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Parenting… how do we know if we’ve done it right?

Parenting… one of the most challenging and rewarding roles but how do we know we’ve done or are doing it right? Million-dollar question right there!

Don’t panic, this isn’t going to turn into a self-help parenting guide blog. Humour me a moment.

I shared a short story on here recently (The Measly Jar of Motivation – Inside Out | Coral McCallum ) and there were echoes in it of the night my son was born.

There was a moment in time that has lived with me for more than twenty-five years and it came a few short hours after he was born. It was late, after midnight, and I was totally exhausted after giving birth. It had been a very long day! In the plastic crib at the end of the bed, my newborn son began to cry. Instinctively, I got out of bed, lifted him into my arms and tried to console him. He’d had a rough day too. As I gazed out the window into the dark night and at the streetlights twinkling below, the weight of responsibility of being a parent hit me. It hit me like a ton of bricks!

This tiny crying bundle of joy was depending on me. Was I up to the job? Could I nurture and care for and teach this child the life skills he would need to reach adulthood? I’ll not lie…at that moment I felt totally overwhelmed and SO underprepared for motherhood.

I’ve never classed myself as a natural mother but whether my now adult children agree or not, I’ve done my best. They both made it safely to adulthood. Whew!

Fast forward eleven years or so from the cold dark night that my son was worn. Over the years I had among other things introduced him to music and tried to nurture his tastes. The day had finally come when I was taking him to his first concert. Unsure as to how he would be in a crowd of rock fans, I’d erred on the side of caution and opted for seated tickets. (See I could be a sensible mother sometimes). He was beyond excited to be at his first “gig”.

The support act that night were a young up-and-coming Southern rock band from Kentucky called Black Stone Cherry. The first song they played was a song called Rain Wizard… and so began a lifelong love of live music for my son.

A few weeks ago, having queued outside in the pouring rain for over an hour, my son and I took up our spots just off the rail for the night and for the umpteenth time prepared to watch Black Stone Cherry play live. Rain Wizard was on the set and as the thundering drum intro began, I was transported for a moment back to that night from 2009 in Glasgow’s SEC.

Fourteen years  and countless gigs from numerous bands later, my baby boy was still happily beside me at a gig. I smiled to myself and realised that maybe I hadn’t done so bad a job of being a parent after all.

Oh and if you’re curious about the song, here’s the video from the other week

Rain Wizard – Black Stone Cherry @ St Luke’s Glasgow 06/10/23 – YouTube

(image sourced via Google – credits to the owner)

Continue the Story – When Enough Is Enough (warning- references domestic abuse)

As the police clipped on the handcuffs, I knew that the nightmare was over. From the safety of the police car, I watched as the officers bundled him into the back of the second police car that had arrived all lights and sirens in our quiet cul-de-sac.

The neat little street in the “nice” neighbourhood was the last place anyone would expect any form of crime to take place.

But what really goes on behind closed doors?

I knew in my heart that I had finally done the right thing. In all honesty, I know I should have found the strength to do it years ago. If only I’d been stronger. If only I’d had more self-belief… but that had been slowly and steadily eroded away. If only I had acted sooner, then my kids might have been spared all that they have endured and not been exposed to it.

My son was the one who convinced me that I could set up cloud storage that his dad couldn’t access. He even helped me set it all up and password protect it. It was our secret. I used the “secret cloud” to store every email, every text message, every What’s App. If only I’d figured out how to record and save conversations…. Slowly over the weeks and months, I built up my body of evidence and my courage.

The final straw had been when he’d tried the same tactics with our daughter. She was barely a teenager! His vicious comments had almost broken her. Reading them had torn my heart to pieces and fuelled my anger. How could he do this to his own daughter? It hadn’t taken much to persuade her to share the screenshots she had shown me. What I wasn’t prepared for was the sad fact that she had been hiding his cruel messages for months, scared that she would be blamed for the behaviour.

I waited until the kids were at school and he was working from home for the day before confronting him. They didn’t need to witness that. They had already seen and heard more than enough. He kicked off as I’d expected he would when I told him I knew about the messages he’d sent to our daughter. For the first and last time, the abuse became physical. I was going to have a beauty of a black eye in the morning. I took the blows without fighting back then submissively crept from the room while he returned to his conference calls and emails. From the sanctuary of the bathroom, I dialled 999 and reported the assault.

As I watched the police car leave, I breathed a sigh of relief.

“That was a brave thing you did today,” praised the female officer who was sitting beside me.

I forced a smile. It hurt to smile.

I saw the curtains twitch in the house across the street. If only they knew what had gone on behind closed doors but enough is enough….

October is Domestic Abuse Awareness month.

Domestic abuse doesn’t need to be physical to be classed as a crime. Emotional abuse is a crime punishable under the Serious Crime Bill 2015 in the UK and can carry a prison sentence of up to 5 years.

If you’ve been affected by domestic abuse including emotional abuse, you can find help and support in the links below.  

Emotional abuse | Relate

Getting help for domestic violence and abuse – NHS (www.nhs.uk)

What Is Emotional Abuse & Things You Should Know | NSPCC

Guide to support options for abuse – Mind

The Measly Jar of Motivation – The Tin (flash fiction)

So many years had passed since she had last seen “the tin”. When had it even last been opened? The old shortbread tin was beginning to show its age. The tartan sides and border on the lid were faded. The image of snowcapped Scottish mountains on the lid was growing faint with age, almost as though a veil of mist was hanging over their peaks. The tin was older than she was. In fact, it might even be older than her mother.

Holding it in her hands, memories of playing with it as a little girl came rushing back. She had spent many hours sorting through the contents, plaguing her gran to tell her the stories that went with them. Her gran had happily gone wandering down memory lane as she reminisced about where each item had come from.

When she had been a child, the tin had seemed huge and heavy. Now, as she held it in her hands, it was the weight of the memories within that she felt.

Taking great care, she eased off the lid. As she glimpsed inside it, everything looked exactly the same as it had done over forty years before.

The tin was filled with buttons.

There were buttons in all shapes and sizes; there were buttons of every colour.

Lost in her memories, she ran her fingers through the buttons.

She spotted the large dark green buttons that had belonged to her grandfather’s army coat from during the war. There were small round pearl buttons from one of her mother’s summer cardigans from the 1950’s. Big round purple buttons caught her eye. Those came from the wool coat her aunt had bought with her first wage packet. She could see some bone toggles that had been snipped from her father’s duffel coat. One still had its leather loop attached. Several small pearly white buttons with a star in the centre made her smile. They were from her own handknitted baby cardigans. In one of the corners, she saw four or five grey buttons clustered together that had come from one of her primary school cardigans.

Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out four navy blue buttons about the size of a two pence piece. With a wistful smile, she added the buttons from her gran’s favourite cardigan to the tin.

Her whole family history could be told using the buttons from the tin. In her hands, she held several lifetimes of memories. If only those buttons could talk. The tales they would tell!

She was now the custodian of “the tin”. Silently, she promised her gran that she would keep up the family tradition and add her buttons and her children’s buttons to the tin. In time, the tin would pass down to the next generation but for now it was hers to cherish.

A teardrop fell, landing on a red button in the heart of the tin.

Meet The Writer pt 11-15

Now for the final instalment in my Meet The Writer series that was first shared as part of a 15-day challenge on my author Facebook page back in July. Seems like a lifetime ago now…

#MeetTheWriter Day 11/15…MOVEMENT

Walking…meandering…. gives my mind space to drift off into the storyline. I often puzzle through the roadblocks of my writing as I meander after work. That daily post-work walk also serves to clear the day job out of my head and allow the creative spaces to open up again.

“Dancing” (I use the term loosely as I have very little sense of rhythm) at a gig helps in general. There’s a great sense of freedom in it. I love losing myself in the performance. Watching what is going on up on stage closely is also good research for my book babies, especially watching soundcheck when the chance arises.

#MeetTheWriter Day 12/15…FIRSTS…

Before I answer this one, I’ll give you a little background. I started to write my first novel in May 2013. Later that year I shared an excerpt from it with a close friend who encouraged me to keep chasing the dream. One small problem – I’m terrified of letting people read what I write. That’s a fear that’s still very real today but I’ve got better at dealing with it. My way of attempting to overcome it was to start my blog back on 29 Dec 2013. So to answer the question, this blog post was the first piece of writing I shared publicly https://coralmccallum.co.uk/2013/12/ The journey began right there..

#MeetTheWriter … DAY 13/15…DREAM

There’s two answers to this …humour me for a moment.

If I could turn back time, I would love to go back to my aunt’s house and sit and write out on her sun deck while I listened to the sounds of nature around me.

The current dream (and I will make it happen one day) is not to write at a specific desk but instead is to sit on my favourite beach, listening to the waves crashing in on the shore and just lose myself in the moment with my notebook and pen on my knee.

#MeetTheWriter DAY 14/15….ADVICE…

The best writing advice I have been given to date was given to me by one of my high school English teachers who told me to write about places I love and topics I am passionate about. I think it took me about 30 years to fully understand what he meant by it.

Another creative analogy that has stuck is the one about first drafts being like chucking sand into the sand box. There’s time to build castles later. I heed that one when at the end of an evening’s writing I start to doubt the quality of the words I’ve written.

#MeetTheWriter … Day 15/15… MIRROR

Oh good question to end this 15 days of #MeetTheWriter! I would like my writing to be described as genuine. I write from the heart. I strive to create believable, slightly flawed central characters (no one in this world is perfect) and I do my best to write about characters that people want to get to know. I’ve had several folk say to me that they want to hear the songs my rock stars sing. I’ve had folk sigh because they’ll never get to see Silver Lake or After Life or The RJ Band on stage. If I can evoke those feelings, along with the laughter and the tears, then I’m happy. The greatest compliment I’ve been paid to date came from someone at work. After I wrote Stronger Within they approached me in the staff restaurant and said they’d read my book and quite enjoyed it. They followed that comment up by adding that it had encouraged them to read other books. Job done! If I can make someone pick up a book, then that’s good enough for me.

Pawprints

You looked up into my eyes and I knew it was time.

I cradled you as my heart started to crumble.

Selfishly I wanted…needed…more time,

But my head spoke louder than my heart in the end.

As the drugs coursed through your tiny veins,

I stroked your dark head, still so soft.

I told you I loved you.

My heart broke as you slipped peacefully away.

My tears fell as you left your final tiny pawprints tattooed on my heart.

(Sioux  4 Nov 2004 – 6 Sep 2023)

Have you met my two favourite girls?

Have you met my two favourite girls, Ellen and Riley?

Riley

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0B9SWP6K3

https://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B0B9SWP6K3

Ellen

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07FYHKR44

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07FYHKR44

The Measly Jar of Motivation – The Magical Powers of a New Pencil (flash fiction)

Skliffing his feet through the piles of dry autumn leaves that littered his walk to school, he trudged along the road. He hated Wednesdays. It was the absolute worst day of the week! Even Mondays were better than Wednesdays.

On Mondays, they had a maths test in the morning. He loved maths! Numbers made perfect sense to him. Correct answers flew from his pencil into his jotter.

Tuesdays weren’t so bad. They had PE on Tuesday afternoons. He loved when they did gymnastics. He wasn’t so keen on team games. No one ever wanted him on their team, and he was always among the last to be picked.

The best thing about Thursdays was swimming and diving. He’d begged and pleaded with his mum and dad to be allowed to learn to dive. You had to be a certain height to join the diving club, but he was tall for his age, so he had been allowed to join a year before a lot of others who were his age. His coach said he might even make the team for the next competition at the end of the month.

Fridays were great. They had pizza on Fridays.

Weekends were ok, he supposed. Sometimes his older brother would take him with him when he went out with his mates, and he got to hang about with the kids who rode BMX bikes and did stunts at the skatepark. He’d got his own BMX for his birthday during the summer holidays, but he was still scared to try any tricks…. yet. Maybe next time….

He could see the school gates a few yards ahead of him.

He hated Wednesdays….

It was all because of a hat. He desperately wanted to be allowed to wear the Spelling Wizard hat for the day, but his letters came out in all the wrong places. Why couldn’t letters be smart like numbers and come out of the pencil into the jotter in the right order? Letters were evil but he really really wanted to wear the pointy hat. It reminded him of the Sorting Hat from Harry Potter, and he was sure if he just got the chance to wear it once then his letters would land in the right order on the page. It was usually Jennifer or Christopher who got to wear it. They always got all the words right. Sometimes they had to share the hat. One got to wear it for the morning and the other got to wear it in the afternoon. He wouldn’t mind having to share it.

All term he had tried everything to get full marks. He had even borrowed Jennifer’s pencil to see if that helped. If the letters came out of it in the right order for her then maybe, they might behave for him too. No such luck! He had only scored seven out of fifteen that week.

The bell rang as he entered the gates.

“Spelling jotters out, class,” instructed his teacher as soon as she had called out the register.

Bother Jennifer and Christopher were off ill! Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance to wear the hat.

He took a brand-new pencil out of his pencil case.

Taking extra care to make his writing neat, he wrote down his answers word by word as the teacher read them out to the class from her sheet. Before he handed his jotter in to be marked, he read down the list of words quickly. They looked right…

“Class, complete the sums that are up on the board, please. If you finish before the time is up, take one of the worksheets from the blue tray.”

He finished the twenty sums within minutes and was on his second worksheet from the tray by the time the teacher told them to close their maths jotters.

As she lifted the Spelling Wizard hat, he held his breath.

“We have a new wizard this week,” she announced. “This week’s spelling wizard is Ryan! Well done!”

The class all cheered as she placed the coveted hat on his head. He had finally done it.

Smiling out from under its wide brim, he said, “Thank you,” to the teacher before carefully putting his new pencil back into the pencil case. From now on, it was his “spelling pencil” because the letters knew how to come out of that one in the right order.

How many characters have you created?…

“How many characters have you created?” … that was the question that was put to me recently.

And the answer?…  I have no idea!

I have heard that there are authors out there who keep strict records of all their characters.

This author has scribbled notes on scraps of paper or post its stuffed into polypockets in the notebooks she has filled…. truth!

I do have a nice teal leather journal where I jot down potential character names and character traits or potential fictitious band names so perhaps there is a glimmer of hope. LOL

The question got me thinking about the various characters I’ve created over the past ten years or more. (If I go back far enough, its nearly 40 years for some aspects of Jake and Lori.)

I love the central characters on my book babies. The more I write about them and develop them, the more I begin to think about them as “real” people. As a writer, you spend as much time in your head with this “fictional family” as you do with your real family…sometimes more. Through time, thy take on personalities all of their own.

But what other minor characters have stuck with me?

The first to spring to mind is Reuben (Ben) Storm who made an appearance around Christmas 2018 in a short story I titled, A Party Dress, An Ugly Sweater And A Christmas Surprise.  Every now and then I think fondly of him and wonder what story he has to tell. There may be another outing for him one day…time will tell.

My dark angel, Anna, from my serialised vampire fiction Silently Watching is another favourite. It’s over nine years since I created her and began setting her free around various full moons. Like Reuben Storm, I feel she has a back story to tell us. Writing the Silently Watching instalments is always fun.

Thinking about minor characters in my book babies who have stolen my heart, Nana from Ellen is a standout. I love that little old lady!

Eden Friend, from Long Shadows, the final instalment of my Silver Lake series, is an intriguing young lady. I don’t want to give away any spoilers in case some Silver Lake lovers haven’t met her yet but she’s another one who could have more to say in due course.

The dark characters who were fun to write were Nicole Tonriverdi and Salazar Mendes, both from the Silver Lake series. Ms Tonriverdi may have had her day but with the right story, Sal’s past could be explored one day.

The more I pause to think about these characters, the more ideas are forming a queue in my imagination!

At the end of the day, no matter how many “people” I create, I’ll always be grateful to Lori Hyde and Jake Power for the creative path they set me on. Both of those characters had lived in my imagination for a very long time before I found the confidence to put pen to paper and set them free. Thank you will never seem enough to say to them.

I am currently working on Book Baby 8. There will be more news about it in due course and hopefully 2024 will see me share these characters with you. Time will tell…

Silently Watching Once In A Blue Moon – court is in session

Sitting in his assigned seat, Jem gazed around the circular court chamber. It was much bigger than he had anticipated. He had been brought down to the bowels of the castle around eight thirty by one of the minor court officials. Initially, he had been shown to the rooms he would share with Trine for the duration of the trial then a short while later, a second official had escorted him back up two floors to the court room.

The purebloods were all seated at a long, curved table facing towards the centre of the room and the rows of seats where the witnesses were gathering. Including Trine, they were all dressed in identical blue velvet robes. Something wasn’t right, he thought as he scanned the serene faces of the vampires. Quickly he counted them. Twelve. Someone was missing. Checking along the row, he realised that it was Alessandro who was conspicuous by his absence.

A large metal box sat in the centre of an intricate circular pattern drawn on the slate floor in the centre of the room. It was positioned directly in front of the pure bloods. Coils of red rope lay either side of it.

All around him, the air reeked of magic.

He turned his attention to the pure bloods who were quietly whispering among themselves. Stefan and his mother sat to the right of a large, bald, coloured gentleman. He assumed that he was Jefferson. To his left there was an empty seat then there was Michael. To his mother’s right sat a striking looking vampire who had to be Jai from India. At the far right of the table, Trine sat chatting to the gentleman beside her. Taking a guess, Jem figured it had to be Miguel.

Standing at intervals around the room were numerous court officials all dressed in identical black tailcoats and black trousers with red piping down the outside of their legs. They wore white high-collared shirts with white cravats. There were three officials who wore red cravats and Jem guessed that they must be the senior officials. Each of them held a wooden staff with an ornate silver top piece. All three were different.

Behind him, he heard the shuffling of feet as other witnesses took their seats. Once they were seated, Jefferson got to his feet and raised his hands. His height was what struck Jem first. The vampire stood at least seven feet tall. He was an imposing figure of a man.

Silence fell upon the chamber.

The three officials with the staffs, raised them then brought them down hard on the slate floor in unison as Jefferson recited an incantation in a language that Jem was unfamiliar with.

A shock wave reverberated through the chamber. He could almost see it ripple through the air.

“The chamber is now sealed,” declared Jefferson. He spoke with a deep warm American accent that revealed he was most likely originally from Louisiana or thereabouts. “The seal will remain unbroken until this trial concludes, a verdict is agreed upon and, if appropriate, the sentence laid out. The verdict of this trial must be reach by a majority of no less than three and there can be no abstentions.”

He paused to glance along the table.

“Some of you will have noticed that one of the thirteen has yet to take their seat,” he continued. “They are however present in the room so we can proceed. Michael, please bring the accused before us.”

With a nod, Michael got to his feet and walked round to stand in front of the metal crate. He kept his back to the witnesses as he removed the protection from the box and slid back the bolts. Stepping behind the door, he pulled it open, keeping it between himself and the opening.

Instantly a blood curdling scream filled the chamber as Alessandro emerged from inside the crate, dragging a furious Anna with him. With the rattle of the shackles echoing round the room, Alessandro pulled the dark angel to her feet and pushed her into position directly in front of Jefferson. She spat on him, screaming curses at the top of her voice.

Speaking in the same foreign tongue, Jefferson recited another incantation, weaving intricate magical symbols in the air with his huge hands. The cursing stopped. As silence fell, the shackles fell loose and the fine chains that had been binding Anna’s arms and wings disappeared.

Free from his charge for the first time in six long months, Alessandro stood rubbing his wrists for a moment before bowing to the table of pure bloods.

“Please excuse me un momento,” said the Italian vampire politely.

“You are excused for ten minutes, Alessandro,” advised Jefferson, indicating that he could leave the room.

“Grazie.”

Less than ten minutes later, Alessandro returned to the court room, dressed in his blue robes and took his seat at the table. In the interim, two of the officials had removed the metal box.

Anna stood still and silent in a pentagram that had been drawn on the floor directly in line with the centre of the table.

Clearing his throat, Jefferson addressed the room, “Court is now in session. The trial of our sister Anna, daughter of Trystan, has now commenced. The list of charges is lengthy and runs to more than a hundred individual breaches of the code of conduct that we are bound by. There is a full list of these charges in front of each of you but for the benefit of our guests, each golden rule has been broken on multiple occasions. There are five charges listed where all the rules were broken simultaneously by the actions of our sister.”

He paused.

“This trial will be lengthy. It will be complex. There will be hours of testimony and debate, but I implore each of you to stick to the facts as they are presented in this chamber over the coming days, weeks, months…”

Again, he paused.

“While the court is in session, our sister Anna will remain standing within the sacred symbol as she is now. Enchantments prevent her from moving from this spot during the session. Enchantments will also force her to speak her whole truth. Should she attempt to lie, she will be instantly punished by the magic that binds her to the pentagram. In due course, if any of our witnesses are called to stand before the Thirteen, the same laws apply. If there are no questions, we shall commence.”

No one spoke.

“I call our first witness…”

Bonded Souls, book 3 in the Silver Lake series is FREE to download this weekend

Bonded Souls is FREE to download this Labor Day weekend.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XSQHG71

https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B06XSQHG71