I am currently writing a novel, Wild and the Wolf. It is severely WIP. I will post occasional updates. I wanted to introduce you with something more unusual rather than just a point-blank summary.
Here is a description, or an excerpt, or possibly a dream.
It’s up to you to decide:
Slipping into the wilds created through fingertips, I witness the unbelievable.
Dragon scales that gleam iridescent against a hot sun, sold on the black market by a crone with no name; twigs sprout from her tangled mess of hair and claw at the sky for a runty albino crow to perch. The stalls are leaning against each other for support, makeshift shelves held together by firewood and twine. Glass bottles filled with things that Should Not Be Named.
Third eyes, pupiless, glare as I walk uneasy down the path. A spider sells me silk, she tells me it is woven with the night sky itself, but all I hear is a pitched screech of her language. Her legs claw at my clothing to make me stop and haggle, but I break into a run from the hideous sight. I trip over pebbled pavement, I brush aside hanging trinkets, I stumble into the hump of an ogre.
He moves his mountainous body to look at me, his expression that of unintelligent anger, his brow deep and teeth yellow. He shouts his anger without words; his voice sounds like the shifting of stone but his breath smells of rotted fish from the harbour. I, in my frightened and desperate state, scream in response until my throat runs dry; the sound coming from my lips finishes in a quavering rasp.
When I wake, the subconscious purr of a Siamese cat and the outline of the familiar dark room settles me, and I pull back the covers.
Time to write once more.
“Words are our most inexhaustible source of magic.”
– JK Rowling
I don’t know why.
I always had an excuse; there was a death, my grandmother’s fading memory, my friend’s tears. I have Victorian gold on my ring finger; I had a plan, I had work, I had poor health.
Dog claws scratching across the wooden floor, the rumination from my husband which is unflinching between his subconsciousness and mad professor ideals. Breathless normality in a world that’s nothing but, I sit back in my chair and drag the end of a pen along my lower lip repetitively ( I’ve given up smoking ). The ceiling needs a repaint. The books need dusting. The fur needs combing. But not today.
Here I am. Arse in chair, creativity un-stoppered. Expect weekly updates, hold me accountable to it.
You heard me, every Thursday there is going to be a blog post.
As a warning: I’m a bit eccentric. I go on tangents. I wax poetic.
As for intrigue: I’m living in the rural countryside. I’m a woman. I’m an artist. I have a lot to share… And it may be a random topic with each update. It may weave in and out of opinion and wild fantasy, but that is mainly what life is all about. It’s an unending, evolving tapestry.
“Trust the path unseen.”
Artist: Pony Gold
SO. I haven’t posted in a while… But so much happened. Watch this space.
Last night I thought about what I was going to write here. It was perfectly articulate, and made so much sense. It conjured images of everything that I was feeling, and a bit on the side. As my consciousness brushed the corners of a dream, I thought that I was going to remember it all in the morning.
I have the typewriter blues. Wanting to smear words across the paper like finger paint, but instead my hands find dry acrylic. In simple terms: Writer’s block. It hovers like fear in a rabbit’s heart. It’s the hitched breath a diver takes before a jump into the wild waters.
I need to write a novel, you see. It’s not a want, it’s a need. I have a story that writhes underneath my skin, seeking escape. When I lie awake and wordless at midnight I realise why other writers drink through their manuscript.
When I’m not weeping into my keyboard, I work from home. I am late twenties and still growing up. I live in a hippie-centric town where, when walking down the high street it is typical to catch snippets of conversations that sound like they belong in a fantasy epic. I live in bliss with my two pets and partner (more on them in separate posts).
I’ve decided to write about three subjects which will be ‘getting to know me’, a window into why.
We’ll call this part one.