Slowly getting there…

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It’s been a wee while since i last updated this blog.

During that time I’ve written four complete first drafts of short stories and struggling through the fifth.

The thing I’m struggling with most is dialogue. Its quite hard to make sure that every word of dialogue is moving the story forward and not wasting words.

As the stories are short stories aimed a children i have to be careful with how many words i use to get a point across. short stories need the pace to be fairly fast and simple, and lets be honest, children don’t have the best attention spans. so keeping to the KISS principle is a must.

Saying that the first story I’ve finished I trailed on my son. I can’t think of a harsher critic as if he doesn’t like something he just gets up and walks away. He’s done this while I’ve read him published stories with nice pictures.

So a little nervous of what the cruel six year old judge would say i started. no pictures for him to look at as i cant draw to save my life. just my messy badly spelt, even worse grammar handwriting for him to look at.

I finish the first A4 page and look at him, he’s sat with a smile on his face. I carry on, the only time he  moved was to snuggle up to me as I read. with what i thought was a nice flourish i bring the story to an end.

“that was brilliant mummy, fantastic.” shouts my son. I’ve never heard him use those words before so with a tear in my eye, now there really is no pretending his a small child any more, (even though he’s the tallest in his class and missing two teeth in my head he’s still a baby) i dare to ask him if he thought there was anything missing.

“fart jokes!” no denying my son is a true boy with that remark. “fart jokes and things falling over”

yes in six year old heads slap stick is still the best go to comedy you can find. And some how not as easy as you might think to crow bar into a story about dragons while keeping an eye on the word count.

But nearly five stories in and while its not getting any easier the ideas keep coming and soon i hope to have a good handful of stories that can take the next step to having pictures drawn for them and be fully edited ready for other six year olds to enjoy. If there anything like my son i may need to have a few back up ones.


Its harder then it looks.


Writing for kids is hard. Very hard.
OK I’ll admit I’ve only been trying to write a story about dragons for my six-year-old for about twelve hours now. Not long really, but long enough for me to want to pull my hair out.
There is the amount of words you want to use in your writing but your not sure if a six year old is able to read the word never mind understand the meaning of the word.
My son is learning to read and being the proud mother that I am I think he’s the best little reader in the world. even more so since he likes having stories with long words read to him. but I’m trying to write a book that kids will want to read to themselves or their younger siblings.
At the back of my mind I’ve go to remember that the words i write will need someone to put pictures to it and thinking about how its done in other books.
Never mind getting an artist on board to draw the pictures. someone who’s happy to draw lots of dragons and their world based on the words I put on the page.
So over all its a lot harder then i thought it would it would be.
If anyone knows someone who wouldn’t mind trying to put drawings to my words send them my way.

Its been a while

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its been a while since I wrote in here. since the last time a lot has happened.my depression has risen and fallen. I’ve sought therapy which helped a little and grown as a person a bit.

I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get used to living in my own place and juggling bills and spends on my son. not really easy to do when i spend a lot of time not wanting to leave my flat! any one with depression and anxiety will know just how hard it can be to have the get up and go to do anything.

the political climate at the moment in England hasn’t helped. every year with the budget more and more bad news comes. less in in-work benefits for people who don’t have full-time jobs, more companies only offering part-time or zero hour contracts. now isn’t a good time to be trying to get off benefits and earning your own money.

but then what do the people in power care when they have the ability to never worry about where the moneys going to come from to keep the lights on and water in the tap?

but my writing bug has been reactivated with the idea that I could possible make money from my writing by putting it on e-reader sites. which is something I’ve always wondered would I be good enough to do.

my dad is on board to help me work out which stories are any good and if I could possibly work them into longer stories people would pay money for. it helps knowing that my father who i think of as one of the most intelligent people i know believes that I have the ability to do it,  I’m going to try a new track and use my six-year-old to bounce ideas off.

he’s currently really into dragon and apart from the how to train you dragon series there really isn’t a lot of dragon books for kids his age. not ones with dragons as main charactors  anyway. so for him I’m going to try to write some and post the ones he likes on here before going full steam ahead and finding an artist for the pictures. hopefully my sister. a real family enterprise! it’ll either bring us all closer together or someone will end up dead. most likely my dad as he’s got the coolest head and most patience.

Night Fog

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Its late at night. Theres on one around. So why do I get the feeling that someone is following me. Watching my every move.

I look around again. And, again there is nothing there. Just the fog rolling off the sea. Making everything pale into the background. Softening the nosies of the night.

Thats all thats giving me the creeps, I try and tell myself.

I’ve walked this path home many times before, but never before have a felt this feeling of unease. I know the walk home from work as well as the abck of my hand. Theres the tree we used to climb as kids, often ending up falling out of it when we got a bit over confident.

There where only a couple of branches that could be used to pull yourself up with. And, once your up there if you werent careful one of the smaller branches would knock you down again.

Just three paces beyond the tree there should be the start of the bridge over the small river.

But where is it. I’m standing where it should be but there isnt a sign of it. I looked around but the mist was getting heavier, making it harder to see. Spinning around and walking a few paces more i still cant find the bridge.

A snap sounds behind me, with a whip of my neck i look behind me, too see only a white wall. Visability less then three feet. I cant even see the tree anymore, but i should have wandered back to it by now.

This night was getting weirder by the moment. Youd’ve thought I would be used to the fog around here. It happens most nights around here at this time of year. And, having grown up here i should still be able to find my way around. Lord knows i used to wander around here with my eyes closed just to see how well i remembered the area.

With a wet noise I fell down the bank of the river. Coming to a holt in the middle of the reeds along the waters edge. I lay there getting wet for a moment or two while i got my barings. Not all together sure about how I ended up here. I had been taking small steps to make sre something like this didnt happen.

I climbed back up the river bank, barely managing to avoid hitting the underside of the bridge.

Once I made the top of the bank I found that thefog had rolled back. Leaving the night cold and damp in its wake.

Fog doesnt normally work like that. Disappearing in a matter of a couple of seconds.

There was no one on the path that i had followed. But, i still felt like that there was someone watching me.

With a deep breath i ran the short distance home. Constantly looking behind me. Every time there wasn’t any sign of any one there.

I got home and after a quick fumble getting the key out of my bag and into the lock i managed to enter the house and shut the weird night outside where it belonged.

preface to novel

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Through out history people’s perspectives of me and my kind have drastically changed. When people started noticing us we where bloated almost corpse’, with overly large yellow teeth and a fetish for very bloody meat. (Although if we could get our hands on a nice big bowl of fresh steaming blood we thought we had hit treasure.) Where ever we went we were pitied from a distance. Pitied for being case out from gods grace. To protect themselves from gods curse we were sent to camps surrounded by armed men.

If we were lucky one of the men would fall asleep away from the others where we could have our way with him. As the years past some of us learnt to survive on only the odd drink of blood every now and again. the others ended up becoming more monster like. Carving fresh meat, and doing anything they had to, to get it.

Slowly we two kinds of cursed passed into folklore, to be whispered about around the fire-place on dark and windy nights. As the world turned we changed, found through the blood we drank that we became more and more like those we drank from. Often many centuries after we lost our human we found them coming back, sometimes more beautiful than before.

Then with the help of a writer we became courtly ladies and gents, walking the night entrancing any we meet into giving up their life’s blood for us. During this time people who read the story and believed in the folklore of their homelands sought us out. killing us with pointy wooden stakes before we could kill their Mothers, Fathers, sons, daughters and neighbors.

We were hunted down like animals and before the final death-blow was delivered we would often be tortured. In the hunting community it became a badge of honor to keep one of us alive for days or weeks before death. A lot of the techniques that are used today in torture were perfected on us during those dark days. None of them really wanted to have questions answered. They never believed whatever answer was given in desperation to end the pain. They just wanted to hurt something as much as they could. Some of my kind believe that if those people hadn’t been carving their evil out on our kind they would be out doing to other humans who had the bad luck to be in their sight when the urge to harm came over them.

Suddenly things changed. People where reading and writing stories that pt my kind in the lime light like never before. We went from being all evil as a race, to being heroes and almost godly in the powers we were given.

Stories of us as victims of a disease or life we didn’t choose, didn’t want. trying to run from what we are, or live life as if nothing would get in the way of us doing good. The pained hero having to forsake everything to protect the weak person they loved was suddenly one of us.

Some of wat has been said of us comes close to being truth, but most of it is just lies to sell books and movie tickets.

I’m here to tell you our story, the truth behind the lies about my kind.

We are your nightmares and dreams rolled into one.

We are the part of you no one wants to admit to.

We are the best part of you.

We are here to stay.

We are Vampire.

Wise woman.

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The fire stirred in the wind. Momenterily growing brighter before fading into almost nothing. The woman watching it heaved a heavy sigh. Her time was nearly up and she wasnt ready. How could she be ready when there was still so much work to be done. And, no one to carry on her hard work.
SiXty years ago there where plenty of girls like her wanting to take up the mantle. The life of the wise woman was one every young girl aimed towards. If they could get to be wise women they didnt have to get married and have children till they where old before their time.
A shuffle caght her attention and she looked up and up and into the depths of a hooded figure. Slowly with a graon the figure lowered itself to sit crosed legged oppiste the woman.
“it’s been long time.” stated the figure.
“Yes it has. I had hoped it would be longer.”
“i know my child. i heard your prayers.”
“then why must i go now. asked the woman poking the dimming fire with a short pointed stick.
” i heard your prayers. But, sadly your time in this world is drawing to a close.”
“theres no one to take my place.No one to protect the people after me.” she said playing the stick through her fingers.
The hooded figure merely gazed futher into the flames, not meeting the bold stare of the old woman.
“within this time there is no real need for people like us any more. The people don’t believe any more. As their faith wanes so does our strength against that we have fought. the people need to find a way to deal with it in their own way. using the new technolgy that they have made as we’ve grown old.”they sat in silence for a while watching the fire dim and die.
the hooded figure stood and held their hand out to the old woman.
the woman with a groan heaved herself up batting the hand out of her way. with a last look at the bright lights behind her, at her home which had changed so much in the last few years.
With one last prayer for those she’d be leaving behind she turned, placed her hand into the hooded figures and walked with them into the darkness.



in a snowy woodland a young cloaked girl wonders.
how long has been walking? minutes, hours, days, weeks, months? she doesn’t know. time doesn’t have any meaning here. she’s lost and lonely, only catching the barest glimpse of what her heart desires. the thing she is here to search for.
its something she can’t put a name to, or picture in her mind once the glimpse is over.
has she already found it, forgotten she’s found it, or is she still yet to find it.
how did she come to be here? she either doesn’t know or had forgotten in her passage through the woods.
a sharp crack draws her attention to the west of her, she hesitates then run towards the noise. its the first noise shes heard whilst here. as she moves she speeds up, scared to miss her chance of finding why she’s here.
the way slowly becomes more crowded with dead and dying trees, she pushes on ignoring the grasping hands of the trees and bushes.
suddenly she finds herself in a clearing, face to face with a young man. his face lights up when he sees her.
her heart skips a beat before she throws herself laughing into his arms.
“I thought i would never find you.” he says into her hair pulling her even tighter to him.
“thank god you did.” she says drawing slightly away from him to look into his ice blue eyes. “can we go home now?”
“you already are home. you just need to wake.”
“what do you mean?” she asks confused.
“these past four weeks you’ve been in a deep sleep with no sign of waking up. I had to consult the witch woman to give me a potion to enter your dream. please wake up soon. i cant be here much longer. already the potion is wearing off.”
“dont leave me,” she says as he starts to fade. “what am i to do?”
“find your way out of here. that’s all I know. goodbye my love untill we meet again.” with that he is gone, leaving the warmth of his arms around her and his scent in her nose.
she falls to the ground filled with grief. trying to hold on to the feeling of him.
how long she stays like that we’ll never know.
her young man waits by her side, willing her to wake. in turns praying and cursing the god that could leave her in this state.