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.

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