Tag Archives: #CoralMcCallum

Frankenstein’s Purr

From the second I saw them

Your blue eyes stole my heart

And you purred

From the day you came home

Cat wars that lasted a decade ensued

And you purred

You would fight with your shadow if it had paws

Advancing age and a lack of teeth didn’t matter

And you purred

The last of “the old guard”

Still looking like two cats stitched together

And you purred

A tiny cat with a huge heart

Always a midnight “song” for all to hear

And you purred

Too weak to stand

The rainbow bridge beckoned

And you purred

I miss that purr.

Frankenstein    Feb 2010- 14 October 2025

Silently Watching at Samhain

Autumn had encroached on the beach hut bringing with it darker nights that made hunting easier for Trine and Jem. The demand for blood for Luna was steadily increasing as the baby flourished. Despite pleas from Stefan to come to the castle earlier than they had planned, the new parents stood their ground. They celebrated Luna’s first birthday quietly as a family of three.

Inside the beach hut, Trine was busy packing for their return to the castle in time for the annual Samhain masquerade ball. While she was debating which clothes to pack for their daughter and which toys to take, Jem was outside preparing the hut for the coming winter, protecting it as best he could from the inevitable winter storms.

Up in the trees to the east of the hut sat a huge black crow. Occasionally Jem’s eyes would be drawn to the bird. His sixth sense was twitching. Was that bird connected to Anna? Was it a messenger? Was it her?

The next time he looked over, the bird was gone.

“Trine?! Called out Jem as he entered the hut, stamping mud off his boots onto the coir mat.

“Downstairs!”

“I think we should leave tonight.”

Footsteps echoed on the stairs as Trine ran up to face him.

“Tonight? But we’re not due to leave for another few days.”

“I know but I think we should leave tonight. That damn crow was hanging about again,” replied Jem. “I know it has something to do with Anna. I think we should bring our plans forward and leave tonight.”

Trine nodded her silent agreement to his plan then reluctantly admitted, “I’ve seen it lurking about too.”

“Can you be ready to leave as soon as it gets dark?”

“Yes.”

Downstairs in the nursery, Luna was sitting in her cot playing with her favourite rag doll and her bedtime bunny, with the long white ears. Neither toy was ever very far away from the little girl. A movement in the air, made her look up. Wide eyes, she watched as it shimmered into the shape of a lady with wings like her parent then it seemed to disappear, leaving a small shower of bubbles floating in the air. In her tiny hands, Luna felt her doll move and for a moment it seemed to change shape. Startled, Luna dropped it and stared down at it suspiciously as she sucked on her bunny’s ear.

A couple of hours later, they were packed and ready to leave. With Luna snuggled into a warm snowsuit with matching woollen hat and mittens, Trine prepared to transport herself and their daughter while Jem would follow with their bags.

“You packed Luna’s doll and her rabbit?” checked Jem, looking round to make sure that they hadn’t forgotten anything vital.

“She’s holding the rabbit,” replied Trine. “I stuffed the doll in the outside pocket of the backpack.”

“If we’ve forgotten anything, we can always come back for it, I guess,” he replied, lifting their bags. “Time to leave.”

Less than a minute after Trine and Luna, Jem touched down in their suite of rooms in the castle.  A chill seeped into them almost instantly. There was no fire in the hearth, and the rooms weren’t ready for them.

“We should have messaged Meryn,” commented Trine with a shiver. “It’s freezing in here!”

“I didn’t want to take any extra risks,” replied Jem. “I’m convinced Anna has been watching us. I’m hoping that we’ve thrown her off the scent by coming here early.”

“She’d never follow us back here!” Trine exclaimed. “Would she?”

Jem shrugged, “Who knows.”

“Let’s go and find my father and your mother,” suggested Trine, passing Luna to him. “I’m fairly sure we’ll find them both together in his study.”

A huge fire was blazing in the hearth in Stefan’s study when the family walked in but instead of Stefan and Meryn, they found Stefan and Alessandro engrossed in a game of chess.

“Who’s winning?” asked Trine softly.

“Alessandro,” muttered Stefan without looking up then realising who had spoken exclaimed, “Trine! I wasn’t expecting you for another three days.”

“Clearly,” laughed Trine as she moved to hug her father. “Our rooms aren’t ready and they’re freezing cold!”

“I’ll get that sorted,” promised Alessandro as he made one final chess move. “I believe that is checkmate, Stefan.”

“Tomorrow,” stated Stefan, his frustration evident. “I’ll beat you tomorrow, Alessandro.”

“If you say so,” laughed the Italian vampire as he got to his feet. “Lovely to see you again, Trine, Jem. I’ll get your rooms readied and have some supper and more wine sent up. Do you need anything for Signorina Luna?”

“Some blood infused milk would be wonderful, Alessandro,” replied Trine warmly.

He nodded then slipped out of the room leaving the family to their reunion.

“Where’s my mother?” enquired Jem. “Thought she’d be here with you.”

“Most likely in the infirmary,” replied Stefan reaching out to take Luna from Jem’s arms. “She’s in the final phase of training four new healers. She’ll be up shortly. We usually meet for a late glass of wine.”

“So, what else has been happening around here?” asked Trine, taking the seat by the fire vacated by Alessandro.

“Only preparations for the Samhain Ball,” replied Stefan. “The great hall is almost ready. The staff have been decorating it for over a week. Our guests are due to start arriving tomorrow night. Almost no one declined this year. Everyone is keen to see Luna.”

“Did Meryn arrange our costumes?” asked Trine, smiling at the sight of her daughter contentedly snuggling into Stefan’s shoulder.

“I believe so. She was most secretive about them.”

“Trine has been the same,” muttered Jem. “Not sure if I should be worried or not.”

Retaking his seat and balancing Luna on his knee, Stefan asked, “Has there been any sign of the dark angel?”

“Not since we strengthened the protection on the house,” replied Trine. “At least not as far as we can tell. There’s been nothing unusual.”

“Apart from that huge fucking crow hanging about,” Jem pointed out. “I have my concerns about that bird.”

“We live near woodland that’s full of crows, Jem,” pointed out Trine bluntly.

Before they could continue their conversation, two servants arrived with their supper and Luna’s bottle. A third followed with two fresh decanters of blood infused wine.

“Master Jeremiah, Mistress Meryn says that you have to drink from the decanted with the raven on it,” explained the servant with a bow.

“Why?” challenged Jem.

“Mistress Meryn never said.”

At that moment, his mother swept into the room, her skirts billowing out behind her.

“Because I said so, Jeremiah,” she stated bluntly. “Merely a precaution.”

“One glass, mother,” proposed Jem, feeling to weary to argue with her.

“Two.”

“Fine.”

“Now, tell me why you’ve surprised us all by arriving three days early?” quizzed Meryn taking a seat on the couch facing the fireplace.

“My sixth sense told me we need to,” revealed Jem calmly.

“Does this have anything to do with the crow that you mentioned?” checked Stefan, passing Luna over to Meryn who had already lifted the baby’s bottle in preparation for feeding her.

Jem shrugged his slender shoulders, “Maybe. I can’t shake the feeling that it has something to do with Anna.”

“You could be right,” Meryn agreed as she settled her granddaughter on her lap. “Is this young lady walking yet?”

“Almost,” said Trine. “She’d rather crawl then pull herself up onto her feet.”

“Good,” stated Meryn. “Suggests that she’ll take her first steps while you are here. At least one major milestone we won’t miss.”

“Not tonight she won’t,” laughed Jem, brushing off the not-so-subtle jibe about missing Luna’s first birthday. In Meryn’s arms, the little girl was almost asleep.

“No rush,” agreed Meryn, gazing down at the little girl. “I can feel her magic in her.”

“Not yet,” whispered Trine.

“You can’t ignore it, and she mustn’t be untrained,” cautioned the older woman. “Not even at this tender age.”

When they returned to their rooms, both Trine and Jem were relieved to find that the rooms were warm and well-lit. Carefully, Jem laid their sleeping daughter down in her crib and snuggled the soft blankets round her. He placed her doll and her bunny either side of her then gently kissed her head.

“Sweet dreams, princess.”

In her sleep, the little girl reached out and pulled her toys into her arms.

Next afternoon, while he was walking the ramparts, Jem heard the familiar command in his mind.

“My study now. Come alone.”

“On my way, mother,” he replied telepathically.

His mother’s study was noticeably tidier than usual. Gone were the piles and piles of books and documents that were usually littering her large desk, all returned to their rightful places on the shelves. The desk was neat and organised.

“What happened in here?” asked Jem as he perched on the edge of the desk and gazed round the room. “It isn’t chaos.”

“I lost something,” admitted Meryn slightly sheepishly.

“I’m more surprised you ever found anything,” laughed Jem.

“Very funny. I lost something I needed urgently. The quickest way to find it was a spell to put everything back in its rightful place. I’d tried a summoning spell, but it failed.”

“And when did this happen?”

“About an hour ago,” revealed Meryn. “But it worked. I found the book we need.”

“We?”

“Yes. It’s a book on to teach children under five about their magic,” Meryn replied. “You and Trine need it to help Luna.”

“No,” stated Jem firmly. “She’s only a baby.”

Taking a deep breath before replying, Meryn asked, “And are toys mysteriously moving on their own in her nursery? Are things turning up in unusual places? Has Luna herself turned up in a different place?”

Jem nodded, “Maybe you’re right but Trine won’t hear of it. We talked about this after you left. She says Luna is still too young.”

“And what do you think?”

“I don’t know…”

“Now is not the time for “don’t knows”, Jeremiah!” snapped his mother. “You need to teach Luna the basics just as much as you need to teach her to walk, feed herself, talk, read, write…”

“OK, I hear you,” he interrupted, not feeling in the mood to argue with his mother. In his heart, he knew she was right. “How do I teach her?”

“Pour us some wince and join me at the desk. We’ll look at this together,” suggested Meryn warmly. “It won’t be as hard as you think.”

On the eve of the Samhain Ball, the castle was a hive of activity. Last minute guests were still arriving, and the servants and footmen were kept busy preparing meals for everyone. The final preparations for the ball itself were taking priority over everything else. Once the final guests arrived, Stefan ordered that the castle be sealed from the outside world for forty-eight hours. With the dark angel still on the loose, he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks with his guests’ safety.

While he was waiting for Trine to get ready to go to Stefan’s suite for supper, Jem sat on the floor playing with Luna. A pile of soft cubes lay scattered in front of the little girl. Every time Jem built them into a tower, she would knock them over, giggling as she did so.

“Your turn, princess,” said Jem, Handing her two of the cubes. “You build a tower, and I’ll knock it down.”

The little girl stared at him and shook her head.

“Come on. You can do it,” he encouraged.

Luna stared at him then clapped her hands together as she muttered some unintelligible baby babble.

The four cubes piled themselves up neatly.

Trying his best to disguise his surprise, Jem toppled the tower.

Before he could ask Luna to rebuild it, the four blocks were stacked again.

“Show off,” teased Jem, amazed at his tiny daughter’s magical ability. “Wait until your mummy sees this trick.”

“Sees what trick?” asked Trine appearing beside them.

“Luna, build a tower for mummy to knock down,” instructed Jem.

Again, the little girl clapped her hands as she repeated her babbling.

The four colourful cubes stacked themselves in a tower.

“Who taught her how to do that?” whispered Trine before adding, “Clever girl, Luna.”

“Not me.”

“Nor me,” replied Trine, her concern evident in her voice. “Let’s take those blocks with us and she can show her grandparents.”

A couple of hours alter after they had enjoyed their family supper, Jem sat Luna down on the rug in front of the fire with the four soft cubes. He built the first couple of towers, laughing with his daughter as she knocked them down.

“Your turn,” he said encouragingly. “You build a tower for Mamm-wynn.”

The little girl looked round at her grandmother then at her mother.

“Go on,” encouraged Jem softly.

A little hesitantly, the little girl clapped her hands as she babbled to herself. The blocks stacked themselves in a wobbly tower that fell the second Meryn touched it.

“Clever girl,” praised Meryn, beaming a proud smile at her granddaughter. “Which one of you taught her that?”

“Neither of us,” replied Trine. “Did you?”

“No,” said Meryn quietly.

Looking concerned, Stefan simply asked, “Who then? Or did the child know it instinctively?”

“I’d be surprised if that’s instinctive magic,” commented Meryn seriously. “Someone has to have taught her how to do that.”

The four adults sat staring at each other as Luna innocently cast her spell to stack her cubes once more. None of them dared to voice the thought that they were all sharing.

All thoughts of magic and toys were swept aside next day as everyone in the castle focused on the Samhain Ball. Costumes for the event were taken seriously. Details of each guest’s costume had to be submitted to the head of the household staff in advance to ensure that there was no duplication. The list was a closely guarded secret and not even Stefan was privy to it.

This year, Trine had decided to attend as the Frost Queen while Jem, with his rich brown earth tone wings, had been persuaded to dress as The Green Man, a character that suited him perfectly given his love of forests and the moors behind their home. Deciding on Luna’s costume had been more difficult as there were seldom children in attendance but eventually Trine decided that the little girl could go as a snowflake, to compliment her own costume.

When it came time to leave their chambers to go down to the great hall. Luna refused to let go of her rag doll. Every time either Jem or Trine tried to take it from her, she shouted, “No!”

“Let her take it with her,” said Jem calmly. “It’s not going to do any harm. It might help to keep her quiet.”

“I guess,” relented Trine, eyeing the doll that her daughter was clutching tightly to her chest. “Fine. The doll comes too. If she loses it, we can always cast a quick locating spell.”

“Exactly,” agreed Jem, shaking out his green layered cloak. “I feel like a walking tree in this.”

“That’s the whole idea,” laughed Trine, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “You are the Green Man after all.”

The buzz of conversation, music and laughter filled the castle’s great hall. A kaleidoscope of colourful costumes greeted the small family as they entered. Both of them had agreed that Luna was too young to wear a theatrical mask, so Trine had decorated the little girl’s cheeks with silver glittery stars as a token gesture. With their own masks in place, Jem led them into the heart of the room. Some of the guests were easier to identify than others and as they worked their way round in search of Meryn, they paused to exchange a few words with every guest. With Luna in her arms, Trine’s identity was instantly revealed. Jem, however, had more success in mingling among the crowd unrecognised.

Eventually, they found Meryn in one of the hall’s many alcoves deep in conversation with a vampire dressed as the devil. As soon as they heard the devil’s voice, Jem recognised him as the French vampire Jean-Claude.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Luna!” he exclaimed theatrically. “Such a beautiful baby. She has her mama’s eyes.”

“Merci, Jean-Claude,” replied Trine. Blushing slightly at his French charm. “Lovely to see you again. Did you convince your wife to travel with you this year?”

“Oui. Amelie is over by the fireplace.”

“I’ll go and find her,” said Trine as Luna began to squirm in her arms.

Stepping forward, Meryn, who was dressed as the night sky in midnight blue velvet speckled with silver to represent the stars, said, “Let me take her for a while. Go and mingle. I’ll happily use her as an excuse to stay here.”

“Thank you,” said Jem lifting his wriggling daughter from Trine’s arms and passing her to his mother. As he lifted her, the little girl dropped her rag doll.

The doll landed on the floor and appeared to shimmer for a moment as Luna let out a wail and began to reach for her fallen doll.

“Voila!” said Jean-Claude as he reached down and retrieved the doll before presenting it back to Luna.

“Thanks,” said Jem, smiling behind his mask. “She’s bound to lose that doll before the night is over.”

“I’ll keep them both safe,” promised Meryn. “Go and have fun. Dance with Trine. Let your hair down.”

“I don’t dance,” muttered Jem, eyeing the crowded dancefloor with suspicion.

“One dance,” begged Trine. “Just one.”

“Fine. If I must.”

From an alcove at the far side of the room, the dark angel, disguised as Oya, the Yoruba goddess of storms and transformation, scanned the room, her eyes swiftly landing on Jem. She had taken great care to alter her appearance under her elaborate deep red and purple costume. Quietly she prayed that she had done enough to make herself unrecognisable. The one guest who posed the greatest risk to her was the runner. If he sensed the presence of his sire, she wasn’t sure what he would do. It was a risk worth taking to enjoy a couple of hours of fun.

Adjusting her mask and gently swishing the horsehair whip by her side, Anna made her way round the room, helping herself to several goblets of the blood infused wine being freely offered to the guests by an army of servers. Mingling among the guests gave her a much-needed sense of normality. If life had taken a different path, this could have been her reality.

One of the guests, who had come as the Norse god Odin, complete with two live ravens, reached out to touch her arm.

“Care to dance?” he asked, grinning behind his one-eyed mask.

For a moment, Anna was tempted to decline but it had been over a century since she had last danced at a ball.

“I’d be delighted to,” she heard herself say in an unfamiliar voice as she allowed Odin to steer her towards the dancefloor.

The court musicians were playing a waltz as Odin slipped his hand around her slender waist. Allowing herself to get swept up in the moment, Anna was shoulder to shoulder with Jem before she realised it. Holding her breath for fear of being discovered, she watched him tense up for a moment then continue his awkward dance with Trine. As they waltzed away, Anna allowed herself to relax a little in Odin’s arms and to enjoy the rest of the dance.

When the dance was over, Odin thanked her then offered to fetch her some wine. Declining politely, Anna stepped away into the crowd of guests then kept to the shadows at the edge of the room until she had worked her way back round to where Meryn was sitting with a sleeping Luna on her lap.

“The doll? Where was the doll?” thought the dark angel, trying not to panic.

There was no sign of the rag doll in the sleeping child’s arms. If she couldn’t find the doll, Anna knew she could be in trouble. Just as she was beginning to think that she would need to try to find the family’s chambers and hide there, she spotted the dol lying on the floor in the folds of Meryn’s gown.

Looking up, she saw that Trine and Jem were walking straight towards her. Cursing herself for taking such risks, Anna whispered the incantation she had devised and disappeared.

On the floor, the doll shimmered unseen in the dark folds of material.

Carrying two goblets of wine, one for himself and one for his mother, Jem reached Meryn first. His eyes were momentarily drawn to something sparkling near the floor, but he dismissed it as one of the lights catching the glittering gems at the hem of his mother’s dress.

“Wine, mother?” he asked, offering out one of the goblets.

“Thank you,” said Meryn accepting the goblet gratefully. “This little angel fell asleep not long after you left us.”

“I really should take her back upstairs,” said Trine as she moved to stand with her back to the wall beside Meryn. “My father was asking where you were hiding. I think he is hoping to dance with you.”

“I’m fine here,” stated Meryn with a smile. “I never was a fan of these fancy balls.”

“What was it you said to me a short while ago?” mused Jem with a mischievous glint in his dark brown eyes. “Go and have some fun? Dance? Let my hair down?”

“Touche,” laughed his mother realising that she had been cornered. “I suppose I could spare Stefan one dance.”

“I think you’ll spare him more than one,” said Jem with a wink. He drained his wine and set the empty goblet on a nearby low table then reached to take his sleeping daughter into his arms.

“Where’s her doll?” asked Trine, knowing there would be hell to pay if the doll got lost.

“It was here earlier,” recalled Meryn. “We were playing with it before she fell asleep.”

Spotting the doll lying on the floor, Trine cried, “There it is! She must have dropped it when she fell asleep.”

“Ready to escape?” asked Jem hopefully.

Trine nodded.

Once back in their chambers, Jem had laid his sleeping daughter down in her crib. The little girl stirred and opened her eyes.

“Sh, princess,” whispered Jem. “Back to sleep.”

The little girl, more asleep than awake, reached out as if she was searching for something.

“Doll,” said Jem turning to Trine and pointing to the doll that was still tucked under her arm.

She tossed the small doll over to him. Swiftly, he placed it beside Luna then pulled her soft blanket round her. The little girl wriggled onto her side then curled up around the doll. As he went to step away, Jem heard Luna whisper one word.

“Anna.”

Several Pairs of Feet and a Lot of Brown Hens….

Over thirty-five years ago I read a book by Barbara Erskine called Lady of Hay. I still have that copy of it. That book sparked a lifelong interest in regression and past lives.

Is this really our first life? Is it our only life? What about all those déjà vu moments? Were there other lives?

At the time, in the late 1980’s, I remember telling my mum that I would love to be regressed but that was pre-internet, and it was difficult to track down a therapist via the Yellow Pages. Plus, would I really trust a total stranger to do that kind of therapy with me even if I did fine one?

The thought floated through many times over the years, but I never acted on it until now.

If you are a total cynic about past lives, re-incarnation and the like, you might want to stop reading here and come back next week.

Still with me?….

A couple of weeks ago while I was scrolling through Facebook, I spotted a post from a friend celebrating her success with two recent training courses. There was a lovely smiling photo of her with her two certificates. Two words on once of the certificates caught my eye. I zoomed in – past lives.

Ok so now you see where this is going….

After a quick telephone chat with the lovely lady herself, I made an appointment for a past lives’ hypnotherapy session.

If you Google past life regression therapy or past lives’ hypnotherapy you get an AI overview that explains “it’s a hypnotherapy technique that guides a person to access supposed memories of past lives to resolve current issues.”

I wasn’t going into this with the naïve expectation of learning that I’d been a princess living a fairy tale life or been a famous author or anything overly specific. Ok I might have been curious to learn if I’d been tried and hanged as a witch. (None of my close friends would have been surprised if that was the case!)

I didn’t go into the session itself with any expectations. I went in with an open mind.

What followed was the most amazing and surprisingly relaxing ninety minutes or so.

It would be unfair of me to go into too many specifics of the session here. (It might also make for a boring read if I relived it chapter and verse here and now.) Instead, I’ll cover the salient points that I feel comfortable to share.

I’ve never experienced any form of hypnosis before and that was perhaps the part I was a little anxious about. I needn’t have worried. That part was incredibly pretty and relaxing and led to me visualising a dark night sky (although my night sky was a colour I refer to as Reiki purple.) criss-crossed with a web of silver silky cords.

In my mind’s eye, with the therapist’s gentle encouragement, I chose one to follow and picked it up. Over the course of the session, I was encouraged at points to let go of the cord and “drop into” that life, starting each time by looking at my feet.

I saw several pairs of feet. The first pair were crammed into shoes that were too tight. I could actually feel my feet being squashed even though in my current life they were encased in a comfortable pair of Converse. Next were bare feet belonging to a girl of about twelve or thirteen. Men’s brown leather lace up shoes followed then it was back to bare feet. These bare feet belonged to a little boy about eight years old and they were filthy! Emerald green silk shoes followed on, and the final pair of feet were in well-worn black leather shoes.

Each time I got a sense of the lifetime that those feet led rather than feeling that I was in that lifetime. In the brown leather lace up shoes’ life, I was in a printshop with a huge old-fashioned printing press surrounded by piles of paper. I could smell the ink.

The lifetime with the emerald green silk shoes was the one that made me feel uncomfortable. That woman had led a life dominated by a controlling husband and was sad and lonely.

The final pair of feet in the comfortable black leather shoes provided the most vivid images of the session. I was asked to describe what I could see at one point. My reply almost made the therapist giggle. “Chickens. Brown hens everywhere. I like the eggs, but the hens are a nuisance!”

In future blogs or short stories, I may reveal more details of the lives each of those pairs of feet led but for now it feels right to keep most of that private.

The session did give me an insight into where one fear I have may have come from. I don’t like the dark. I get quite scared if I have to walk into a dark room or an unlit hallway. I’m fine outdoors in the dark. It’s indoors darkness that scares me and I’ve never known why.  The little boy with the dirty bare feet shared the same fear.

Several of the pairs of feet lived in coastal areas so perhaps that explains my love of being near water and needing to see an expanse of water on a regular basis. I could never live inland.

The therapist had assured me before we said goodbye that I wouldn’t take any of these past lives with me when I left. The past stays in the past. But, as I drove home, I couldn’t shake the image of the cottage with all of those brown hens in front of it.

When I went to my refrigerator to get something out to cook for dinner, I went to pick up the packet of chicken breasts and paused… It ended up being pasta for dinner. I just couldn’t face potentially cooking one of those pesky brown hens!

If any local friends want to experience their own past lives’ hypnotherapy session please reach out to

https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100086909415191

(Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner – no watermark on image)

Where do I do it? … a question from an indie author

For the past seven years my cluttered creative corner of the house has been my beloved writing desk in the corner of the living room

Those who have followed this blog for a long time may remember that I blogged about moving from the kitchen into the living room when that change was forced upon me thanks to a new car and a repositioning of the freezer. (Eviction Notice Served …… | Coral McCallum –  in case you missed it)

Over the next two years, I grew to love my creative corner in the living room. The words flowed as freely as they had when my desk was the table in the corner of the kitchen.

Then Covid came along and with it that brought the necessity to work from home. At that point in time The Big Green Gummi Bear was also working from home and had based himself in the study so with no other choice, my creative space became my work space during the day and then returned to being my creative space a night. Like every other scenario we were faced with, I made it work as best as I could.

A few months later The Big Green Gummi Bear fell ill (terminal brain tumour) and for the next three years, I continued to work from home fulltime, working at my desk during the day then switching laptops at the end of the day to restore it as my creative space at night. The study became The Big Green Gummi Bear’s “bat cave” where he whiled away many hours with YouTube videos and films. I made it work as best as I could.

After The Big Green Gummi Bear passed away in late October 2023, when I was ready to return to work I had the choice of where to work when I was working from home. I could go into his “bat cave” or stay where I was in the corner of the living room. Emotionally I knew there was only one option I could cope with. For over nine months, I chose to stay in the living room. This worked for the day job, but it was no longer working for the me creatively in the evenings.

Let’s face it, by this time, I’d spent about sixteen hours a day most days for over four years in the living room. I was sick of the sight of it! It had begun to feel like a prison cell.

Creatively, the words refused to flow and that frustrated me…and scared me a little. Could I still do it?

About a year ago, I finally felt emotionally ready to claim the “bat cave” as my own and moved up there to work during the day. I’ll not lie it took a long while before I was comfortable being in that small room for more than a few minutes at a time.  Bereavement does strange things to a person.

My writing desk in the living room became my creative space once again…but the room still felt like a prison cell. The words began to flow a little more freely but overall, it still didn’t feel right.

I persevered then made a decision. It was time for another change.

A couple of weeks ago, I finally had the room re-painted. Gone were the candle soot-stained peach walls, replaced with a fresh clean silvery blue shade called Frost Fairy. New curtains were bought and hung. A new sound system was added as some of the speakers in the old one had long since given up the ghost. I de-cluttered the room. I tidied out my desk and de-cluttered the top if it, only retaining a few of the things that had previously sat there. I added a stunning new crystal sphere (poppy jasper and flower agate – just in case you were curious). Gone was the old uncomfortable chair. I replaced it with a nice new kneeling chair. I’ve always wanted one of those!

I’m viewing this as a much-needed creative re-boot.

The smell of paint still lingers in the air and perhaps it’s a little too soon to be sure, but I feel more confident now that the words that have been desperate to be set free will once again start to flow.

Time will tell….

How do I do it?…. a question from an indie author

The letters will fall into place to make words.

The words will group together to form sentences.

The sentences gather to form paragraphs.

The paragraphs will flourish and bloom into chapters.

Then the chapters will blossom into your book.

And it all began with a single letter…..

Why do I do it?… a question from an indie author

 Something I never take for granted and never will is the simple fact that people buy, download and read my books.

Now I appreciate that as a self-published author with eight books bearing my name that that might seem a crazy thing to say but let’s reflect on this for a moment.

Stop to think for a moment how many books are available via Amazon either as eBooks or as paperbacks. The last stats I could find are several years out of date and at that time there were circa 7.5M books available for Kindle.

So, in that huge ocean of words, how does anyone ever find mine?

That’s a question I don’t know the answer to.

I rarely share details of the royalties that I earn from my books because to be honest, most people don’t believe that it amounts to as little as it does.

So far September has been a good month.

What really excited me when I looked at the stats was that someone has purchased a paperback book from me. So much blood, sweat, tears and sweary words go into pulling those paperback editions together that to sell even one is a big deal to me.

And something even bigger is seeing people from around the world reading my books. I am a UK based author and to  see that my USA market is bigger than my UK one is mind blowing!

Seeing my eight books on Amazon with their twinkling stars fills me with pride. (And that’s something that has taken me a long time to admit out loud)

I may not be raking in millions and fighting off publishing contracts, but I have seen the dream not only come true but continue year after year. This is especially encouraging as I am only too aware that I haven’t published a new novel for a while.  For those who are impatiently waiting on Book Baby 9, it is coming. More on that soon.

For now, though I want to pause and take a moment to reflect on what I have achieved. Sometimes its not about looking ahead to see how far you’ve got to go but about pausing to look back at how far you’ve come.

Thank you for sharing the journey with me.

And if you’ve yet to find my books among the millions on Amazon, allow me to help you.

Silver Lake series

Amazon.com links –

Stronger Within – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VXDSC1M

Impossible Depths – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01C0GS30K

Bonded Souls – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XSQHG71

Shattered Hearts – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07ZY8ZSDM

Long Shadows – https://www.amazon.com/dp/B08RR1FGLG

Amazon.co.uk links  –

Stronger Within – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00VXDSC1M

Impossible Depths – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01C0GS30K

Bonded Souls – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B06XSQHG71

Shattered Hearts – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07ZY8ZSDM

Long Shadows – https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B08RR1FGLG

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

Beginnings

Beginnings – a collection of poems – Kindle edition by McCallum, Coral. Literature & Fiction Kindle eBooks @ Amazon.com.

Beginnings – a collection of poems eBook : McCallum, Coral: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store

The Measly Jar of Motivation – Rosebud Sweets

As soon as I pulled this prompt from the Measly Jar of Motivation, I smiled as a childhood image came flooding back – rosebud sweets!

I haven’t tasted on of those sweets in almost forty years! (Lord, that makes me sound SO old! LOL)

When I was a wee girl, before I was old enough for school and then during the school holidays, I would go to the local post office on a Tuesday with my Wee Gran to collect her pension. The postmaster, Mr Stirling was a character. He was a lovely old man who always had time for a blether and a joke with his customers but equally important, he kept a dish of sweets beside him to give to the children who came into the post office.

The dish was actually the plastic lid off one of the big jars of traditional “old fashioned” sweets that shops used have lined up on shelves behind the counter.

Usually there was a lengthy queue in the post office on pension day. I would stand patiently with my gran as we edged closer to the counter. There were always two people serving – Mr Stirling and a lady called Agnes. She too had a dish of sweets beside her, but she didn’t always offer you one. I don’t think she liked children that much and to be honest, I was a little scared of her.

If Mr Stirling served my gran, before he’d stamp her pension book and count out the cash, he would offer me the dish and say to take a sweetie. Sometimes, when he was passing the pension book and pension back across the counter, he would say to take a second sweet.

Those small pink rose scented fondant sweets were delicious. To this day they are one of the scents and tastes of childhood.

A few years later, Mr Stirling retired, and another postmaster took over. The first time after that when I accompanied my gran to the post office, I was a little bit anxious. Would this new man know that he was supposed to give the children a sweet? Would he think I was too old to get a sweetie?

I needn’t have worried. The dish of rosebud sweets was still there.

Years went by and I grew up and became a teenager, while my wee gran simply grew older. Occasionally when I was in my late teens, I would be trusted to go and collect her pension for her. As I stood in the queue feeling both grown up at being trusted with such an important errand and about sixty or seventy years too young to be in the queue, another thought entered my mind. Was I now too old to be offered a rosebud sweet?

It turns out I wasn’t. I guess you’re never too old to enjoy a rosebud sweet.

Image sourced via Google- credits to the owner (no watermark)

Horizontal (poem)

Gridlines set

Yellow indicator line there

Sunrise approaches

Yellow indicator lined up

Sunrise colours captured

Photos still not horizontal!

Focusing the mind’s eye

On the curvature of the horizon….

Longhand vs typed

Which is better for your creativity – writing longhand or typing on a computer?

I’ve long been an advocate for writing everything longhand (including the first draft of this blog), largely because I can write faster than I can type. Seven novels in and my typing sucks!

Recently, I’ve been doing an online course (more on that another time) and the topic came up in one of the lessons. University studies have shown that expressive or creative writing done by hand uses more parts of the brain than typing on a computer. FACT!

This same lesson also confirmed another point that I have taken some stick about over the years. The notebook that you choose matters as does the pen or pencil. I’ve been arguing this point for years.

Again, studies have proven that if the person is attracted to a particular notebook, then they are more likely to write freely in it. Still not sure where the ones that are “too good to use” fit into that equation. If someone has also found a pen or a pencil that they are drawn to then you have the perfect recipe for creativity and expression.

I’ve been laughed at before for admitting to changing pens to overcome writer’s block. More than once I’ve declared that I’ve stuck with a certain pen because the words flow freely from it.

I’m not the only author to prefer handwriting their work. Not for a second do I claim to be in the same league, but George RR Martin of Game of Thrones fame hand writes his novels. The first Harry Potter book was famously handwritten partly in a café in Edinburgh by JK Rowling. Stephen King also hand writes his stories and commented in an interview once that handwriting his books “brought the act of writing back to this very basic level where you actually have to take something in your fist and make letters on the page.”

That’s something that I have marvelled at many a time when I look at my own books. These real books were conceived in my mind and brought to life in A4 notebooks written in a variety of colours. (I prefer pink or turquoise and especially purple.)

Now, I appreciate that this is the 21st Century and technology runs the world and that some people hate to handwrite anything but the next time you fee; the urge to write a poem or tell a story or journal your thoughts, try writing the old-fashioned way and see where those thoughts take you to.

Grown (poem)

Tiny fingers and tiny toes

It doesn’t seem so long ago….

Now I look at you and smile

Proud of how you’ve grown

But in my heart, you still have

Those tiny fingers and tiny toes

(Image sourced via Google – credits to the owner)