Chinese Whisperings Anthologies: Still Free for 10 Hours

We’re stoked! Our Chinese Whisperings promotions has drive both The Red Book and The Yin and Yang Book right up the anthology and short story charts in the free section of the Kindle book store. As this goes to print The Red Book is hovering in there at #7 on the US anthology charts, and The Yin and Yang Book stuck at #2 behind a NOVEL! Don’t get me started on how being a professional PUBLISHED author also includes knowing the difference between a novel which is one of a series and an anthology which is a collection. Anyway…

The books are still free, but if you need additional incentive to download them… read on McDuff.

WHAT’S THE DEAL WITH YIN AND YANG?

Wednesday you read how The Red Book works – how it’s circular in nature, drawing from one story and adding and expanding it in the next. The Yin and Yang Book built on this idea, but rather than a chain story we created a “mated anthology”. A prologue sets the scene, and ends on a cliffhanger:

Medae Newman has stolen a priceless painting from her employer, but as she attempts to escape the painting is impounded, a victim of seeming bad luck as the airline Medae is flying with is shut down. Does she stay and try to retrieve the painting, or does she run?

We follow the consequences of each side of this decision, as Medae’s actions, and those of her pursuers, ripple out across the airport and the wider world. In The Yin Book ten female authors explore the consequences of escape, whilst in The Yang Book ten male writers imagine what would happen if Medae stays to retrieve the painting. Across both realities lives intersect, interact and interrupt each other. Characters live and die depending on this choice. Futures are written and unwritten for better or for worse as one act of revenge spirals out of control. Both realities clash head on to be resolved by a common epilogue which brings the story full circle.

Love, romance, sex, death, revenge, espionage, assassination, abduction, smuggling, politics, fraud, business rivalries, celebrities—and internet dating. All the joy and debris of human life which is an airport!

THE YIN AND YANG BOOK BLURB

7.30AM. THE INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL OF A MAJOR EUROPEAN AIRPORT IS POISED ON THE BRINK OF CHAOS.

7.35AM. PANGAEAN AIRLINES, EUROPE’S PREMIER CARRIER, IS PLACED INTO RECEIVERSHIP, CANCELLING ALL FLIGHTS AND IMPOUNDING THOUSANDS OF ITEMS OF LUGGAGE.

The Yin and Yang Book follows the complicated web of events stemming from a suitcase, a stolen van Gogh painting, one woman on the run from her employers and the consequences of her decision to stay or go.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Twenty writers came on board for this anthology. All the original Red Book authors returned, and were joined by a further twelve writers, including Yeovil Prize winner Dan Powell, Crooked Fang author Carrie Clevenger, thriller writer Richard Jay Parker, Friday Flash founder J.M Strother, Smudge’s Mark author, Claudia Osmond and prolific self-publishing star Laura Eno.

Prologue by Jodi Cleghorn (Ed)
Three Monkeys by Paul Servini
Three Rings by Chris Chartrand
Dogs of War by Tony Noland
This Be the Verse by Dan Powell
Providence by Dale Challener Roe
No Passengers Allowed by J.M. Strother
Thirteen Feathers by Rob Diaz II
One Behind the Eye by Richard Jay Parker
Chase the Day by Jason Coggins
Somewhere to Pray (Kurush) by Benjamin Solah
The Guilty One by Emma Newman
Excess Baggage by Carrie Clevenger
Where the Heart Is by Tina Hunter
The Other Side of Limbo by Claudia Osmond
Freedom by Laura Eno
Cobalt Blue by Jasmine Gallant
The Strangest Comfort by Icy Sedgwick
Lost and Found by Jen Brubacher
Kanyasulkam by Annie Evett
Double Talk by Lily Mulholland
Epilogue by Paul Anderson (Ed)

If your looking for a unique reading experience this is it. Until 5:59pm today The Red Book and The Yin and Yang Book are free. What are you waiting for? Oh, you don’t need a Kindle eReader – in fact you don’t need an eReader full stop. Kindle provides apps: for smart phones (short stories are perfect for phones!), computer and tablets. Really no excuse now…

#NFFD: The Man Who Would

It’s National Flash Fiction Day today in the UK, but like any good “national” initiative (think National Novel Writing Month) it’s really become a global celebration. After a conversation on Facebook with Adam Byatt and Stacey Larner on community, schooling and litigation, I’ve chosen to publish for the first time outside 50 Stories for Pakistan “The Man Who Would”.

I stumbled on the kernel of the story when I was researching events from 1960 for my step-Mum’s birthday invitation in 2010 on wiki and stumbled across Joseph Kittinger’s record breaking sky dive. “The Man Who Would” is my (not so thinly veiled) finger point at the stupidity of litigation.

- – -

Herman watched Jack pack his parachute, suit up and calibrate the oxygen mask which would keep him alive while the retrieval pod descended to Elara’s surface. Then, and only then, Herman broached the subject.

“Jack.”

A gloved hand went up. “It’s all good, Herman. Seriously man, you don’t need to say anything.”

Herman, as Jack’s best friend and legal representative, struggled with the possibility Jack might not make it. Jack on the other hand, accepted it was an occupational hazard when leaping from perfectly functional aircraft and spaceships. Jack also understood how he came to be on a low orbiting spaceship. Each record-breaking jump invited another and another, until all the possibilities on Earth were exhausted. Elara offered the possibility to jump higher, longer and faster than ever before. No atmosphere, no clouds and next to no gravity. Nothing stood between him and the surface of Jupiter’s eighth largest moon.

“I’m not worried about the jump. It’s this.” Herman pulled the contract and covering letter from his pocket, thrusting them into Jack’s hand.

“I don’t understand?”

“Read.”

Jack shoved the folded papers back at Herman. “It’s all been said and done. Signed.”

“First World found something. It’s not going to stop you from jumping in the future… you just can’t today.”

When FirstWorld Corporation acquired Elara in a hostile takeover, Jack considered it an endnote for Herman to handle. But the new owners refused to give Jack permission to jump. The negotiations, protracted and nasty, should have forced Jack to find a new site, but he was stubborn, refusing to give in to the fear of litigation which motivated FirstWorld.

Jack snatched the contract from Herman and ripped it, until the contract became hundreds of tiny paper pieces floating about him.

“I guess you’re not concerned that FirstWorld found a potential complainant.”

“No. They what, bribed an ex girlfriend to be concerned?”

Herman shook his head. “It’s more complicated than that.”

He retrieved the photo and piece of paper from his other pocket.

Jack hesitated then took them. He read the birth certificate and then stared at the photograph.

“She never told me.”

“You think Julianna wanted you to know?”

Jack shook his head. “She said she’d never stand in the way of what I had to do. But…” He stared at the photo of the young boy.

“I’m sorry.” Herman put his hand on Jack’s shoulder. “I can let the crew know to-”

“Hold on. The contract is null and void?”

Herman nodded. “The contract is based on the fact no potential complainants existed to sue for death by misadventure or negligence.”

“So, they can’t sue for breach of contract?’

“No.”

“And can’t collect the associated 30 percent royalties?’

“No, but-”

“What’s the worst they can legally throw at me?”

“Trespass.”

Jack tucked the photograph and birth certificate inside his suit and picked up the mask.

“Jack, are you sure?”

“I want my son to know me as the man who would.”

For a bunch of other brilliant flash pieces check out Flash Flood, Jaw Breaker and the #nnfd hashtag on Twitter. A special nod of the head to J.M. Strother and the Friday Flash community, supporting flash fiction writers across the world since 2009!

Chinese Whisperings Anthologies Free on Kindle

FREE! Yes, you read correctly. For the first time The Red Book and The Yin and Yang Book are free and complete. But only for the next 48 hours on Kindle. For those of you late to this blog, Chinese Whisperings was eP’s publishing foray and became in imprint in its own right at the end of 2012. It’s actually out of The Red Book which eMergent Publishing was born. All our successive publishing endeavours have stood on the shoulders of The Red Book. It’s where I cut my teeth as an editor and found even when I had my ‘bad cap’ hat on, writers were willing to come back and work with me again.

Once we’d pushed the boundaries of short story form, the anthology structure and collaborative writing, we did it again with The Yin and Yang Book, taking interconnected to a whole new level of madness with 22 writers!

WHAT MAKES CHINESE WHISPERINGS ANTHOLOGIES UNIQUE?

Each anthology is a collection of interwoven short stories by emerging writers handpicked from across the English-speaking world. Unlike other anthologies, Chinese Whisperings is created in a sequential fashion and each story stands on its own merits while contributing to a larger, connected narrative. It takes around nine months to complete each anthology because of this.

The Red Book has each successive writer taking a minor character from the preceding story and telling their story as the major character in the next story. Each writer also references events from the preceding story to tie the ten stories together. The anthology can be read forward, or backward, and you can begin with any story you want because of its circular nature. (I’ll focus a bit more on The Yin and Yang Book tomorrow.)

THE RED BOOK

In a small North American university town ten lives are intersecting…

Miranda reaps what she has sown.
Mitchell understands there is no resisting fate.
Clint dreams of forging a violent destiny.
Elizabeth is about to make a discovery.
Robin hides a terrible secret.
Simon hasn’t slept in ten days.
Sam is pursued by nightmares.
Susie has lost everything.
David has just been found.
Jake atones for past evils.

Ten ordinary people struggling to keep their sanity in an insane world.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Eight other hearty souls set off on the initial experiment with us, including Emma Newman who has gone on to publish From Dark Places and 20 Years Later as E.J. Newman and is currently working on the Split Worlds series. Jason Coggins has gone on to write three series of Bloggin’ Brimstone. Tina Hunter  co-founded Tyche Books last year under the name Tina Moreau. All eight authors also penned stories for the Yin and Yang Book and many have contributed to Literary Mix Tapes anthologies as well.

Mercurial Jodi Cleghorn (Ed)

Something Mean in the Dream Scene Jason Coggins

Kraepelin’s Child Annie Evett

Discovery Paul Servini

Innocence Tina Hunter

Not Myself Dale Challener Roe

Not My Name Jasmine Gallant

Out Of The Darkness Rob Diaz II

Heartache Emma Newman

One in the Chamber Paul Anderson (Ed)

If your looking for a unique reading experience this is it. And for today and tomorrow The Red Book and The Yin and Yang Book are free. Honestly it doesn’t get better than that.

Go!

Two huge events kicked off yesterday—the Australian Writers Marketplace Online’s  Year of the Novel course I enrolled in back in March, and also the last three weeks of editing. Enough to keep me out of trouble for a while.

Waiting for the Teacher

We’ve long heard the adage “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.” Well I’ve thought for years I was ready and sat patiently waiting for the teacher, wondering if I’d somehow wandered out onto the wrong road, trying to hitch a ride with the wrong travellers.

Turns out, it was wrong time and wrong place. Not only that, I had the wrong destination written on my sign.

When I won The Hembury last year, I put a small request out to the universe to please send me a mentor. In true form, the universe obliged by (among other things) sending Andrew McKiernan my way who helped me navigate my way around creating gorgeous looking eBooks through InDesign.

Not quite what I wanted, but I’d certainly never change it. Next time I send a request out though, I’ll remember to be a little more specific.

But I digress.

Absent Hunger

I’ve never been hungry to write a novel.  The allure has never been there. Short stories have always satisfied.

It hasn’t been for lack of ideas. I’ve had plenty, however I’ve horded and squandered them on NaNoWriMo. To date there are four unfinished manuscripts either on my hard drive or kicking around my house in printed form—everything from political thriller to historical/sci-fi set in the Victorian goldfields.

The ideas didn’t sucked and I could hack the pace… it was just never wanted a completed novel bad enough to keep chipping away.

Enter, Year of the Novel

I’ve always thought AWMO’s Year of the Novel (YoN) a fabulous course and know of several authors who have come out of it and had their novel published. In the last four years it’s never been the right time—idea, hunger, money, teacher… or as Dave would tease me, the planets just hadn’t aligned.

Then in March an email came through from QWC announcing my lovely friend Alan Baxter was tutoring the April cycle of YoN. I knew the time had arrived.  Planets aligned, pieces falling into place [insert relevant metaphor].

I’ve long admired Alan (for a long list of attributes, of which his generosity as a person and talent as a writer rate equal tops for me). He is the perfect tutor for me to grow and mature under as a new type of writer… as a novelist! Holy hell… yes I just typed that!

And I am hungry: actually, closer to starving, than anything else, to write a novel. Yearning to sink into a deeper, longer writing journey.

The final nod from the Universe came when I wrote Birthed and the visits here went off the scale. People loved the story.  They wanted more. A whole heap more.

So I bit the bullet. I scraped money from here and there. Paid up and waited.

Yesterday was the day. The day to press GO and have a quiet freak out.

A Recurring Dream About Failure

Over the weekend with my mind kept straying to Monday’s start date and in true me form, I had the recurring dream about failure.

Gratefully this time it was implied. I wasn’t wandering around my old high school lost, without my homework/assignment/speech, arriving to discover it’s final exams, or returning to repeat Year 12 and pass exams having never attended a class. You get the gist (strangely enough I’m never wandering around Uni, not turning in assignments, showing up to classes or exams, failing English Lit or withdrawing early because I’d accidentally fallen pregnant… or loitering around the commercial kitchens at the Cairns TAFE where I consistently chose not to turn up to class on a Monday afternoon and where I successfully bowed out of the first semester of a hospitality course because I just wasn’t into it that much any more… even the lure of Nick McKinnon still kicking around campus wasn’t enough to keep me there)

But I digress… again. Sorry!

The honest to Goddess truth is I haven’t completed anything since I left high school: dropped out of Uni twice, college once, started and never finished the doula course I signed up for and then last year I didn’t even manage to make it through a three week online writing boot camp. Even the six-month short story clinic I took, I managed to miss two of the six classes including the final one! I have managed to turn up and complete a raft of day courses, but committing to an entire year is epic (why I probably can’t fathom ever returning to Uni).

Editing to the Rescue

So my record as a student is less than impressive and I’d beat myself around the head with it, if I didn’t have at my disposal my track record as an Editor. As editor of Down to Birth Magazine I published 11 issues. Since establishing eP I’ve overseen the publication of six anthologies, and before I properly disappear on sabbatical I will have sent another three anthologies into the wild.

I do have follow through.

Add to this fledgling arsenal of awesomeness: a story I really want to write—which already has traction in shorter form, a fantastic group of supporters who want to see me get over the line, a brilliant course to be part of, headed up by a most excellent tutor and hell, maybe I’ll not only have a completed novel and faced down my dreams about failure.

The First-Last Hurdle

But before I can really commit (there’s always something, isn’t there?) I have three huge weeks of editing. By 1^st June I need to have finalised 60 stories for two anthologies (that’s 90,000 words!) and helped to organise another 60 stories for the Best of Friday Flash Volume II (another 90,000… I think I should stop with the Maths!)

As it stands I have 32 stories finalised between the Deck the Halls and Tiny Dancer anthologies, many more are almost there and only a handful haven’t been look over at all. Despite a horrid start to the week (my son came home from school with a panic attack and then we discovered nits yesterday…) I made the quota of three stories a day.  (And again today!)

I’ve said to Adam it’s all about chipping away at it—small daily achievable goals (mind you—some days three story edits in a day is like climbing Mount Everest). Momentum begets momentum and for the first time in a long time (perhaps it’s the promise of a not too distant reprieve) I have energy and focus for editing.

And as I do this, story ideas clamber through my dreams, stories write themselves in my head as I lie semi-awake in the dead of night and greet me again as the first slices of dawn come through the blinds. It’s like The Muse got the memo about unrestricted writing time but missed the start date.

For now, it’s about putting one foot after another, one line of tracked changes after the next. And while I do that, I’m manifesting this awesome feeling, this forward movement, this sense of achievement and worthiness ahead into the next three weeks to arrive at the end unbroken and ready to dive into The Rabbit Hole. But that’s a whole new blog post in itself.

From Fragmentation, Back to First Base

“Hey Dad, I’m multi-tasking,” Mr D said as Dave threw his bag into the back of the car at the bus station last week.

“There’s no such thing,” Dave replied, climbing into the front seat and closing the door. “It means you’re just doing two things badly.”

“Really?”

“Really. It’s a myth.”

I shifted into first gear and eased out of the pick up zone.

It just means you are doing two things badly. I shifted up into second and then third. Oh crap… he’s right!

Multi-tasking and the Sting of Stagnation

Dave’s comment struck deeply, not because I simultaneously talk on the phone, while chopping vegetables and watching Mr D do his homework. It stung because I’ve professionally multi-tasked myself to the point of stagnation.

Writer. Editor. Publisher.

I’m not effective at anything any more. I don’t function in any of my roles with the efficacy or efficiency I demand of myself.

I have struggled in the last three years to keep up with everything I need to satisfy professional requirements in all three of the disciplines I work in. I don’t read the blog articles I need to be reading, I’m forever behind on big news or have only the sketchiest idea about the latest rapid changes undergoing my industry. Just keeping up with the professional memberships is enough to gut my tiny bank balance.

You know the energy and effort required in cultivating and keeping up with your writing contacts… now extrapolate that out to the same number of editing professionals, and then to publishing professionals. I know as writers we keep our pulse on these areas, but a finger on the pulse isn’t enough if it’s your area of profession. I need to have a better understanding, because it not only affects me but 70 odd writers who work under the eP umbrella.

I’m not sure when it got too hard. All I know is it did; so I withdrew and focused on getting work done. Editing one story after another. Releasing one anthology after another. But it doesn’t serve the writers who work with me (us) if I can’t translate any of it across to exposure, readers and sales. It doesn’t serve me as a writer to be disconnected. I’m not even sure what markets exist for my stories it’s got that bad.

Stepping Up to Claim my Space

“I’m not giving up, I’m just giving in.”
Never Let Me Go – Florence Welch

I’ve been too afraid to step up and claim my space as writer for twenty years. In my Write Anything article today I write:

At the core, underneath all these layers of scuttling and sometimes fearsome demons, is the fear of being thought of as naïve. That is actually my greatest fear. It sounds stupid. It sounds, if I’m honest, pathetic. But I know this is the heart, this is what disempowers everything else.

I don’t need to be a ‘fraidy-cat naïf any longer. That fear no longer serves to protect me from the harsh criticism of the world at large—or should I say, the literary world at large.

Freed of the fear I am stepping up to give myself the chance to be Writer in Her most elemental and fundamental form. The one who turns up every day to hammer out a new chapter of a novel until the novel is completed, then have it critiqued, rinse-repeat and then go through the gruelling process of trying to secure a publisher. The one who pens shorts and sends away to magazines, journals, anthologies and competitions—who puts herself “out there”, rather than hording stories on a hard drive and cowering under a mushroom. The one who participates and engages in the community of writers she misses so dearly. The one who will to continue to support her circle of colleagues with beta reading, line editing and proof reading.

As One Door Closes…

To do this, at the end of May I will step away from editing to undertake an extended sabbatical to focus on writing. No more dallying from the safety of the sidelines.

I’m not walking away and leaving everything unfinished. And I must emphasise I am not walking away forever; this is most definitely not the end of the fiction arm of eMergent Publishing. I am brimming with ideas: two Chinese Whisperings concepts I’m yet to try out, four Literary Mix Tapes queued to roll out to new leagues of hungry writers, a collection of novellas to work with Stacey Larner on, another anthology Tom Dullemond pitched to me last year… and well, the list could go on forever. I will be back next year revived and full of passion.

This month I am madly working my way through a backlog of stories to complete Deck the Halls and Tiny Dancer. I’m lucky enough to have an ace up my sleeve, with Amy Stevenson eP’s first QUT intern about to come on board with the editing.

After May I will be combining writing with the publication and release of Deck the Halls, Tiny Dancer and Best of Friday Flash Volume II (which is eP’s community project for the year).  By September I hope to have released all anthologies and will step away from running any new projects until February 2013.

From Fragmentation to First Base

This time next month I will be pulling all the fragments together and staring out from first base, ready to start again, not as an apprentice but as journeyman. I’m taking with me my editing, organisation and publishing skills, my penchant for innovation, the passion and focus that have carried me through until now, and investing them in my writing.

For the last four years I’ve watched you grow, develop and mature as writers.  I’ve watched you work on novels and stories, watched them go from work-in-progress to published novels, anthologies and short stories. I’ve seen the hard work you’ve put in, the dedication and tenacity with which you greet each day.  The never-say-die attitude that sustains you through the lows and allows you to soar during the highs. I’ve seen you grow readerships and support circles who motivate, nurture and encourage you. For fleeting moments I’ve been part of that circle and I don’t regret one moment of it.

Now it’s time to follow in your footsteps.

Telegraph Road: a Treatise on Being Broken

“I’ve run every red light on memory lane
I’ve seen desperation explode into flames
And I don’t want to see it again…”
Mark Knoffler – Telegraph Road

It’s Tuesday and that means a new correspondence over at Post Marked: Piper’s Reach. We’re back to Ella-Louise this week and the darkness which has been scratching and whining, finally bolts through the crack between the door and jamb.

When Ella-Louise arrived on my doorstep in January with bulging suitcases of emotional baggage I had an inkling she was troubled (I’m quick, aren’t I?). I saw glimpses of her past in the early weeks; people she’d lost, the jobs she’d worked and what she’d done out of duty which almost killed her. But it took writing the 22nd February letter to see Ella-Louise wasn’t troubled–she was broken, and the extent of the damage.

My descent into the dark with her started when I tried to work out why Ella-Louise hated Grace Wyatt so much: more than a teenage tiff and much more than competition over Jude. Ella-Louise’s seething hatred is the kind which doesn’t mellow with time. What on earth could have happened to make her feel like that?

What came out surprised me, but no spoilers, other than to say when you read the letter you’ll understand Grace’s part in Ella-Louise’s departure from Pipers Reach in 1992.

Adam always said there was beauty in the brokenness of Ella-Louise… with distance I can see it. Even if I still feel the razor blades of Ella-Louise’s past flowing through me, down my fingers and into the ink staining the page. Where Ella-Louise took me for three weeks–I haven’t been to such a desolate place before with a character. Felt such raw depth of grief, confusion and regret all underpinned with hopelessness. A kind of warped destiny: once soiled, always soiled.

I see now how Ella-Louise’s darkness mirrors my own last year.  I shouldn’t find it surprising that in January she found her way to me. She didn’t come with promises of adventure or escapism. In fact it was a case of what you see, is what you get. No bells, whistles and certainly no satin bows let along the ability to exchange or get my money back.

Together we’ve traveled the road back to wellness. Found our place in the world again. In May 2012, we’re both in a better place. I’m not sure if it is art imitating life, or life imitating art here. Either way, at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. For once it’s all about the destination and not the journey.

But in the world of Pipers Reach it is still February. Summer. Ella-Louise’s first crashing steps out of the safety of the tentative, newly-forged connection with Jude. The 22nd February missive is the start of Ella-Louise’s descent. Like Inna into the Underworld Ella-Louise will be stripped of everything, she will be forced to face up to a past she’s been running from and will be left naked, hanging on hooks of her own fashioning to decay and die. And you’ll be there to bear witness to it across the next three weeks.

Farewell, and Thanks for the Memories

When we moved five years there weren’t enough bedrooms in our new home for a dedicated writing/office space. There was however a bizarre alcove in the lounge room, above the internal stairs, so I moved in there with my books, pens, computer and my newly minted desire to write stories. Our housemate secured a desk and chair and I  joyously jettison the three-foot high drafter’s table and green Ikea kid’s stool I’d produced 10 issues of Down to Birth magazine at. I was pretty pleased with it all until I read Stephen King’s “On Writing” several months later.

King mentions the importance of a door in the third chapters of the “On Writing” section:

The space can be humble… and it really needs only one thing: a door which you are willing to shut. The closed door it your way of telling the world and yourself that you mean business; you have made a serious commitment to write and intend to walk the walk as well as talk the talk.

So for the last four and a half years I’ve had door envy. I’m pretty sure there’s no Freudian evaluation for that particular psychosis.

I’ve written and worked in all manner of locations in the last five years: a crowded indoor kid’s playground, a park bench, in the car (not while driving!), cafes, the library, bed, the kitchen table… As long as I had music (my metaphorical door) I could write. The lack of a door didn’t really hamper my sporadic writing and I never suggested my lack of writing was due to the lack of a door. What the non-existent door hampered was my ability to step away from work. Work was always there—I could see it from the kitchen table every night. Walked past it every morning on the way to make breakfast. It never went away. And I struggled to turn it off.

Work got between Dave and I, between Mr D and I, and between writing and I. If you never turn off the work part of the brain, the fun part, no matter how insistent the flashing lights are, doesn’t get a see in.

Arriving home from a much-needed three-week holiday in January this year, and with the worst of my last bout of depression behind me, I set about rearranging rooms. It seemed ridiculous to me that our guest room was occupied less than a month every year and I spent up to ten hours a day crammed in an alcove up to six days a week—too cold in winter and too hot in summer. As for the spare room, Mr D seemed to occupy his room (where he refused to sleep), our room, the spare room (where we played musical beds in the dead of night) and the rumpus room downstairs. How much space did one small boy require?

Mr D never slept well in the room he’d been set up in, so after years of promising to move him, we dismantled and emptied the spare room, gave it a lick of paint and decked it out with new furniture. All the (going-to) sleep and staying in bed problems disappeared over night. We then set about making over Mr D’s old room as an office. It’s always been the best room in the entire house and every Winter I’ve stood at the door and coveted the space as my own.

While I was away in Sydney over Easter Dave painted the walls and the last two weeks we’ve been tidying up the trims, doors etc. Thursday I began the process of pulling down my old office space, throwing out boxes and boxes of used papers and general dead energy. I did find gems among it all—my signed copy of From Dark Places and the card Em sent with it which reads: “next time you doubt yourself, pluck this book from the shelf and remember ‘I made this’. I discovered my copy of 50 Stories for Pakistan and my world building notes from a master class three years which I’ve been searching for.

It’s late autumn, a little after 2pm and I’m sitting here in my new space, drenched in afternoon sun. In summer the room remains cool, getting next to no sun. In winter it is filled with light and natural heat. The room is more empty than full and I like it that way. I’m being selective in what I bring in here, what energy I infuse this room with. I’m not thinking of it as an office. I’m thinking of it as wide open terrain for a free ranging author-in-waiting. One who is not going to be waiting much longer. I wanted a door to close out work so I could have a life, now I want a door to close me in so I can have a writing life.

I wish I there were nice things to say about my old space or good memories, but no matter how hard I tried it was never a creative space, just a place of hard graft and late nights. I produced six anthologies sitting there and hundreds of stories, but ask me which story I enjoyed writing there the and it’s a blank. I penned my first publication Demon Lover there in 2008 and The Man Who Would in 2010, but beyond that my stories have come to life in cafes and the library, from the comfort of my bed, the chaos of the kitchen table or a makeshift space I set up in the corner of the rumpus room during summer.

Now it’s time to make new memories and pen new stories, surrounded by my favourite books and authors, in a space which is all mine.  It’s not the answer to all my problems, however I feel it’s a good start, a clean slate as I prepare for the next phase in my life.