I’m here in India – Mount Abu Rajastan, doing my annual trip which is a time to get back to the real core me and tune into the deeper understanding of 1) Who am I? 2) What am I doing? and 3) Where am I going? (especially in 2020). Deep reflections indeed. Spiritual is necessary in these chaotic times. (Even if just to still the chaotic mind.) 💛
In the past 10 months I’ve had great success in getting my writing work published as well as branching out into other areas of Speculative Fiction that I may not have previously considered. A huge shout out to Black Hare Press for being an indie publisher with the strong ethic of encouraging and supporting emerging writers. 💜
So the year ahead looks fast, exciting and wrought with possibilities. However, I’m understanding the need for balance and even more, the required self discipline to keep the most important thing of all steady, stable and flourishing: My Inner State of Mind. Love to all. Some pics of Indian art at the meditation retreat I attend. 🐼
A quick post here seeing as I have been non-communicado for several months. My excuse is being busy, but that’s a tardy one. It’s usually about procrastination, but enough of that. I’m back. And regular, so here it is. My February 6th 2020 rant.
Today I am quite excited! A few reasons for this, and the main one being is that today, after I do some driving and work for 3 hours, I will sit myself down at one of my libraries (I visit 6 depending on my location on the day), and freely, easily and wholeheartedly write. Write, write and write! And I will endeavour to complete one Work in Progress. I have 2 WIPs – short stories and another to edit and 2 poems to be added to the edit list. So I will lap up 3 hours at the chosen library and seriously immerse myself in it. Can’t wait!
Have had work accepted in several anthologies of late. Take a look. Adios.
With good intentions in 2019 I took a dip into the NoNoWriMo aims and intentions. The plan was to ideally write 30,000 words, (not the 50,000 they suggest) but life had other plans so I ended up with a 2000 word story about power and control (see the Duchess Klara), several drabbles, (accepted into two anthologies to date & waiting to hear from several others). Other WIP includes a take on a famous fairy tale and a novella about a man who wants eternal youth.
These are some of the upcoming anthologies I have pieces in. 🔴 ❤ 🔴
Every so often a ripple of adrenaline courses through my newish writers brain and I start to get cracking in submitting a short story, a poem or some flash fiction to a greater- establishment-than-I for a chance to win some cash, or much more importantly, get my pen name spread far and wide.Then there’s the crunch, the not so hidden money factor. Wwwwhat?? You want me to pay $30 for the privilege of subscribing my work? Whaatttt?? You want my membership as well as the money? Maybe I empathise, it’s realistic enough if it’s a poor struggling to stay alive and thrive writers group. I might feel okay, comfortable with a $10 fee. Would I submit here anyway? Hmmmm. Maybe not.It’s a hard enough thing to our sense of dignity and resilience as a new writer to get snowballed with rejection after rejection. Okay, I hear the elders saying it will toughen you up and improve your work. However to have paid for the experience is not good. Reminds me of the time I paid a generous sum for the review from a fairly well-know literary establishment and in return was given a miserable paragraph of jumbo from someone who just really didn’t like the story. My sum did not entitle me to a second opinion either, which I felt was a poor show.So. Does anyone else have an ethical stance about paying for the privilege to submit?
“In the ancient lore, that’s how it happened. ” Imala’s grandmother sighed gently. “They had such ways of purity through the mind that they could change matter. ” Imala gaped curiously. “A total biological procedure that was initiated by one amazing thought of clear selfless love. It was sacred and unconditional then, the activity of love. The mental impact began slowly and grew into what those people later called ecstasy or bliss.” Imala was intrigued.
At sixteen, Imala had had her fair share of suitors, being a princess-daughter of the Emperor and Empress of the most powerful kingdom in the lands north, south, east and west of the Himalaya. Today she was meeting eight of them, from far and wide, for a Choosing Ceremony. She would pick the one she felt best by looking into his eyes for one minute or so.
Her grandmother had taught her this skill of intuition. In ten years, she would learn more of the kiss and how children came to be. Much more was to happen in between.