Virgo Reset

There’s a standing joke in our house that the only time I clean the bathroom is during the moon in Virgo. While not entirely untrue, Virgo moon is always excellent energy to get stuff done – especially tedious, boring, detail-driven administriva. I love it when the Virgo moon falls at the start of the month or the end. It’s always a welcomed burst of highly-focused  work-related energy.

Today, with the waxing moon in Virgo, I did up a lunar calendar so I can see the next two months at a glance. With that done I got distracted digging the details on the Pluto transit of my 9th and 10th houses, charting the rise and fall of eMergent. Was illuminating in ways I didn’t expect.

Tomorrow, will be the monthly to do list and hopefully back into editing (if I manage to finally sleep again).

What micro-managing, high-detailed tasks (you’d usually avoid like plague) found their way to your desk/bench/work area/life today? 

Dark Moon Declutter

Welcome to chez chaos!

It’s the dark moon and it’s time to bring order to the room that hosts my creativity. I said to Helen and Stacey today, I wondered how long I’d go between tidies if there wasn’t a dark moon every month. 

The fact I have a penchant for fire probably means I would want to do it more often than not. I collect up all my print outs, old drafts, etc for the month and burn them in my fire pit on the dark moon. It’s my way of bringing closure and of sending my thanks out into the universe. 

I’m looking forward to having a clear and clean space to create in again because Monday it’s back to the ‘day shaping’* I started after holidays: writing first thing in the morning, journaling while The Boy does school and editing in the afternoon before the domesticities (which autocorrect turned into demon erotica?!) encroach. 

May there be plenty for you to give thanks for this dark moon. (And perhaps less clutter and mess to sort through).

* Whatever you do, don’t mention the word routine! I did once and only just got away without being scarred for life. 

A Western Queensland Adventure

An extract from the last missive mailed out three weeks ago when I returned from holidays.

It’s been a while between letter drops because we went West, into the outback, for the July school holidays, plus a week. The week and a bit I’d spent off social media prepared me well for leaving civilisation behind. The middle position of our time away was spent in the middle of nowhere, 1600km west of Brisbane.

IMG_2708In Birdsville we were closer to Adelaide than Brisbane. It was the longest I’ve ever been camping (all up 7 nights) and this was camping without any luxuries (no showers, toilets, running water or power!) But the firsts didn’t stop there. They included, first time:

  • camped on a river bank and a channel bank

IMG_2693 IMG_2959IMG_2837








  •  eating a camel pie
  • going to a camel race meet (these were mutually exclusive!)


  • placing a bet at a race meet


  • going without a shower for 6 days


  • seeing Venus and Jupiter conjunct (in the dusk sky of an outback town!) as a full moon rose


  • visiting places first trod by the ill-fated Burke and Wills and seeing some of the marks they left behind


  • towing a camper trailer (the first tyre I didn’t blow but I was driving when the second one went!)



  • writing my name in gibbers (small red shiny desert stones)




  • visiting Stonehenge — post code 4730. Apparently it is close to one of the three bases of the ‘over the horizon radar’ defense system and we stopped for lunch here just after the gibber stone signatures.
  • hugging a prehistoric tree that can grow to be a 1000 years old



  • photographing windmills at sunset


  • seeing solar concentrators (5 power the township of Windorah). I dare anyone to disagree with me when I say they are the most stunning future-looking structures. We also saw a coal fired power stations – it wasn’t worthy of a photograph (in case you’re listening Mr Abbott!)


  • drinking beer at the iconic Birdsville Hotel








  • visiting a modern-day ghost town. The pub closed its doors for the last time in 1998.





  • climbing a sand dune, and a red one at that.


  • and crossing the Qld/SA border



  • eating breakfast burritos morning after morning and never getting sick of them (unlike a social media saturated existence full of food pictures, there is a pattern of having to tell rather than show about the food!)

Other highlights were:

  • the Stone House and Museum in Boulia



  • the sunset concert of ‘Lime Cordiale’ in Winton



  • the amazing and ever-changing colours of the desolate landscape




  • seeing tanks  transported west on huge semis between Longreach and Winton


  • the country west of Winton where films such as Nick Cave’s “The Proposition” were shot






  • Wendy’s damper (again, no photo of this — was too busy devouring it after a day of horrific nausea — the precusor to the shingles I didn’t know were waiting for me upon my arrival home!)
  • a camp fire every night


  • travelling the stretch of road infamous for the min-min lights (but sadly during th ay so not lights!)


Despite the rough living, or perhaps in spite of it, I returned home relaxed grounded, focused and the most clear headed I have been in years. While running water, toilets, showers and other amenities like fridges are nice, I do miss the simplicity of living in a tent on the banks of a river the banks of a river.

.. and almost a month on, I still do miss the simplicity of it.

Farewell, Year of the Serpent

IMG_5589What can I say? Apparently the Year of the Serpent is meant to be an auspicious year for Oxen folk like me. It is known as a year of rebirth and transformation in all areas of life. I themed it ‘the year of consolidation’ as I set out to strengthen and solidify my writing life, setting aside business to allow me to do this. It was intended as a year of bringing all my skills together, all the experiences, lessons and connections and making them work for me.

What was the reality of it all?

A tangle. An implosion. A life that resembled the Poseidon Adventure, just with a better soundtrack.

A Dramatic Run Down, Sans Bad Acting  [*Cue Appropriate Music*]

The year began in the aftermath of ex-tropical cyclone Oswald and three days without power. Then there was the return of the school shit bearing down on us as Mr D’s anxiety and school refusal peaked in aggressive and violent behaviour. We ended up with five broken weeks of attendance in first term and our household became a tempest of broken promises and expectations, a sense of drowning, hollow hopes and minor wins and more set backs than any human in their right mind can remain stoic in the face of.

Woven through this was the successful submission and sale of my novella Elyora (River of Bones) to Endeavour Press in early March, followed several days later by its inclusion on the Aurealias short list. It was like riding a rollercoaster that never ended.

By the end of April River of Bones had been released, Adam and I had completed the final season of Post Marked: Piper’s Reach, I’d enjoyed (as best I could with the family issues and the first horrendous head cold in more than a year) NatCon and Mr D had been withdrawn from mainstream school and enrolled in Distance Education. Whatever hopes I had left of a year of writing went out the window.

My brain barely functioned creatively as I worked to wrap my head around Maths and English and Science plus weathering the full force of Mr D’s anger and apathy as I worked to have him re-engage with the learning process again, while he emotionally detoxed from mainstream schooling. And dealing with my own version of cabin fever through it all. Working to maintain my own mental health.

IMG_4677In July we got out of Brisbane and spent two weeks in Longreach and the surrounds. It was the reset we needed as a family. I spent the first few days in bed with a fever and then the second week bunking off in the morning to mark up the completed Piper’s Reach manuscript. I returned with the manuscript completed, an idea for a rural romance and the resolve to complete the steam punk romance story I’d penned the opening sections of in Brisbane airport in April waiting to fly out to Sydney. It sucks though how the verve that accompanies you into the first week of ‘real life’ rarely stays put for more than that first week.

Through July and early into August I was a diligent Distance Ed tutor. I did what I was told, I was upbeat and positive with Mr D. We made all our deadlines with work and in some respects, were ahead. I worked hard on the weekends at my steam punk romance, forced myself into the headspace and kept at it even though it kept beating me at every turn. And we became parents again… to a spoodle named Duke.IMG_5375

Mid-August I got glandular fever as my body’s last hurrah to being young, or perhaps my body giving in to eight months of emotional turmoil and the physical exhaustion that comes with. I spent three weeks bed ridden. I had to ask for help. I was so sick it didn’t bother me to ask for help. It was the lowest point in a year of low points, but also the point where I decided enough was enough. In the midst of all the sickness I managed to finally find a pendant for the year, and once I had it, it felt as though the year turned for me as I hung the silver and red coral serpent around my neck. As I crawled my way back to health, I let go of the need to abide by Distance Education’s stupidity. I found a way into my steampunk romance and wrote like a demon. In the end I submitted ahead of the due date but with the fear a rejection of the story would crush me.

October I railed hard against Distance Education, with the repetition and the lack of creativity. I became ‘one of those parents’, even though I knew I was angry with all the wrong people. I despised the way English was conceptualised and taught. I found myself in a pitched battle I was never going to win. I hated what it took from me. I hated how it bored Dylan and how I was responsible for making it engaging and interactive when it was none of that. I was on the verge of the next big decision.

IMG_4910And throughout this, Adam and I chipped away at the edits of Post Marked Piper’s Reach. I got up early each morning and spent an hour editing and revising and every week or so, we got together to revise our revisions, read aloud the letters and deconstruct at a deeper level what was actually going on in the letters. It kept me going when I was able to sustain any other kind of writing.

At the end of October I decided to do NaNoWriMo. I was jacked off with Distance Education, we’d reached THE END as far as I was concerned and I’d decided I was going to withdraw us at the end of the year and do autonomous home schooling. It was partly rebellion against everything Distance Education had sucked out of me, partly hearing Rus Vanwestervelt was doing NaNo that had me decide several days before the end of October to take the plunge and write my steampunk romance out as a novella length work.

I did what Jack Dann advises: give writing the best part of your day. So I wrote in the morning before life and school cluttered my head. I wrote with the aim of getting 2000-2500 words a day, to enable me to enjoy my 40th birthday party later on in the month. And I wrote with the intention of finishing the manuscript. Within the first week I knew it was not going to be a novella, as I suspected and kept writing. And I wrote and wrote and wrote and ended up on November 29th with a 79,000 word completed first draft manuscript of my first solo novel. This meant when the rejection letter came in December for ‘Between Minutes’ it fell with far less of a blow.

In December my head broke and poetry came out. I gave up on Distance Education, surrendered to home schooling and when I did the opportunity for Mr D to attend Brisbane Independent School came to us. It was Mr DIMG_6849’s decision to return to school and while we counted down to school starting across December and January, with twinkles of hope and possibility, I spent the festive season in lock, down-burn out wondering what the hell had happened (another loss of confidence despite having just completed my first novel). The upside was hours spent gazing into the glass water of the water hole at the bottom of the hill at my mother-in-laws.

But come the turn of the new calendar year, a new story came, and I’ve been writing poetry and tackling my birthpunk novella, now entitled “Encursion”. After five years, the writing was fun, and fast-paced and a bit mental! While I didn’t complete the novella as I had set out to do (albeit with a bit of a tight deadline) I’m in neck deep and I will continue until I type: THE END. And Piper’s Reach is finally there. Edited up and ready to send to Toni and Rus. Ready for us to take the next big leap of faith!

Write A List, Before You Beat Yourself Up

The Year of the Serpent wasn’t the year I expected, it wasn’t exactly the year I wanted, but it was a year that was productive despite all the challenges thrown my way. Despite having to give away my dream of a year of writing. I can say that now. Several months ago I was treating myself as an absolute failure.

The year’s work looks something like this (and I am a bit astounded when I actually look at it all):

  • 555 and Nothing New to Begin accepted at Tincture Magazine
  • Completed short stories: Twice Forgotten (4500), Between Minutes* (7800), First to Hundred* (4200) and At Arm’s Length (2200) *Submitted and rejected.
  • Completed first draft of gothic horror novel
  • Completed first draft of The Griefing Yard (with Stacey)
  • Worked on shorts Tag Hubert’s Requiem and The Indictment of Portia Simpson
  • Completed writing Post Marked: Piper’s Reach (87,000 all up)
  • Completed the editing of Post Marked: Piper’s Reach (92,000)
  • Pitched (unsuccessfully) Post Marked: Piper’s Reach to Hachette during GenreCon.
  • Submitted first page of Post Marked: Piper’s Reach to First Impressions with positive feed back
  • Delivered my first editing workshop for QWC
  • Did my first mentoring through QWC
  • Sat on panels at Conflux/NatCon
  • Chaired my first panel (GenreCon).
  • Completed 28 days of Post-It Note Poetry in February
  • Wrote poetry throughout January (2013) for Month of Poetry
  • Read my first poem in public for At The End, Poetry event
  • Participated actively in both my online writing groups, including beta reading on a regular basis.
  • Submitted my first poem to a journal.
  • Partnered with Nicole Murphy to publish In Fabula Divino (launched April 2012) and Prana Writer’s Group to publish The Gold Coast Anthology (for launch in May 2013)
  • Released through eP Tom and Mike’s book The Machine Who Was Also a Boy
  • Was offered several exciting editing and publishing opportunities (that I am, for now, sitting on patiently waiting for the right time!)

When I look at the list, it’s hardly a year of doing nothing, though it felt at times like nothing was happening; a consequence of working on longer pieces that will bear fruit further down the track?

Social Consolidation, In The Best Kind of Way

While it is easy to bemoan the Year of the Serpent as a really tough year, the year that almost broke me, I was blessed in so many other ways: I was surrounded by caring, compassionate and encouraging friends.

IMG_5261Thank you to The Furies: Stacey and Helen (sisters-in-words and so much more!), to Rob (the untangler of knotted narratives and ever-ready coffee partner/cheer squad/all round awesome person), Sean (the wish enabler), Adam (insert bestest before writing partner, friend and chooser of new music), Nicky (the bringer of wisdom and chicken soup), Angela ( fairy godmother in disguise), Kevin (unexpected hoarder of brilliant new friends and ideas), Lois (catalyst for awesome), Rus (Zen master of the mental reset and agent provocateur of the creative), Alex (party planner extraordinaire and generous giver of business wisdom), Tom (partner in beer, sanity disher and listener to obscure narrative ideas) and Emily (the girl voted most likely to inspire Mr D to shower, brush his teeth and leave the house!)

It was the kind of ‘social consolidation’ I wasn’t expecting but I am ever so grateful for.

Thank you also to Dave and Mr D who let me escape on weekends to regroup my sanity and chase words; who were caring, kind and considerate throughout all our travails, especially when I was at my worst.

There are many other people who assisted in small and large ways; if you are reading this, you are probably one of them. Thank you!

The Take Home Message

We rarely get what we want. Instead, the Universe sends us what we need. And I give thanks and gratitude for everything, small or large, brilliant or devastating that the Year of the Serpent wrought; I have changed, evolved and perhaps been rebirthed in some areas of my life, as is the manifesto of a Serpent Year.

Now to welcome in The Year of the Green Horse, with all it’s dashing derring-do.

Farewell The Dragon!

dragonI’m coming back to a draft of this post, almost two weeks after I sat down to write it: two weeks into the new year. To say I’m not quite ready to let go of the Year of the Water Dragon is possibly the understatement of the last 13 months.

I washed up on the shores of The Year of the Dragon, burned out, disillusioned, without confidence or trust in my abilities as a writer. 2011 was my annus horribilis. I wasn’t sure what would come next, only that I didn’t want to go back to where I’d been.

In the end I decided I wanted to fall in love with writing again. I wanted the deep immersive transportation to another place, to completely inhabit another person’s skin. I wanted the experience of writing when I was 17 and juggling a novel with completing the HSC.

From a business perspective it was time to tidy up loose ends, to stop being a serial starter, to get over the addictive buzz of the new and finally clear the decks.


Love is always a bit of a gamble. So I paired my year of falling in love with the Write Anything call to write dangerously… to get out of the comfort zone. For me, the comfort zone had been for too long, about doing nothing.

Post Marked: Piper’s Reach provided the heady infatuation that grew into something big and wonderful and amazing…and around it my writing flourished. Working with Adam has been a dream, a blessing, a ride full of laughs intersected with moments of serious introspection, inquiries about the colour of toast, planned spontaneity and a ping-pong return of ideas and music. It is proof it only takes on person who believes in you, your abilities and crazy ideas to lead you back to the core of believing in yourself.

From Piper’s Reach came the first flowerings of brand new short fiction. From my shift in focus and routine came the space to write. From tackling unfinished publishing projects came the impetus to return to unfinished pieces of my own writing and complete them.

Did I fall in love? Yes I did…at that deep level, where the world dissolves and disappears, where you find yourself with your heart caught in your throat, heart pounding, holding your breath in anticipation.

I also managed to push just about every boundary in my writing in terms of what I had done in the past and what I was prepared to have a crack at.

In thirteen months, I:

As an editor and publisher, I:


These things don’t happen in isolation. I’d like to thank the following people (in no particular order) for the support, the helpful shoves, the investments in my work and help they gave so generously in 2012 (many of them without even realising!):

Dan Powell, Stacey Larner, Tom Dullemond, Alan Baxter, Laura Meyer, Josh Londero, Jessica Bell, Tiggy Johnson, Daniel Simpson, Benjamin Solah, Melanie Selemedis, everyone in the Sub-Committee Facebook group, Paul Anderson, Peter Ball, Alex Adsett, Paul Landymore, Aimée Lindorff, Meg Vann, Nicky Strickland-Cavalchini, Damon Cavalchini, Jason Nahrung, Andrew McKiernan, Kate Eltham, Lesley Halm, Matthew Lamb, Amy Stephenson, Rowena Specht-Whyte, Tehani Wessely, the literary Mix Tapes authors, Jon Strother, Devin Watson, Dale Challener Roe, Jen Brubacher, Zena Shapter, Lily Mulholland, Nicole Murphy, Jane Virgo, Jack Dann, Janeen Webb, Paul Phillips, Jo McClelland, Susan Talbot, Amanda Roche, The Elyora Brains Trust, the readers of Piper’s Reach, Rus Vanwestervelt, everyone who bought an eP publication, Ty Dawson, Erica Blythe, Greg McQueen, Ron Cleghorn, Leanne Cleghorn, Kate Campbell… and three very special guys:

Adam Byatt, Dave Harris and my Mr D.

This concludes transmissions for 2012 and the Year of the Water Dragon. Thank you for giving me back my passion, my grounding and my will to write again. Roll on the Year of the Water Serpent!

When Does the Stupid Crazy Busy End?

Last weekend was my first weekend off in two weeks, so you could say I was well and truly ready for a long one. On top of working 13 days straight, I’d been putting in between 10 and 14 hours a day getting Deck the Halls, Best of Friday Flash 2 and Tiny Dancer ready to send to the printer and doing the Rabbit Hole.

As I lay in bed Monday, enjoying a day of peace and respite it occurred to me: when does the stupid crazy busy end?

Every week I’ve said this will be the last one. And then there is another one. If I’m honest each week could be stupid, crazy busy if I wanted it to be. There’s always something and I have a penchant for busyness.

But that’s not what I want.

I’m yearning for the quiet of writing and the pleasure and pain of simply losing myself to the page. Of not stressing about deadlines bearing down on me, or wrangling 60+ writers to make the deadline. Don’t get me wrong, the writers I work with are amazing, but it’s a lot of administration and paperwork, and it’s extra work I’d prefer to skip at the end of a project.

So when does the stupid crazy busy end?

Yesterday I said THIS is where, because at some point I have to establish new boundaries… and well yesterday was my line in the sand.

From now on, the morning is given over to writing.

At 1pm I’ll flip hats and get back to what I need to do: work to complete until all my current projects are finished or what I need to learn to further the reach of what eP when the projects are done and dusted.

Yesterday I spent the morning catching up on non-fiction writing and I went to bed rather than stay up and force my way to the end of a deadline. As it turned out, it was the sensible thing to do because several pieces of information I was waiting on, arrived while I slept.

Deck the Halls is almost done; my millstone will be released sooner rather than later now. The other projects are in varying stages of finalisation and will fit with this shift of focus. The energy required on my novel has ramped up and I start scriptwriting bootcamp today. Transition has begun.

It’s scary and it’s exciting and I’m glad I’m easing out, rather than rushing in.


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 1st 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.