The Little Fears get published!

The following is a reblog from Little Fears, a fellow WordPress site that’s guaranteed to make you snort hot beverages or simply laugh out loud. Without fail, there’s an amazingly creative illustrated pun every day brought to you by actual little fears like Spectre, Hydra, Yuffie, Serpent and the gang. Peter Edwards, the Illustrator, has a book in the works that’s full of January’s entries and I am so excited! Go on over there and see what the fuss is about.

You noticed the decrease in grammar and spelling mistakes right? We had an editor attack our tales. I have been asked on social media if I am going to release the Little Fears as an art book. Well, yes, I will. In a couple of months time I hope to release the Little Fears in full paperback form. But for that, good grief did I need an editor.

Slightly exciting in the mean time though, Little Fears – January. The collected Little Fears tales of the first 3 months. Currently on pre-order, available from the 22nd of March.

£2.99 for the UK on Amazon.co.uk

$3.65 for the USA on Amazon.com

I get about 70p per sale due to image size and bandwidth used on Amazons end. So if you fancy having us on your tablet or kindle, you can help fuel the illustrator on cups of tea.

If you want to wait for the paper edition, I can tell you it will be closer to £10 due to the colour images, and will be available in May.

If you just want to support the Little Fears, you can also head over to our Patreon page, where for as little as $1 a month you can contribute to Hydras food bill.

Thank you for being a wonderful audience and allowing me to indulge in my scribbles and stories on the internet.

Last week in music

Lorde in her Green Light official vid. Via Billbord.com

 

Hey, people of the Interwebs. I hope you’ve all had a lovely weekend. Yesterday was Phagwah, the Indian celebration of spring. That’s the one with all the coloured powder and buckets of water, although for these past few years I’ve withdrawn from that play.

Did you see the moon though? Her singular edge was crisply defined; gone was her bone whiteness, overcome by a pale orange haze. Of course, when we’d been making this observation a pick-up drove full speed into the fence. I live above a shop, and there were people out and about at the time. No one was hurt, thankfully. The driver had stepped on the gas instead of the breaks.

Anyway, last week had been a busy week for me in terms of music, as is common when I’m a miserable mess, music is the cure … er and distraction too, eh? I found myself rediscovering some old favourites The Kooks especially, BB Brunes (French rock band), Steve Perry (prev. week) and some Creedence Clearwater Revival and Lorde (Green Light has been on repeat ever since its release eep!)

Also I made a new find of Anthony Strong, from the Paris jazz scene. In his album “On a Clear Day” he covers several of the classics. He has one of the most perfect voices for jazz vocals I’ve heard, there’s such an effortlessness to how he sings. Here are just a few of the videos that have been in the background on loop. Enjoy!

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Eyes and ears, m’dear

Here’s my latest scratchings over at the esteemed Poet’s Blog. Check us out, there’s such diversity abound you’re sure to find something that’ll make you smile.

Poet's Corner

Hear the things,

they speak with their eyes

Words are a lair’s arsenal,

look just how lightly they step

around promises, and juggle emotions

Look within you for your truths,

see what injustice strikes you like a fist,

understand what you stand for.

The outside, of many things, is a facade

the innards, soul and belief belie this

Flesh and bone, masks and smiles

housing within a starlight light,

or void blackness

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Youth does not belong to the young

Journal Entry

4th March, 2017

Sunrise

An unfiltered shot of a view from my kitchen window at dawn.

Youth belongs to the brave, not exclusively to the young so don’t let anyone fool you.

The young waste away in insecurity not uncommon for that age, worries about real problems and petty nonsense. Sometimes – no, oftentimes throwing away precious seconds like spare change. I suppose it’s all a part of the growing pains.

Hopefully, the older we get the wiser we can become. When the cloud shifts and everything is clearer and defined, well, that’s if we’re being optimistic. When we long for the pennies lost in that one ugly couch we all had years ago.

This is the age when living means Continue reading

Fiction (?): Skin


I’m backed into the damned corner. Again. Not a physical corner formed by the union of two solid walls. The place in my mind, it’s a black dusty mine that waits for a gap in my happiness so I might fall into it. Haplessly, I do arms around my knees and head tucked in. My sooty lungs press hard against rib cages not built to take the rpm of my beating heart.

I am not nice. I do not belong the name “Mia”. I am not the scarred brown skin that thinly veils my continued existence. I am not the tentative smile centered by two brown eyes.

I am a dark night dappled in stars, covered in howling wind and cold rain like hard fingers.

Sometimes I am the words I read, the shows I watch, a part of a far flung community of inside jokes.

Mostly though, i am the banshee heralding my own demise. That wretched woman who screams and screams that falls on deaf ears of the living. The things she knows about the all things she does not, insanity. Wailing wailing waling, unnoticed by passersby caught up in their own affairs. 

i … i am lost among people who love me. i, who know not how to pull off the leaches that suck the light out of me, surely do not deserve that warmth nor can carry that weight of it.

There is a silent horror that lives behind the eyes of the tortured, i’ve come to know. It’s masked by a habitual tiredness.

Horror birthed from dark seeds, physical and mental trauma are it’s famous progeny. Little fears of mundane objects is the stealthy child. Continue reading

Fiction: Silverlining

“Aren’t you pissed? I’d be seething,” Rooney asks with disbelief.

“I’m better off without him,” I say.

“No, no. That I get. But that you let the bastard go without a scratch … why are you laughing?”

“What gave you that idea? That he went scratch free?” I couldn’t help it, I laugh some more.

“Okay, I’m officially lost,” Rooney complains.

“So it occurred to me last night that my tears should be reserved for more important things – ”

“Like?”

“Supernatural for one, though I’m stuck at season six now. Anyway, look at it like this, she did me a favour.”

Rooney’s eyes lit up, understanding. “And who’s to say he won’t bail on the cougar?”

“Exactly. He’s weak and obviously strays easy, that’s punishment enough. Besides, I deserve better,” I tell her.

“What’s with the scratch thing?”

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Book review: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

Rated it: 5 stars

I reread this gem last year and the feels are still incredibly strong. Long story short this is a coming of age story of teenager Aristotle (told entirely in his point of view) during the 1980s set in El Paso, Texas, and spans two years.

The summer was hot and humid, the rain was like a veil into different emotional dimension I kid you not. And the birds, well they were there crapping on people in a real way. Oh, just read the thing and you’ll know what I’m talking about. It’s raining as I’m writing, and usually when it does I’m reminded of my summer boys.

And I’ll be straight with you, dear readers, this is a novel I cannot formulate a coherent sentences worthy of a decent review so I’m afraid you’ll have to settle for this mass of fangirl babble. Ari was at the awkward age where he’s coming to terms that his body is changing, he’s occupied with thoughts of his veteran father who’s in another world most of the time. Added to that he’s somewhat obsessed with an older brother who he barely remembers. 

He meets the soft spoken and bookish Dante (one of the cinnamon-iest cinnamon roll I’ve read so far) one day at the pool. A loner by choice, Ari begins to find his company an education.

The friendship that grows between these two … it’s simple yet it’s not. For better or for worse they change each other. Simply by being there they challenged themselves with facing the hard questions, the kind of questions that makes them realize just how vast and painfully tangible the universe possibly is.

What I loved

  • Sáenz didn’t mince words, let me tell you. When I first read it I was confused and uncomfortable but then I got it. This was Ari’s voice: raw, undiluted and straightforward. Also the writing gets poetic, which I expect from a book with a guy named Aristotle in it. Not that he’s poetic. Hmm, well he does get poetic but he doesn’t think he is.
  • Ari. I like him. A lot. Full of angsty pubescent emotions, foul mouthed (as much as a fifteen year old can be in YA), a natural born smart ass, and an actual decent human being. Cute too, did I mention?
  • Dante, another smarty pants. He’s the yin to Ari’s yang. Gentle, fierce, kind and forever curious. If I recall correctly, he has identity issues with his Mexian ancestry, having not been immersed in it as much as Ari. He’s terribly brave when it comes down to it.
  • The parents Continue reading

Snippet: Over chicken soup

Via All Of The Vegan Food (or is it?)

Via All Of The Vegan Food (or is it???)

The following is a snip from a short story I’m working on right now. I love it when kids are like best friends with their parents, usually I find that those cross out the unnecessary drama that depict cliched relationships. What do you think?

I slouched on the bean bag, my dress in a mess. I never slouch. I’m the chick that preaches “thou shalt not slouch” and I’m in a state where I don’t give two ducks, or geese which are actually more nasty.

“Look dad, this is going to sound all poetic and dangerously cheesy but here it is: when love is the religion, trust is king and truth is queen – or whatever – and together they make it work. You do want it to work, don’t you?”

He looked up at the ceiling, lips pursed. Then he smirked, looking a bit evil with eyes red and puffy from crying.

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Frustration: a painting in words

Frustration is defined as the feeling of being upset or annoyed when unable to achieve or change something. It’s a kaleidoscope of mismatched emotions born of my own inability to change, to develop in order to achieve what I possibly can. Personally, it is for – the most part – a two-toned orange and black fighting for dominance and you know you’re down for the count when they beat each other to a nasty mud brown.

Frustration is sometimes like being thirsty. So thirsty and the thought strikes you that, yes, the Sahara had to have been an ocean ages ago. A tall glass of water sits before you. Your frustration can be defined by either not being able to reach it; or having it in your hands, the condensation dripping wetly down your knuckles but finding that you refuse to drink.

Often, no … many times, the orange wins and the black and mud would swirl down and away into the abyss of a sinkhole. And it’s fine for now.

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