Taking a Chance

The Abyss...
It's dark and black
I jump in
This is scary you know... the unknown
Taking a chance
Hoping against hope
Not to screw up

It's scary
It's exhilarating
It's lonely

I second guess myself everyday... sometimes by the hour
What if I can't do it?
What if I fuck it all up?
Next minute, I'm back at it
Trudging forward
It has to work
My passion will see me through

Knowledge
Belief, hope... worry.
Love!
Wrap it all up in a wish
A butterfly kiss
Send it to the stars




...Carry on

Pickwick Publishing

Website to launch this fall!!!
***Like US and follow our Updates @ https://www.facebook.com/PickwickPublishing***

About Pickwick Publishing

Our Mission:

To inspire a love of reading in children; to create a safe internet “enook” where parents will feel comfortable allowing their children to visit and read quality reviewed stories; to provide a source of quality women’s literature; and lastly, though very importantly, to inspire the ongoing creativity of emerging writers and illustrators by providing them a place to showcase their talents, collaborate on projects, gain constructive feedback and to be published.

Why?:

Pickwick has been developed because there is an abundance of talented local Canadian writers, of both Children’s and Women’s literature, who go unpublished. 

Traditional publishing houses are swamped by aspiring authors hoping to have their storybook or novel published. Unfortunately many of these works go unnoticed – Why? Because there are just too many and most publishing house’s don’t have the staff to keep up with the demand. The result - many excellent stories go untold… and that is unfair to the writer, the illustrator and to the reader.

How Pickwick will work:

Pickwick Publishing will strive to create a safe and quiet place on the internet where children and their parents can login to discover wonderful new stories. Children and their parents will be able to interact with writers and suggest story ideas and/or to review stories with the intent of making them better.

***All stories and illustrations uploaded to Pickwick will be reviewed prior to being made public on the site to ensure safety.

Emerging writers, the emphasis on home grown Canadian talent, will have a place to publish their work in an e-book format. Hard copy printing/publication and editing services will be an option provided through consultation and external sources.

Writers and illustrators will be able to collaborate and gain feedback from their peers, children and their parents. Together all parties will work to create and publish quality children’s stories and literature.

At the same time that children are enjoying stories created just for them by dedicated writers and illustrators (maybe they are tucked in for a nap or for the night), Mom can log in and access e-books created with her in mind in Pickwicks’ Women’s Literature section.

Whatever your needs as a reader, writer or illustrator of Children’s stories or Women’s Literature, Pickwick Publishing will be there to help make your wishes come true.

May the Road Rise up to Meet You - A Teaser for Father's Day

It's been awhile since I posted and with good reason... there have been many changes of late both good and very, very bad. 

"All things happen for a reason" has been my motto and I can see the benefit of it now. I really wasn't to clear on it before, it was just something I felt would eventually make sense - losing my job and being home these last several months unable to find another job - these were things that weren't making sense. They were making stress. However I kept thinking, there must be a reason. And there was - I was meant to be home.

My Mom passed in later April, not two years since my father's passing. Life will never be the same again. 

It was one thing to live without Dad. He had been very sick and when he passed you knew it was a good thing - there would be no more suffering. My Mom, as always, was there to make sure all was right and looked after. Mom was strong, despite having cancer herself. She was living with it and doing well.

Unfortunately, just when we thought Mom was going to have some time to enjoy life we learned that there was another path she had to take. The battle was on and she fought hard to stay here. In the end, as with my Dad, there was relief to know that there would be no more pain. 

Her journey, one her family took with her, was over. She carried on without us... until we meet again.

Despite the darkness of the last few months, there have still been a few drops of sunshine falling in through the cracks acting as a reminder that again, all things happen for a reason.

Change is inevitable and we must carry on.

To that end, I have been writing again. My plans for my own business are coming together. 

Below is a teaser for something I am working on. It will be the only teaser I post to my blog, the rest I will work on in private, with an editor and some very wonderful friends :) In the end... there will be a book - no wait, a novel :) I am over the moon for that!

Please feel free to let me know what you think.

Mom & Dad

 My parents were my biggest fans - always encouraging my writing - Dad especially. 

Happy Father's Dad - where ever you are. This is for you.

(***Oh yes... if you encounter an error of spelling or grammar. Don't worry, it will be fixed***)


 ***

In the Hollow of his Hands (c)
By: Tara Shannon

Intro:

 

Every night for the last fifteen years, Bree Kennedy dreamt the same dream. A blue eyed man would stare deeply into her eyes. It was as if he knew her every inch - her every thought. She couldn’t make out anything else about the man except for his piercing blue eyes. They were so familiar yet she couldn’t place who they belonged to. Without a doubt though, she knew that she loved the man who owned those eyes. Heart and soul she loved him.

Bree could feel his embrace, his arms strong around her as he began to kiss her. His kisses fell softly on her lips and she became lost in the moment. She wished she could stay in this part of the dream, she loved this part. It was the next part, the part that would soon come, that she feared.

Every night it was the same. Bree’s blue eyed love would let go his embrace and begin to walk away from her. Try as she might, she could never make him stop and turn back around. He stayed one step ahead of her at every turn, always just out of reach. In a whisper she would hear him say “goodbye”, his silhouette fading out into a bright glaring light. His soft voice replaced by the sound of someone screaming, the screech of tires on pavement and a horn blaring loudly. Pure fear would wash over her; the dream was now a nightmare.

Bree would wake to a scream. It was her own. It would escape her lips and steal her breath before falling flat against the darkness of the night. She was awake now and frightened. Gripping her blankets tight around her Bree would listen to the only sound in the room - the pounding of her broken heart.

Chapter 1:

“Mom? Are you there?” Bree Kennedy called out to the darkness of her bedroom.

There was no response, except for a confused and disgruntled meow from Marzbarz, Bree’s constant feline companion.

“I thank you for you deep concern.” Bree whispered sarcastically to the cat as she shimmied out of her bed. Marz curled himself into a ball, contented once again to fall asleep amongst the pillows and feather duvet covering the bed. Rolling her eyes and wishing to be able to trade places with her pet, Bree made her way down the hall to the kitchen.

When Bree was a little girl it was her father who would always put the kettle on. He would swear that a good cup of tea could cure anything from nightmares to heartache, the common cold and everything in between. He was right, a good cup of tea usually did the trick. It could cure anything, if he made it. And, that in itself was the problem. He wasn’t there and Bree was on her own to cure what ailed her. She made a good cup of tea, but it was never quite the same as what her Dad would make. She hoped one day she would get the knack of it but deep down she knew she never would. The true magic to her Dad’s cure-all cuppa came not from the tea, its time steeping in the pot or just the right amount of milk added to the cup – that wasn’t it at all – it was the man himself who held the magic. It was his care, his kind words and his joking nature that would turn any problem no matter how small, or large for that matter, into a ray of sunshine. All became right in the world with one of her Dad’s brews.

Bree sat and pondered her tea before she took her first sip. She imagined her Dad stirring in the milk and placing the steaming cup before her at the kitchen table of her childhood home. Home - that was a thought! It was thousands of miles away. She thought of her father there at that moment, with her mom at his side. Maybe she could call the house and they would answer. Bree reached for the phone, then realised how ridiculous she was being. They weren’t there anymore and they would never again answer her call.

Bree’s parents existed only in her memory - and in her overactive imagination. She often felt that she could still sense them, sometimes even catch a glimpse of them from the corner of her eye. She convinced herself that this was nothing more than a cruel trick of her mind. Regardless, she never stopped looking.

How she hated life without her parents in it. When they died in a car accident, of which Bree was a part, they left a hole so large in her heart that she feared it would never heal. Wounded or not, Bree had to carry on. What was done was done. Eventually, she hoped, she would feel normal again. Fifteen years had passed since the accident. A new sense of normalcy had yet to set in.

Bree was losing hope and sadly her heartache became the one constant thing she could count on. It became normal, weirdly comforting in a way, for her to hurt, to feel sad and to never expect much from life. Bree became so complacent with things going poorly that she allowed people to walk all over her. Her relationships with men were a disaster, her relationship with her aunt who raised her following her parent’s death was even worse - and work! She could barely hold on to a job for more than a month. She bore the mark of someone who could be walked on and ridiculed. After a while she would eventually have enough and explode in anger, running away to find solace or off to find a new job. Through it all Bree pushed forward giving the illusion that she didn’t care how terribly she was being treated - how terribly she let herself be treated. Whatever the case, underneath her mostly emotionless exterior, she did care and she cared deeply. Bree was a bit of a masochist. She felt that she deserved to feel terrible and to be treated as such. That’s how she felt everyday since her parents had died. Why should she ever expect to feel any different? Besides, to feel happy would mean that Bree was moving on and moving away from her parents and their collective tragedy. She couldn’t allow herself to do that, it wasn’t fair. Her parents couldn’t move beyond the accident, why should she?

Bree felt helpless and hopeless. She was helpless at the loss of her parent’s and hopeless because she could not remember a thing about the accident that took their lives, even though she had been there. The injury Bree sustained as a result of the accident caused her to lose all memory of the incident and the year that preceded it. Bree knew that fifteen years ago she had parents, wonderful parents and then in a flash, they were gone. She was alone. Bree woke to her Aunt Reed packing her bags and flying her to Canada during the cold of February. Bree soon came to see an ironic relationship between the Aunt who took her in and the country that she began to half-heartedly call home - They were both cold.

Bree stared into her cup of tea, struggling to hold back tears. She despised her Aunt and she missed her parents. She hated most of all, not remembering that last year with her parents. What had happened in that year? What was said? Did her parents know how much she loved them before they died? Did they know how much she missed them now? Bree felt that if she could retrieve those lost memories, she could gain back that stolen time with her parents. The hole in her heart might fill and she could gain some closure, maybe even some peace.

She was certain that her recurring dream about the blue eyed man was connected in some way to her missing memories, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out how. Bree also knew that the last nightmarish part of her dream was a glimpse into the crash that stole so much from her. While she didn’t want to know anymore about the crash, she knew she would someday have to relive it if she were to regain her missing year. For years Bree had hoped that her memory would just return out of the blue, no therapy or prompting required. Then as a result her recurring nightmare would end and be replaced by something beautiful – perhaps a dream of her parents enjoying a warm summers day. As the years ticked by, Bree realised that the miraculous return of her memory and the disappearance of her recurring nightmare would never happen. At least, not without some help. If she wanted her memories back, she would have to confront her nightmare head on. The only way she felt she could do that would be by returning home - to Ireland. Surely her memories would be there waiting for her. She could feel them calling to her, pulling at her heart and mind. Every time she dreamt her dreaded dream she woke to the need to go home but time and time again she would resist. She would tell herself that she needn’t return, it wasn’t necessary and she could find the truth of her past right where she was. Bree was afraid. She was afraid of what she might find and of what she might learn. The thought of leaving her dismal life in Canada to find what might be an even more dismal one in Ireland chilled her to the bone.

Tonight though, things were different. As Bree sat at her kitchen table sipping her tea and hoping her problems would magically solve themselves, she realised that she had the solution. She’d had it all along. The answer to her problems was within her, only she could put an end to her constant nightmares. Only she could track down the pieces of her missing year. Enough was enough. Bree knew she could no longer resist the strange pull calling her home.

In one decisive move Bree went online and booked a ticket to Ireland. The plane would leave first thing in the morning. With no turning back she swiftly packed her bags, slipped her sleepy cat into his travel carrier and tiptoed out the door. Her fiancé, who lay sleeping on the sofa in the living room in front of the TV, was none the wiser. Bree’s days of living in the dark were over. Good or bad, her life was about to change. She stepped out onto the street and hailed a cab. A cool spring breeze played across her cheek and a smile formed on her lips. She was determined like never before to take charge of her life and to find what she had lost.

A Novel Idea

The Synopsis:

In the Hollow of his Hands (c)

By: Bill Patterson

 
Breagh Kennedy has lost everything but she doesn't know why. In search of answers she leaves her cold life in Canada and returns to her ancestral home in Ireland. Once there she hopes to find what she has lost – but is she really prepared to learn the truth about her forgotten past? When her lost memories come crashing in as ghosts, fairies and a love that knows no bounds - Breagh doesn't know what to believe - but believe she must! Only then will she see that magic really does exist, that fairy tales really can come true and that her life can end happily ever after.

Tick, Tock on the Clock

Really!? Is that what this looks like. Hmmm.

Tick, tock, tick, tock - and so on and so forth.... and on and on - holy cow this clock is loud!

What kind of sick and twisted turn of events is this?! Why now after all this time does my biological clock have to start ticking? And, it’s not just ticking, it’s gonging! I hear it. I get the point. But there’s nothing I am prepared to do about it. Except maybe get another cat or buy a sweater for my dog. For me, fur babies are where it’s at.

and... I'm ok with that.

I am young enough by many standards to still have a child, or two of my own. The thing is I’m not willing to go through the tests and the procedures required to make it so that I might be able to conceive. Neither is my husband. He already has two children (young ladies) of his own from a previous relationship. A thought out little snip a few years ago put an end to him ever having anymore. Couple that with my comfort thus far in not wanting (I did have a couple miscarriages during a previous marriage) children of my own – we were, and have been, golden.

My motto in life has always been, “what is meant to be, will be”. I have not been meant to have children. There are alternatives I know – adoption or fostering and I suppose I could also (and I can hear some advocating it) leave my husband. It is after all a woman’s divine right, privilege and obligation to produce children into this world. Right?  To those who may think this I reply with a resounding; “No way!” I have been blessed, after some trial and tribulation, to find the best man in the world for me and I’ll be damned if I toss him aside for the chance to have a child. I have everything I need in life and I’m happy and I’m grateful. So why can’t I quiet this, of late, incessant gonging inside my head and my heart?

What can I do to stop it?

I need to think of what the real driving force behind my “tick, tock” is and I have to learn not to dwell on what is not “meant to be”.

Deep down I know that my biological clock isn’t ticking because of my own desire to have a child. It is the societally acceptable thing to do but for me that isn’t a good enough. I can hear my Mom’s voice inside my head; “When are you going to give me a grandchild?”; “Well, I guess my end of the family line is going to end with you.”; and my favourite, “It hurts me to think of you being alone when I’m gone.” My heart strings tug to the point of near breaking. However they don’t break because for me, providing a child so that my mother can have a grandchild or having one to ensure that I am not alone or so that I stay young at heart are not good enough reasons to have a child. Maybe I’m just afraid of getting old? Is my biological clock clanging because it sees that soon my belfry will be full of bats and rust?

Having a child is a huge responsibility – one that if I were meant to carry out I would handle with the utmost care. It’s also something I think I would feel a deep need for within my soul. I don’t feel that and if I do it’s buried so deep it’s now impossible for me to know if it’s really me wanting a child or if it’s just an innate survival instinct that’s been built into my DNA.

My mind, at times, is a mess on this subject. Every time I come back to the same conclusion – “What is meant to be, will be.” At this point in my life my having a child will have to come down to immaculate conception. That or some other act of god or whatever metaphysical being one may believe in.  If pigs fly, you know I’m pregnant. In any case it will be a newsworthy event. For now, I will carry on with a glass of wine, my sense of humour and maybe a therapist. Heaven knows it’s always nice to have a second opinion, even if they’re laughing while they give it to you.

I'm the one in the back - unamused. HA! Sorry, I'm totally amused. Just messin.

Well! What do you know...

Seems that the exercise I set myself up for in retelling Jane Eyre chapter by chapter really inspired me! After writing out that last post (pre-soup) the whole outline for my own novel fell into place and splattered all over the place - I literally wrote for hours and in a relatively short amount of time had notes all over the place and an outline. When my spree was over I had 33 small paragraphs representing my novel (including character names and some development). Crazy.

Looking into the story that I wanted to tell, at least the idea that I had, I was able to see similarities/links to my all time favourite - Jane Eyre. So, why not use that novel as my inspiration. Why fight it if it's there. I mean so many authors do that. Stories are told and retold time and time again, especially those written by Jane Austen and the Bronte sisters. Would I have thought to place zombies in the world of  Pride and Prejudice, I doubt it - but hey, to each their own.

Now, seeing that I have my own novel to write, I don't think I should post it chapter by chapter with you here in this format. I will post my "work-in-progress" first chapter and little snippets of things here and there like character information or the outline/synopsis. However I need to hone the characters and outline a little bit more before I share.

What's the title - well for the moment I have it as: In the Hollow of his Hands (c) and my inspiration: a farm that looks something like the one pictured above... and if possible I would love to know the source for the above - I would like to contact them. I can't quite make out the watermark in the bottom and searching has has lead me in nothing but circles.

Well, I'm off for now - off to type up the first chapter so I can share it with you soon. ;)

Cheers.








 

Something a little different - Sweet Potato & Garlic Soup

I love to cook as much as I love to write sometimes. Especially when I have the time. My plan today was to make a sweet potato soup - I had sweet potatoes in the cupboard and wanted to use them up.

When I get something in mind that I want to make I first look online for inspiration and then - I wing it. And it was a winner!! I will be making this again for sure.

So here it is and I hope you will enjoy it as much as I am right now... it tastes great (smells amazing too) and it will keep both vampires and colds away ;)

Sweet potato garlic soup:
2tbsp olive oil
1 average sized fresh bulb garlic (peeled and smashed)
1 average sized roasted bulb garlic
1 cup onion (diced)
2 1/2 cups chicken stock
3 cups peeled and baked sweet potato
tbsp salt (I used kosher)
1/2 tsp pepper
1/2 cup heavy cream
(*I also added 1/2 tbsp of cornstarch to thicken it a bit)

In a tall sauce pan over medium heat, add the olive oil and then the garlic and sauté for one minute, stirring constantly.
Add the onion, salt and pepper, and cook for five minutes or until tender, stirring occasionally.
Add the chicken stock and potato and brink to a boil, stirring to combine.
Reduce heat, add cream and simmer for ten minutes.
Remove from heat and blend the soup until smooth (this can be done in a blender or using a hand blender).
Adjust seasoning to taste and return to very low heat until serving.