Sometimes, when I’m struggling with a larger project, a smaller idea will worm its way into my head and give me a palate cleanser. It helps me to refocus and just get in a little bit of writing practice without worrying about it having to go somewhere or be something. This one came about when
Fact or fiction? … You decide. It’s exactly two years to the day that I reacted to some medicine my doctor gave me, passed out, cracked my head open and gave myself a serious concussion. Two years since I almost choked on my own vomit and died. Two years since I visited the Waiting Room
* header photo credit to Sara Rolin via Unsplash * I haven’t always written horror, although I have been an avid fan of it since I first stumbled upon Stephen King’s ‘Pet Sematary’ when I was around 13. I always read books well outside my suggested age range, much to my mother’s chagrin. She supported
When people see you as a strong woman, they think that you do not need anything or anyone. They think that you can manage everything and will overcome whatever happens. They presume that you do not mind not being fully listened to, or you do not need any emotional or physical support. When you are
I have a dream, well, perhaps more of a desire really, to be able to stand up in front of an audience of my peers and read some of my written work aloud. I used to be quite good at it when I was at school, with my teachers often choosing me to read aloud
There is a light in the distance, a fire burning, beckoning, It holds a heat that warms the embers deep within, A flame of purest mutual understanding, Not mere circumstance or sympathy, but raw emotion. But that light is a candle braving harsh winds, Flickers, is snuffed, waits to be lit once again… Once lost
