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.

Buy Now

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.