#mis-directed

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act I

The main characters star in a television series adapted from bestselling romance novels…

…called Leicester Square.

Hattie Murton plays Iris Pinkerton, “[a] living ghost of a person, so unimportant that she could walk amongst them tonight… She was simply beneath their notice, which made her to all intents and purposes invisible. It was terribly convenient.”

“Anthony [Rafe] was six feet tall and had a swimmer’s build. All lean elegant muscle.”

Anthony plays bad boy, Victor Del Vayo [sp], whose signature look includes – don’t say “pirate coat!” – no, a long cape.

Anthony also has a crazed fan...

"She’d turned up uninvited at his old flat a week later and bribed the security guard to let her in. He’d made it extremely clear to both of them that if the occurrence was repeated, they’d each be departing in a police car or a body bag."

Oh, and there’s a character named “Jake,” whose sexual chemistry with Hattie is described as “sparks in a damp firework,” a point that is driven into the reader repeatedly. The Jakolas “would have probably preferred it if this was a euphemism.” Alas, it is not.

Actual sparks fly between Hattie and Anthony during their scripted love scenes – although, based on the text, they are both drawn to each other before the filming of their season even starts.

“The fans have got you to where you are. We’ve been listening to what the audience is asking.”

“Lady Iris was getting a proper romance arc. Not just a series of mad sexual exploits and single episode infatuations with passing guest stars. A full on – and sweet Christ – a long-running affair beginning with a surprise kiss scene on Monday. Iris was about to fall madly and reluctantly in love with Victor Del Vayo.”

Oh, and did I mention Anthony had “grown up in Mayfair?”

Let’s not forget Anthony is also a writer…

And that Hattie’s loves some “[g]ood ol’ Irish tradition…” because her dad is from Galway.

Then there's this: “’The very sweet Sergeant Llewellyn,’ [Hattie] reminisced. ‘My personal favorite of Iris’s lovers…’”

And, of course, every single mention of Pride and Prejudice...

“[Hattie had] accidently seen [Anthony] in a production of Julius Caesar at The Old Vic last year during their summer break…He’d been arresting, engrossing, heart wrenching.”

Anthony’s character, Victor, wears a signet ring: “The ring was heavy silver. A human skull in profile with a ruby eye that could be spun in its socket.”

Okay, enough about the main characters.

Let's move on to those intimacy scenes…

“Everything felt off today.”

“If Stevie had thought they’d been lacking chemistry in round one, perhaps she’d decided to gift them with a bonding experience. A shared case of fake snogging and induced lockjaw.”

“And now suddenly… you’re touching for the first time in all these years. Lo and behold, caught off guard by the explosion of chemistry.”

“A nerve twitched under Anthony’s firm mouth. He’d well and truly lost the air of bored idleness now and when he put his hands on Hattie’s corseted waist and slammed his body up against hers, pressing her into the wall, there was nothing disjointed and indolent about the maneuver or the way her breath left her in a rush. The actual mechanics behind the lift and spin were controlled and almost shockingly gentle. He concealed one palm behind her back and took the full force of the collision with his own body."

“Hattie found herself treating that drop of perspiration as an almost spotting point, like a ballet dancer keeping their balance during a fouette.”

“A muscle in her neck was starting to cramp, as they paused there artfully for the cameras. She adjusted arching her back in an unscripted gesture that pressed their bodies closer. As her belly rubbed up over his and his sheltering arms flexed, a coiling full-bodied zing shivered through her like the subtlest flooding of spice and warmth and then a jolt of pure fizzing adrenaline… As Hattie watched, still oddly transfixed, his pupils dilated, just a bit."

“For once, or maybe the first time ever, [Hattie] wasn’t excruciatingly conscious of everyone’s watching eye. She felt frozen, distant from the surrounding scene yet conversely hyper aware of every angle and shiver and prickle of her own body…"

“The hallway, the cameras, the rest of the world, it all ceased to exist. Seconds were slipping into minutes.”

[sassypleia]

Love stories are easy to enjoy when they stay in fiction. They’re contained, predictable in their own way, and we trust that everything will land where it’s supposed to. But every once in a while, a story starts to feel… familiar. And that’s when it gets interesting.

Because it’s not just about watching something unfold anymore. It’s about recognizing it.

We’ve already seen how it works in Romancing Mr. Bridgerton. The slow build, the quiet longing, the “one fell first, the other fell harder” dynamic. It’s paced in a way that makes the ending feel earned, not rushed. Like every moment before it mattered, even when it didn’t seem like it at the time.

But what happens when those same patterns start showing up somewhere else?

That’s where things start to blur a little. Because suddenly, it’s not just a story structure, it’s a rhythm. A sequence of moments that feel familiar in a way you can’t quite ignore.

Take Misdirected. At its core, it’s built on missed timing; feelings that are there, but don’t quite land when they’re supposed to. Things are said, just not at the right moment. And it’s not that anything is missing… it’s that everything is slightly out of sync.

But even in that misalignment, the connection itself doesn’t go anywhere. It stays. It lingers. There’s a steadiness underneath all the confusion that never really disappears, no matter how complicated things get.

And then there’s the shift; not sudden, not dramatic, but gradual. The kind that creeps up on you. Like something that’s been building quietly in the background finally catching up to where it’s meant to be.

What makes it even more interesting is the misdirection of it all. What things look like on the surface versus what’s actually happening underneath. The difference between what’s shown and what’s felt. Because sometimes, what you’re seeing isn’t the full story… it’s just what makes sense at the time.

And still, even with all of that: missed moments, crossed wires, everything slightly off; it never feels like it’s going nowhere. If anything, it feels like it’s heading somewhere very specific. Like all the confusion is still moving toward something that, eventually, will make sense.

At a certain point, it stops feeling like coincidence that these stories all hit the same beats. The same kind of yearning. The same delays. The same shift where everything finally clicks into place.

And maybe that’s all it is… just patterns we’re used to seeing, showing up again in different ways.

But when the parallels line up this closely, it’s hard not to pause and wonder if some stories don’t just stay on the page. If they don’t, in their own way, echo a little louder somewhere else.

Because when fiction starts to feel familiar… it usually means you’re not just watching the story anymore.

You’re recognizing it.

Xx🩵

[nicolacoughlanbigheartfanpage]

MIS-DIRECTED

New audiobook for the hook Misdirected from author Lucy Parker

Will be available cor purchase on February 4th (2025)

[threeacttragedy]

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act II

“Before you started the bumpers cars act, for the record unless you’re eight years old trying to make your dolls kiss, smashing your teeth together is not an ideal approximation of romance.”

“And [Hattie’s] gaze fell to [Anthony’s], felt as if somehow it was attached to his, as if there were filaments between them hooking together every time their glances connected.”

“Maybe there had already been the faintest glimmer of this horrifying attachment even then. His first steps on a map to a very unexpected destination but somehow it still felt as if there’d been no warning at all. As if a thousand insignificant moments and incidents had quietly woven together until one day he’d turned and he’d fallen and he’d been caught by a net of those impossibly unbreakable threads which he hadn’t realized existed.”

“…[Anthony] was not a touchy-feely person… But when he and Hattie, when their characters had kissed each other into the wall, he’d almost purred against her like a damn cat.”

“It was a closed set this morning so thankfully a very minimal number of crew personnel…On the flip side, the team reserved this level of set closure, basically a skeleton crew, for only the most explicit scenes and semi-nudity.”

“But she never had to worry in the past about being more involved in the dance than she ought to be. Not once had she arranged herself in a castmate’s arms and felt as if they were doing something truly, genuinely intimate…"

“Quite clearly the issue here was her scene partner and the potential for an amped up repeat of what had happened last time. Hard nipples, damp thighs, and a heart trying to burst out of her chest, all from a fully clothed screen kiss. This time, they’d both be all but naked, writhing on a bed, gasping, grinding, sighing.”

“This mattress feels very sturdy.”

“The moment Iris bounces him into the mattress in episode 8..."

“If millions of people were going to watch her ride Anthony like a mechanical bull…”

“Stevie pointed at the ornate mirror near the bed. Her gesture a spectacular symphony of sarcasm. ‘As your pre-seduction routine appears to involve a great deal of hair flicking and smokey glances at yourself, have at it.’”

“Are you looking for something?”

“‘Falling buckets,’ Hattie said. ‘Or collapsing bedframes or beams coming loose…’”

“…when the floorboard beneath [Anthony’s] boot performed a preemptive strike. The wood tilted inwards, just enough to throw off his footing…and his full body weight surged forward. She could see later in hindsight that he had attempted to both shield her head and not crush her underneath him…"

“Anthony landed on his knees with a painful grunt but had barely hit the floor before he was at her side, touching the back of her head and her shaking shoulders. She just had time to register a little too much cool air on the backs of her thighs, then he was smoothing her skirts down protecting what remained of her dignity in an automatic gesture.”

“’Gentle, this bit,’ [Stevie] said. “Romantic, soft.”

“But in the ways that mattered, especially in the context of an intimate scene and the scripts that they all dreaded most, he’d been surprising. If she wanted to expand into the territory of actual truth, he’d been the most confusing, unsettling, and fun scene partner she’d had in four years.”

“They were still holding hands. They realized this simultaneously and let go immediately.”

“’She’s my baby,’ [Cassidy] explained as she turned the key in the ignition. ‘The first thing I ever treated myself to with my own money, and she’s been with me for the whole crazy ride.’ She patted the gear box fondly. ‘I could never part with Penelope.’”

When discussing the underdog love story on Leicester Square, Hattie commented, “If she were a viewer, she’d be shipping them hard.”

While Anthony and Hattie were looking at gravestones, one caught Hattie’s eye…

“The dates here coincided with the time period of Leicester Square… Below the words was a symbol of a V-shaped flying dove. At first glimpse, it strongly resembled two raised fingers.”

While reminiscing about growing up, Hattie recalled, “...her mother reading aloud to her from a battered old copy of The Magic Faraway Tree.”

“’Do you remember the day we first met,’ [Hattie] asked suddenly."

“In all honesty, no. His early days on various TV and film sets had all blurred into an archived jumble of long hours, interchangeable costars, despised hotel living. As difficult as it was to imagine now, he had no distinct memory of the very first time he had ever seen Hattie. Although, he might have a vague recollection of earrings shaped like miniature garden gnomes. He did, however, have a crystal-clear memory of the first time he’d actually seen Hattie with all that the emphasis on that word implied.”

“She’d obviously read the ‘no’ in his expression, and her smile widened.”

“’It was a Tuesday morning at Malvern Abbey.’”

“And now she felt excessively wrong sharing close whispering breaths with Patrick especially with Anthony sitting on a folding chair a few meters behind the camera awaiting his queue to slip in for the daydream portion of the scene, and currently watching their every move. His pose was typically lazy, one boot crossed over the other, his fingers tapping on the arm of the chair, but he hadn’t looked away from them once. Something in his demeanor had the usually easy-going Patrick antsy as hell, probably the twitching eyelid.”

“’A definite improvement,’ Stevie’s voice came from behind them, very dryly. ‘And if we’d actually started shooting yet, we could probably call it a day.’”

[threeacttragedy]

Entry 19: The One Where I Perform Mis-Directed as a Three Act Comedy, Act III

“Firstly, happy birthday. It’s tomorrow, isn’t it?”

Hint: Mis-Directed was released on February 4.

"’I’m making some changes,’ Hattie sipped from the glass. ‘And I’ve updated my skincare routine.’"

"‘Is that actor-code for hooking up with my costar,’ [Hattie’s] sister asked with great interest."

"And Hattie swallowed her drink, wincing as it burned down her throat. Looks like a liquified Barbie Dream House, tastes like one hundred proof vodka."

“’He’s the absolute bane of my existence,’ Hattie said.”

“’And I’ll stake my entire and beloved earring collection.’"

"Dee’s eyes went covetously to today’s selection. A miniature Victorian inkpot and quill.”

“’The entire family’s been reading the tabloids, have they?’"

"‘Reading, discussing, dissecting in a private WhatsApp chat.’”

“They’d touched each other before under the heat of cameras and watching eyes, but this was different. It was them and them alone. It was for them alone.”

“They watched where he entered her, where she enclosed him.”

“’I’ll never be a person who courts tabloid speculation about my private life,’ [Hattie] said at last. ‘But I understand the role that the press plays in this industry and the present attention is likely to be short-lived.’”

“’That might be true,’ he said in a slightly unreadable tone. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily make it easier to deal with in the moment.’ A point she couldn’t argue, especially since they’d remain hot headline property for quite some time yet, if their names were linked. The Victor and Iris affair hadn’t even hit screens yet. They were doing their first joint promo on Monday, at which point the speculation would fire up considerably.”

“’And when did you know it was more than a friendship you felt for Mr. Rafe?’"

"Despite everything, Hattie couldn’t repress the bubble of humor. ‘I don’t recall ever being friends with Mr. Rafe,’ she said, her gaze switching to her other side. Anthony was watching her with utter blandness in his expression and an emotion in his eyes sent all the butterflies in her stomach spiraling. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed but he’s infamously insufferable.’”

“But at last, the show’s PR manager stepped in and brought the prying to an end.”

“’I love you.’ They were Iris’s [played by Hattie] words but the slight crack in her voice wasn’t scripted nor was what she saw in Anthony’s eyes. Their fingers tightened on each other as he leaned forward, and his lips touched hers and the ground dropped from under them.”

“’Do I,’ her voice cracked again, ‘have your heart?’"

"‘Do you,’ his body was incredibly tense, ‘love me?’"

"Her eyes burning with sudden tears. She couldn’t speak. She simply nodded as he said with a thick rasp and as little composure as she’d ever seen from him, ‘For a long time now.’”

“Anthony also looked to the nosy reporter before his gaze returned to hers. She read the question in his eyes."

"‘I don’t care,’ she said and realized it was true, with no longer even the slightest twinge of anxiety or reservation. This was the right person. The right time. And she was ready for all of it and it was worth everything and anything. ‘It doesn’t matter anymore. This means so much more.’"

"A last tear slipped free."

"‘This is everything. That’s just background noise.’"

"His arms tightened.”

P.S. “She just wouldn’t touch the fan fic or the fan art of Leicester Square with a ten-foot pole. The idea of people writing sex scenes while picturing her face or sketching not safe for work drawings in her image was unsettling at best.”