movement

I have been blessed with close friends that enjoy day trips as much as I do. I have also been blessed with friends that want nothing but joy and peace for my soul. At this moment in time, I am unsure as to which path will give me the most joy, the most peace... A fork in the road has come into view, and I can go this way or that way - I do not have any idea where I am going, and as the Cheshire Cat might say, it doesn't much matter which way I go.

On Saturday I went on a day trip with a close friend and we found ourselves lost north of the city we had stopped in to visit with her daughter. This is what we love to do, getting lost and finding adventure.

Seeing as it is only now the end of Winter and the biting chill of the frosty air is being warmed by the desert Sun, the trees are still bare - but the first signs of Spring have sprung in the forms of bulbs and balls and tiny blossoms.

There are various plants that do not shy away from the cold days and colder nights here in the desert during the winter months. Their resilience, their determination to bloom and grace the world with their colours, is inspiring.

So many things have happened in the last few days... So many thoughts are racing through my mind, begging for me to give them attention. I am trying so hard to balance everything painful and negative that comes into my head with positive vibes, but it is slowly becoming more difficult.

I haven't written much since putting The Fallen Silk up on the storytelling page... I have the next project ready for me, I just cannot find the words. There is too much uncertainty, too many questions about my future, and I cannot focus on anything else right now.

the fallen silk

Storytelling is my form of healing, of coping with the waves that wash my soul in darkness. I have struggled for nearly two decades with this current, constantly being threatened to be taken under, out to sea, to drown in my own sorrows. I have always sought refuge in the forests - those of my mind, or those of the natural world. There is something safe about the forest, something comforting and warm and inviting. But there are also shadows, things that defy what we know about our world. Hidden things, mysterious things.

Synopsis: Newly divorced Effie Wickes moves into her mother's forest cottage after her untimely death. As she is dealing with the loss, and the pain and fear from her abusive marriage, she is driven down the path to madness as her mother's ghost haunts her and something ancient and cold stalks her from the tree line that surrounds her home. Will she learn to live with the creature that haunts her day and night, or will it scare her into an early grave, just as it did her mother?

This ebook was inspired by the constant struggle I've had with depression, how the illness can sneak up on you, find you at your most vulnerable and destroy you from the inside. It is a silent stalker and often nestles into your soul years before you realise it has been living within you.

GO HERE TO COLLECT THE BOOK. 

I have so many people in my life that understand me, and I know that there are those out there that are not thusly blessed. Everyone needs someone to listen. If you are feeling dark, feeling abandoned, feeling misunderstood, please reach out to someone - you may not believe me, but your light would be sorely missed, should you snuff out your flame. There are people who believe in you, who cherish you, who look for your face in a crowd or hope that it will be your voice on the other end of a call.

I hope that any who visit and enjoy my words are inspired to share the publication of this project. <3

Here is the Pinterest board for the project, and here is the Goodreads page.

As with all of my books, this tale has a deep and personal hidden meaning. If you are in need of assistance or someone to just sit and listen, please seek the help you need. There are so many wonderful resources out there, and I would hate to live in a world without your light. <3

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline (USA) 1-800-273-8255

Suicide Hotlines (USA and International)

Sanctuary: An Initiative (my offering of an ear to listen)

wild songs

I have been spending a lot of time thinking about the world outside of my home. I do not spend much time out of doors, which hurts my soul in a way that nothing else does. Over the last few days, the winds have been violent, the air freezing to the point of chilling the bones, and the sky has been dark and covered in a grey blanket. Some days have been better than others - most mornings I wake up to a blue sky and soft breezes and warm sunlight, but there is always that lingering chill in the air. I know that this is Winter's time, and I am grateful for the respite from the heat of the desert the rest of the year, but there is something foreboding about these clouds that drift overhead, something dark about the winds that howl over the desert sands.

I have been drowned by thoughts of the wind... my breath catches when I hear it, battering against my windows; my heart races when the gusts pick up dust and leaves and bits of debris from the surrounding streets and yards; I am both calmed and excited by the smell of the wild on the breeze. The wind has stories to tell, and it is begging me to put pen to paper, to let the words flow. Wild songs of storms and hoofbeats across the red dirt and crumbling rocks, buried beneath the pale grass and manzanita and mesquite trees - my soul dances to their melodies, it longs for the vastness of this barren land teeming with life and magic. How can I deny my spirit?

soul & ego

Speaking to my soul is a terrifying challenge. My higher self is a very quiet person, a very simple person. She is not too forthcoming with answers and requires a bit of coaxing before she is willing to agree to anything. Her lack of verbal, or typical, communication skills has made reconnecting with her difficult in the past - but it seems that creative expression is the way to interact with her.

I have spent years perfecting my ego - my social mask, the image I have created for myself - because I was always told that no one would understand the true me, the me that begs daily to be let out. Over these last few years, I have met many people who are more than willing to work at understanding me, to be there even though I may be having a dark day.

I have spent very little time working with my soul. I am consumed by my ego on a daily basis. Though there are times when I wish I could cast my ego aside, I know that it is necessary for my soul to express herself in the physical world.

There are times, each year, when I meet with my soul, having the full intent of reconnecting and learning to balance the influence of my ego. And, as if it were destined from the beginning, something comes along that convinces me to put the masks back on, to hide, to shy away from my spirit and her wisdom.

I have sorely missed digital art, and when I first saw the double exposures floating around online, I was intrigued, but I did not attempt to create one. Today, thinking on the topic of soul and ego, it felt right to try my hand at the technique. It was a treat, and it helped me to consider the connection between the ego (the body in the images) and the soul (the landscapes exposed over the bodies).

detox

There is so much darkness arising in the world - I cannot say that I pay much attention to headlines or politics, but I am not entirely ignorant of the things that are happening in my country. In the midst of everything happening around me, I have found myself wandering in the afternoon and getting lost in thoughts of things I haven't lit on for almost a year. I have lost - and found - myself so many times over the years, and it is time I regain that connection with myself.

It was the dry season on the central coast of California when my mother packed the car up and took me down the coast to Big Sur - crashing waves to the west and the sound of the waterfall thundering to the east filled my ears and the promise of exploring one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen excited me. Our hike was steep and difficult for my small body, but being with my mother out in nature fuelled the experience. Once at the top of the hill that we had challenged ourselves with climbing, I looked out over... clouds. There was a sea of white and grey clouds stretching out forever before me, and I could see nothing below them. We were so high in the hills that the world was wrapped in the foggy blanket.

I felt alive, on top of that hill. I felt complete. I felt all of the energy of the world held within the cradle of the cliffs and ocean that I knew was below us. I felt the divine energy of the universe around me. I was surrounded by the dry, golden grass that grew on the hill - but, even though the life seemed to have been taken away from the ground, I knew that it was still there. I felt the heartbeat of the land, the breath of the wind whispering and speaking wisdom to my young soul.

My mother's lessons on the divine were simple back then - spending time in nature was how she taught me about spirituality. They were profound lessons, and I will never forget any of them because of their simplicity. I knew that I was connected to the world around me, and I knew the truth that my soul spoke.

I have often wondered where (and when) the disconnect between who I am now, and who I was then, occurred. It has always saddened me that I am this cynical, unbelieving adult when I was such a free-spirited child. During a recent meditation to find the answer to those exact questions, I learned the answer.

Once my mother had started teaching me about the divine, I began paying attention to those around me and their beliefs - I wanted to learn as much as I could about this connection I had with the energy around us. During Sunday school (my mother was very open and supportive of my learning about different belief systems), I let slip my experiences with the divine. When asked what belief system we practised at home, I was honest with the teacher and told her that my mother was a Witch (my mother's label for herself). I was shunned and attacked for this, and began to believe that my personal experiences with the divine were wrong. It was a painful experience to have at such a young age, to be taught not to listen to my soul, to the wind and the waves and singing of thunder on the horizon. Everything that had once been so familiar to me was beginning to darken, to appear false. Since that day, in Sunday school, I have struggled with my soul, with my connection to the divine. I have fought against the pull on my heart to dance in the rain and sing songs to flowers.

It is time for me to reclaim myself, my soul - to relearn how to listen to myself and reconnect with the energy of the universe, with the divine. I am terrified that, once I open myself, I will no longer know what is what in my life. I am terrified of the changes that I know this process will bring about, but at the same time, I am ready to come home to my soul. I have missed the connection I once had to the divine.

The women on my mother's side taught me to trust my intuition, to listen to my soul - my soul has always known what is right. From a young age, a curiosity for the unknown was fostered in me, and I am working on bringing those magical aspects back into my life. It is the little things, the simple things - like a single tree blooming when the breeze still chills the bones, bringing the inspiration of Spring to the world despite Winter's desire to keep the land prisoner.

sunrise

My mornings are simple, quiet--it is often a time of reflection for me. I have never been much of a morning person, but there is something magical about the sunrise and how it casts light through the darkness, breaks the clouds, and inspires us. There is something about that light that brings a smile to my face every morning. Having children has made me a morning person, whether I fall asleep early or late. I am always awake for the sunrise.

From my kitchen window, I saw the rays of the sun hitting the clouds and showering the world in an orange-pink glow. It was beautiful, and I had to try to capture the light. Phone cameras are limited and grainy, but the final product is perfect. It is poetry for our eyes--it is raw and filled with the emotions of the moment. Well posed and articulated photos are usually preferred, but the primitive features of a smartphone camera have their place in the early morning or the late hours, in the laughter and the tears of private conversations, in the sharing of intimate moments with friends you haven't seen in years.

The clouds were otherworldly this morning. They were waves in the sky, breaking against each other, flirting with the sunlight and dancing across the blue expanse above.

The moon, in all of her glory, hung in the Western sky, offering a final kiss to her lover across the world, watching as he rose and she was forced set, forced to hide until the next time their fingers could reach out and touch for the briefest of moments. The clouds were wrapped around her like a blanket, soothing her broken heart--how I wish I could have been held in the clouds, wrapped in their billowing and wispy arms. How comforting to know that the same clouds your lover illuminated were there to lull you into sleep.

confusion

This time of year in the desert is always a confusing time--the days are getting longer, the sun rising earlier and setting later, but the air still holds the bite of Winter and the threat of at least one more Winter Storm looms on the horizon. The mountains are still covered in white and grey patches of snow and rocks, yet the bees are out searching for flowers and the sun is almost too warm on my skin.

I recently started feeling restless; I've needed to get out of the house and breathe in fresh air and see something other than my living room--we went for a walk this evening, just before sunset, and at first we stopped at a small rest area on the side of the road near our home, and I let my children run around and play. They were not entirely enthused with the idea of not having a playground to climb on, so we continued on down the street to an actual park where they could run and jump and climb and swing. I sat on the swingset for a while they exerted their energy, and I truly enjoyed having a moment of calm even though their laughter and squeals were rather loud.

I always forget how peaceful just taking a moment outside really is. During the Winter months, I tend to stay inside--not because I dislike the cold, but because I am usually sick during my favourite time of year, which is rather unfortunate. Even though both kids have been sick recently, I knew that getting out of the house and running and playing would be a good thing for them.

 I am ready for the breath of life that Spring brings to this dry and tired space, but I dread the loss of cool breezes and tolerable days that the returning sun promises. My health suffers in the Summer just as much as it does in the Winter but in different ways. I miss the year-round cool mornings and comfortable days of being on the coast, and the fog--oh the glorious fog.

I am looking forward to future opportunities to capture the growth and life of this place--I do love the desert, it has a special draw to it, a magic that is completely different from the magic that the sea holds, or the forests and mountains. It is primal, animalistic, merciless in its vastness. I hope to capture that fierceness in the coming months.

evening

It has been a while since I last sat outside and watched the moon rise. I missed the beauty of the sunsets, how the light casts vivid colours on the clouds and paints streaks of pink in the distance. The days are getting longer, the sun is setting later each day, and I am told--by the warm breeze and the bright sun--that Spring is not far off. I know we have at least one more cold spell in store; the desert is fickle when it comes to the changing weather, and sometimes graces us with March snows. I do not miss the heat of Summer (I am not overly fond of high temperatures), but I am looking forward to the many activities that Summer promises to bring. 

In the desert, the sky is a canvas and light is the paint--the colours that are spread over the white clouds range from pink to orange to purple. Some of the most gorgeous scenes are seen at dusk, and I don't think anywhere else has the same beauty as the desert. It is so open, so clear. Yes, I miss the ocean and the forests and the perpetually overcast days--but I could not have left my home for a more beautiful place. 

This weekend promises to be a lovely one, with the sky being lit by the full moon, a partial lunar eclipse teasing us, and a comet in the skies. There must be something special about this weekend--or perhaps the goings-on above us is what is special. Either way, I feel magic in the air and something is calling me to honour the Great Spirit this weekend. 

excerpt

I have been working tirelessly on The Fallen Silk, trying to write every day regardless of my feelings of inadequacy and my atychiphobia; some days I write hundreds of words, other days I can barely force out a sentence or two.

I have been wrestling with my thoughts recently, with the things that are sure to come at some point in the near future. I am struggling with pain and a deep sense of loss--within the darkness, scattered points of light shine through and those glimpses of joy and smiles and laughter bring me a sense of calm. It is these feelings, all of the darkness broken by light here and there, that inspire this tale of grief and acceptance and understanding.

***

photo: nick west

My darling daughter, I know you will solve every puzzle you are faced with, and that there is no obstacle too large for you to overcome.

She opened her eyes to the soft white and pink and yellow light of morning. She couldn’t remember closing the window, but when she glanced to either side of the bed, she noticed that neither window was open. It was warm and bright in the bedroom, nothing like it had been only hours before. Nimbus had found her way onto the bed and had curled up under the comforter against Effie’s side. She ran her hand over the kitten’s fur and along her jawline, cooing to the feline to wake her.

Her mother’s words of encouragement echoed in her thoughts as she moved out from under the blanket and pulled her robe around her body. Nimbus stretched against the sheets but did not move from her place in the sea of white and mauve. With a final smile back at her companion, Effie left the bedroom for the kitchen.

The morning light had seeped through the lace curtains and cast filigree shadows on the floor and her feet as she padded over the warm wood to the stove. The coals had almost completely died out as she slept, which she assumed was the reason it had been so cold (seeing as a window had not been open), so Effie loaded another log and few pieces of paper and twigs into the belly of the metal stove and lit the paper with a match. The fire took, roared to life, and began to fill the room with a gentle warmth. She filled her kettle and set it on the burner, then set about preparing a plate of biscuits and fresh fruits from the harvest.

It was a peaceful and quiet morning, and for the first time since her mother’s death, Effie felt a joy that radiated through her ribs and up to her face, and she watched the woods from her kitchen window with a smile.

the witches of marble falls

Magic has always held tightly to my hand and inspired me. My spirituality is one of my muses, and I have always dreamt of writing something that deals deeply with the ancient roots of my soul. Deep forests, thundering waterfalls, long, silent roads--these are some of the places in which I find a connection with the Magic I was raised with. 

Synopsis: Nestled off the highway within trees, on the banks of a lake covered in fog and surrounded by mountains capped in white, rests the small town of Marble Falls. The Wakefield siblings--Emilia and Valerie and Daphne and Hayden--are sent to live with their aunts Agatha and Kittie after their parents are killed in a hit and run. Confused about their mother's fear of the town and inspired by their aunts' strange abilities, Emilia and Valerie dive into the towns rich history of Witchcraft and find that some questions are best left unanswered.

This ebook started as a completely different tale, but after finishing that manuscript I chose to take the tale in a different direction. I am so in love with the setting of this novella--Marble Falls is a fictional town I created, presumably in Montana near the southern border of the state. I pulled inspiration from numerous images and memories of beautiful lakes surrounded by mountains and forests. 

Your support is so amazing, and I am grateful that so many people encourage me and my writing. Thank you all for sticking beside me, even when I am moody and difficult and dark. 

I hope that any who visit and enjoy my words are inspired to share the publication of this project. <3

Here is the Pinterest board for the project, and here is the Goodreads page.

On the surface, this tale is simple--coming of age and finding our place in the world, but that isn't all that this story reveals in its pages. It touches on the concept that without the darkness, there would be no light and whether we like it or not, hard decisions need to be made, and there is always a reason as to why someone would choose to stray from a positive path.

When collecting these tales, please remember to state the title you wish you have.

the twilight garden

As you may know, my most recent project has been finished. It was a labour of love, and it was the project I chose to focus on during November of 2016 (National Novel Writing Month). While the challenge is fun, I feel a bit like a cheater as I do not write novels--I write until the story is finished, regardless of the length. 

I've struggled with where and how to publish this book (and my others), and I have come to the conclusion that having my work for sale through distribution channels is not really my where I want my work to be. Yes, I would absolutely adore if people bought my work in mass numbers, but in the end my work is not meant for the masses. 

Synopsis: Josephine Bray is not insane. She is not delusional, nor are the things that she sees and hears mere hallucinations. She has a connection to every event that has ever happened on the grounds of her ancestral home, Whitmour Manor, whether traumatic or not. As a child, she thought they were her friends, imaginary or otherwise. She did not understand what she was experiencing. Put down and ignored by her mother, Josephine retreated into her own mind and began to develop relationships with the people that were not there. As she aged, her mother sought professional help for her daughter, but no one seemed to be able to help her. That is, until Doctor Leland Scott was called upon after the untimely death of Mr. Reginald Bray, Josephine's father. 
 
With the help of her psychiatrist, Josephine travels down the halls of her home and the memories that are hidden within the locked rooms, the boarded servants tunnels, and the mysterious garden tucked away in the foggy forest. Will Josephine and Leland find out the truth of what happened at Whitmour Manor? Will they ever be able to forget the connection they have?

This ebook was inspired by my mother's constant battle with Schizophrenia. For the longest time, I fought the idea that my mother was any less normal than the other parents around her--I created a concept that perhaps not all people diagnosed with Schizophrenia were actually suffering from a mental illness, perhaps they were just tuned into a higher frequency and communicated with spirits.


GO HERE TO COLLECT THE BOOK. Click "collect" and you will be taken to my PayPal.Me page (learn more). Because I have multiple projects listed, please specify the title you wish to collect.

I am forever grateful to everyone who has offered support over the years--writing is a labour of love, as well as blood-sweat-tears. Especially when I am inspired, I know that I can be rather difficult and I am overjoyed to have the love of those closest to me even in my moody moments. 

I hope that any who visit and enjoy my words are inspired to share the publication of this project. <3

Here is the Pinterest board for the project, and here is the Goodreads page.

Each of my books have a deeper meaning, under the surface. This one not only deals with the idea that perhaps those suffering from Schizophrenia are tuned into something more than we can hear or see, but also the struggle a person has to comprehend their place in the world and the problems we can develop, as children, due to our elders actions--whether out of sight or not.

hushed

I cannot make any resolutions for this new year. I cannot choose a word to define the coming months. Time is too fluid, the days too much like water--ebbing and flowing, following the path yet so easily do they carve out new ways to be, to move. To assign a single word to the changing nature of the days and weeks and months would do this year an injustice; this year has the potential to be both wonderful and disappointing, to show a darkness in the light and a light in the darkness. How can I choose one mixture of letters to define everything that can, and will, happen this year? I cannot, so I sit here, hushed into a contemplative silence, surrounded by the cold air of winter. The sun rests in the sky, sharing a bit of warmth on these frigid January days.