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 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 

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.

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 3

She awoke to the gentle splatter of rain on her face. For a second she thought that the roof in the orphanage was leaking again, but then she felt the grass beneath her and the aching in her feet and she remembered what she had done.

She opened her eyes to the new day and found herself in a place that was very unfamiliar. The sky was a clear, deep purple-pink, like that of a glass marble. It seemed so close that she might reach out and dip her fingers into it. She sat up and looked around. She was in a forest, dense and thick with trees and shrubs and ferns. Everything shone with a kind of silvery sheen as if it had been freshly polished.

Insects of all shapes, sizes and colours flittered around the trees and the girl stared at them in wonder. Little pink orbs of light like tiny balls of cotton candy floated around. The girl stood up to get a better look at them. A group of them came down from the tree she had slept under, they circled the girl’s head gracefully, more floating than flying. But she could see them no more clearly up close, but they made a sweet twinkling sound as they moved. The cluster of them got closer to her face, tickling like feathers on her skin, making the girl giggle. They swirled around her once, twice and then they were off.

Then she remembered the black shape, the dog. Was it a dream? The girl had never been much of a dreamer. Daydreamer yes, but night dreamer, not so much.

The girl began walking. The ground in this place was soft like moss below her feet. She looked down and saw that with each footfall the moss sent shimmers of glittering green light off in all directions like glowing roots stretching from her feet. 

‘What is this strange place?’ she thought. She could hear birds singing in the trees and pink light trickled through the canopy from an unseen sun, like water through holes in a roof, making the soft rain glisten like tiny captive rainbows. Was this the end of the rainbow? For surely this place was magical.

Giant pink and brown mushrooms as big as chairs sprouted up from a patch of ground where trees had not grown and light streamed through, warming the mushrooms’ backs. The girl was hungry. And she remembered being told to never eat the red mushrooms, for they were poison, but no one ever warned her about giant pink and brown ones.
She carefully knelt down on the mossy ground next to a particularly fat mushroom and grabbed at its top. She tried to break a piece off when suddenly the mushroom moved. Its shape changed, it unfurled into a stout little man with a bulbous head and a nose to match. His skin was the same colour the mushroom had been. 

‘Oi!’ said the little man. ‘Whatchu doin’? Wakin me up from me sleepin’?’

The girl had fallen back on her rump in surprise. ‘Oh! I … I’m sorry. I thought you were a …’

‘You thought wrong, human girl! Go on, git! Go to the Wastes with the other humans!’ the little mushroom man waddled over to another of the mushrooms and ratted on its hood. ‘C’mon boys! Time to be gettin’ off.’ He turned and glared at the girl. ‘The humans are out.’ 

The group of mushroom men all unfurled themselves, stretching and yawning in the rainbow shower. Then they all simply toddled off, some of them giving her evil stares over their rotund shoulders.
The girl sat on her rump a while longer as she watched the group of mushroom men retreat. She had never seen such creatures or been told about them. Also, she had never been called a human before. She knew she was a human, but in a world dominated by them, it was never really pointed out. And what were the Wastes? Should she go there? It didn’t sound like the sort of place she wanted to go.

She got back up and continued walking. There was no discernible trail in the woods. It was just an overgrown entanglement of vines and ferns and trees and the girl began to wonder how in the world she had gotten there. She remembered before this point, but it was not as if there was a yesterday and the day before that. There was only before and now. 

She must’ve gotten lost while running, but could you get so lost that you simply found yourself in another place, another world entirely? For surely that was what this place was, another world. 
Before now, the only memories she had were of the orphanage. It was a dull place, it lacked luster. The orphanage world looked washed out as if seen through a dirty window. This new world was exactly opposite. The colours popped out at her, each one of them was so vibrant it was like the colour itself had life. The light was so bright it warmed her deep inside.

Despite the beauty of this new world, she walked ahead more cautiously this time. Something told her that she shouldn’t take things for granted, she shouldn’t assume anything in this strange new place.

She walked for an unknown amount of time. Time seemed to be different there. She had always gauged time by the shadows that crept across the dirty wooden floors, but here, there didn’t seem to be any shadows. The light coming from above didn’t change.

Every now and then there would be things that seemed out of place. A broken statue of tiny naked human babies sat dirtying amongst the growth of flowering ivy vines. A group of animals that seemed similar to deer except their necks were far too long and thin, the stag’s antlers appeared to made of trees with flower buds about to bloom and leaves twinkling wet with raindrops. For a moment, she thought she saw what appeared to be a woman, but she was covered in green scales and had a face that appeared more dragon than lady, but as quick as the girl saw the dragon lady she was gone.

Eventually, the girl came to a grove of trees that hung heavy with plump fruit. The fruit was all different, each tree carried several different shape and colour fruits, none of which the girl had ever seen. Not that she had the chance to eat much fruit at the orphanage.

The thing about hunger is that after a while you stop feeling it. In the beginning, you feel it like someone had taken a part of you away. It can be painful, but after years of feeling hungry for food, it goes away. The hunger for other things becomes stronger. But now, seeing all this ripe glistening fruit just hanging there she felt hungry.

She sat back and watched for a while. There were creatures climbing the trees. They looked like cat-sized rats, but with squat smiling faces. Some climbed the trees while others waited down below. The ones up in the tree picked out the red fruit and threw it down to the ones waiting below. 

Quietly, the girl crept up to the tree and tried to reach for the fruit, but she could not reach, she was far too small. 

The emptiness in her tummy grew as she looked at the fat fruit that was just out of her reach and she tried to jump. As she went into the air she felt her fingertips brush the fruit but still she couldn’t reach and she fell back to the ground with a loud thud, landing first on her sore feet and then on her backside.

The smiling creatures all startled and scurried away from the trees. The girl looked around, shocked for a moment before tears stung her eyes. That old familiar emptiness felt heavy inside her, like a paperweight on her heart. She put her hands to her face to hide her tears and sat there underneath the tree with fruit that was just out of her reach.

Then, she felt something fall into her lap. She peeled away her bandaged hands to see a big red fruit in her lap and one of the smiling creatures standing before her.

She stared at the creature and then down at the fruit and then back to the creature. The creature crept close to her and pushed the fruit towards her again. 

The girl couldn’t help the smile that came to her face as she nodded at the creature and picked up the red fruit. 

‘Thank you,’ she said to the creature and nodded again. 
The creature returned the gesture.

The fruit was soft and warm from the sun’s rays. The outside was slightly fuzzy but it was as red as blood.

She put the fruit to her lips and bit into it. Juice filled her mouth and spilled down her chin. The sweetness was like nothing she had tasted before. Tangy and syrupy. It tasted the same way that the colours looked. Vibrant and opposite to anything she had ever experienced at the orphanage.

The creatures began to crowd around her. They chattered amongst themselves and smiled and ate fruit. 

She ate until she could eat no more. Her belly full, her heart overflowing, she leaned back on the tree and drifted off to sleep.
She was home.


I hope you are enjoying the story. If you have any comments feel free to leave them. 

The next chapter will be posted in a week.

Hugs AMC
xxx

Get ready for 2017 with a more effective writing routine

I have said it before but I'll say it again. Routine is important… when it comes to writing… That is really the only routine I have. The rest of my day is left up to the gods and my children, but between the hours of 5am and 7.30, it is all about the writing.
If you don't already have a routine in place then now is a good time to set one up. With the new year only a few days away it is now that we make decisions to better ourselves in the new year. I am going to give you a few pointers to get you started on the road to a better writing routine for 2017.

Creative flow
First thing to do is decide when your best creative flow comes. Do you work best first thing in the morning? Are you a night owl? Are you better suited to lunchtime breaks at a coffee house? Find a time during the day that works and stick to it. I work best first thing in the morning, when everyone is still asleep. I can sit there in my PJs at 5 am and happily type away. Even if it involves making the time. Years ago, I used to say that I didn't have time to write. I would also sleep in until eight o'clock in the morning or later. Making the decision to make time for writing is one of the best decisions I ever made. You should also work out if you work best after or before big meals, after working out, or after meditation. All these things can help contribute to making your writing time more productive.

Set goals 
What is it that you want to achieve? Is it a word count? A time frame? I, personally, am terrible at word count goals. One day I will wake up and the writing flows out of me like blood from an open wound. Other days I will write seven words and then delete them all again… So, I work with time. Set a realistic goal that you think you will be able to stick to. Start small, you can always increase it. If you start too big and then fail you may become discouraged and start skipping days and/or stop altogether. 

Figure out what you want to achieve
And yes this is different to the goal thing. Is it just writing that you need to do for your career? Do you need to write your blog or vlog or social media? I try to set up my schedule so that everything is slotted in. Blog post are written on Mondays, social media posts and photos taken on Tuesdays… you get the idea. It is good to set out everything you need to do and give it an allocated time. Make sure you still leave more time for writing as this is obviously the most important part of your writing schedule.

Turn off your phone and internet 
No, like seriously. Switch those fuckers off. In your writing time that is what you are doing. Writing. Resist the urge to see if your great aunt Miriam's dog has had her puppies yet or if Vlogbrothers have posted a YouTube clip yet or if your crush is online and wanting to chat. 

Learn to close the door 
If you are serious about writing then you need to learn that this is your job. Close the door (even if this means listening to music) and try to stay in your own head.

Set up things you need before your routine starts 
If you read my blog on listening to music maybe now is a good time to implement this. Set up a playlist on YouTube now so it is all ready to go in the new year.

Pre-write
So, this sounds odd, but hear me out. When I lay in bed at night, instead of ticking over all the problems I might have or all the things I have to do or should have done or whether I locked the front and back doors, I think about what I am going to write in the morning. This is a good time to do it, because you are a little tired so your mind is loose and malleable, so you can kind of just give in and let your subconscious take over. Just daydream about what is going to happen next in your book. Perhaps put yourself in the body of your main character and see what unravels. Then when you get up the next day, you already know what you are going to put to paper.

Plot 
I fucking hate plotting but it helps some people. I still make myself do it a little… I write chapter notes on index cards and then put them on a wall or window so I can look them over and make changes. There are some great advice on plotting on YouTube and all over the web. I do like "beautiful minding it" (putting it up on the wall… this is what my husband calls it.) but I may not be the best to take advice from on this subject because I plot terribly and I always seem to stray from the original…

Don't be too hard on yourself 
If you do miss a day here and there, don't beat yourself up, just try again the next day. Try to be consistent, but life does tend to happen regardless of what we try to do to prevent it. Just keep trying.


I hope this helps you figure out what you are going to do in the new year. Stay safe over this holiday season. 

I will post another chapter of Between Lost & Found tomorrow… if I still have internet… 

Hugs AMC 
xxx

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 2

It was quiet in the bedroom of the orphanage. The girl could hear all the sounds that accompanied sleep. She had lain awake until she could hear no other sounds but. Then she slipped her bare feet out from under her meager rag blankets and placed them gently on the floor.

She got up and headed over to the window. It was small and she had to climb atop a cupboard to get to it, but she had done it so many times before that she could have done it in her sleep. She climbed up to the top of the cupboard and stared out at the night.

Sometimes, she thought she preferred the night to the day. There was something magic about the darkness and faint glimmers of light from the candles of night owls not wanting to give in to sleep just yet. If she was lucky and the night was clear, sometimes she would get a glimpse of a star or two in the inky black of night sky.

But what she really wanted was to see was the moon. She had seen it through the day sometimes, but other children had spoken of the moon at night. It sounded so magical. She longed to see it up there, lonely in the sky, like herself, except she did not shine.

She cried quietly to herself up there on the cupboard. Her little body aching with the sobs that she held in all day long. She didn’t understand why she was so unlovable, why she was not good enough for her own mother even. Wasn’t a mother meant to love you, no matter what?

She had once asked one of the sisters this question. The hideous woman had laughed in her face. ‘You’re thinking of dogs, girl,’ the sister had spat.

She hated this place. She didn’t know how she could hate something without knowing any different. But she was sure that there were better places out there in the world. There had to be. She saw the people on the street and a lot of them looked happy. So, there had to be happiness out there for her. Or maybe happiness was like sweets. There was only so much to go around and even then, only some can afford such luxury.

It was then, through the glassy fog of her tears, that she saw movement down on the street. She rubbed the tears out of her eyes with her tiny fists and peered down.

A dog, black as the hair on the girls head, padded quietly down the street. He stopped a moment, perhaps sensing that he was being watched, he looked around a few times and then disappeared into the shadows.

‘Running away from home,’ thought the girl.

And then it dawned on her. A spark in her mind. An idea.

She didn’t have to stay here in this filthy horrible place. She was not tied to the bed or chained up. If the sisters caught her she would be in trouble yes, but what if she didn’t get caught?

She immediately began planning. She would have to steal some food somehow and some water. But how could she? And in what would she carry it? And where would she go?

She looked to the sleeping children and then back outside. She looked down to her palms and saw a single wing stuck between her bandages. It shone with rainbows in the darkness.

The girl reached to the small window. Maybe a normal child would not be able to fit through, but she was small and fine. She popped open the window and it creaked in the silence.

The girl stopped to look at the children once more. One or two rolled over in their beds, stirred from the sudden noise. The girl listened carefully, but she heard no footsteps coming to see what the noise had been.

With the window open enough, the girl slipped out onto the cold shingles. She slowly rode them down to the edge and then carefully lowered herself as much as she could. Then she dropped.

As soon as she felt her feet hit the cobbles she was off.

The girl ran.

She ran without looking where she was going or without stopping. She ran until morning came and then she kept going. She did not stop when people called out to her or when she stumbled. She did not pause when she was out of breath or when her side hurt or when her feet began to bleed or when her tears clouded her vision.

She lost track of the days. Night and day came and went like the flicker of lightning bugs’ tails. On and off and on. She ran until she was completely lost and drained.

The girl ran until she collapsed. She lay down by a tree under the stars and stared up at the moon. A flame of happiness rekindled inside the girl, if it had ever been lit before at all. She felt older, bigger somehow, out in the world. She didn’t know how long she had run for, but she was free. And the exhaustion felt good as she allowed herself to slip into the unknown sleep of her new life, excited to wake in a new day, but sad to know that no one would miss her.

The girl awoke feeling weak, her body was sore all over. Any hope she had felt before was gone. The light burned brightly around her and she wished for darkness, for shadows. She couldn’t open her eyes more than a slit for the light hurt them so.

Her mouth was so dry it was as if her tongue was made of stone. It hurt to breathe. She lay there, mouth gapping, trying to get as much air into her lungs as possible.

She had no idea how long she had slept for. Never before had she felt so poorly. How different she felt now from when she had first fallen asleep.

She didn’t know much, but she knew that if she didn’t find water she would surely die.

She tried to open her eyes again, but all she saw was blinding whiteness. She tried to roll onto her belly and crawl, but her arms were weak.

She thought about calling out for help, but in her experience, people were not very helpful. Who would help a little orphan girl? And besides, she didn’t know where she was or even if there was anyone around to call out to.

Suddenly a shadow fell over her, a darkness in her vision. She tried again to open her eyes and before her she could see the outline of a giant black dog, its eyes glowing as if on fire.

Her eyes closed again. This was it. She was going to die, she just hoped it would be quick. She had to admit, there was a part of her that had wished for death. She did not want to go back to the orphanage. Death was a better option than going backward.

She drifted in and out of unconsciousness, coming awake every now and then by a muzzle nudging her or the gentle touch of a giant paw.

She felt as if she was being moved, dragged away. Maybe the giant beast with the flaming eyes was taking her away to eat her. But then she felt her face pressed against something warm and soft. Something entered the girl’s mouth and, at first, she tried to resist but then the hot sweet liquid flooded her mouth and she swallowed. Again and again she drank until she fell to sleep.

That concludes Chapter 2. Let me know your thoughts.

Merry Xmas and hugs

AMC xxx

Between Lost & Found - Chapter 1

‘Once upon a time there was a broken girl,’ the girl thought as she scrubbed the merciless wooden floor. She hated scrubbing those damned floors. Out of all the chores she had, it was the worst. The cold, hard floor bit into her knees as she worked the brush back and forth. It would soon be filthy again. People walked their muddy feet on it. How was it ever meant to stay clean? Nevertheless, she scrubbed. 

The brown bubbles of soap and grime clung to her bony fingers. Her clothes were a similar colour to the dirty bubbles, as was everything in the orphanage. Everything in the girl’s life seemed to be a variant of brown or beige, even the sky most days. Her life was a canvas and the artist painting on it had only one colour. She longed for more colour. She longed for rainbows and light and more. 

Sometimes, when the sun was still young in the sky, she would stare out the bedroom window, down onto the street below, just to feast on the many colours of the ladies’ dresses down below. But the feast would never last long, if the sisters did not find her spying first, the feasting would soon turn to daydream, and she would start imagining that one of those ladies was her mother. And day dreaming in a place like the orphanage was a perilous undertaking.

The daydream would start out simple enough. She was upstairs in the nursery of their grand home, the noises of the other children behind her would be the sounds of her brothers and sisters. She would be waiting for her mother to come back from the market. Some days her mother would be wearing red with golden hair, other days yellow with the hair of freshly roasted chestnuts. Sometimes, if she was lucky, she would see a woman with the same midnight hair as herself. 

She had received the strap one morning for accidentally waving to one of the ‘daydream mothers.’ The woman had complained to one of the sisters. The girl’s hands had to be bandaged for weeks. 

Now, the bandages were off and she was back scrubbing floors. 
While down on the floor, on this particular day, she heard a sweet clicking sound. It seemed to be coming from under a nearby chair. She subtly scrubbed her way over to the chair and, while the sister was not looking, she peered into the gloom under the chair. A sparkle of pearly blue caught her eye. 

She reached underneath and pulled out a beautiful blue-black beetle. Its shell shone in the flickering candle light as she held it out in her scarred palm. It was as pretty as a precious stone. ‘Don’t worry,’ whispered the girl. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’ She carefully tucked the beetle into the pocket of her brown dress and returned to scrubbing.

‘You! Ebony haired girl! Stop bloomin’ day dreamin’ already and scrub!’ screeched one of the sisters. 

The girl looked down at what she was doing. She had the brush in her hand and she was moving it back and forth. ‘I am scrubbing,’ she mumbled. 

‘What did you say?’ The sister’s tone was that of an alley cat on heat.

The girl cringed and closed her eyes. She looked up. All the other orphans had stopped scrubbing to watch. Some even had wicked grins lurking on their smug, dirty faces. 

The girl sat up on her haunches and looked the sister in the eyes. ‘I’m in trouble now anyway,’ thought the girl. 

‘I. Am. Scrubbing,’ she said loudly, pronouncing every syllable. 

The sister descended on her like a gray bat, all flapping robe wings and scratching claws. She grabbed the girl by the ear and dragged her to the Head Sister’s office. 

The girl kicked and squealed. She never gave up without a fight.
The sister flung the door open and threw the girl inside. ‘Mother, this one’s back talkin’ again,’ said the sister, prodding the girl harshly in the spine.

The mother, a woman as plump as a Christmas ham with snaggleteeth and no neck, growled at the girl. She slid her chair over to a drawer where she kept their files, the legs of the chair ground on the wooden floor like the claws of a giant beast from a fairy tale. The girl wondered how the spindly legs of the chair didn’t give way under the mother’s mighty weight.

‘What’s your name again, girl?’ asked the mother.
The girl went to speak but received a slap to the back of her head from the sister. 

‘Ouch,’ said the girl, rubbing her head. 

‘Ahh, yes,’ said the mother, getting out a file with the girl’s name on it. ‘Silly name for such a miserable, little urchin like you. Been ‘ere since you was a babe. Think you’d know better by now.’ 

‘I was scrubbing, Mother, I promise,’ said the girl, the word mother in relation to this woman tasted bitter on her tongue. 

‘And I s’pose you weren’t day dreamin’ t’all then?’ said the mother.

The girl paused for a moment.

‘See, Mother, the girl lies,’ said the sister, tugging hard on the girl’s hair. 

‘Ouch,’ cried the girl and, without thinking, she stomped backward onto the sister’s toes. 

The sister jumped around and hollered. The mother chuckled. She was not biased with her cruelty.

‘Compose yerself, Sister!’ The mother’s face changed into a hardened stone scowl. ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t ya? Come, let’s see if we can break that spirit of yours.’

The girl hung her head and held out her hands, palms up. The red, raised scars that crisscrossed her palms still angry from the last time. 

The girl closed her eyes.




The girl sat outside in what little sun could make it through the smog. Her bones ached with the cold and the damaged skin on her hands stung. The bandages that the sister had wrapped around her hands were grubby, the same colour as the dirty soap bubbles on the floor she had been scrubbing, the same colour as the sky. 

She felt movement in her pocket and remembered the new friend she had found earlier. Standing up to have a walk around the small enclosed yard, she took the beetle out of her pocket. Its fluffy little feelers searched around in the open air and it clicked happily.

‘I told you I’d keep you safe,’ said the girl. And she began to sing quietly to herself as she walked.

Suddenly, she felt something large and hard strike the back of her head and she was falling forward before she could stop herself. Pain shot up through her hands as they struck the cobbles and it ricocheted up her arms.

She heard laughter behind her as a group of kids came over, the ones who had thrown the large rock that now lay in the dirt beside her. 
The girl’s head swam as she tried to blink away the black and white spots that swirled across her vision. Everything became shadowy.

‘Look at her, Richard! She’s presenting like a mare! Quick, in ya get,’ said one of the boys to another uproar of laughter.

The girl rolled over onto her hindquarters. The pain in her hands throbbed and she kept her eyes on the group of kids that had come over to taunt her, least they have more than one rock.

The boy that had thrown the rock pushed his friend, Richard, towards the girl. ‘Stop it, Thomas,’ said Richard, taking a swing at the rock thrower. ‘I’ll bloody catch something.’

The girl felt the pain in her heart as they all laughed at her. ‘Why don’t you all just sod off!’ Her voice broke as tears fell out onto her dirty cheeks.

‘Why don’t you all just sod off!’ they all mocked in high-pitched voices as they jeered and turned around as if she wasn’t even worth the effort of teasing. They all walked away and the girl looked to her bleeding palms to see the beetle that she had saved or what was left of its little carcass. Silvery wings and the scattered shell, nothing more than blue glitter and entrails.

Feel free to make any comments. I hold up to scrutiny! I'll post more next week.

Hugs AMC

xxx

I'm home!

So... For those who don't know, over a year ago I had a house fire. We have been moving around for the past 12 months and we are now... finally... back home! Halle-fucking-lujah!

This what my kitchen looked like and the rest of the house was not much fucking better. We did loose everything material, but we are all alive and healthy.

If you have ever moved house with children, then you will feel my pain. Trying to explain to your young child that 'No, sorry, we can't go home,' or 'Sorry honey, that toy is gone now,' is heartbreaking.

When we set out to the first lot of family with only the clothes on our backs, we told the kids that we were going on an adventure. 

That was all we could tell them.

It was not a lie. The past 12 months has been an adventure, alright! One that has tested my family and marriage to the brink. Tested my resolve and drive to continue my career. I won't lie, I have applied for a few jobs... I didn't get any of them, but I was still looking and sending my resume out there.

Anyway, I have gone off topic. We are home!

This is my new kitchen (& me in my PJs looking psychotic). It is black like my soul, and I love it.

So, I am starting a new project... well, technically, I will be sharing a new project. I will be sharing with you, as of next week, the story I have been working on... which happens to be the prequel to the novel I am working on.

So, stay tuned. Keep writing/making art/doing what makes you happy!

Hugs AMC
xxx