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Blog of a newbie writer and her adventures with Sir Cursorlot - my cursor friend and foe. |
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First time at writing a novel, first time blogging at 51. Bloody hell, this will be interesting. I am writing under my pen name Amare (pronounced Ar - Mah - Ray) which is latin for my real name. I am a proud Aussie who lives in Queensland on an acre property with my husband and our 3 beautiful furkids (golden retrievers) I am a puppy educator for Guide Dogs for the blind and love the sense of achievement when we see one of our amazing pups go on to change the life of a vision impaired person. Raised 6 pups myself before working full time. A very satisfying and rewarding job. Now I'm trying to achieve something more personal for myself as a writer, a journey and maybe success just for me. Also working on self belief, self love, building my confidence, self growth and believing I'm worth something. Not an easy task. So come on a journey with me. Hopefully it will be a fun read from time to time, and it will be bluntly honest. |
| Hello out there!!! It's been a while since I have updated the blog. Sir Cursorlot and I have been doing a fair bit of writing this week, but it's all over the place. Some have been short stories, a few odd poems that have just randomly come into my head and a new chapter for my novel. And while I feel in some ways that I have achieved some things this week, in others I feel a kind of panic. More and more, I feel like I am running out of time. My writing journey has started way too late, and will I have the patience to continue and also just in general. If I'm honest, I think I have felt this way since my husband has put a date on retirement. Don't get me wrong, I would love nothing more than for him to retire tomorrow, but unfortunately, he will need another four years in the teaching profession before we will be financially secure to retire and live the way we want to see out our years. If all goes according to plan, we will live very comfortably and not have to watch every cent we spend. Hubby's plan was always to retire young enough to enjoy it. So he will/we will be 55 when we can afford to do this. Then we have plans. And is it that we have these plans we hope to fulfil that makes me so nervous? So many people make plans and then tragedy strikes. This is what fills my chest with pressure. Will we be ok in 4 years' time? Will we have the rug pulled out from under us as so many have before? Will I panic and feel this tightness for the next four years? I feel like it needs to happen now otherwise it never will. Is this normal that I am thinking this way? Do other people hold such fears so far out? |
| Know Your Waves It will come in waves They will vary in strength Some will pull you under and hold on tight Pummel you so you can’t breathe. Keep you there for endless stretches of time. Others won’t let you get back to shore; they will hold you in their rip But the shore will remain in sight. Others will sweep your feet out from under you, but let you rise again fairly quickly Some waves you will ride to shore, beating back the darkness that wants to drag you down. Take those wins But know, with certainty, that the tide will go out. The waves will recede, and you will stand strong upon the sand once more. |
| SOOOO For those who read my blogs, you will know that I have been struggling with writer's block for a few weeks now. And as far as my novel draft goes for More Than A Journey Home, that still is the case. However, my muse has stepped up. And really, I'm not surprised. My golden girl, who is the love of my life, who came and saved me from the brink, is doing it again. And in her stories —our stories —she will help me continue to write, to learn about putting words to the page, and hopefully have readers enjoying our tales together. The thing is, the tales are non-fiction. They happened, are still happening, and in a way, this will be my dedication to her. To all that she brought to my life, and still does today. I have no idea how long I have left with her. She is heading towards 15 years old, and every single day is such a gift. She is now my senior to take care of, and I couldn't think of anything more I would want to do. If you do want to follow along, in my profile, there is a folder, My Life, My Love, My Saviour - My Bindi Lyn. And the first two entries #2349745 and #2349687. Anyway, I think, I hope, we'll see if my writing curse has been broken. |
| Well, I am sitting here again, and nothing is coming to mind. I have read the last few chapters of the book I am currently working on More Than a Journey Home, hoping for inspiration to strike and moving Mason, Lavender and Maize forward, but NUP, big FAT zilch. SO annoying. It's like my brain has put up a big brick wall and nothing can tear that sucker down. So then I started reading another draft I had started before More Than A Journey Home and it was like my mind started building blocks there as well. What the actual??? Do you think this is a sign?? No writing for you, instead of No soup for you? God, I really hope not. My fingers are itching to write, and Sir Cursorlot wants more exercise on a daily basis as well. Maybe tomorrow will be the day, or maybe it won't. Who knows. One can only wait and see. |
| How can you possibly go from writing a draft for a novel with all these ideas swirling around and around, connecting with your characters and having a plan of where their story is going to lead to, .......nothing!!! I was on such a roll with More Than A Journey Home, but for the last week, maybe a bit more.....nothing. I literally sat down five minutes ago and started to write and then deleted it as it was just not working. Talk about frustrating. And what does this mean?? Will Mason remain forever stuck in the kitchen at 2am after cooking an extremely early breakfast? Will he never speak another word to the two people sitting in the kitchen with him? How devastating for him if this turns out to be true. And Sir Cursorlot is also grumbling about the lack of work I have been giving him as well. The endless, blink, blink, blink with nowhere to go is driving him crazy. I want to write!! I want to tell stories and grow in my work, not come to a dead stop like my boots have set in concrete with no way out. I've never been short of things to say, but my creative mojo has gone on break without even a by your leave? What the??? Bloody frustrating. |
| I asked this question to someone the other day, and they looked at me blankly for a second or two and then said, "Isn't silence, silence, like no sound at all?" And yes, that is the usual understanding of what silence means. At its core, silence means the absence of sound or speech. But it can be so much more. Emotionally, it can mean peace and calm, sitting in reflection and contentment with one's self. It can signal unease and conflict after an argument with your partner or close friend, for example. Silence can be used during times of grief to show respect to those who have passed and to take time to remember them in those quiet moments. Sometimes it can be used as power or control, to assert dominance or control. And sometimes, silence is seen as a space where truth or understanding can emerge. What's unsaid can hold more meaning than what is spoken. So what does Silence sound like to you? At this time in my life, I feel I am sitting in the silence of understanding and gaining truth. Sitting in my silence leads me to many questions from my past, my childhood, that I will need to work out for myself. I am realising that things were not always as they seem, and the perception of what I thought was really something else altogether. In my time of self-healing, this is proving to be the best silence of them all. |
| {photo:10702880 He realised there had been several deaths on this road, but his concern rose when he saw the exact number. "Maybe we should turn around, go back", Pete said as he eased his foot off the accelerator. This is the road, the one from all the newspaper articles from years ago. People who drive down this road are never seen again." "That's just a myth, a legend, an old ghost tale," says Zack, looking over at Pete with a grin on his face. "Stop being such a woose. You believe everything you read because you are addicted to tales about people dying, being killed. It's playing with your head. Just keep going," he waves his hands in the forward motion, indicating he is keen for Pete to put his foot down and get on with it. "Don't say I didn't warn you then," Pete accelerates the car up and heads down the road, which soon turns dark amongst the massive trees that line the road. So dark that he turns on the headlights to help him see where he is going. They soon see fog, drifting down upon the heavens, still not quite meeting the road, but blanketing the top of the car, and the temperature drops to where both boys can see their breath as they exhale. "Jesus, put the heat on," Zack complains, his jaw chattering, and he rubs his arms vigorously, trying to keep his body heat moving. Pete looks over and smiles at Zack, then lets out a giggle that sends shivers down Zacks spine. "What are you laughing at? Zack asks, wondering what has gotten into his best friend of 15 years. "Look who's being all scaredy scared now. Just minutes ago, you were telling me that I was being crazy, now you look like you've seen a ghost." Chills envelop Zack from head to toe. Memories flood his mind. Shadows descend and crowd around him. And then it hits him. Hard, and he imagines the pain from a kick in his solar plexus, a pain he cannot feel, but can recall what one felt like. His soul reminds him that this is not real. Not anymore. This is Remembrance Day. The day he died. The day his best friend Pete murdered him. On this very patch of road, on this very date, October 30th, the eve of Halloween. Pete knows how many people have died on this road. Not because he read the articles in the newspaper clippings, but because he murdered them. Waited just a bit further down the road from where they are now. In the darkness, in the fog, car emergency lights flashing, waiting for the kindness of his prey to stop and ask if he needed help. Zack was his very first victim, his rehearsal for the real events to come, he had said. And as he lay dying, Pete thanked Zack for his sacrifice. Thanked him for being the very best friend a person could ever hope for. As the blood bubbled up and sprayed forth from Zack's mouth, Pete held a small vial to the blood, trailing Zack's neck, capturing his life's blood. "I will always have you with me," Pete whispered in Zack's ear. "I will keep them all with me, forever. And on those days when I need to feel closer to you, I will take a very small amount upon my finger, taste your sweet life and remember how very special you were to me. They will all be special to me, Zacky." Oh how Zack hates his Remembrance Day. Reliving this horrendous death over and over again, year after year. He wonders why this has to happen, but the answers are still out of his reach. They are coming up to the bend now. Not much further to go, where Pete will start making the car jerk, like something has gone wrong, and slowly pull over to the side of the road. They will then step out, Pete lifting the bonnet to check underneath, and Zack, once again, will step out to see if he can help. What if he had never stepped out? Why can't he stop himself from stepping out? What would Pete have done then? But he did. He did step out, he did offer to help. As he rounded the side of the car, Pete glanced up and smiled at him. "Looks like we're cooked", and with that Pete's arm comes up. The one Zack couldn't see that he held at his side. The blade, long and lethal, does not glint in the light as it often does in the movies. It is way too dark for that, and the headlights from the car barely catch a glimpse as it swings down, towards Zack's neck. The sound is like a thud as it slices into the flesh. The blade catches and doesn't let go easily. Pete struggles to release it as Zack goes down on the ground, pulling both blade and Pete with him. Zack still remembers the motion of Pete's arms and hands as he wrestles to release the blade from Zack's wound. Zack doesn't overly remember the pain as the shock takes hold quickly. With the sound of wetness, the blade ejects Zack from its hold, and the blood flows more freely. "It shouldn't take long," Pete says, stroking Zack's forehead. "I'm sorry. I had hoped it would have taken your head clean off. Ended it so you wouldn't feel any pain. That was going to be my gift to you, because I love you. The rest of them will suffer, of that I will be sure. Otherwise, where is the fun?" As Zack lay dying, listening to Pete, he wondered how many would there be? How many people will fall under Pete's blade and the insanity within his soul? Why did Zack never see it? The life drains slowly but surely. Pete sits and stares, wiping the blood from the blade onto Zack's jeans. "Hurry up and go now, Zack," he says, like he's losing patience. "I can't be here when the next car comes. But soon Zack, soon, people will dread having to drive this road. They will pause, as we did, and wonder if they should turn around. But they won't. They will continue forward, come forward to me, and I'll be waiting. Gradually, slowly, Zack's soul flies free. Away from the car, away from Pete, away from the memory of Lakers Lane. Until next year. Until the eve of Halloween, where Zack can relive it all over again, and again, and again, and again. Pete knows how many deaths have been on this road because he commits them. And Zack will forever be, his number one. |
| Hi Everyone!!! So as another day draws to a close here in QLD, Australia, I was asked by someone on Discord, "Was Wednesday worth getting up for?" As they are only just rising for their Wednesday in America. My answer was yes, yes it was worth getting out of bed for. Was it a special day for me? Not particularly. It was just ordinary, really. I didn't have to go to work; however, I did do about an hour at home. It was supposed to be raining, but it wasn't, which, for us here at the moment, was a bit disappointing as we really need some rain right now. Everything is so dry. Then, the best part of the day for me: Ironing my husband's work pants!!! You cannot get more exciting than that, right??? I mean, seriously, how can you not want to stand in front of a hot iron and rake it over pants after pants after pants? SO COOL!!!! NOT!!! It is kind of my fault as I do let them rack up in number. But I had the music on and I danced around, got my groove on and found it not so bad. Thankfully no cameras in this house baby!! I spent the day loving up my furkids, which I will never resent, reading some of Iron Flame (great book, great series), listening to some crime podcasts and having a nanna nap!! For me, my day was sweet. Also chatting to some new writer friends on threads, Instagram and now Discord. Slowly building that circle of like-minded people in the writing world. So,yes, my Wednesday was worth waking up for. Was yours??? |
Good Evening, Everyone from Australia!! It is raining here today/tonight, and even though it's not men, it is a very blessed relief. We have not had decent rain in so long that the grass is dry, brown and crunchy, the plants are sad, and the solar panels on the roof are filthy lol. Hopefully, this will prevent hubby from climbing up on the roof to clean them, as we all know, sometimes men climbing up on things is a dangerous occurrence. I did warn Sir Cursoralot that today would be a minimal exercise day for him, and I was right. Today was a work day, and lucky me got to spend it doing a refresher CPR course. Well I saved the adult and baby dummies' lives and have my new certificate to say so!! Yay, I saved lives!!! In total honesty, I really believe that if something happened out there to someone, I wouldn't be a whole lot of use to them. Especially if blood was involved. I see blood, I go down!!! Not good. And to think one of my childhood ambitions was to be a nurse! Guess what? That didn't happen. But seriously, though, I hope I am never put in that position where I might have to try to save someone's life. I think panic would set in big time, and my poor little mind would be so overwhelmed it would shut down. How would you go in this situation? Anyway, back to the rain. I love the rain, especially at nighttime when you are climbing into bed and it's pounding on the roof and you can hear it splashing on the concrete. When you hear the frogs start calling out, rejoicing that the rain has finally come. The smell is divine, so fresh and clean, like it's washing all your cares away, at least for a little while. It's supposed to be with us for a few days, and I am just fine with that. My dogs, not so much, as toileting out there when they are getting wet isn't one of their fave activities, and I can't say I blame them. Well that's me for this Tuesday. I am off to bed to capture this beautiful sound while I can. Hope you all have had, or are having a fantabulous day. Amare xxx |
| Well, Sir Cursoralot and I had another good writing day together. My main character Mason, must be wondering what the hell has happened. He's on the move and from scene to scene, and for once, he had a positive day. A little win in what so far has been one horror find after another. Sir Cursoralot will be able to sit back and have a beer once I've finished my little entry here. Today was so hot you could cook an egg on the footpath. I am so grateful that for me it wasn't a work day and I could stay at home in the air con with my furkids. We had a little vet visit, and all is well. Well, aside from one having 2 ear infections, and one of the others is still healing a hotspot that has been on his face for about 5 weeks. I am just so lucky that he loves the cone of shame!! Yep, that's right, He LOVES the cone of shame!!! What dog loves the cone??? My beautiful boy, that's who. He's been such a good kid. But I don't understand. The dogs at work get hotspots all the time in the kennels, and they don't wear bloody cones, and they are usually cleaned up within a week. Oh well. Rowan is on some more meds just to clear up the final itchys and hope that will be that. I love that boy!! One of my girls who is 14.5 years old has had this weird growth on her toe, which looked like a tumour. My mind, of course, goes straight to the worst-case scenario, and she has cancer and is going to die. Thankfully, after 3 weeks of strong antibiotics, the swelling went down, the tumour has changed and in look and size, and the vet said that although she still isn't completely sure what is happening there, she highly doubts it's cancer because of how well she has responded to the meds. It will probably always be a bit odd, but as long as it's safe, I don't care!! What a day!!! Tomorrow, work. How has your day been and what worries do your furbabies put you through?? Rest now Sir Cursoralot. We may not get a chance to do much tomorrow so enjoy your time off. |
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