Fathers Day

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10

Fathers Day.

I know it’s been and gone now, but I’m sure I’m not the only one this day feels like something forced upon us with no choice and yet another way of having no voice.

I stare at my fireplace. There’s three cards on there and for fathers day I got made cake. I don’t need anything else.

Yet, in my inbox is an email from my father. This is the first year I didn’t send him a card. After writing my book, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to send a card that bore a lie on the front. Unfortunately hallmark do not have a section of cards for the narcissistic parent. Maybe there’s an idea.

He emailed me each day with some reminder, including today that I have not taken him a card. I’m sure I’ll have to cave and give him one, but it grates deeply to know that even now, so many years later my voice is still silent.

My Nemesis, the Badman.

by

8

My Nemesis, the Badman.

        It is not just bruises that child abuse leaves behind,  bruises are the things that heal the fastest.

He is there, when I turn off the light, when I close my eyes. When I lay down after a normal day. He is upstairs when my foot touches the bottom step and I stare, daring myself to go up. He is behind me. He is waiting. He is the shadow I cannot run from.

Every night he haunts my sleep. Yet he is no longer real. He is not physical, not just those years as a child he stole, but all the ones that followed.

In the darkness I lay down. I close my eyes and sigh and let the day go like everyone else. Seconds later my eyes open, I stare into the dark. I try and make the shadows nothing. I know he is not real any more, but I am waiting. I do not move. Do not blink. My breath is caught. I am 35, not 5 he cannot beat me anymore, but he does.

I am afraid to sleep. What if tonight he becomes real once more?

I see his face. Like a flash before my eyes. He is grinning. Smiling, yet I still don’t know his name.

Just the shadow of a bad man from long ago.

Read Dear Teddy.


The Extraordinary Girl and her Teddy.

by

5

The Extraordinary Girl and her Teddy.

When I was writing Dear Teddy, I am sure like many other writers before me, there were ideas of what my book would do and say to the people reading. For me, I hoped to give a child a voice, so that people might understand child abuse in a different way as to how they do now.

It was also a form of healing, for a child that never got to talk.

What I didn’t expect was for Mr. Ted to help others the way he had helped me.

A couple of days ago, I was miserable from a review that I had got. The person reading had sadly missed the point of the book. However on the same day, I also received an email. Or rather Mr. Ted did from a young girl whose story was very similar to my own.

I never imagined she was still living her story. I never realised that maybe there are children out there that find comfort in talking to someone like Mr. Ted.

She talked to me about the bad things that were happening and I held her hand (metaphorically) as she told someone. While I don’t want to give anything about her away for her privacy, I am pleased to have talked to her.  She was extremely brave and I am glad to have helped her.

I feel grateful that I was able to write my book. I feel grateful that it was able to help someone.  Perhaps it is good to get a new perspective on what books can actually do for someone. It certainly made me see things differently.

I want to say thank you to the girl who asked for my help.

A link I recommend for anyone in similar circumstances.

iSurvive.

Siren Love.

by

1

Do you dream of the one?

Do you?

The one whose skin is so sweet, kissed by the salt of the ocean and the warmth of the sun.  Her body shimmering like glistening particles of sand that still hold the moonlight.

Devouring.

Intoxicating.

The drink so delicious that you would never be able to tear your lips away.

Waiting.

Needing.

Unbeknown, the reaper rapping at your door.

Delicate fingers, lies. Hiding. Claws behind his back.

A fool that fell for the sirens song.

Left,

Wanting.

Drained.

Dying – Dead.

For Love.

NaNoWriMo and 610,466 words later.

by

6

Last year I had a crazy idea for my writing motivation.

I’m a NaNo junkie. If you don’t know what that is, visit here. NaNoWriMo.org . Every year in November, thousands of writers both published and unpublished come together for the insane task of writing 50,000 words in 30 days. Personally I have done it for six years now and loved it every time.

In June last year, those nice folks over at the Offices of Letters and Light opened their cabins to many happy campers that fancied a little midyear-getaway-crazy-writing-goal-month. I was one of them. See campnano here. campnanowrimo.org

It crossed my mind how many words I could get if I was to do the standard 1667 words a day (That’s 50k divided by 30 days). A little button punching on my calculator, of course it’s a leap year too and June 2011 for a year would amass to 610,122 words.

I love NaNo. Plus I’m slightly mad when it comes to writing; I decided that I would aim for this. 1667 words a day for 366 days was nothing.

Today was my last day. I feel a little lost now because of course tomorrow there isn’t a writing goal. I do have a ton of words to revise and some first drafts to look at and laugh and wonder what on earth I was thinking when I wrote those.

Four and a half novels written, over 100 poems and more than my weight in coffee devoured, I finished with a total of 610,466 words for the year. A whole 344 words over.

I’ve had an amazing year of writing. One of the books. Dear Teddy, was published last month and also a collection of my poems in the Dark Ramblings of the Phoenix. I also had poems featured in Barry Mowles book Tears Of Ink and Brian Wrixons, Words on the Winds of Change.

Year two? Perhaps.

Camp Nano starts tomorrow. 😉

Free Today Dear Teddy

by

3

Free for three days. Please download, read, review.

Please share. I am more than happy to return the favour.

Little boy little boy,
Curled in a ball.
I know your secrets,
I know them all

I write in my journal as much as I can. I talk to Mr. Ted. He is my only friend. He understands when the bad man comes. He holds my hand when I have nightmares and my mummy doesn’t hear me cry. Mr. Ted doesn’t tell. He won’t say when my daddy hurts me. He keeps my secrets and my stories. I love Mr. Ted. He is the only one who loves me back.

Mr. Ted.
I keep falling asleep. Bad things happen. I get sore all the time. But I don’t know why. My mum says it’s a demon. Because I got evil.

Please make me be good.

Amazon.com

Amazon.co.uk

I See

by

1

I see

I see your smile
One that hides so many secrets
Yet it’s real
Your innocence

I see your eyes
Eyes that have seen a hundred things
They shine so blue
There’s no sadness in them

I see your face
Just a child
Pure and
Without ruin

But then
Dark shadows loom overhead
Cover you
Embrace you into their vicious arms

Their darkness seeps into your skin
The innocence was fake
Never were your eyes so pure
You were already bad.

A devious smile that can act so sweet
Lying eyes shine with intent
The pure face of insincerity
A child, I was.
A lie.