Category Archives: writing

Books, writing

ten years…this year

Ten years ago, I decided to write a book. A book based upon this blog. I even took all the pictures on my phone. My first book, the yellow one, was an interesting entry into the world of self publishing. The Yellow One and the Green one, remain two of the most popular books. (all right, the reviews for the green one, say otherwise.)

That was how my writing journey started. I was new, naive to the whole world of writing and especially that of being a self-published Indie Author. A lot has changed since then. There are certainly more books, there have been lots of book-related adventures too. Writing books set in Montana, has led to adventures there. There lots of book adventures scheduled for this year. I am going to reflect as these will continue in the future, and what other avenues I might need to consider about making sure my stories are out there for readers to find.

I’ve learned a lot of the self-publishing indie universe, about books and the challenges that come with writing and marketing. The market is huge, diverse and there stories for everyone about anything. There’s a lot to reflect upon in approaching ten years this summer.

I don’t profess to be perfect, or a rock star, for that matter. I am eternally grateful whenever a reader chooses to pick up a book and invest in it. I’ve lots of notebooks, lots of stories; all waiting for me to attend to them.

Let’s see if these actually happen.

Books, writing

Have you seen the dragons?

Have you met the dragons of Birmingham?

A collection of stories that document what might happen if Birmingham played home to dragons. Everyday people find themselves trusted with eggs that help keep the skies of Birmingham safe. There are familiar landmarks, familiar settings that the winged creatures find being their home.

The dragons don’t just stay in this book. They also appear in other parts of my writing universe. If you take a look, you may find them in Chandni rises.

Dragon Realm was a really fun book to write. I was encouraged to write something different, and why not dragons? Why shouldn’t dragons also land in Birmingham. I see no reason why Birmingham should miss out on such fantasy.

The whole book universe is interconnected, so see if you spot all the links!

Books, writing

19th January Devan Coultrie Day

It feels like a life time since I released Retreating to Peace. The book was released on the 19th January 2018, which means we’re celebrating 7 years of Devan Raaj Coultrie.

For me this a big deal, a lot has happened since that release. Two more books followed, adventures to the US as well. Not to mention the writing, directing and release of a short indie film.

Writing Devan was a risk, and he brings with them adventure, courage and ambition. I think he’s contributed to my growth personally as a human, as a writer. I still have to make sure I count director as well. I worked with an amazing crew in writing him, then making the film. Lots of lessons were learned, there was a lot of development that might not have happened.

The 19th of January will always be special. I mean, Devan does have a birthday; some time in march. But this was the day his Universe was unleashed.

Keep an eye out next week. The Devan Coultrie Saga will be on offer on kindle.

#vivelehoochbaron

Books, writing

Fragments Universe; where it all began

The Fragments Universe is an ever-evolving, ever expanding universe. It is the stable, the home of so many characters and has led to a few spin-offs.

Gorbind Phalla and Koby Anand both started off in this book, and have gone on to have their own illustrious careers. Gorbind and his family have three books to their name. Kangana is the story of how Gorbind and Padmi meet, with their family then taking centre stage in the Beyond Kangana Series.

Koby has two books to his name. One with a romance tilt and the second is the upcoming Behind the Scenes novel.

Fragments was an interesting book to write. A difficult one, as it deals with the concerns about loss and bereavement. It was written as I experienced loss and bereavement, and was also in training to become a counsellor. Little did I know at the time as to how much that training would then impact upon my career now.

Whilst it’s a heavy book, there are moments of light as this book concludes. The characters have gone onto develop and find their own readership.

Blooms, writing

Chandni Rises: A review

It’s not easy being an Indie Author. The market is huge, there’s a lot of variety. A bit like Arabian Nights, there are 1001 stories that you can sample at any one point. Being an Indie Author, means not having the massive machine of a publisher behind.

As such, when a review comes through, I’m inclined to do a happy dance. A happy dance with a heart gladdened by someone taking a chance, a risk, on my work.

Reviews are very important as an Indie Author. These help to measure success, spread the word and acts as a bench mark to help readers choose their next read. They are however, very elusive to gain.

They have an immense power. To encourage and to crush. I think I have a full set of one to five stars. Not the best of accomplishments to celebrate, but I hope that even traditional, big-hitting authors have their share of these.

We live in a world where social media is huge and growing. I keep seeing the strap lines-tik tok made me buy this, the newest tik tok sensation. That’s a huge movement of bookworms, and book worms are important. The power of books, of writers and their stories shouldn’t be underestimated.

It’s a daft person who underestimates the power of social media. After all, I’m sat here writing this blog. I can be connected with via insta, twitter, FB as well, These are all forums and arenas for communication.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not spouting sour grapes at not being a tik tok sensation. That comes with its own baggage; social media can have both positive and negative impacts.

Being a tik tok sensation is in the same league as:

1.Being a cup winning therapist-I can but dream of the FA cup, and make my way up to Euro and world.

2.Winning an oscar or a bafta; I did write a movie, but these are proper pie in the sky ambitions.

3.Being No 1 author on any given list, never mind USA today. All the way from Brummie land.

Yeah, the chances are slim, aren’t they? But, I celebrate the review. Each and every one. That means someone read my book, thought about it and shared it.

Adventures, Books, writing

Writing and the music

No idea who the Kronos Quartet are, but they sound amazing.

Thing is, they’ve always been a part of my upbring. Especially when it comes to the old-school Bollywood Movies that my family enjoyed as I was growing up.

Whilst adventuring and writing, some of these songs were ear worms. Figured I could listen to them, sate The Muse and see what I ended up writing. Dum Maro Dum, is an iconic song. To me, it is more rock and roll, than it is Bollywood. To be fair, I’ve also been listening to Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours as well. The two do overlap a great deal and the Kronos Quartet certainly feel very rock and roll.

Not sure if I’ve shared before. But many of the books are written with their own play lists. I had a Devan one, but in a pique, having written Peace Betrayed, I pressed delete. I know, daft idea, but I’d thought I’d finished with him at that point. Nothing could have been further from the truth.

Anyway, yes, most books have their own playlist. Gorbind, Koby have one. There’s a Hades one, I think, as well as one for Chandni. I don’t always write with music on. I do like to work in silence. Yet there are instances where it’s okay to have a gentle soundtrack playing to help capture the mood, tone or ambience of the writing.

Writing the most recent Koby book, I had Mozart, with Lacrimosa as well as Zadok The Priest. Big, bold pieces of music that helped it all coalesce. With Chandni Rises and Chandni Chirag, there were four different versions of Carol of the bells.

As to whether anyone can hear these when they read, well, who knows?

Adventures, writing

Adventuring for inspiration

That was a very steep hill. I made it up there, very slowly so as to stretch my legs. After a three hour drive across 177 miles, stretching one’s legs was a bit useful.

I decided to go on a writing adventure to follow in the footsteps of one Agatha Christie. I thought it might help inspire, help kick start the writing process and bolster my confidence. Confidence in driving all that way; I’m still growing when it comes to long journeys and motorways. But also after a year where I’ve felt bruises in my work not getting very far, I could write with some joie de vivre.

Apparently, Agatha Christie spent two weeks at the Moorland and wrote her draft there. I can say that this did make the air a bit more romantic. If such a great Briton can go there, feel compelled to write, that why not test the hypothesis?

The walk up to Haytor Rocks was bracing, the breeze was a bit nippy and the moors were an ambient character in themselves. I can understand how Marple or Poirot might suddenly appear. I strongly recommend The Moorland Hotel. The staff were brilliant, and couldn’t do enough for me. As a solo traveler, I often feel anxious about such things. (Every now and again, I do get asked where my husband is. Well, if you’re looking for him, what hope do I have?) Was a lovely place, with lovely people. Rather enjoyed it.

I did write, and I did enjoy it. I’m committed to writing, to stretching my imagination. I travelled with about four different notebooks, to finally settle on what I wanted to write. I think I have a vague plan now as to what I might do this year.

Adventures, Books, creativity, indie author, writing

There has been writing

2024 was a busy year. I released three books, counselling and teaching was busy. There were also some soul-colouring adventures. (Apologies for not sharing, really was a rapid year).

And 2025 promises to be no different. This year, started with a combination of adventuring to write. Just after the new year’s celebration, I took myself off cross country to Dartmoor. Off to hotel where Agatha Christie no less, spent time writing her first novel. All right, it has burned down and been rebuilt since, but I assure you that the romance and energy was there.

I’ve only been on a day-long writing retreat. About a week before the Pandemic kicked off, and I found it an interesting experience. I’ve never gone off on a longer stint, beyond my desk, adventured to sit down and right.

Thinking of how successful such an experience it was Agatha Christie and feeling that this year will be big in marking ten years, I gave this a go. Travelled 177 miles south west-that was an experiment and challenge in itself. I then spent two and half days writing. I did actually write!

I’ve recently found a revived writing mojo. There is after all, a new book out on the 3rd of March. I wanted this to continue, to be more consistent. Writing this blog is another aspect of that. I’m hoping to make regular, more consistent contributions here to get things moving.

There has been opportunity to assess and evaluate the stack of stories that I would like to write. There are easily half a dozen notebooks that i feel I could tackle. Not all in one go, but work through. There is nothing quite like being sat down, writing and being inspired. I don’t think I experience writer’s block. I can make plan, have a vivid and impassioned response to decant the ideas. It is then carving out time to write and sew those ideas together. All being well, this will happen.

Books, writing

Writing; a process and a journey

Standing on the edge of a new decade, I’ve been thinking a great deal about the last few years and my journey as a writer.

I struggle to identify as an author, as a writer. There is a huge mountain, of feeling like an imposter that somewhat colours that self-image. I find it difficult, to say it out aloud. I can tell you, that I’m a counsellor, a teacher; that I have an allotment. Yet, telling you that I am author, that I write books, will be done somewhat sheepishly.

2020 sees book number seven be published, there are a couple of books events that I’m going to be involved in. So I have a lot of focus on, as a writer. My plan, beyond that, is to spend 2020 writing. I have a stack of notebooks, pens and ink. There are plans for works. So I won’t exactly be twiddling my thumbs.

I won’t start writing til January; January 6th is the date that I contemplate sitting at my desk to write.

Why then?

It’s Epiphany, the day the Three Kings arrived after their journey having followed the star. The notion that we have an epiphany, a moment of deep-seated clarity, that is also part of it.

At the moment, my head feels like it is full of squashed flies. I did write two books this year, and I choose to rest as we move towards the festive period. I plan to do little during this time of family, feasting and merriment. I need to recalibrate my soul a little, do some reading. I’m currently half way through Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, so we shall see what else I read.

I also need a dictionary slash thesaurus. That has been on my mind a great deal.

The 10’s have seen seven books. Well, technically, it’s the last five years; that’s when I first published a book. So I have been busy;I have pushed myself in a ridiculous fashion at times to get things written. It has taken that time to figure out what my writing process is.

I hand-write most things, the first draft of them in the first instance. Hence the notebooks, my pens, a box of ink too. I have a bittersweet memories of Fragments. Two massive great big, hardback notebooks and black biro. I bought my ink pens right at the end, I felt a though I had found my magic wands. They’ve been my trusty companions ever since. Fragments, gave birth to  my writing process. Researching, writing, constructing; and feeling too. Of being immersed in something, so much so, that your soul permeates through it, every fibre of it.

There is a cost to writing; the intrinsic one, that perhaps gets missed. I know not to write when exhausted; it physically hurts.

That said, I have works for next year. I’m conscious that I have the tendency to get absorbed into a project, almost a though I have blinkers. The challenge, is that I have three that I would like to work on, concurrently, in parallel. Something that I haven’t done before, and it does feel overwhelming, The sensible thing, would be to take one at a time. Yet, this feels intrinscially different. I want to take my time, I’ve yet to set myself a deadline. Ordinarily, I would give myself a year for one project. A year is a long time, and I have yet to set my a strict deadline.

There is something whimsical about the writing plan for the next year. To write in bits, fragments, I guess. To listen to my brain and soul, as to what could be written. I have plans, stories mapped out.

The key is not to put pressure on myself, to kick myself. I like to write, I like to create these universes.

With that comes some excitement. What I plan to write, makes me smile. I have a sense of joy about it.

Here’s to it actually happening.

In the mean time, some speculative, flash-y fiction.

****

Copyright 2019 Punam Farmah

Cabinet meeting

Tapping his toe to a blues riff, Gorbind nodded as long as he stared at his pint. He’d been asked to get to The Gunmakers after he had put Mango to bed.

It was his daughter who had relayed the message. Something about the cat speaking to her, having had a fight with a squirrel. The squirrel, had lost. Padmi had screamed blue murder at the carnage that covered her kitchen floor.

Gorbind had resisted calling Forensics.

Given who had sent the message, this wasn’t as strange as it sounded.

“Ah, you came,” Hades pulled up a wooden chair on the opposite side of table. A tumbler of Kraken rum slid across to sit next to Gorbind’s.

He was still trying to figure out his poison.

“That cat of yours,” pronounced Hades, “Is a sandwich short of a picnic.” Taking off his long, Mulberry coloured overcoat, he draped it over his chair.

“Not my cat,” said Gorbind, picking up his pint. “Can’t stand him. He’s machiavelli in a fur coat. Padmi’s. Send her your feedback. See what she does to you. Whatcha want?” He asked, sitting back.

“To tell you were right “ Hades pulled his drink closer. “Christmas, Advent, the Mr.Bleu De Chanel adverts. Brings magic. Oh, and she’s doing that thing…”

Gorbind closed his eyes to let out a deep breath.

“She looks at all the pieces “ he said softly. “Puts corners in place. Starts putting things together. Fragments had diagrams, post-its. Kangana, a trip to the mill. Think you, Hades, were an exam. You just wait til she add the human condition.”

“I’m not human-“

“No, you’re a God,” said a third voice.

A woman in scarlet had appeared by the piano. She moved slowly towards them, her silken skirts rustled.

Hades snapped to his feet. He bowed, to take a gloved hand and plant a kiss near knuckles.

“The Lady Aurelia,” he beamed, stepped aside and pulled out a second chair.

“Shit, the Vampire,” Gorbind stood, holding onto his pint.

“Stand down, Detective Inspector Phalla,” Aurelia smirked as she pulled off her gloves. “I’ve no inclination to eat you. His Unholiness here, tells me you’re one of the colours on the wind. A thread in fabric of the universe. A White Knight, sent from The Powers That Be.” She lifted a veil frok her eyes, unpinned her hat to set it down onto the table. “I know of you, and of your young lady, Mango. Her real name, Gorbind. Altogether very fitting, I must say. A good choice.”

Clicking her fingers, she conjured up a scarlet-hued merlot.

It was definitely merlot.

Wiping his hand across his jacket, Gorbind remembered his manners. “How lovely to meet you,” he added a smile; more out of curiosity than anything.

She knew about Mango. That would do.

“Take a seat, Gentlemen,” Aurelia flashed a toothy grin. “We have much to discuss.”

****

Needless Alley, Birmingham.

“What take are we on?” Yawning, Hades stretched his eyes open. “I’m cold, wet, and that Christmas Market; it’s all a bit trippy.” Pulling up a fur-lined hood, Hades sunk hands into the depths of deep pockets. He’d overlook the fact that it was maroon, toggled and made him look like a hipster trying too hard. “Oh, and I could do with a stiff drink. Gunmakers isn’t that far away. We could skive.”

“Cold, wet?” Gorbind screeched loudly . He narrowed his eyes to open his jacket. His shirt was slashed across his stomach, there were two gunshot woods in the centre of his sternum. “You’ve not been shanked and shot, having ran down the stairs of the Floozie whilst trying to catch a bad guy.”

“That’s true,” nodded the Lord of The Underworld. “I tend to just evisc-“

A glare from Gorbind told Hades to quit whilst he was ahead.

“Take six, seven, nine and a half,” grumbled Gorbind, pulling his own coat closer. Knee-length, blue and quilted, his was a bit more sober compared to Hades. Rain was coming down in sheets; it had been all day. “She won’t commit anything to paper, unless she has proper sequence of events for the opening salvo. There are just snatches for now. She’s waiting for a tipping point; to stitch all the fragments together. Get to the point where our paths collide.”

“Meh,” Hades shrugged to root around in a pocket. He grinned to pull out a hip flask and a packet of Jelly Babies.

“Those,” said Gorbind, “Are mine.” Grabbing the bag, he tore away the corner. “Tell Padmi about these, and you’re a dead man.”

Scoffing, Hades flicked the lid of the flask.

Gorbind bit the head off a green jelly baby. Looking left and right, he checked around. The muse wasn’t to be seen for now.

“It’s okay, Mercury slash Hermes, is otherwise engaged,” commented Hades. “He’s had a rough patch lately. The world, his wife and every single writer in this world is out to brain him.”

“Gunmakers,” sighed Gorbind, stuffing the jelly babies into his pockets and making a move.

“Gunmakers,” smirked Hades, following the man fated to become his wing-man. “But Street Food Place first. Line your stomach. I can drink til hell freezes over…”

Rolling his eyes, Gorbind walked passed Tesco’s and into the blurry mass of market goers.

No one would see them, hear them; they might feel a breeze, a buzzing that they couldn’t decipher.

A zombie copper and the Lord of the Underworld. An unlikely alliance.

******

Habemus Hades

Savouring the taste of Ragu, Padmi pulled a face. She dropped a tea-spoon into a blue bowl, to reach for a pepper mill. It squeaked as though in pain as Padmi ground the contents.

She was alone this afternoon.

Gorbind had taken Mango out; he was enduring jelly, ice-cream and party-rings.

Padmi and Gorbind were also in the middle of a fight.

She was wrong; he was right.

Football, be damned.

Padmi had no plans to concede defeat. She was holding Gorbind’s stash of Jelly babies hostage until he gave up. Until he bent to her view and her view alone.

He could stew a little longer.

Behind her, the kitchen door swung open. She felt a cold, cutting breeze across the back of her deck. Padmi caught a reflection cast across shiny kitchen cabinets.

“Finally,” she said, her lips parted into a smile. “Sweetie, you have a face.” Lowering the heat beneath the pan, Padmi turned to face her visitor.

“Meh,” pulling at his cheeks, Hades shrugged. He passed a hand across coarse, dense stubble. “And a get-up,” he parted his jacket-tailored as it was was-to reveal a Waistcoat covered in pastel-pink poppies. “It’s a start.” He sighed, sinking his hands into his pockets. Hades looked down at his feet; he wiggled his toes within the confines of teak-coloured Oxford Brogues.

“And we know hows this ends, Hades “ Padmi looked the Lord of the Underworld up and down. “You’re a bit…rakish,” she squinted, to incline her head. “Skinny. Not my cuppa tea,” Padmi frowned, shaking head. “You should be a little…beefier.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Hades poked out his tongue, to laugh. “I’d worry if I was your cuppa tea, Padmi. It really wouldn’t work. Reckon you will ever have a face; the women of the Fragments universe? Aditi too.” His question was a distraction. He was suddenly feeling very vulnerable; exposed by having a face, an identity.

“No, never,” replied Padmi. “We’re any woman, and every woman. Oh, and Dracula,” she crossed her arms to leave against the work top. “You don’t have to see us, hear us to feel our thrall, our magic. It hangs in the air, our presence is pulled taut as thread in the fabric of the universe.”

Raising his brows, Hades hung on her every word.

Any woman and every woman.

Padmi was right. They both knew how this would end.

At least now, he had a face.

 

 

Books, ebook, paperback, Taking stock, Uncategorized, writing

Kangana: Light after dark

kanganapbcoverjp

A month ago, I was starting to pace up and down.  Book number five was lined up to go live. My fifth book in four years, there was a lot of anticipation hanging in the air. There was fear, anxiety, but also some level of excitement too.

Of all the books, Kangana makes me smile, and I am only just starting to figure out why.

Kagana is my ray of sunshine, rainbow book. A book that signals a change in me, my mind-set and subsequently my writing mojo.

It marks the end of what has felt a jumbled up, chaotic time. A time during which my life has gone through all sorts; there’s been growth, development, sadness, joy, not to mention lots of interesting adventures. The last five years have been wonderfully formative, giving rise to five very different books. Five. I still don’t know how that happened.

Previously, I have noted that writing about gardening was some of a multi-layered metaphor; this blog, has evolved and grown from the seeds of an idea and continues to do. Writing two gardening books, was much about my growth and development as much as it was about my allotment.

To this day, I cannot tell you why I made the leap into writing fiction, writing stories that couldn’t be more removed from roses, mud and raspberries. I remember the moment when; mid morning, tapping my pen-a green biro-against lined paper. I had an idea.

The genesis of Fragments came from grief, bereavement; it is not an easy, soft, all is rosy book. Fragments is a whirling tornado of emotions, humanity, tears and pain. Don’t get me wrong. In the same way that every grey cloud has a silver lining, so does Fragments.

Fragments is  a book about getting up again having fallen down; about dusting yourself off and moving on. It is a book about finding strength, even when don’t think you have any. This is a book that shook me sideways, and at a time when I was feeling broken; this was my way of finding out my depths and layers.

When Fragments went live, I remember feeling wounded. I’d written this book, eighty something thousand words, and it hurt. I had this massive great big hole, as though something had been wrenched out of me. Absolute internal pain, and it throbbed. I remember feeling as though I had been kicked in the stomach.

What the flip was a girl to do?

Well, she waited four weeks and decided to go find the Peace Novella series.

You’ve heard a lot about RTP-that’s Retreating To Peace. I feel bad writing this,  but Devan Coultrie was definitely a band-aid. A sticky plaster to fix into place what ever Fragments had done.

RTP is a romance, yes; a contemporary romance. It’s not fluffy though, Devan and I both had dents. So we both fixed them, together. I rebelled, I wasn’t willingly going to write a fluffy romance. I still couldn’t find it in my soul to do so.  I remember asking my fellow Peace writers to read it, but wincing in anticipation.

I’ve never been so scared to let anyone look at my work. (Team Farmah never get a look in, honest) I sat there, with the handwritten manuscript pressed to my chest. I didn’t want anyone to read my romance novella and then beat me with it. I struggled with the concept that all romance novellas were full of bow-chick-wow-wow that defied the laws of Physics. Full of bodice ripping country squires and doe-eyed damsels.

But I took stock, received positive feedback. I prized the manuscript from my chest, and did a really funny happy dance. The ladies of the Peace Novella series , picked me off the floor to dust me off. I stood up, held my head high.

Then I bit the bloody bullet.

Off went RTP, released into the ether and unto the masses.

There was something very nice, warm and fuzzy about having written RTP. Devan Coultrie was a lovely, faith-restoring band-aid, and I am most certainly not done with him.

The ladies of Peace, were sent to my universe for a reason.

Anyways.

I took the summer off, decided that I was I need of a break. Both Fragments and RTP had changed my head space, and now there was a scope for sunshine after the rain.

Taking a walk to Sarehole mill with my sister, I let the greenery of Middle earth talk to me. That was August. I went home, wrote three thousand words, then put my notebook away. I was not in the mood to do any more writing.

Autumn and winter passed. I got busy, and there were too many things happening for me to be creative. One Saturday, I sat with my soft pastels and decide to make rainbows. Three were created in varying configurations. Rainbows had been very much on my mind, especially with counselling therapy. I even had a set of oil paints and tried to paint one with the EMS as a reference.  In my mind, rainbows demonstrate the power of the universe. Light after dark, hopefulness. The way that light bends with water to give the different wavelengths. It makes great scientific sense, but its wonderfully magic.

Putting aside the pastel creations. I went looking for my notebook. I looked at the three thousand words and knew that one character from Fragments was my next venture.

That character was Gorbind; a bit part character that had a sliver in a chapter. You could literally blink and miss him.  As with Devan Coultrie, Gorbind was borne out of a lack of Indian romance books. This continues to annoy me, so perhaps I can do something about it.

I was writing yet another romance.

Romance.

Kangana was now being forged;  I had a chapter list, a sequence of events and also a playlist.  I had  also more than once visited Birmingham’s Museum and Art gallery, where seeing the Lucifer sculpture and Rosetti’s Porsepine fueled my imagination further.

For the next ten months, my poor parents heard Dr.Zeus’ Kagna-two versions-, Hallelujah-three different versions of that-, Eric Clapton’s ‘Layla, not to mention Cyndi Lauper’s ‘At last’ on loop. This made a huge change from Jolene, two thirds of Adele’s back catalogue and all of Maroon 5’s as used in RTP and Fragments. I do have to say though; for some daft reason, halleleujah has occured for all three fiction books.

Kangana has made me laugh, it has made me smirk. It has also made me think of Gianluigi Buffon in a whole new light.

Why?

Well, most of my main characters have faces as I write them. Gorbind was the esteemed Mr. Buffon. Devan Coultrie, was Aidan turner. In Fragments, Jamie Dornan inspired Christopher and Adelphi. One day, all the rest will have faces. Albert Finney, is Grandad Albie.

Kangana is a lighter book. It does have its dark bits. All rainbows do. Kangana is a book that marks a change; it’s a book that marks a movement forward into a different direction.

No idea what that direction is. There is a stack of writing projects sat on my desk.

Two have been pulled out for development. The one, is labelled Hades. Yes, him of the underworld. The other is identified as Aurelia and involves vampires.

That is all I have for now. I have no further details as my mojo is at rest until Spring. That doesn’t mean that I won’t be planning and gleaning the universe for inspiration in the mean time.

All in all, this means a break from intense hot-housing and slowing down to regenerate. For now, I am going to bask in a rainbow and colour my soul.

Go grab your copies, try to do the same.