National Puppy Day! (Godsgrave & the importance of pets)

Hello void that is the internet!

I'm gonna keep this light hearted today. 

Firstly, I just wanna say how excited I am for the cover reveal of Jay Kristoff's next book, the sequel to Nevernight. GODSGRAVE! Now, I own the Nevernight with the raven cover art(featured to the right), which I was kinda hoping to get a cover to match but, nevertheless, it is still beautiful and, if you haven't seen it yet you should go check it out and share it round. Rumour has it that Mr. K will be doing a bit of a giveaway... so... get over there and get some signed booty.

Now, to the cuteness!

I think most people can agree that pets are an important part in our current society. They are more than just there to protect our properties or keep pests away or the other carnivorous reasons why we used to keep pets around... Pets are part of our families. They are our children, our siblings, our roommates. And it doesn't matter if you're a dog-person, cat-person, axolotl-person, or all of them. Most people can agree that having one or many fur-friends around is awesome. Especially puppies! How fucking cute are puppies!

Here are some of the benefits of having pets around (that I stole, but am giving credit to, from People.com)

Puppies just make you feel good: There’s a reason they say a dog is man’s best friend. Having a pet, not limited to dogs, is something that everyone should experience at some point in their life. Pets can be calming, mood lifting, empathetic, and so much more. They teach you how to be selfless and responsible as you are caring for another life. Generally speaking, they make you happier. Puppies help manage depression: In some cases, therapists suggest that patients suffering from depression should adopt a pet. An animal will love you unconditionally and also be a great friend and listener. People with depression often benefit from having a pet, especially a dog, as the animal can help them get out of the house. Puppies can help you live longer: There are other health benefits associated with pet ownership (particularly dogs). Many studies show that owning a pet has a positive impact on cardiovascular disease, hypertension, infection control, allergies, stress related problems, blood pressure and psychological issues. Puppies expand your social life: A key to a healthy mind, especially for those who are elderly, is staying engaged with others. A pet is often a conversation starter and being out with a pet often warrants questions or comments from passersby. Bringing your dog to a dog park is a great way to meet new people with similar interests.Puppies help your children learn: Having a dog in the home can build confidence and manage anxiety and stress in children. Children who struggle with reading or math can gain confidence when reading aloud or reciting multiplication tables to their dog.Puppies keep you active: Training and playing with your dog also provides mental stimulation, helps unleash creativity and alleviates stress. Having a dog will also encourage you to exercise as you’ll need to walk Fido regularly.Puppies can take stress out of your life: Having a daily schedule reduces stress for any individual. Having a dog that relies on you at specific times each day (feeding, walking and sleeping) can help establish a routine.

If you are gonna go buy a puppy (or any pet), please consider going to a shelter and adopting. There are so many pets out there that need a home and love. 

And now watch some cute puppies, because ... reasons...

Hugs xxx 

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 7

The girl ran through the woods. She jumped over fallen trees and ducked under low hanging limbs. She heard the thundering footsteps behind her and tried to pick up the pace. One of the dogs ran past her and the rest followed. The pack had grown but were still clumsy with their big paws and large heads.
The girl had noticed that she was changing as well. Her legs and arms had grown longer and thinner, although she wouldn’t have believed that she could get any thinner. But she was stronger than she had ever been. Her legs moved quickly and her eyes had grown keen.
The last dog to pass her cut too close and bumped straight into her leg, tumbling the girl and her long limbs to the ground.
The girl cried out in shock, but when the dog that had bumped her came back to lick her face and nudge at her to get back up, a laugh bubbled out of her.
She had never been so happy.
She lay on her back and watched as a swarm of insects flew amongst the leaves of the trees above. They sparkled blue and reminded the girl of the beetle she had once tried to save. The swarm flew downwards in a cyclone of wings. A couple of them came to rest on the girl’s chest and she had to stop the dog from pouncing on them. 
They were so beautiful. Long bodies and elegant wings. Wasps they were, but they did not sting the girl. They simply walked around on their fragile little legs and then took off again, buzzing pleasantly as they flew away. 
How improbable they were. Such tiny creatures. How was it possible that they contained the same things as she inside their bodies? Brain. Stomach. Heart. And to be able to fly with such small wings, fine and delicate and barely there at all.
As quick as the wasps had flown away, the rest of the dogs, whom she considered her brothers and sisters, came back as well, all crowding and licking and playing. The girl sat up on the soft mossy undergrowth amongst the tumble of wagging tails and boisterous bodies. 
The dog that had rumbled her nudged at her arm until she lifted it to let him under. She hugged his thick neck tightly as he kissed her face. She stroked his soft shiny coat and watched the love on his expressive face. Ears down, he crept further and further on to her lap. She couldn’t stop patting him for a moment, lest he nuzzle his way back under her hands.
‘Oh, Fury. I can’t pat you forever,’ she said to the big black dog that gently lay on top of her. 
She watched his coat gleam as she stroked his neck, but caught sight of her hands. The bones in her fingers had become pronounced, the spaces between joints had lengthened. And she had to think, how many joints are there meant to be on a human hand? There looked to be too many. The tips of her fingers were becoming pointy and her fingernails seemed to be changing color.
‘They’re just dirty,’ she thought, but something about her hands made shivers run up her spine. 
Suddenly, the entire pack’s ears were pricked and they were all staring off into the woods in the same direction. One of the dogs, she couldn’t figure out who began to growl deep in their chest. 
Out of the trees came a beautiful being, a woman, with fiery red hair and green scales instead of skin. She had black horns that rippled and curled from the top of her head. Her face was long and her eyes were large ebony globes cracked with volcanic crimson. She was a dragon. But also a woman. She was naked bar a belt with a sword in its hilt. It was the same dragon lady she had seen before. 
The black dogs continued to growl. They all stood in front of the girl, barricading her from this strange woman. 
‘Sweet girl,’ said the dragon lady in a feminine but rough voice. She then got down on one knee and bowed her head. ‘I mean you no harm.’
At this sign of subordination, the dogs stopped their growls but did not back down, did not lower their hackles. 
The girl stood up and the dragon lady looked up, but quickly put her head back down. 
‘I know you from somewhere,’ said the girl. ‘I have seen you at my home.’
‘Yes, forgive me, sweet girl. I have been …’ she chose her words wisely. ‘… Observing you from afar.’
‘Afar? You came in my home while I was asleep,’ said the girl, for she was not entirely stupid.
‘I have been mesmerized by your beauty and your voice,’ said the woman. ‘News of your crystal voice has traveled far and wide across the kingdom. I had to hear it for myself. I wished to talk to you, but I am afraid that your pack mother wouldn’t allow it.’
The girl heard the words but she was not listening properly. She had never been complimented before, she had especially never been called beautiful. Something grew inside her, a new feeling that she couldn’t quite explain. But she liked it. She wanted to hear the words again.
‘My beauty?’ she asked.
The dragon woman looked up and back down again, keeping her head bowed, horns pointing towards the pack of dogs protecting their sister. ‘Yes, sweet girl, I had heard stories of the human beauty that could sing to the forest. I had to come and see her for myself.’ She chanced another look at the girl and her dogs, but this time she kept looking.
‘And what was it that you wanted to say to me?’ The girl stood up a little taller.
‘Our queen wishes to have a meal with you, she is to have a feast in your honor,’ said the dragon lady.
‘Queen?’ thought the girl.
She stepped in front of the pack and the dragon woman stood up. At full height, she towered over the girl as a tree does a shrub.  
‘What is your name?’ asked the girl.
‘I am Lady Kavain, left hand of the queen and keeper of Dracorllia,’ said the dragon woman with an inflection a human couldn’t mimic.
‘Dracorllia?’ asked the girl, trying her best at the strange accent.
‘Yes, that is my home, where all the Dracorlla people live. It is on the other side Evermeer,’ said Kavain.
‘Evermeer?’ asked the girl.
Kavain smiled, showing her sharp teeth, glistening white. ‘Yes, sweet girl, that is where we live. That is here,’ she said with a sweep of a taloned hand.
The girl felt excitement building up inside her. There was a queen and she wanted to meet with her. She was throwing a feast in her honor. She tried to keep her decorum, but the smile touched her lips, escaping like a bug trapped in cupped hands, squeezing through the cracks between fingers. 
‘When is this feast?’ asked the girl. She may not have been stupid, but she was still young and impressionable, hopeful.
‘Why, tomorrow night, sweet girl,’ said Kavain. She said night as if that was an actual thing. But Kavain had not seen darkness since she was a child and the last human king had ruled. 
The girl laughed a little, for she had not seen nightfall either. ‘How will I know when it is night?’ the girl asked.
‘I will return tomorrow and escort you to the castle.’ Kavain looked over the girl. ‘And bring you some clothes. Maybe you should also think of taking a bath. It is rude to be in the presence of the queen smelling of dog.’ This last sentence made Kavain kick herself. She immediately saw the look on the girl’s face change. Kavain bowed her horned head toward her and averted her eyes. ‘Forgive me, sweet girl, I only wish to serve the queen and yourself.’
‘That’s okay, Lady Kavain. You did not offend me,’ the girl lied.
‘I must be off to inform the queen that you will be able to attend. Her Grace will be quite pleased,’ said Kavain, straightening up once more.
‘I can’t wait,’ said the girl.
Kavain bowed for the last time and then turned to leave. She tried not to think about the young human girl and her sweetness. She could see it on her face, her excitement at such a prospect as to meet the queen. Instead, she thought about her own daughter. Her beautiful Kavina. And all the other Dracorlla children in her home. The death of this one human child would continue to save theirs.

Being a creative mum

If you're anything like me, then you are the sort of artist that works on a whim. You wake up to a sunny day, not too hot not too cold, and you think to yourself 'I'm gonna paint outside today.' Or perhaps it is rainy and you decide that you want to sit next to a window and write.

You're a parent now, though … so, how do you continue to fulfill all your crazy, spontaneous, whimsical notions? Seems impossible, right? The thing is, it's not impossible, but you will need to change a few things. 

I remember when my second child came into the world. He was needy, not as needy as my first, but he was definitely still needy. He constantly wanted to be fed and so I was attached to him permanently for the first 6 months. I still got writing done, though. I have a distinct memory of having him breastfeeding and kind of balancing my notebook on the side of the armchair (and partly on his feet) so I could write. It is doable but you have to be savvy and take opportunities where you can. And if you can't find opportunities, make them.

If your little ones are at an age where craft time is exciting for them. Take these moments to work on your own thing as a group. Grab that canvas that has been calling to you and pull out the paints. Make sure to get them their own brushes and paper or canvas (if you're so lucky to have more than one spare) otherwise your masterpiece will become theirs. Not that doing art together is a bad thing, but sometimes it is nice to have something for yourself and there is no shame in indulging in this. 

Learning to regain your creativity after becoming a mom is just as much an art form as it is to write a poem. It takes time and patience to find your stride again but just take baby steps. Even things as simple as finding the time to read a book (without pictures) is something that becomes difficult.

A friend and I had the brilliant idea to start a mom's creative club. We would meet once a week and hang out in her caravan while her husband looked after the kids (and likewise my hubby was at home with the boys playing video games before bedtime.) It was a great way to spend time with other moms and relax and get some of our creativity out. We would write or draw or anything we felt like doing (my BFF recently bought some embroidery thread for something else to purge our creative juices on) the point was that we would do something other than parenting for a couple of hours a week. 

Unfortunately, due to our respective shitty health situations, we have missed about 7 weeks of our little get-togethers but the point is that it was still done and we have plans to start again in the near future.

I feel that there is a lot of guilt that us mothers/parents feel about regaining some of the life we once had before becoming a parent. As if once our little bundle of joy and poopy nappies came into our lives that we are now a parent - we are a vessel for nurturing and feeding schedules - and we must not give in to the temptations of enjoying the things we once used to. 

I am not suggesting that we abandon our children and go live some bohemian lifestyle, doing yoga and drugs to find our true artist within... but taking some time to yourself and not abandoning the person you are just because you are a mother now, is not the end of the world, in fact I believe it to be necessary for our sanity. And perhaps, if we feel more fulfilled within ourselves, it will leave more room for successful parenting.

So, go make good art and try not to feel guilty for doing so.

Hugs xxx

  

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 6

The Dracorlla woman slinked into the castle. The castle seemed to be

a living thing, changing with each new master. The castle was thick and white, the walls glistened like the trails left behind snails. It shone with its own light. The spires and turrets were like broad spiraling pillars that held up the sky. 

The forest stopped short of the castle, the land being cleared of it for hundreds of meters around on every side. The queen did not like the forest. She said that it was too dark, and things hid in the shadows within it.

The Dracorlla woman stalked the castle’s halls heading towards the main throne room. For her people’s sake, she served this queen, but only in body, not in heart. She paused before entering. She looked at her reflection in the castle walls, the abundant candlelight made her reflection move before her. She checked her hair, making sure it was neat and tidy. She brushed the road dust off her glossy green scales. The queen did not like anything or anyone to look untidy.

A Troat, the small goblin-like creatures that basically ran the castle and had done so since the beginning of time, ran out of the throne room chased by a scattering of silverware. 
The Troat, dressed in little more than rags, looked up at the Dracorlla woman with her large frightened eyes. 

‘L … Lady Kavain,’ the Troat said, bowing. Kavain recognized her voice. 

‘Dorv, so … she’s in a good mood today?’ said the Dracorlla woman.

‘And clean that up! The light that fire immediately!’ screeched the queen from inside the throne room.

‘I … I …’ stuttered Dorv.

‘Go on.’ Kavain kindly dismissed the Troat who scurried back inside to grab the scattered silverware. She did so as quickly as possible but had to duck a flying knife that landed in the wall above her head with a twang. Dorv then ran past Kavain, bowing first and then scampering away.

The Dracorlla woman named Kavain, first of her name, pulled her back up straight. She cracked her long neck and wrapped her tail around one of her legs to keep it out of the way of possible flying objects. Then she entered the throne room.

The queen sat on her throne as God would sit atop the clouds, she stared down at the servants that still scampered about her feet, heads down. Her bones looked too big for her skin, too sharp, her mouth too large. She had more teeth in her mouth than Kavain, and that was saying something, but they didn’t all fit. It was like all her pointy, little teeth seemed to be fighting each other to get out in front, breaking each other in the process. Her eyes had become sunken in her face and the skin around them receded. Her skin had taken on a grayish pallor, like that of a putrid corpse. And when the queen moved, which wasn’t much, she scuttled like an insect, her joints no longer working like they once had. This is what happened to humans when they came to Evermeer. Eventually.  

The throne itself was made of an opalite stone that shone with trapped rainbows in the bright chamber. A Troat servant mussed about the hearth of one of the many fires, but this one was unlit, something Kavain rarely saw.

The queen shielded her eyes with her hands and turned her back on the unlit fire. She peeked out from behind them for a moment and noticed Kavain walking into the room.

‘Ah, Dragon lady, thank the light you’re here,’ said the queen, clicking and pointing her fingers towards the unlit fire.

Kavain gritted her teeth and bit her tongue at the slur. Dragon. 

‘Your Grace,’ she said with a graceful flourishing bow. 

‘Get out of the way!’ screeched the queen to the Troat still trying to light the fire with a candle and kindling. Another piece of silverware, this time a fork, whizzed past Kavain and struck the Troat in the back. He winced and shouted in pain and backed away.

Kavain placed a hand on his shoulder as she passed. ‘You might want to move … and perhaps stop giving her things to throw,’ whispered the Dracorlla woman.

The Troat gave her a curt smile and rushed off.

‘Well, c’mon. We haven’t got all day!’ screamed the queen. Nothing she ever said was quiet.

Kavain fixed up the pile of sticks and logs so the fire would keep easily, then she opened her mouth and lungs. Fire roared from her mouth in a great rolling wave of orange and blue. And for a moment she thought of turning the fire’s fury on the hideous queen that sat behind her. But another human would soon take her place. They always did. One would skulk up from the Wastes to take the throne. 

Sometimes, it is better the devil you know than the one you don’t.

She shut off the fire and turned back to the queen who unfurled herself from her hidden position. Kavain licked the residual flames from her lips with her forked tongue. The queen clapped her hands with happiness and Kavain smiled, but her smile soon faded we she realized that the queen was not smiling at her.

Kavain turned to see a Vulpex, a vixen if Kavain could judge correctly. She had a much more slender face than her male comrades and her coat was more orange than red. She was large, almost as large as the giant bear-dog that had threatened her when she was with the human girl. The vixen’s coat was ruffled and patches of down were missing from her wings. She had been in some kind of struggle. She also dragged a big black sack in her teeth.

The queen stood up from her throne, still clapping her hands with joy. ‘Elloware, my dearest! You bring me a present.’ She came down from her throne in her rickety manner, all backward gangly limbs and jittering movements.

Kavain couldn’t help the sneer that came to her face, but she tried to hide it by turning her face and readjusting a lock of her hair that had wriggled loose.

Elloware dumped the bag on the floor. ‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said the giant flying fox. 

‘Well, show me!’ commanded the queen.

Elloware bowed her head and began opening the bag with her mouth and wing tips. She peeled back the bag and out rolled a small creature, its four legs were crumpled in on its self like a dead spider and its downy coat shimmered with many colors, iridescent like the opalite stone throne. Its mane spread out on the floor, glistening like spun sunlight. 

Kavain couldn’t stop the gasp that came from her mouth. Likewise, the queen gasped too, but it was an entirely different sound.

‘A Ky …’ Kavain’s voice came out breathier than she expected. 

The creature that lay on the ground before them was an ancient thing, from an ancient clade of beings. But these were different to anything else left alive today. They were made mostly of light in the way other beings are made mostly of water.

The queen wriggled and clapped with cruel delight. Kavain scowled at her. There was a reason these beings were no longer around.

‘I’ll get the blade,’ said the queen creeping off.

Kavain knelt down next to this magical creature. It was horse-like in shape and when standing would’ve barely come up to her knees. ‘It’s just a child,’ she whispered.

Elloware gave her a sideways glance with a raised eyebrow. Kavain stood up to full height and brushed smooth her ruffled scales. 

‘Wake it,’ said the queen as she scuttled back to them.

Elloware roused the child Ky. It stretched out its little limbs, its hooves clacking on the cobble floor. Its big eyes blinked open and seeing the queen and the Vulpex above, it let out a cry. Elloware tried to hold it down and Kavain turned away to face the fire.

‘What’s its name?’ asked the queen.

‘Farla, Your Grace,’ said Elloware.

Kavain watched the beautiful flames dance as the screams of the child Ky rang out behind her. The flames reached up into the air as if they knew that something unholy and terrible was happening. There was the sickening thud of a blade striking flesh and sinking deep. The screams of the Ky became gurgled and the sound chilled Kavain’s blood beneath her scales. 

She heard the queen whisper the name of the Ky and there was a whooshing of air all around them.

Kavain squeezed her eyes shut and tried not to shed tears.

Then it was all over.

Kavain turned back before the queen could really notice that she had averted her gaze. But she still tried to hold her head high and not look directly at the body on the ground.

‘Would have worked better if it had been happy first, but beggars cannot be choosers. Get rid of it,’ commanded the queen with a wave of her bony hand. 

‘Yes, Your Grace,’ said Elloware with a slight bow and she put the creature back in her sack and began dragging it away. But not before glowering at Kavain.

It wasn’t that they disliked each other exactly, it was more of a mutual distaste for what they both did. Neither of them could believe that there would be another being that could stoop as low as they did, another that could stomach the queen’s dirty work. But they both knew that each had their reasons. And they were the same. Survival.

‘Do you have something for me?’ asked the queen, sitting once again on her throne. The queen now looked brighter, she radiated her own light atop her opalite throne. But to Kavain, she still looked like a dead thing. 

Kavain approached the throne again, minding the smear of shimmering blood across the floor. ‘If you consider information something, then yes, Your Grace,’ she said, the disgust was evident in her voice, but she knew the queen was too self-involved to notice.

The queen huffed like an insolent child. ‘Information.’ She said the world like one would say cat vomit or rotting flesh or moist. She leaned back in her throne lazily, bored to death already. ‘You could’ve at least brought me something to drink or a gift or something. C’mon then, out with it.’
Kavain almost considered not telling the queen what she had come all this way to tell her, but she was there for a reason. Besides, what did she care what she did with the girl? She was only a human.

‘There is a girl. A human girl,’ started Kavain.

‘So, there are lots of humans in the Wastes. What do I care?’ said the queen, picking something out of her teeth with a skeletal finger. 

‘This girl can … sing,’ Kavain said.

The queen stopped what she was doing and looked at Kavain with her dark, goggle eyes. ‘Sing?’ The queen let out a howl of laughter that made Kavain feel physically ill. ‘Has it really been that many years?’

‘I guess so, your Grace,’ said Kavain. 

‘Are you sure it is the one?’ said the queen.

‘Certain, I saw the trees bend myself,’ said Kavain.

‘So … the prophecy is true … alright. Bring her to me,’ said the queen with a dismissive wave of her hand.

‘… Her whole body or just her head?’ Kavain asked.

The queen smiled her shark’s grin. ‘Bring her to me alive.’

Need to get my shit sorted

Just to give you an idea of how my brain is right now... I had to check how to spell February.
I slept in till 7am. Sleeping through both mine and my hubby's alarms. Both of the children are snotty and sick. It is the day before Valentine's day and I haven't written in 4 days.
I know why I am stuck under this unholy leviathan known as writer's block. It is because I am stressed the fuck out and it is hard to escape into worlds of your own making when you can't keep your mind on one topic.
I will not beat myself up though.
This too shall pass.
Today I am meant to be starting my healthy eating again. Coffee and a cigarette is classed as a balanced breakfast, right?
I am also meant to be hoping back on the exercise train and the quit smoking train. LOL
Wish me luck at the florist today.
I hate Valentine's day...
Hugs xxx
#onewordatatime

Blogging, vlogging & all the bullshit in between

Driving to work this morning, singing along to Fall Out Boy (don't judge my music taste...) I got to thinking about all the things we have to do to "become writers."
We have to start a blog, get a YouTube channel, instagram, pintrest, Facebook, Twitter, Google+, blog tours, manuscript assessments, street teams, amazon advertising, goodreads, ARC copies, giveaways ... the list is fucking endless.
I have seen so many blogs selling books telling wannabe #authors about how to sell and make money from their books. 'This is my success story, buy my book and I'll tell you the secret!'
It reminds me of a story my father once told me. He (or my grandfather... I can't remember exactly) once saw an ad in the newspaper saying 'how to make $1000 a week. Send $1 to this address and I'll send you the info on how.' He thought that sounded like a pretty good deal. So he sent his dollar. A week later, he received a letter in the mail. He opened it up and it was the big secret! It said, 'put ad in paper promising big secret for only $1. Copy this letter and send it to people.'
True story.
This is what these books are like. This is what all the bullshit is like. We struggle to keep an interesting blog going, fret about what photo to take for insta and we pull our hair out wondering why an agent hasn't picked us up yet or why we only have three likes on our YouTube video.
We should be just writing.
This revelation probably won't change anything. I'll still blog and take photos of my coffee in the morning. #writerslife ... but at the end of the day we should be spending more time on the art and less time on the sell.
Hugs xxx

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 5

The girl closed her eyes so tightly it hurt her head. Time seemed to stretch on and on in front of her. 

Suddenly, she felt something hot and wet slide up the side of her face. She opened her eyes to see the giant black dog and its open mouth right in front of her, its moist breath hot on her skin. It licked her face where tears had streaked. She hadn’t even noticed that she had been crying.

Several smaller dogs, the ones that had been hanging around, came tumbling in behind the larger one. The girl noticed that they were clumsy, their feet and heads too big and not in proportion. They tugged at the larger one’s ears, nipped at its ankles. 

The pups crawled all over the girl. With no concept of personal space or stranger or of the unknown. 

They simply loved her.

They kissed her face and rubbed themselves against her. Twelve the girl counted. Twelve pups. The bigger dog that towered over them all had teats heavy with milk, the girl guessed that she was their mother.

The mother dog lay down on the ground and the girl watched as the pups, the size of large dogs themselves, all crowded around their mother. The giant beast of a dog offered up her belly to the hungry brood and all the pups took a teat and suckled. 

A peace fell on the forest – the quiet that surrounds a mother feeding her young. A quiet the girl had never known. 

The girl relaxed as she watched the pups, who had been rambunctious only moments ago, become sleepy and content. That is when she remembered the strange dream she’d had. She remembered suckling at a giant black dog, the milk of the mother saving her.

The mother dog looked up at the girl, her big head heavy with sleep, ears flopping, eyes burning. The mother blinked slowly then placed her massive paw on the girl’s leg and tried to pull her in toward her. 

The girl hesitated a moment, but the mother was insistent. Eventually, the girl gave in and suckled alongside her new brothers and sisters.

This part is a short one. Sorry, guys. Hugs xxx 

Writing, depression and that hag in the attic

My writing efforts lately have been pretty dismal. Personal issues, coupled with a bad beta review and BAM there it is, that hag in the attic has crept down out of her hole, through the webs of my mind to come and tell me how shit I am.

Writing can be hard enough as it is, but couple it with a mental illness and it can be near impossible. I feel sometimes that it seems to be the curse of the creative. We are sensitive, we see the world differently to non-creative folk. We take in more than any normal person should and this can be a kind of catalyst for bad mental health.

Of course, there are many different reasons for mental illness: family history, brain chemistry, the fact that I am not a doctor. There are so many factors and so many triggers, it can be difficult to determine when you should seek professional help and when you are just having crappy time. 

I once posted on social media "If you don't or never have experienced either of these things (anxiety and depression) then you are a very lucky person. Depression is the vampire that sucks all that you are out. And anxiety is the bugs that crawl under your skin to take what is left…" I stick to my guns on this description. 

Anxiety and depression are not just problems that can be cured by drugs, they are not something that you should try to deal with on your own. But the trick is recognizing this before it is too late and then doing something about it.

Depression is serious. It can and will affect more than just yourself.

If you know someone with depression and anxiety issues, please reach out to them. Don't try to fix them. Just make sure that they know you are there. And stay there... This is way more difficult than it seems. People with depression can have sudden mood swings and staying around when it seems like you are not wanted is very difficult. Even more so if you both have mental health problems.

And if you have depression or anxiety yourself then stay strong. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Let people help you back up the spiral. If you feel that you don't have anyone to turn to there are lifelines to contact in most countries. Utilize them.

Now, getting back to the writing part. I do have a sense of ... ease with my anxiety and depression. That sounds a little fucked up, but hear me out. I have an insight into a world a lot of people don't. I see things differently, I have unique experiences that my fucked up brain gives me... so I use them. Most of my stories seem to circle around some sort of mental illness. I use these things because it is what I know. I'm not saying that I have DID (what my protagonist has in Dead Bunnies) but I have had poor experiences with doctors like she has and I have been given the wrong medication and panic attacks are something of an old family friend that I know too well.

Also, about the hag in the attic. And no, I don't have an elderly tenant that lives upstairs, this is my name for the doubt and fear and self-doubt and poor self-esteem that comes creeping down from my mind. She comes down and tells me how shitty my writing is, how no one likes it, that I'll never be a REAL writer and that I like terrible in my swimming costume. 

She can be a real bitch sometimes and what she says can really affect my writing and life in general. It is important to recognize these thoughts for what they are. Bull shit. 

When these thoughts come to you try not to make any big decisions. Just keep going with your routine and politely tell her to go fuck herself.  Your writing is awesome. Your art is awesome. You are awesome.

Hugs xxx

Sad news

Today I have sad and disappointing news... My publisher has closed. With a mixture of personal issues and other things they have been forced to shut down.

They are handing all their authors back the rights to our books and cover images. All of our books and stories will be unpublished.

I'll be honest... I have no fucking idea where to go from here.

At first, I thought I might just self-publish Dead Bunnies and give away my short stories for free (like I normally do. I am a big believer in free stories.) but, for some reason, this doesn't sit well with me and there is something inside me telling me not to.

I know that I have spoken of self-publishing in the past, and I do believe that it is possible to make it work, but I have always wanted a publisher. Deep down in my little, blackened soul, I have always dreamed of the big deal. Not because of any money side, but because having a publisher means reaching a wider audience. It means being able to connect with more people.

So, maybe I will keep Dead Bunnies for now. Maybe I will put it on Wattpad and let it just be read and enjoyed by people. And then I will submit to an agent with Under The Corners of Shadows and Madness.

With a heavy heart, I bid farewell and RIP to Ink Blood Publishing. And I wish everyone connected to IBP all the best within their careers and lives. 

That is all for today...

Happy writing. Never give up hope.

Hugs xxx

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 4

The girl sang while she worked. Not any particular song, but just words that she strung together herself like pearls on a necklace. She had always enjoyed singing, but never did so around others, only when she was alone.

Once she had sung in front of the mother at the orphanage. That was the first layer of scars on her little palms. But now, there was no one to berate her, no one to hurt her. So the words flowed out of her mouth like water through a stream, crystal clear and life-giving.

She had decided to try to make herself a house in the grove of fruit trees. At first, she simply lay a pile of sticks against a tree, but she soon figured out that it was not a good idea. Then she tried leaning sticks against each other, forming a triangular shape she could crawl under, but that too did not work very well.

But, as the girl sang and worked, she noticed something peculiar. The trees around her seemed to be bending downwards, for now, she could reach the low hanging fruit. Likewise, the vines and ferns and toadstools that made up the forest she was in had begun to creep around her. 

She paused in her singing a moment and looked around. The short smiling creatures had stuck around, they all crowded around her, some bringing her sticks to add to her house, others bringing her more fruit, but there were other animals too. The deer with the too fine necks had come to watch her, so too had a couple of the stubby mushroom men. Also, there were large turtles with houses on their backs that tiny mice scurried in and out of and birds with long draping feathers that flowed behind them as they flew. And beings made entirely of light. And even a few dogs as black as pitch with eyes that glowed brightly as if they were ignited by flames that seemed oddly familiar.

They all watched her.

She turned back to her pitiful little house and began to sing again, but this time she imagined what she wanted it to look like, she imagined what she wanted the vines and the trees to do. She sang with all of the happiness she felt and, to her delight, the plants obeyed. 

The vines grew up and around the sticks she had collected, holding them in place. The trees bent and twisted together, joining up to the vines and sticks, forming a roof. Soon she had a living house, made entirely of the plants of the forest.

She jumped for joy at the magic she had done. She went inside her little home and lay down on the bed of moss that had been made for her. The ivy vines that flowered with tiny blue stars twinkled with a dim light and it made her green home look like the night sky. Her ceiling was decorated with the multitude of fruits from the tree and the whole thing just made her want to burst with joy.

As she lay on her mossy bed, she thought of the children still left at the orphanage. If only they could see her now. They had been so cruel to her over the years, but surprisingly, she held no anger towards them. They were children just like herself. With no family or home to call their own, having never been shown love, how could anyone expect them to show love themselves?

She sat up, reaching to her ceiling to pick a piece of fruit, one of the purple kind, and as she ate it she wished she could share it with those sad children. The ones that were like herself. The ones that didn’t belong. The sad ones. The lonely and the weak and the unloved. The ones that went through their lives like they were no more than shadows. 

There were no shadows in this place. If the children came here with her they could be happy too.

The girl picked apart the purple skinned fruit, its flesh was creamy-white and had a soft fibrous consistency, similar to sweet bread. She lay her head back down on the pillow and thought about how lucky she was. How brave she was to escape. 

She must have drifted off to sleep for a time. Sleep used to be such a frightening thing, full of unknowns and nightmares and untrustworthies skulking about the orphanage at night. 

Sometimes at the orphanage, children would die in their sleep, the little ones mostly. They would go to bed and just never wake up. 

Some children would cry out and scream in their sleep. Night terrors the sisters called it. The girl even remembered, once or twice or maybe more, children disappearing. They would be in their beds after supper and then when the girl awoke, their beds would be empty. No one would speak of them again as if they had never even existed and the girl had just imagined them.

As she lay in a half sleep, half waking moment, she wondered if that is how the other children felt about her.

Sleep was such an easy thing now, as natural as breathing or eating. She would simply lay down and close her eyes and sleep would come. 

But as she lay on her mossy bed, fruit in hand but almost dropping it to the floor, she thought she must be dreaming, for, in the doorway of her new tree home, she could see the shape of the dragon lady.

But, even though she had seen some strange things in this place, she knew that dragons definitely did not exist. She had to have been dreaming. This creature was too beautiful to be real. 

The girl felt so sleepy. She could barely open her eyes, but every time she managed to open them just a crack the dragon lady with bright green scales and ebony horns curling from the top of her head, her long elegant face and fire hair, was still standing at the door.

Just as she started to think that maybe this was not a dream at all, the girl heard a deep growl and the dragon lady turned and fled, forked tail cracking the air like a whip.

The noise of the growl startled the girl and she sprang up from her mossy bed. If the dragon lady had been real she was gone, but in her place stood a tremendous black dog. It was similar to those that had been watching her work but easily four times the size. 

Even with its head lowered, it still towered over the girl. Its fiery eyes glowed brightly in the dim light of inside and it walked towards the girl slowly.

The girl stumbled backward onto her bed and backed up onto the wall. There was nowhere she could run to. The doorway was completely blocked by the massive bulk of the animal.

All the girl could do was close her eyes and pray that her death would be quick.

Like a Queen by Constance Hall - Book Review

Like a Queen is a  mixture of self-help, auto-biography and parenting advice. But I think that all women (and some courageous men) would benefit from reading this brilliant book. Especially creative mums, this book is designed to bring hope and love in a dismal world full of dirty dishes, unwritten manuscripts, and blank canvases.

This was my first book for 2017, and I'm so glad it was. I have had a pretty tumultuous 24 months. With cancer scares and house fires and shitty insurance companies and marriage issues. This was the high that I needed to start the year on. With teachings of self-worth and coping with anxiety and more, this book is so bursting with positive messages, there is no way you could close its pages and not tell yourself what a rad bitch you really are.

"I wish I could tell every single woman with depression or anxiety or who has gotten herself into a situation that she doesn't think she can get out of, that something life-changing could be around the corner. You just have to wait, it will come, this slump isn't forever." - Constance Hall

Constance is funny and smart and real, raw in the way only an Aussie can be. He voice is strong and carries throughout the entire book. It is not overdone and feels genuine. She has a way of making you feel like you're mates that have known each other forever. When you finish you feel like picking up the phone to call her and say "Hey, good job on that book, darl!" and it was a little crushing knowing that was not possible. (hahahaha, crazy Adelise, thinking she can be friends with all the authors)

I think this is the quickest I have ever read a book, and there is a reason for that. It made me laugh and cry. As in, I was reading it on the loo at 5am while everyone else in the house was asleep, snorting with laughter, trying my hardest to stay quiet and failing miserably. But then, in the next chapter, I would be having to read without my glasses cause my tears were fogging up the glass and I could see better without them. If you're looking for something that will change your perspective for the better, then pick up this book.

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There are a few typos here and there, but it is not enough to distract from the story. And I am pretty sure that, towards the end, there was a part in it where her therapist's name changed for a couple of paragraphs, which was odd. But in the age of self-publishing, we are getting books that the content is amazing but the editing is not the best. This is the price that we pay to allow great works onto our bookshelves when agents and publishers cannot bank on their success. It is still well written and relaxed, I never felt like she was talking down to me as if she knew better or had all the answers. Connie is just a chick that has done all the things and wants to share her story.

I do wish it was on audiobook. That would be amazing… Highly recommend this one! Read it now.