The one, solitary figure still outside when everyone else was asleep and deep within dreams turned his head away from the sky as lightning traced a brilliant path right across the valley, his attention caught by something that captured the blaze of searing white and reflected it back just as quickly.

Wind begun to howl through the empty streets and carried large droplets ahead of a fierce rumble that caused the buildings to shudder. The man spared a quick look in the direction of the coming storm before crouching down and hastily untangling an old, rusted key from among the brambles and grasping it in his hand. More flashes of lightning lit the alley up and the man could just make out a curious engraving of a magpie perched atop a branch, a single teardrop forming from its eye as it looked skywards. The man shook his head as the storm broke above the town and took off in full sprint as heavy rain pummelled into every surface.

Blue skies and harsh sunlight bore down on Ibsen relentlessly as he stared blankly at the computer screen in front. Numbers trailed across the spread sheet and bled into one another until they formed a senseless, migraine inducing blur. Even with all the office windows opened as far as the hinges would allow, there wasn’t the slightest breeze to shift the air and offer relief from the humidity and sweltering heat. He rested his forehead in his fingers while his colleague behind him cursed and took to hitting the computer as the fan ceased to work. Ibsen raised his eyes back towards his own monitor as it flickered several times before the power failed all together.

“Well that’s great. Now what do we do? We need to submit these accounts by four o’clock.” Ibsen’s colleague grumbled.

“Power’s out across the whole town by the looks of things. There’s a huge storm over Daihilu. chances are it’s hit the main power station this time, we won’t have any power back until sometime tomorrow. Probably. Anyway, there’s actually another week before everything needs to be submitted. Boss wants everything done so he can take a few days out.” Ibsen replied stoically. It wasn’t like either of them had been getting anywhere even with power functioning. 

“You mean he wants us to work our magic so he has enough budget left to invest in some fancy bullock being shown off where he’s going to.”

“Something like that. Might as well go home and do what we can later.” He shrugged at his colleague with a grin and left the office. The smell of spiced cloud noodles being cooked in the street below had tangled in the humid air with the sweet aroma of fried bean tea, distracting him all together for several hours.

Knowing that his small top floor flat would be as unbearable as the office until night fell, Ibsen set off towards the lake at the edge of town with his dinner. Meilin was slowly building its way around the whole lake, but for now at least, it still offered breath taking views towards distant mountains and the cold breezes the had rushed down from snow and ice of the peaks.

The sweet scent of peony lingered in the air and Ibsen found himself taking a detour down the same overgrown alley that led to the older district of the town where he’d seen the strange magpie engraving before. His free hand automatically felt for the key that he’d strung on a leather thong around his neck since, eyes scanning for the bird among the brambles.

He passed under a brilliant red torii gate at the far end which opened onto a street of houses built from thick grey stone either side of a deep and fast flowing stream. Arched bridges crossed over the water frequently and buckets of peonies adorned either side of all the doorways. People bustled around him focused on their business of setting up for the festival. The slightest breeze shifted through the street and traced across his skin, carrying his focused towards a small gate at the end of the street.

Unlike the rest of the street which was immaculate, the gate and the path leading into the trees were slowing being consumed by wildlife. He felt for the old key again, suddenly overcome with a desire to see if it would unlock the gate; knowing somehow that it would, and deeply curious to see where the path went. The pressure in the air intensified and a sense of urgency rushed through him, that he needed to get to the end of wherever the path went before the weather changed. Behind him, towering black clouds were gathering and seemed to consume all of the light and air from the world. Magpies chattered angrily from a nearby cypress and hopped up and down branches, their irritation with the whether catching throughout the street.

Ibsen pulled the key free as he walked towards the gate. It bore the patina of age and countless years buried in the undergrowth, but a lot of the corrosion had been sanded away and the stem of the key had a soft sheen to it from the years of being held again. He had no idea why he had  picked the key up then, or why he was now so intent on going through this gate; or even if he should. Instinct was calling him, carrying him to the gate. Trying to look like he was meant to be there, Ibsen carefully brushed the ivy away from the lock and inserted the key, scrunching his eyes shut as he lightly turned his wrist. The lock clicked quietly. Even though he’d somehow known the key would work, he let out a small sight of relief all the same before hurrying into the jade shadows of the path and securing the key back around his neck.

He went forwards without looking back, occasionally having to duck under heavy limbs of ancient cypress or covering his face as dense fronds whipped back savagely if he moved the younger branches, causing him to walk blind until the trees finally thinned back out and he found himself at the edge of the lake. Clouds of dense mist obscured much of the view in a gauze of refracted light as cold air from the mountains collided and entwined with the hot air of Meilin, though the skies above were still an idyllic azure.

From the central depths of tranquil black waters, a white pagoda glistened subtly from within the gauze clouds reached by an ornate stone walkway that lead from either shore. He could faintly make out the sounds of Meilin a short distance away, yet in all his years living in the city he’d somehow never come across this place. There was another torii gate a short walk along the lake’s shore that opened on to the bridge, a small bell suspended in the centre and chiming gently as the breeze shifted it from time to time.

On each column that adorned the bridge, handsome magpies had been carved from marble. The style reminiscent of the carving he’d seen before, though these seemed more cheerful in nature. The water of the lake was dark as pitch though the surface sparkled beneath the sun and the balustrades either side were an intricate web of finally carved stars; and walking across the bridge reminded him of the milky way constellation that was the highlight of the summer nights.

Magpies chattered and trilled all around the lake and the bells of the torii gates knelled softly, the only sounds aside from a gentle clacking and intermittent thump of a loom being worked inside of the pagoda, though as Ibsen passed under the last gate of the bridge, the sounds from inside the pagoda stopped abruptly and a young woman with brilliant silver hair stepped out, amber eyes barely noticing him as they focussed intently on the small box in his hand.

“You have Meilin cloud noodles?” She asked, her gaze finally meeting his with a startling intensity. He nodded, uncertain of what to say or do. “You…don’t remember me, do you?” She sighed and dropped onto one of the benches circling the building, looking wistfully towards Meilin. Buckets of peonies adorned the circle walk round the building here as well

Memories begun to surface. A different hot summer when he was still a child, another storm…he’d wandered far from home and taken shelter in a small shrine to the wolf spirit. Back then he’d been petrified, but he’d met a girl close in age to himself that seemed overjoyed by the storm and kept peering out from the eaves to watch the heavens clash and thunder as the rain kept them both captive. He’d felt outside of time or in a dream that day as they shared a flask of sweet bean tea, both wondering how much trouble they’d be in when they finally made it home; the girl otherworldly with her bright pewter hair and sparkling amber eyes…“…Fen?”

She looked back up at him, an infectious smile lighting up her face. “You do remember!” Ibsen sat down next to her and set the noodles and tea between them. “Are you sure you want to share this tea with me for a second time?” Fen asked, a note of mischief creeping into her voice. Lightning flickered across the horizon and the wind shifted towards them, the bells around the lake sounding with a deeper song that resonated across the still waters.

Original article: The Weaver’s Pagoda.

It’s time for  another writer challenge prompt from The Writer’s Block by Jason Rekulak, this time: ‘Write a story in the format of a letter.‘ I actually wrote this back in February and was meant to have uploaded it just before Valentine’s Day since it ended up love-themed…but it went kind of dark pretty much straight off the bat. Sort of a normal trait with all my work it seems…

I wanted to leave what’s really happening in the writer’s world and where they were open to interpretation. Is it a real place or a state of mind? How much is real or how much is imagined? Who knows?

If you fancy having a go at this writing prompt, let me know, I’d love to see it!

“The Unsent Letter “

Dear beloved.

How long is it since we last encountered one another? The years have swept passed us both and taken us to different lands. Where are you these days? It’s like you have passed into a different world and left me behind, perhaps you’ve even forgotten me. Maybe that is for the best. I hope you’re in a better place and don’t have to spend your days fighting the ceaseless assault of demons as I do.

I think I’m becoming a monster, like those that live all around me in this endless dark. Or nothing. I can’t remember the last time I truly saw the light or felt warmth in my heart. The colour has faded away and it’s always so cold and hollow where I am. I’ve become too detached from reality. Fallen so far from the light of the day and whatever normality is. Why do so many people seek to suck the life out of another? Worse; that life never even satisfies them. I’m so tired of fighting other people’s battles and I’m tired of their demons clinging to me.

It feels like the battle for humanity is endless. No matter how deep we dig, no matter how much the fight goes on… the forces of darkness and destruction simply consume us one by one. Every day, someone re-kindles the beacons and illuminates the path. Each night, the beasts snuff them out again. Over and over it repeats. The chantry has long fallen, and the way out has collapsed. Is there even a way out of the labyrinth realm of night? Something in the dark is calling my name and tearing me apart.

I’ll never forget the moment I first looked into your eyes. The world fell away and there was only you and I in existence. Your eyes were the first to see straight through the mask, to see who I really was. Whenever you were close to me in the world before you’d often visit me in dreams. Did you know that? You’d hold me in your arms and chase the darkness from my soul…you’d bring me to life again. I’m eternally grateful for you guiding me through sweet pandemonium all those years ago. You made the world more bearable for me back then…even without your knowing it.

I was so weird back then. Some kind of puppeteer of madness had possessed me…made me act so irrationally. Twisted destiny would guide me to you only to cause me to stumble and falter and become a wild menace and an embarrassment. I never wanted any of that. Could you ever forgive me? You’ll never know how much I wish I could go back and prevent every one of those insane encounters. To take control of myself and banish whatever had taken hold of me. To wash it all away.

The dreams. They were a madness of their own and I never got to find out if you had them too. It was so peculiar. Even without seeing you, your appearance within the dream would change to match that of yours in the waking world. How could I know that if I hadn’t seen you? I’d try to reach out to you to find the answers if I could. But I just made a fool of myself again, didn’t I? So I’ll never try that again.

Damn, that was so long ago, wasn’t it? The world’s changed, and changed again. Now the darkness gnaws at my heart and soul every day. Worse than before. I doubt even the Devil himself could frighten me now after all I’ve endured. Somehow across the vast expanse of distance and time, I still dream of you from time to time.

I keep thinking that if ever I do get to see you again, I’d tell you how sorry I was for all of it. But then I remember what fate is like with me, and I can’t help but imagine what over ten years of not seeing you would do. Suddenly my screaming at you for no clear reason seems tame compared to the horrors of a humiliating situation plus interest would create. I’d probably cause an entire town to come to a standstill from whatever occurred. I’d probably scream at you again too. No, I know that’s exactly what would happen. So in case this does somehow reach you and we do ever pass in the street again; I’m sorry in advance for whatever is about to happen, and I’m truly sorry for the past too.

No matter how hard I try to forget you or move on, you’re still there in the depths of my heart. Maybe it’s your voice I hear howling through the night and calling my name. Who knows? Wherever you are, I hope your life is in the light, far away from this nightmare world.

I love you.

Original article: The Unsent Letter….

***

I’m back with another writer challenge prompt from The Writer’s Block by Jason Rekulak. It’s good to be back writing anything again.. I think the recent period of winter-summer helped give me a boost of creativity. I was able to make it (1) out of the house and (2) actually made it to New Quay for a few hours basking in the sun. I really don’t know what it is with winters, I just switch off. So hopefully that weather forecast of unto 13 inches of snow being dumped somewhere on the UK in the next few days isn’t accurate…

Anyway, back to the point of this post and the writing prompt this time: “Imagine that you could wake up tomorrow in someone else’s body. Whose would it be? How would your life change? What are some of the first things you’d do?”

This turned out to be an interesting challenge for me, and I went with fictional characters rather than myself personally as I wanted to use this prompt to create a story. I also ended up writing in first person narrative and in the present tense which are two styles I normally run in fear from.

Do any of you use writing challenges or tags, or anything else? Let me know all about them!

‘Why don’t we swap lives for a day?’

…Why don’t we… My eyes shoot open to someone else’s life. Normally, I’d wake up to the constant grumbling of heavy traffic on the road below and the sporadic chatter that accumulated at the bus stop; to my life, back in Bristol. I’m not sure where I am now, only that there’s a blinding amount of sunshine pouring through the thin curtains and no hint of traffic anywhere near. I sit up and knead at my temples trying to piece things together. 

I had been meditating before falling asleep and decided to try astral projection for the first time in many years. My life is rather stagnant at the moment and I wanted to feel a connection to the arcane again. Anything to feel like my life had more meaning to it than a potato. Anyway, that’s when I bumped into someone else. Billie. Her name was Billie. She seemed as lost and frustrated as me, so we started talking. Turns out she wanted to escape from the mundanities of her own life as much as I, and that our lives were opposites, and that’s when she suggested we return to each other’s bodies instead of our own. I agreed, thinking it was nothing more than the madness of my own mind and my astral travel had morphed into lucid dreaming.

Yet here I am. Awake in someone else’s home. Oh god, what else did she say? Where did she work? What hours? I turn to the bedside table and sigh in relief that she leaves her phone in a similar spot to myself, and attempt to figure out the finger recognition. Someone called Rachel Scallywags sent a text asking to swap shifts, so Billie doesn’t need to go in today. I study the conversation so I can reply as authentically as I can and put her phone back down.

In a way, I’m kind of gutted I don’t get to go to her workplace. I came out of university a couple of years ago having gotten my Masters in journalism. Since then, there’s not been a single sniff of work anywhere. It’s utter madness that I live in a city and somehow can’t land a job. I’ve just been festering in my apartment being the scourge of society and avoiding people while trying to navigate the online world of self-publication and blogging.

That reminds me actually… I pick her phone back up and open up the map to see where I am. Some village called Gwithian. It’s right on the coast and I’ve picked out a cafe close by that looks like a surfer’s paradise and a good place for breakfast.

The phone beeps at me, bringing me back from my coffee and surf filled reverie and I can see it’s a response from Billie’s work colleague again. I wonder if Billie is a social butterfly? That thought sends a rush of dread throughout my body and I turn the phone off. Sorry, Billie, your phone is mysteriously dead today. I hope no one panics about her. I mean she seems close in age to me, so surely one day of silence isn’t going to cause a mass freak-out?

Okay. I’ve got someone else’s body for the day and where ever I am, the weather is way too good to be indoors. I’m also aware that Billie’s body works properly, you know, has normal energy levels and all. She probably has a better lifestyle and diet than me, which I’m no doubt about to butcher with a fully loaded bacon buttie at that cafe.

***

I’ve so far made it halfway through the day without any kind of disaster or run-in with a part of Billie’s life. I’m also one hundred percent coming back with my own life as soon as I can. I think the guys up at the cafe have started to sense something un-Billie about me though. I’ve made several trips for provisions and pretty certain I used my last life or something on the last trip for more coffee and the chilli beef nachos.

Billie must know one of the staff members that just came on, and I’m guessing the may well be a vegetarian or vegan. I should leave her a note apologising profusely before the end of the day. I stop my thoughts from contemplating what she could do with my life. Whether it’s good or bad, I don’t want my demons to follow me here and wreak havoc in paradise.

Right now, I’m sat with my back against a well-weathered granite rock that’s warm from hours under the sun and doing wonders to get chill out of my bones from being in the water for a couple of hours earlier. I had to relinquish the sea when a group of six surfers appeared, which is fine with me as I now get to watch them instead.

Someone in a blindingly white jacket is currently storming on to the beach. Judging by the scowl visible even this far away, I wouldn’t want to be the one at the end of his wrath. I turn my attention back to the surfers and wriggle my toes into the coarse sand, breathing in the fresh air that is perfumed with the intoxicating scent of gorse and tase the salt on my lips.

I’ve got to get away from Bristol. There are so many pros to living there…but I feel like I’m home here in this tiny village no one has heard of. It’s like my eyes have opened to a completely different world of slumbering ancient power, arcane secrets and wild spirit. I can feel my soul responding and connecting to this place in a way it never has before.

The sea is the most delicious shade of colours reminiscent of a peacock’s feather. Indigo and lapis melt into sapphire and turquoise as pearls of white flash through the sun with each crashing wave. There are miles of golden sands stretching away in either direction disturbed only occasionally by the jagged outcropping of granite that adds to the wild energy of this place. I can also see a striking white lighthouse further around the bay which is Godrevey point. Basking in the wonder of this place, I can understand why artists love St Ives so much, there really is something about the lighting here.

“I’ve been looking all over for you for hours. I only heard about you being down here by chance from Rachel who saw you heading this way. Why is your phone off?” Approaching me at a rate of knots is the guy I noticed moments ago, piercing green eyes flashing in the sunlight. Why is the name Rachel familiar? I don’t know any Rachels. Wait, the girl Billie swapped shifts with… More to the point, who is this guy and what does he want with me?

Now I can clearly see his expression, it’s somewhere between really hacked off, and also someone who’s been fretting for several hours. Was Billie meant to have been meeting him? Maybe I shouldn’t have turned her phone off… but instead, put it on airplane mode and checked it intermittently. He’s incredibly beautiful though. I feel like I’ve met him somewhere before, which is insane as I’ve never been to Cornwall before today.

“Oh…it died and I couldn’t find the charger.” I lied. Actually, I know exactly where the charger lead is. It conveniently fell behind the sofa cushions first thing. He stops inches in front of me and I can feel his eyes scanning right through me. It’s kind of unsettling actually, it’s like he knows something is off….something isn’t quite Billie.

“What’s gotten into you? You’re not yourself at all today. First you drop off the face of the earth without a message, and now I find you, you’ve been in the sea?” His eyes are boring right into me and I realise a fatal mistake. Billie doesn’t like water. The expression on this guy’s face is making that point especially clear to me right now. 

Wait a minute, is this… oh no. Oh crap. It is. It’s Billie’s boyfriend that I’m only just learning about now. He’s crouched down and pulled me into a crushing embrace, probably thinking his Billie is having some kind of mid-life crisis. Which she is. We both are. She wanted out of this life for a bit, and I’m now trying to work out how to be someone else’s girlfriend without crossing any lines.

“I’m sorry I didn’t text you or anything. I just…wanted to get out.” What? How lame is that excuse?

I know it.

He knows it.

There’s one hell of an awkward silence stretching out and I start watching a surfer who is about to have an almighty wipe-out any second. “So…how was your day?” Yes, turn the conversation back on to him, I can figure this out.

“It’s been a weird day all around. The computers at work have been crashing non-stop and calls have been dropped or crossing wires. Anyone would think Mercury had gone retrograde or something.”

Now I’m starting. In my entire life, I have never met a single bloke interested in magic or astrology or even anything of the sort. Yet this guy just casually mentions something like a planet moving back on itself. Why on earth would Billie want to get away from her life? Even if the job is crap or something, she’s got this guy. I’d go through hell for someone like this. Wait. What am I saying, I don’t actually know this person. Right now, I don’t even know his name. I also don’t know that much about astrology and he’s waiting for a response. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He’s looking at me suspiciously again. At me and the offending evidence of my lunch that’s still lingering nearby. I was really hoping he wouldn’t clock that. Please don’t ask me about diet related questions?

No. I am definitely not okay right now. “I’m fine, really.” Yup, just go with the fake smile Morgan, there’s no way he’s going to see straight through any of this. I feel like I should reciprocate some sort of physical attention right now, instead of simply sitting with my fingers idly drumming into the sand.

“Okay, so you’re definitely fine to come with me to see the boys in a bit?”

“Of course.” I keep doing the best natural smile I can. He’s trolling me now, I just know it. Who or what are the boys? I also know that no matter what tricks I try to use, he is not going to give me a clue on what I just let myself in for. “I can’t remember we agreed for dinner plans though.” Food or weather. Always a safe conversation topic.

“We didn’t agree to anything.” …Or not in this case. Thankfully his attention was caught up by the surfers, so he missed the horror that no doubt just flashed across my face. If every day is like with for Billie, I can see why she’d need a day off. Casually as I can, I finally pull my hands away from the sand and wrap my arms around his neck, burying my face into the warm skin. 

I can’t just sit there like a potato anymore. But it also feels completely right. It’s like he’s weaving a spell around me as he turns his gaze back to me. Even though neither of us are saying it, I feel in the core of my existence that he knows I’m not Billie. My head is spinning like crazy and I can feel the madness awakening inside of me as his fingers trace down my spine. We’ve been here before. Somewhere. Sometime.

I realise something at the back of my mind. The madness isn’t waking up because of this guy and the crazy scenario I’ve found myself in. Something has happened back in my life. Don’t ask me how I know that right now, but I can feel white-hot rage gathering in the pit of my stomach. Or is it Billie’s rage? Can she sense my proximity to her boyfriend? No…that doesn’t explain the insanity that’s trying to summon my demons here. I have to get back to my reality, everything is starting to make me feel violently ill and confused. I have to somehow-

“What’s going on?”

He sounds terrified, and I can’t answer him. I just press myself further into his embrace and feel my fingers twine into his hair. I can feel his embrace tighten even more and feel the searing pain in his heart. I want to scream that I’m not Billie, that he’s holding on to the wrong person. I want to stay in this moment with him forever. I can’t though, this isn’t my life.

My mind finally reaches into the abyss of meditation and the strange swirling, floating weightlessness that comes with astral projection. I keep my eyes and my mind focused on the faint ball of indigo light that is guiding me back to where I need to be and ignore the other spirits around me. I can see the ghostly image of my body sleeping between worlds I drift through fields of celestial matter and quicken my pace towards it, the ominous sensation clawing at my heart with every step. What has she done in my world?

“Morgan…” I feel the sensation of the ocean tugging me back as someone whispers my name through crashing waves as I start to reconnect with my body. Something important and unintelligible continues to whisper through the darkness, so many voices trying to be heard. There’s some lingering sensation in my heart that doesn’t want me to return, but I can feel the tingling in my feet that tells me I’m almost awake. There’s also still the opposite sensation of foreboding waiting for me in the physical world. “Wait, don’t leave me.”

***

I’m bathed in the amber ambience of Bristol streetlights and staring back up at my ceiling again with tears falling into the pillow. How long was I asleep for? Why did it take waking up to realise who was calling out to me just before I reconnected with my physical body? I remember why he was familiar to me all afternoon too, I’ve been dreaming about him for over ten years and never knew his name.

I’m also not alone in my flat.

Original article: Borrowing Someone Else’s Body.

The response I got was fantastic, and mostly the suggestions were of remembering what inspired me right back at the beginning. Why inspired me? What was I watching and reading? What music was I into? Since then, I’ve been thinking about it a lot and trying to remember the person I was.  This is a challenge as I’ve spent the last 15 years suppressing my past and trying to forget all about high school and 6th form.

Still, I’ve been soldiering on with it, and maybe I have still forgotten a lot of my life, but it’s also made me realise just as much about my past and present self. This post turned into a bit of an epic, so I decided to split it and make it a two-parter. (Also, I haven’t finished part two as I really am trying to keep my madness and desolate feelings out of all of this.)

The world has changed, and change again and I’ve shed countless skins through every transition, yet a lot of who I am has always remained; the writer being a major part of my soul’s construction. How I perceived the world then and how I view it now hasn’t altered that much.

Something things have completely switched to opposites. Back then I was in love with love: think old Disney movies and the whole happily ever after thing. Now I’m a total cynic that wants to remember what the crazy feeling was, but also gets nauseated by the idea and would prefer some rage-filled future dystopian fiction.

Me then – playing The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion and Skyrim
Me now – Ruthlessly slaughtering my way through hordes of ghouls in Fallout 76, with Fallout 4 on standby.

To anyone who knew me growing up, I loathed first-person shooter games, PVP and post-apocalyptic settings. Yet here I am, trying to crowbar this crazy genre into my fantasy environment. And while my naïve, innocent self may have long been destroyed by the toxicity of this world; I still search for the beauty, love and purity within everything. I still believe in magic, even if my relationship with the arcane and the gods has changed. The child that was always daydreaming, creating stories, and looking for prince charming still there. In very opposite ways.

Why do I write, and when did I start writing?

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. Writing has always been such an integral part of my existence. Conjuring up stories from the landscape around me and summoning characters into being was easier than breathing (n.b. no idea why, but I’ve always had a tendency to forget to breathe. Whoever said it is impossible not to breath was wrong…) I can’t not write. I want to do a post at some point this year looking back at my older works and the worlds I created *shudder*.

When I’m not writing, it’s like madness and rage swell up inside me and start devouring at my sanity. So many voices of unwritten characters constantly clamouring at me from an unknown world; those of the characters whose fates are in my hands waiting for me to finish their stories. It is utter insanity. Every minute I’m not writing or working at writing in some way, it’s like I’m dying, and the characters fade away from me. Then there’s the fear I may lose them and their stories for good, and then what would I do with my life?

I first started writing A Dawn of Dreams back in 2006, and that was the first book I completely finished and stuck with. I was a teenager full of angst, an outsider…and I was in love with love. A Dawn of Dreams was also called Angelie I Demonie. It had(s) nothing to do with Angels and Demons by Dan Brown, I didn’t even know about him at the time, but I was in love with the song Inner Universe by Yoko Kano and Origa, and the original book title is literally the first three words of the song.

Back then, I was obsessed with anime and their soundtracks. I felt like my life made more sense watching them somehow, and the songs spoke to my heart. It’s over 10 years later and those songs I was in love with back then are still my favourites.

What inspires/d me?

I found inspiration everywhere as a child, and even in the throes of darkness as a teenager, I saw something in everything. Some of the most notice influences on my writing were holidays in Cornwall and the wild and rugged landscape of its coastline. I visited so many castles and Nation Trust properties as well as the many old towns that my mind was overflowing with stories and ideas.

I grew up on tales of Arthur and Excalibur, Mab and the Cornish Lady of the Lake, and the legends of pirates at Jamaica Inn. My brother and I would scour the caves whenever we could looking for treasure, which is when I first found crystals and fell in love with them.

Now I live in Wales and have been introduced to the Welsh Lady of the Lake.  I also have two lakes that I now need to visit. In all the years of crossing Bodmin Moor, I never made it to Dozmary Pool. And so far in three years in Wales, I’ve yet to make it to Myddfai and Llyn y Fan Fach either.

Tunisia was the other place that gave life to The Sirin Chronicles in particular. I fell in love with the country the first time I went out there, it was so vibrant and rich. There’s so much culture and history everywhere, and even new locations being discovered. (Tozeur had only recently been discovered the last time we went out into the Sahara – I need to go back since they have uncovered so much more of it.)

I remember being overpowered by the intoxicating fragrance of jasmine the first time I was out there, and the smell of the desert always behind everything else. Pralines were, and still are, one of the most amazing things I have ever tasted. Damn, everything out there was (and is) so full of flavour, colour and scent; unlike dreary wet Britain where everything is pallid in comparison.

Aside from travel, music and fiction have been pivotal for my imagination. I have a strange connection between writing, music, dreaming, and memory. I was in love with Evanescence, Within Temptation and Nightwish through my teenage years. Classical music and soundtracks were also a big part of what I listened to. Whenever I was dreaming or writing, there was always music.

One of the greatest, unplanned moments I’ve while writing was a scene towards the end of Dancing Shadows and Kneel For No Man by Ramin Djawadi came on. I was completely into my writing, and oblivious of the music in the background until I got to the end of the scene. That the piece of music had completely powered the detailing and the pacing of the scene.

I’m one of those writers where I have a plot, and I do automatic writing. Half the time, I’ve no idea what the outcome will be as I let my characters take total reign and tell me the story. This character gave me five minutes of uncertainty over her fate and I was shaking because of how the scene had unfolded.

I only hope what I felt writing that scene passes to the reader. When editing Dancing Shadows, the same thing happened. I got to that scene, got into and the same track came on whilst I was deep within the fabric of the scene. (My YouTube ‘Writing’ playlist has 756 videos in it which makes it all the more bizarre and wonderful that it happened twice.)

Books and other worlds helped me develop my own world. Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter and The Chronicles of Narnia were the three most pivotal books in my younger years. They introduced me to complex fictitious worlds that drew the reader in. They taught me a different kind of magic, one where you can open a book and travel to a whole new world for so long as you read. I never saw words. With both reading and writing, as soon as I got into the flow of things, words vanished any everything became more real than life. The more I read and experienced that sensation, the more I wanted to create my own magic realm for other people to find and escape to.

I was also obsessed with manga and anime, especially the amazing world of Bleach. At the time I got introduced to it, there were 72 episodes and I watched every single one of them in 24 hours. I forgot that both sleep and school were a thing. (I also had a raging crush on Hitsugaya, which incidentally, is one of those things that hasn’t change between then and now.)

I got into anime about the same time I got into The Elder Scrolls: Oblivion. A common theme of interest for me both then and now was of getting stronger and dealing with insane odds. In all the stories I love, the main element is one getting stronger. It’s something that mirrors my own life where, for various reasons, I’m always trying to get stronger and conquer my own battles and demons. It’s a theme I love toying with too; how far can I push my characters and can they overcome their fate or find a way to change it?

That’s also why I prefer automatic writing and letting my characters have some control in the first few drafts. Sometimes they’ll make it easier for both of us…other times they’ll come up with an incredible idea and phenomenal challenge and leave me to fix it. How do you kill an immortal? Their idea? GET AN EVEN MORE EVIL AND OVERPOWERED IMMORTAL. Thanks, guys.

What inspires me now is largely the same, though it is lacking somewhat due to my current health status. I don’t get out anywhere near as much as I wish I could to explore. Also, lacking friends in the immediate vicinity of where I live stifles my creativity. I haven’t got someone I can bounce ideas around with, or speculate over plots of other stories – Game of Thrones, a favourite to speculate over.

I’ve discovered in the last couple of years that not speaking a word is actually detrimental. It’s like not speaking means not thinking, and not thinking is not creating or problem-solving. As soon as I’m with people, ideas start flying around like crazy. It’s a shame that in a year, I’m only among company for a week or two, every few months. No joke, my life is spent in total isolation for 2+ months at a time. No conversations. No human interaction.

I’d love to say that in itself was a good story plot to work with, except that’s already 90% of The Sirin Chronicles and I want to include life to my work, not more death.

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[Why Do I Write – Part Two]

Original article: Why do I Write? (Pt1).

The worst part, I have so many projects on the go too, and I can’t string a single thought together for a single one of them. Just countless hours staring at the document before giving up and switching the computer back off. Normally in November, I’d be doing NaNoWriMo which would at least stave off creative drought until mid-December to January. Last year was a real battle to finish it, so I decided for the sake of my mental health, I shouldn’t even try it this year.

Around the end of December (much earlier this year), I start looking at things like “365 prompts for writers” or “52 week challenge for writers” as a solution to break through the writing rut, but instead end up thoroughly pissed off and depressed. They’re all the same for starters, but there’s no option for someone who was/is a loner and doesn’t have 90% of the experiences required to do the challenge. They’re pretty much only geared up for someone who’s lived the conventional life.

Q – Write about a childhood party:
A – There was one, but I was so unpopular I didn’t even get any cake…and it was my birthday party.

Q – Write about your childhood best friend:
A – …That backstabbing C that…. ANYWAY.

Q – What’s your earliest childhood memory:
A – Seriously, that’s a story NO ONE wants to know, let alone read.

Q – Dig out a photo from ten years ago and write about what’s going on:
A – There isn’t a single photo of me – digital or physical – ten years ago. There isn’t a shred of evidence to prove my existence passed five years ago… People didn’t want my pictures.

Q – Write about a relationship:
A – Ha. Ha ha ha ha ha. Why is there no option for ‘life as a spinster’?

Q – Pretend you’re a tourist in your own town etc:
A – Like… I have social anxiety, agoraphobia etc and just… don’t go anywhere. Also, it reminds me I’m a total loner as I never go anywhere with people and never have, so even without the anxiety, I still wouldn’t be going out.*

Q – Contemplate your future…

And that’s enough of that. Probably too much of it.

This is the third year of looking at various other blog sites that reel off lists and my opinion is still the same about them. I’ve come to the conclusion that it isn’t okay to write about the nitty-gritty of life, the bullshit, betrayals and hurt…and if that’s pretty much all your life and memories are made up of, then you shouldn’t be writing because no one gives a shit.

But why not? I feel I should make my own list… but considering I’m looking at other lists for inspiration as my brain is on mega-derp mode, that’s a futile idea itself. Maybe I will in the future. “52 Weeks of Reflection Challenge for Writers – A challenge to question the darker side of reality” (coming soon.)

The lists do make me wonder though. What would my life be like if I’d had friends through school? What would it be like if I’d experienced the stuff other kids go to? Parties, sleep-overs, road trips when the world was still full of mystery and possibilities, going on dates, kissing under the mistletoe… or whatever? (I don’t actually know what kids and teenagers do, I was in the library being all nerdy.)

What would life be like if I could work, even if I hated the job? Friends that live close enough to meet for coffee, or enough money to go live by my friends? If I had a boyfriend?  If I didn’t go a month or longer without speaking a word? What would it be like if my life wasn’t so chaotic, nightmarish and lonely that the few wonderful memories I do have weren’t drowned in darkness or silenced by demons?

Writing is something that comes from involvement in the world. Having a place in the world, society and the community. Stories are born from the connections you have with other people – friends or strangers passing by. Being pranked/pulling pranks, goofing around with others and generally talking. What if the world rejects you? What if you’ve lived the same nightmare for over twenty years and can’t even imagine a world where things change?

*Has anyone ever noticed that if you do something solo, say go to the beach or a garden/house in the care of a trust, people STARE at you like you have something seriously wrong with you? Or is really obvious when you’re somewhere alone because you’ve chosen to do so, or because you just don’t have anyone to go with. 

Bonus writing prompt – Write your “week in review”:
Same as last week…did nothing, went nowhere. Bloody cold; have discovered adding cubes of cheese to soup was a really good idea. (But not red Leicester, the flavour doesn’t reall cut through enough.)

…Too much?

Original article: The ‘Anti Writing-Prompt’ Post.

1: What type of writing do you do?
I mostly do novels; though I have recently started attempting short stories. I have also done some journalism about spirituality and crystals in the past. I do on very rare occasions attempt poetry, which quite often ends in disaster and many torn pages in the bin.

2: What genres and/or topics do you write about?
It’s pretty much always been fantasy fiction and magic for me when it comes to writing a novel, they’re two things I’ve always had a fascination about. Though lately, I find myself leaning into paranormal and steampunk as well, with a few elements of horror and romance are thrown into the mix.

3: How long have you been writing?
I can’t remember a time I wasn’t writing, pretty much immediately after I learnt the skills of reading and writing, I was creating my own worlds and stories… maybe five or six? So…23 or 24 years? Oh god, what happened to my life. I’ve been seriously writing since I was 23 though; before then it was as a hobby and I never really contemplated anyone reading my work seriously.

4: Are you published?
I have been published. I had A Dawn of Dreams (previously Sykajume) published through Amazon Createspace in 2015, and Dancing Shadows (previously Vaejume) published in 2017, also through Createspace. I took both down in August as I’m re-editing them due to plot holes thrown up by the fifth book, and also because of the title change. I’m currently editing the chapters and putting them online more as a web-novel for now.

5: What was the first story you ever wrote?
. . . I can’t remember what the first story ever might have been! The first one I remember, and possibly because it was the first time I wrote something to the end (and had a reasonable word count) was about a pack of wolves that were displaced by humans encroaching into their lands. They had to cross the entire country and pass many dangers to find a new home and safety…Which considering I was nine or ten at the time, that suddenly seems pretty deep for a kid. I think two of the pack were killed off as well. Damn, I was screwed up. No wolves have been killed in the writing process since.
Bonus fact: wolves have always been my favourite animal and I practically live in a shrine to them these days – my cat lives a confused life.

6: Why do you write?
Why does anyone breathe? It’s hard to answer this in a way…I write because to not write drives me mad. When I can’t write because of ill health, my mood becomes really depressive and dark (I am possibly entirely cantankerous to boot). If I’m going through a patch of ‘numbness”, I feel even more detached from reality. I guess writing is simply my life, and to not write is to, in a way, cease to live.

7: How do you find time to write?
I used to steal time… (If only!) When I was in school, I used to “loose” my textbooks and request another, and then I’d sit writing away completely unnoticed, and just switch to my textbook when I needed to write something else down or if the teacher was coming around. When I got a job in retail, I would pinch receipt paper and write down ideas and fragments of story between serving people. I’m never sure how I got away with any of that…

These days, I’m signed off long-term sick due to disability, so I have ample time even if my health itself disagrees. I try to do a few hours twice a week on average, and if I get a good patch, I do as much as I can when I can as I never know when I’ll come to a total halt – which happened this time last year. I barely got anything written at all until around July, and it’s still really difficult for me.

8: When and where are the best times to write?
Whenever I have the energy….Though I find nighttime is the best. I’ll be flagging all day, get to about 10 pm and just be like ‘HELL YEAH IMA WRITE EVERYTHING NOW’. I do sometimes contemplate just switching to nocturnal mode.

9: Favourite food/drinks while writing?
COFFEE. I think that counts as food too? Pizza is definitely the go-to food for writing sessions, and any other finger food. I do make a conservative effort to be healthier when editing as I can structure my time much better than when possessed by the first draft. I drink a lot of fruit smoothies and try to avoid eating while working so I can throw something healthy in the oven before or after. Always the coffee though, even if it is 2 am!

10: Your writing playlist?
This varies an awful lot. Right now I am obsessing over Mannavegr by Danheim which really fits the mood of my current WIP. I do have a generic writing playlist on YouTube which I’ll often stick on shuffle when I’m pantsing or editing and contains any song that I find inspirational – so, 723 videos as I write this and possibly a few duplications by this time (this could pretty much be a topic for an entire post.)
I also have a playlist full of fantasy/RPG/ambience compilations for when I want to be a bit more specific – I love writing to Jeremy Soule’s TES: Oblivion soundtrack when I’m working on The Sirin Chronicles.

11: What do family/friends/loved ones think of you writing?
I think my parents found it quite funny when I was younger, especially when I was trying to write in fountain pen whilst my dad was driving around Cornish country lanes. As a teenager, I don’t think they were fully behind it and I was always told to pull my head out of the clouds and stop daydreaming. These days, I’m officially labelled as The Writer or The Storyteller by my dad in particular and I get to argue that daydreaming is a part of my profession.
I didn’t really have friends through school, but the friends I have now are really supportive and encouraging, as are my family. There have been a few times where I’d have completely jacked this all in if not for them ♡

via GIPHY

12: Parts of writing you enjoy the most?
I can’t really choose a favourite part to writing, I enjoy all parts just as much, though maybe it helps that I sort of compartmentalise the different processes so I don’t get conflicted between world building? I guess slightly ahead of everything else, creating a new world to get lost in. That’s certainly the most liberating part of the process when you have total free reign over everything.

13: Parts of writing you find challenging?
The start has always, and will forever be, the absolute WORST part of the writing process. Just getting any words to start flowing on a new page or document can take hours sometimes, and I don’t know why! I find first drafting the middle can go a bit awry, especially if I just jumped right in without a plan.

14: What do you write with and on?
These days, I tend to do most of my writing on my iPad with Evernote so I can get it across all of my devices, and then transfer it to Scrivener for editing. Any notes when I’m researching or planning go onto whatever paper is available and becomes a total shambolic nightmare – I’m currently training myself to use one notepad, though even then I’ve got loose pages all over the place.

I used to write in fountain pen and paper all the way through the first draft, and I really miss doing that! It’s not that possible with my health though as I get a lot of pain in my wrists, hands and fingers and struggle to hold a pen for too long. I still do my planning this way though, I find the story flows so much more easily when writing by hand.

15: How do you overcome writer’s block?
I’ve learnt to just turn the computer off, put my notebooks and iPad away and just focus on something else entirely until it goes away. I don’t think writer’s block is entirely “creative drought” in my situation. I will do some gardening if I can, or binge watch something if I can’t – I’ve recently finished Versailles for the second time. I also love playing the Elder Scrolls games if I’m really stuck in a rut. Pure escapism if nothing else!

16: How do you motivate yourself to write?
I’ve never really had to motivate myself to write. Either I am writing, editing or taking a slight break – I always have Christmas as pure downtime regardless. Or, my health is too bad to be writing. It’s taken me a good five years to stop hating on myself when that happens, and even then I’m usually jotting ideas down or researching something.

17: Authors who inspire you as a writer?
This could become a ridiculously long list as I find any author I fall in love with inspires me as a writer, so I’ll keep it to just those who started me on my writing career for real – J RR Tolkien. Those who have inspired me to create a richer world, a stronger plot, to be thought-provoking and to educate the reader in someway – Lian Hearn, George RR Martin, Reki Kawahara and Isuna Hasekura – I became really fascinated by the merchant trade because of Spice and Wolf.

18: Books that inspire you as a writer?
Since JK Rowling didn’t get a mention in Q17, Harry Potter? There are a lot of books . . .

19: Best advice you’ve gotten as a writer?
Write about what you know and question what you know. Right the story you want to read, and something that means something to you. Right with passion and honesty, and always keep to your individual voice. My absolute favourite and I feel really bad because I can’t remember who came up with it: “If life gives you melons, you need a proofreader.”

20: Writing goals this year
I’m doing this a bit late into the year I guess? Rolling from 2018 into 2019, I’ve got my work cut-out. I have two novelettes that I’ve just started work on – The Lost Chapter and The Edge of Darkness – to work my way through. I also have quite a lot to do with The Sirin Chronicles; editing A Dawn of Dreams and Dancing Shadows, finishing off Fallen Star and Ghosts and then writing The Last Carnation. I’ve also got another book to write at some point, but I feel that might have to wait until 2020 or beyond. If anyone sees my sanity, please let me know?

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Also tagging all of you who read this and want to give it a go!

Original article: The Writer Tag: 20 Questions.

I finally came up with new titles for Sykajume and Vaejume after a year over back-and-forth over different titles. This mostly came up as an issue when I was speaking to someone from a marketing background and was advised to change the titles to something different – which made a lot of sense as the other three books in the series sound nothing like the first two; so they are now titled A Dawn of Dreams and Dancing Shadows respectively, and I will be starting to put chapters on here for them ASAP.

I’m due to go to Pershore end of August and have something really exciting to look forward to at the end of the month. I’ve also got my mum coming back to Wales with me for a couple of weeks just after that, so I don’t know how much I’ll be posting for that time as I’m going to be totally KOed by it all. I did plan to get a stock of content done through August that I could then just post during September…and yet here we are, steaming through August and I’ve managed one post. Best laid plans and all that. Anyway, I recently discovered Cream Soda and have a new vice to back up the coffee…

New Content that’s been added:
The Wolf and the Mage – a short story I wrote over 10 years ago that was the inspiration to Aengal and Vaejume in the Sirin Chronicles. (Recently edited to tie in with the world of Sirin directly.)
The Lost Chapter – This is something new that I’m working on which looks into the younger Sykajume, long before the main events of The Sirin Chronicles.

All though I do have a few promised posts on wolves in the works, I figured after two…I should probably give it a breather. Unless people want wolf spam…

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{Life aside from writing – TL;DR – Life update & PIP/DWP, existential crisis, etc etc, a brief review of 1984 by Orwell}

Things are still somewhat crazy over here with things going on in the background – I’m still dealing with PIP and DWP (that’s been going on since March), and I’m battling constantly to keep on top of my health issues and depression. I’ve had to deal with a continual existential crisis, brutal self-evaluation and utter despair at the no-hope situation of my life, and it really takes it out of me.  I feel torn constantly – do I share my life as a writer with the world and only show the refined side of everything, or do I share the reality? Some days I feel like I’m fighting fate itself just to exist.

Lately, I seem to be suffering the presumptuous nature of various jobsworths in the system of DWP and ignorant people who simply look at the surface of me and judge me to be fine. I’ve now got to deal with my PIP claim at Tribunal, which will be the 4th time of having to completely rip myself apart and fight to be heard over the report of the under-qualified assessor (who’s job is basically to blatantly lie and screw over the claimant.) So advance apologies if I fall off the world again for a bit – I’ll be sitting in a corner listening to Lullaby by Nickleback on repeat.

None of this particularly helped by my reading of 1984 by George Orwell recently which, considering it was written in the late 40s, is freakishly close to the reality we now live in (all be it nearly 40 years after the fictional prophesied ’84’). It’s like our various governments use the dystopian fiction as a guidebook to ruling a country…

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If you enjoy what you find here, please consider buying me a coffee to keep the coffee vampire awake and writing.
=^.^=
♡

Original article: A Dawn of Dreams and Dancing Shadows.

I now know I need to go back to the beginning and revise both Sykajume and Vaejume. (I know, I know, heresy). This will avoid future plot-holes forming and becoming gaping chasms. There will also be a title change for both of the books so they’re in line with the future books of the series.
Edit: New title for the first two books are A Dawn of Dreams and Dancing Shadows respectively.

I’m also going to change the way people can read The Sirin Chronicles. Instead of my books being available to buy on Amazon and the early stage drafts of my WIPs being available on Tablo, I’m going to bring all the content here – though I’m not 100% certain on the format yet.

Future WIPs:
A Dawn of Dreams  {revision}
Dancing Shadows {revision}
Fallen Star
Ghosts
The Last Carnation
The Anathema

I am also trying to figure out extra content I can offer. I’d love to come up with a video series if that can be done and to do more with artwork. Though I’m not really an artist, all I got is word art and cartography…. What do you think? What would you like to see more of?

If you enjoy what you find here, please consider buying me a coffee to keep the coffee vampire awake and writing. Thank you for all your patience and support. =^.^=

Original article: What’s To Come with The Sirin Chronicles?.