her pen anxiously after the final stroke, rereading her heartfelt if incoherent outpouring with a rising sensation of unease. Would Lila see this as a foolish overture of pity, or would she recognize Julia's sincere desire for connection? There is only one way to find out. Julia folded the letter with shaky hands and slipped it into her satchel for delivery first thing in the morning. ***

Here, she had to wait for the slow, agonizing whistle of a cheap electric kettle. ​The Emotional Partition: The Memory of the Gilded Cage ​Julian sat on the edge of a wooden chair, looking around the cramped apartment. His eyes landed on the laptop. ​"You're a writer?" he asked, a faint, ghostly smile touching his lips—a smile that belonged to the Julian who had once bought her an entire publishing house just to see her name in print. ​"I was," Nora said, bringing him a mismatched mug of tea. "I just finished something. A long project. Too long, maybe."