Tw sadness and infertility
“Maybe it isn’t worth it,” Leaghanda said out loud, not caring who heard it.
Arakiss, her demon, lay by Leaghanda’s feet as usual, picking lint from the bedspread. At Leaghanda’s words, she sat up and pinched her little toe.
“Ouch.” Arakiss had claws.
“What do you mean it isn’t worth it?”
“Modern living.” Leaghanda bit her bottom lip. “Would it be so bad to just leave it all? There are cheap cabins and houses up north. I could buy one and just live there. Far away from society.”
I know that I’m really on the letter M but since my dog Sheeba fell into eternal sleep on Sunday, the only M I can think of is mourning. I need a distraction and what better distraction is there than NaNoWriMo!
NaNoWriMo for those who don’t know is a challenge to write 50 000 words in a month, basically write a whole novel give or take. You can learn more about the challenge here, however I’m in no way affiliated with that website. In fact I don’t even have an account there. I’m just doing this in my own little bubble.
So what does this mean?
It means I’ll try to post the word count of the day on my twitter.
It means I’ll use this challenge to write every day which I usually don’t do during working weeks.
The last time I did this challenge was back in 2012 or something silly like that so it’s very overdue.
It would be kind of nice to finish another novel before 2018 too and if I do this and manage, I would be so proud of myself.
I’ve already written about 4000 words on the project, these words will not be counted towards the challenge.
A piece of advice to myself:
If I write around 1600-1700 words per day I will meet the goal. Just under 2k words isn’t a problem. On those days when I feel like writing more, I will. I doubt I’ll write every day for 30 days so it’s good to build up a buffer on the days I can.
Anybody else doing the challenge?
…actually, K is not for kerosene at all but close enough to energetic. I struggled with this letter. All the words I thought of start with a k in Swedish but a c in English.
I’ve been ill for a few days. Bedridden when I should have been at a birthday-party; under a blanket when I should have been dancing, you get the idea. Today, after taking a nap, I woke up extremely hyper. My brain is on overdrive and my body can’t keep up. In the past, let’s say at the tender age of 23 I would have channelled this energy into a very smutty fan fiction but now that I’m older and wiser I think I shall instead use it for something using original characters. After writing this blog post, that’s what I’m going to do. Write a very small, hopefully very sexy, one-shot using who knows what characters my brain can come up with so be on the look-out for that.
Otherwise I have finished the planning of my fifth novel, “The Biggest Secret” (working title) and within a week or so I’ll start writing that. But today, tonight, maybe a short lesbian story is actually what my mind needs to focus on. I tried reading first (Dangerous Waters by Radclyffe) and I just couldn’t focus.
In other news, work has started. I hope to still be active on social media but as all my readers know, that’s not something I can promise. Just next Tuesday, we’re pulling a 12 hours shift and between planning and correcting and stressing over what might happen, a lot of times my creativity is ground into dust.
Fun fact: K could have been for Kathy which is based on Katarina, my legal middle name. I’m going to go and write something decadent now, which me luck!
Yesterday I went horse-back riding for the first time in 12 years. And it was amazing. Once upon a time, I was quite the horse-girl, been riding since I was seven, filled my walls with posters featuring horses, etc etc… I’m sure most people recognize the stereotype. And then I moved from home, grew up and just forgot about all of it. I want to find my way back, I really do. It’s a huge part of who I am.
It was the same with writing. The first time I announced I was going to become a writer was when I was five years old. I wasn’t able to write yet, couldn’t even spell my own name properly (Before you judge, my legal name has nine letters. Count all my middle names plus last name, my name has 9+8+4+4=25 letters, that’s a lot when you’re little.) I don’t know why I said I was going to be a writer, I just did. More on that here.
So I started writing. First, through pictures – my dad helped me with the words – then by hand, then on a computer. My childhood and teenage years were dominated by five main stories that I planned and stuck to.
However, between 19 and 23 I didn’t write anything, I even stopped writing poetry. I went to university and then started moving around a lot. I didn’t pick it up until I, by mistake, discovered fan fiction.
Fan fiction is the reason I’m an author today. Not just because it got me back to writing. It did that, but it did so much more than that too. Fan fiction made me interact with people. These people became my friends, some of which I’m still in touch with today. One of these people, whom I’ve sadly lost in touch with, gave me a couple of presents.
The presents were: Backwards to Oregon by Jae, Second Nature by Jae and Lady Knight by L J Baker. I started with Backwards to Oregon and my life was forever changed. This might sound strange to some. But I was a lonely little lesbian. Except for my wife – then girlfriend ya da ya da – we didn’t meet people “like us”. At University of Aberdeen all my friends were gay boys (don’t ask me how that happened XD ). Other lesbians? They didn’t exist and if they did, it was far away from us. Not that I have that many lesbian friends now, but I know that we’re out there. I know some online and I know that we exist. We’re real, you know? The online community of lesfic writers and readers has done wonders for my sense of self and identity. Maybe that makes me incredibly silly, but it’s still the truth. It makes me feel less alone. Less abnormal.
I feel sorry for the readers of my old fan fiction account, because it’s abandoned now even though I get the occasional likes and follows. It still exists and I’m proud of most of the stuff I wrote there. Mass Effect, Dragon age, Game of Thrones, Rizzoli and Isles, Portal etc… it’s fun to play with other people’s characters, it just is. It was great practice for me too, until I felt ready to play around with my own. In the beginning I wrote both but more and more, my own fiction took over. I don’t have time and energy for both.
(If anybody is curious about my fan fiction you can find that here, however please remember that my writing ability has gotten so much better since then.)
I realize more and more that I’m the same person I’ve always been. I have always loved horses, I still do today. I have always loved writing and telling stories, I still do today. Some things change, of course, but all in all, I’m still me. That will never change.
It’s like coming home from a long trip, that’s what love is like. It’s like coming home.
– Piper Chapman, Orange is the New Black
I’m not a big fan of the character Piper Chapman from the Netflix series Orange is the New Black. This is just my opinion of course, if you like her please don’t take offense, but she’s either the worst written character ever or the most well-written. Either way she comes off lacking in substance, she’s whimsical and has no sense of loyalty. But the quote above is the best quote I know for love. The type of love that isn’t new, that isn’t the passionate craze of the newly infatuated. The type of love that you have for someone you have known for a long time.
“Old” love. Companion love. True love. That type of love is definitely a feeling of coming home.
The wife came home yesterday. She’s been gone on a working trip as I’ve mentioned before. Without saying too much, she had been staying somewhere were she wasn’t allowed to use a phone. I hadn’t heard her voice for over 20 days. I was fine when she called me at the airport in Cape Town and still the moment I heard her voice, I burst into tears and all the feelings I had kept myself from feeling, came to the surface.
Meeting her after her 24 hours of flying was even better, and no tears then.
Home is truly where the heart is.
I’ve grown a lot this summer. I have overcome my fear of thunder. I have developed a new respect for heat and forest fires. I have, for hopefully the last time, woken up to the smell of smoke. I took up riding again. It hasn’t been a relaxing summer but I think I can go back to work in less than two weeks feeling accomplished.
Another H I can mention is horses. I’ve started planning my next novel (novel number five, can you believe it?), it’s a bit different than my other ones. It’s set in England, during the 1940s. On a horse farm. I’m trying to write an anti-hero, but we’ll see how that goes.
I’m going to post this and then start dinner. I hope everyone who reads this has had a nice summer too, hopefully without too much forest-fire/heatstroke drama. I don’t know about you, but I’m seriously looking forward for autumn and colder weather now.
… or bad.
Yesterday I was lying in bed with my wife (that’s her hands and legs up there by the way). We were tired and silly and just talking and laughing. I can’t remember anymore how we got there but I decided to tell her about the most sensual part of a novel. I like stories that make me bleed. Stories that make me cry and ache. I just like feeling a lot. I like sadness. I don’t like vanilla stories were everything just falls into place.
Whenever I think of aching moments in stories, I often think about Radclyffe’s “Passion’s Bright Fury”. I love this book (And not just because I have a little crush on Saxon Sinclair). There is one specific scene that always destroys me.
This is the excerpt of that part (the scene is that Sax (the doctor) and Jude (the director) are going upstairs to the roof of the hospital before Sax’s shift starts. They talk a bit, make out a bit, and then the following happens) :
Thank you to everyone who has purchased a copy of “State of Emergency”, “Out of Hand” or “Stargazing” – please don’t hesitate to leave reviews on amazon or goodreads if you liked them. Leaving reviews is a simple way to give some love to your favorite author.
When I planned this blog post it was the day before my vacation started. As a teacher I get something of around six and a half weeks every summer. Of course, some days I do work on, planning and looking through new material but otherwise I’m free. I was looking forward to continue learning the piano, finishing ”A tale of Spiders and Canned Soup” (my next novel) without a couple of days. I wanted to go running and swimming etc. Instead I have re-organized at home, donated books and clothes. I have gone back and forth to my wife’s work, helping to prepare for her work trip to South Africa. She’s works in IT and she’s going down there to help with… something. She’s been doing insane hours and haven’t even had a day off during the weekend for a couple of weeks. This morning she left.
I’m such a silly woman. When I said bye to her at the airport, my tears came and I clung to her even if I know we’re going to see each other agian in just half a month. We just need each other so much, it’s a little bit crazy to still be this way after an entire decade.
I’m not into being alone so I’ve gone with my parents to their boat. I figured two weeks of fresh air, sea water, book reading and sun would do me good. I brought more books than clothes, plus my kindle. A book of soduko I want to work on. Also some horse magazines.
When I was a child I loved horses. I took every opportunity to go horseback riding or even just brush one or muck out. I wouldn’t say I’m good AT ALL. I just know basics like brushing, tacking, walking, trotting, cantering… I’ve done a little bit of jumping. That’s it. I realise now that I want to pick it up again. I want to be good. I would be happy if I could just do a bit of show jumping within the next twelve years, you know?
It’s a crazy dream so far. I have as a goal to just go riding at a local stable two times this summer and then wait and see how that felt. We kinda sorta hoping that I’ll get pregnant some time this year too and if that happens I’ll have to put the riding on hold for a couple of years. But I’m in it for the long haul, I don’t mind waiting. I like working towards goals even if it takes me years to meet them.
I still can’t believe I’m a published author, I have two books at home with ”my” name on it. Physical books. That I can touch. I can tell myself to sit down and write a book and it’s something I can do. Surely if I have the discipline to do that, I can learn to be a good rider?
Time to walk the dogs again, then I’m going to drink copious amounts of tea and try to get some writing done.
I’m not really exhausted. Honestly. But part of me wants a vacation. I know this from last year – there comes a time in April where my brain stops functioning and I just can’t anymore. Can’t write. Can’t be active on Twitter or Instagram or Facebook (I’m trying honestly). Can’t read books. I guess it’s normal for teachers. Summer is coming, it’s been a long year of texts about body parts, countries and flowers. Lessons about punctuation (ever tried to teach someone where a sentence ends? It’s harder than it looks.) Lessons about 15+15 and 8-3-5, not to mention countless fights, drama among my girls, booboos and actual wounds and that time one my student got a “butterflycomb” (who sends a butterflycomb with their kid to school?) thrown into his eye. Don’t worry, he was fine even though we didn’t think so first. It’s been a year of angry (and not-so-angry) e-mails from parents. Of hugs. And pieces of art from my students that I want to spread all around me. Of meetings. Of tears from me when it’s just too much pressure to do this stupid, wonderful, lovely job.
My brain has shut down a little bit. It’s on hiatus. It’s just trying to survive until June when I finally can breathe again. Be myself again. Be a writer again.
Right now I just want to be alone. Do my job. Work on miniatures that don’t require brain-power the same way (current dollhouse pictured above). Maybe write a short story. Cook. Walk with my dogs. Cuddle with my wife.
That’s all there is left of me.
I’m sorry I can’t do better.
Reaching blindly in front of me, stuck in a cave.
Ferling the shape of a head larger than my body and wings.
Are those fangs? Is that a crooked spine? Have I found a dinosaur?
Not a fossil. A skeleton.
When I reach between your ribs between four inflated lungs and squeeze the soft lump of a heart I found there, you roar.
I have found a sleeping dragon.
Your breath smells like ashes and your newly awake gaze – without coffee – is thunderous orange.
Why did I wake you?
I squeak. Like a mouse. I didn’t mean to. I thought I had found a dinosaur. A real one.
You scoff. Shake your head and explain that if dragons are horses, dinos are donkeys and I’m lucky to have found you. One in a million.
My life by a thread I cannot climb, my heart a captive bird, my limbs trembling with fear.
Not brave. Pathetic.
Please don’t eat me! I’m ready to plead and beg. Ready to give the dragon anything. Riches. Beautiful virgin daughters from the village. A Samsung Galaxy S5. Anything.
You shake your head. Your black scales glistening in the dark.
Just leave me alone you imbecile. Worthless maggot. I just want to sleep and forget that the world is no longer mine.
I bow my head, not daring to say anything else. I close my eyes staying bent forward, hot breath washing over me again and again. They taper off after thirty minutes and I dare to look up again.
You’re not there. Just a pile of bones. No volcano breath. No halloween-colored eyes.
Did I dream it?
My heart beat slows down to normal and I can breathe again. I laugh at myself and my mouth curls into a grin.
I was just spooked. It can’t have been that bad, right?
Let’s see if I can wake her again….
Author note: I just like dragons, okay?