This year has started out very well, career wise. Daily Science Fiction has just notified me that they have accepted a third submission. On the very same day, I was advised the first book in my Summerbrook Besties series – which I refer to as my farm books – is now up for pre-order. Fate decided to keep me grounded by having maggots invade my kitchen bin – EWWWW! Nothing says ‘down to earth’ as much as cleaning up crawlies.
Still, the horror of invading crawlies is good inspiration for my Gothic themed project. Everything is grist for the mill!
I’m not making New Year resolutions as such for 2021. I have my five year career goals, I have my short term career goals, and I have my personal goals (be kind), and they aren’t just to make me feel better about starting a new year. They make me feel better about myself on a continuous basis. If that makes me sound like a grind, so be it. I’ve hit the combination that is working for me and I’m not fiddling with the magic.
I hope you had a safe and happy holiday season, and I look forward to chatting with you all throughout the coming months.
When I was eleven, I found a dead kitten in the paddock at the end of my street.
It couldn’t have been more than three or four weeks old, and it was perfect. The flies and ants hadn’t found it yet. It was lying on its back , hidden in the long grass, and I found it while exploring. I had been hoping to find mushrooms.
The kitten’s fur was still shiny and smooth. Its little toe beans were a little pale. I thought is was asleep at first glance, and was heartbroken when it was dead. I tried to revive it, holding it to my heart to warm it up, pressing its tiny chest with a finger. Of course, it remained dead.
How did the little corpse get to the paddock? Did its mother carry it there and abandon it to the elements? Was it snatched up by a hawk and then dropped? Did some monstrous human being drown it, and then discarded it? It was certainly too little to have crawled there, and it looked untouched.
It was a little brown tabby. As a grown cat, it would have been a tigerish beauty. Even the softness and sweetness of its tiny claws weren’t enough to save it from that greatest of ambush predators, Death.
I buried it were I found it.
It will tell you a lot about me, that I spend years afterwards searching for live kittens in that paddock.