Around her the bedroom was lit by half a dozen candles, their shadows dancing on the walls. A delicate vanilla fragrance filled the room. The gothic palace lay silent. It was almost midnight. Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the large four-poster bed, Riley sat staring down at the CD in her hands. Her CD. Her debut album that was due to be released worldwide on the stroke of midnight.
A box of CDs had been delivered that morning with a note from the record company saying simply, “Autograph these in time for the launch party on February 29th.” She’d signed her way through two silver Sharpie markers before all the CD inserts were autographed. At Garrett’s suggestion, she’d practiced her autograph on a few sheets of paper before deciding how she wanted to sign it. Initially it had been fun sitting at Garrett’s huge rosewood dining table signing the insert for each disc but after the first fifty or so the novelty swiftly wore off. Two hours later she had finished the chore. All of the discs had been signed -all bar one. The one she held in her trembling hands.
Pre-order using the links below to ensure Riley is ready and waiting on your kindle on 18 Nov 2022
For the first time in a while someone left a review on Amazon last week of Book Baby 6 aka Long Shadows. Seeing those kind words and those 5 twinkling stars genuinely gave me a warm fuzzy feeling. It also caused me to pause and reflect on my creative journey so far.
It really doesn’t seem so long ago when I sat down on my front doorstep with my new notebook and new pen and began to write a story that went on to become my first novel, Stronger Within. As I wrote that night, the aim was just to write a story, to achieve something just for me. I wasn’t thinking about what it might go on to become. I was simply telling a story.
The first handwritten page of Stronger Within
Now when I look at it and its book baby siblings on Amazon and see those twinkling stars, I do finally feel proud of what I have achieved. Trust me, it took a long, long time to admit that I felt proud of myself.
Is it the best book in the world? Of course not!
Is it earning me a fortune? LOL—no! Monthly royalties from all of the books combined barely cover the cost of a cup of coffee from Starbucks.
If you think you’ll make your fortune from writing your novel, forget that notion right now. Writing is a labour of love and a burning desire to tell a story. It’s a passion. Yes, some indie authors do strike gold when their book babies land in the right lap at the right time but those are miracle moments, in my humble opinion…but all indie authors live in hope of miracles happening as well as dreams coming true.
Do I really want that fame and fortune? … if I’m being totally honest, there’s a bit of me that does to an extent, but I’d hate to lose my identity in the process. I’m quite content to just be me. It would be nice to walk into a book shop and see my books on the shelves among the other authors I admire … but I’d like to be able to do that and have no one recognise me.
Ok..feel like I’m waffling now! …or is it daydreaming?
Writing a book doesn’t just happen by magic. There’s more involved than the average reader could ever imagine. Getting that first story from the handwritten pages of my notebooks into a paperback novel and an ebook was a long hard slog and an exceptionally steep learning curve. I couldn’t have done it without the unwavering support of my Infamous Five (yes, you know who you are). Those five individuals have stuck by me on this journey and never for one second do I take that help and love and support for granted. Their support and faith in me, along with kind words in the various book reviews and kind words left on social media by others, really are what gets me through the low moments, the days when you can’t string two words together, the days when you are riddled with self-doubts…and for the past couple of years, the days themselves on occasion.
I’ve said this before, but one of those wonderful people shared a quote online years ago and this has become my mantra.
So, if you are reading this and swithering about whether to pick up your pen or sit down at your laptop and begin your own book baby or short story or poem or in fact anything creative at all, my advice is DO IT! You have nothing to lose and everything to achieve, including making that dream come true. The biggest thing that writing/creating costs you is your time. If you have the desire to chase that dream, then it is time well-spent, and you won’t mind putting in the hours…and hours…and hours…
The dream come true moment for me- the first one anyway- was seeing my name on the cover of a “real” book. Holding that first proof copy of Stronger Within in my small trembling hands is a moment that will live with me forever. I remember holding the unopened package, scared to actually open it…and then I did…and yes, there were tears.
As Walt Disney said in the quote above “All our dreams can come true if we have the courage to pursue them.”
He looked in the mirror with surprise. No reflection! He looked down at his hands. They looked real enough. He felt real enough, but was he?
The house was quiet, too quiet, and as he stood in the hallway, he wondered if anyone else was home.
Opening the living room door, he glanced in. Two of the family cats were curled up on the couch asleep. They both looked up and hissed.
The kitchen too was deserted. The countertops were clear. No sign of a recent meal. Unusual…
Upstairs was the same. Beds all neatly made. Each of the bedroom windows were open just an inch or two and he could feel the cool breeze wafting in… or did he just imagine he felt it.
Glancing out of the window, he noted that two of the three family cars were still in the driveway. He noted too that they both needed washed.
His study was the last room he investigated. It looked exactly as he had left it. A laptop sat open on the desk. Wait…it wasn’t his. It was his daughter’s laptop.
There was a piece of paper sticking out from underneath it. Gently he slid it out. His hand trembled slightly.
It was a funeral order of service…his.
He looked up at the black tv screen above desk. No reflection…
I almost cheated with this week’s blog post and just shared this as I eek out these final few precious hours.
But, after two and a bit weeks of going nowhere, seeing no one (with a couple of exceptions), doing very little, practicing yoga (I’m not very good), sitting in the sun (much better at doing that), reading, writing, journaling, listening to music, going for long walks and the occasional beer or wine or two, I thought I’d share this instead… the edited highlights of Staycation 2022.
As I reflected on the past two weeks, a wee voice muttered in my ear that I’d wasted ten precious days of annual leave from the salt mine then another little voice reminded me that sometimes doing “nothing” and speaking to very few folk is exactly what your body and mind are telling you that they need to do.
And to keep you going until 18 November, here’s another little sneak peek inside.
“I have one last song for you,” began Riley. “I hope you’ve enjoyed yourselves tonight. I’d like to say a few thank yous. Huge thanks to Dr Marrs, to the guys from Silver Lake, to my record label, to each and every one of you for making tonight magical. This really is a dream come true. A Firefly Dream. I have one final extra special huge thank you for Garrett for hosting this party and for giving me a chance, a job and a home. Garrett, I love you.”
As the cheers died out, Riley continued, “This last song was inspired in this very place. I’d never seen a real four-poster bed before Garrett invited me to stay here. You can work out the rest of the story. Folks, it’s been amazing. I’m going to leave you with Jumping On The Bed.”
The light-hearted song was the perfect choice to end the show with and left everyone in a buoyant mood as the lights came back up and the caterers began to circulate with trays of drinks and canapes. Not quite sure what to do, Riley stayed in the alcove tidying up her guitars and her lyrics folder. Suddenly, she felt two strong arms wrap round her. The hint of a familiar exotic spicy aftershave tickled her nose. Without a second’s thought, she spun round and wrapped herself round Todd.
“You were sensational, girl!” he declared before kissing the top of her head. “Awesome set.”
I’m pretty sure that I’ve blogged along a similar theme in the past but bear with me.
Last week I shared Book Baby 7 aka Riley’s front cover with the world. (Here it is in case you missed it – Riley…..cover reveal | Coral McCallum) The reaction to it has been great so thank you but here comes the confession… the story still isn’t quite finished yet. Oops!
I’m not a million miles away from being finished. I mean, what’s a few thousand words between friends?
For me, writing timescales are quite fluid. Writing happens when it happens. The joys of being an indie author. The only person setting word count targets and manuscript deadlines for me is me. And, you know what, that works for me just now.
Creativity is something that’s always there. Even when I’m not actively creating/writing something, there’s that wee part of my brain whirring away with ideas/thoughts/potential characters.
Creativity is also a great coping mechanism in this manic world that we live in. It’s an escape from reality. It’s a way to create a better/alternative reality. It’s a way to express our thoughts and feelings. It’s a way of telling a story.
Humans have been storytellers since the start of time. There was no one sitting in the cave or around the campfire saying that the storyteller needed to stick to a certain length/word count, or a structured formula for the story. There were no paragraph and chapter plans. There probably weren’t that many titles either. Storytellers simply told their stories and over time and re-telling these stories were embellished and enhanced and improved upon or discarded depending on the audience’s reaction.
No one back then worried about having qualifications in creative writing or language or literature.
Folks simply told the stories that were within them to tell.
I follow several groups on social media for authors/writers/bloggers and all too frequently you see aspiring storytellers’ dreams quashed because someone insists that their story is too short/too long, that they need a professional editor that they probably can’t afford or that they need a professionally designed cover that they can’t afford either…you get the picture.
Creative souls are sensitive souls. They need to be nurtured and encouraged. This world needs more storytellers.
So, my message to any aspiring authors/writers/storytellers is simple – tell your story your way and in your own time and enjoy telling it.
Just write! And keep on writing.
And on that note, I’d better turn my creative attention back to my unfinished book baby.
Taking a deep breath, she put the old-fashioned key in the lock and turned it. She’d half expected it to stick, given the age of both, but the mechanism moved with ease and the of the shop door swung open before her.
What on earth was she supposed to do with the place?
The shop smelled stale and musty and slightly unclean – a bit like its previous owner, her late great-uncle. It had been over twenty years since she had last visited “The Society For The Protection Of Unwanted Objects.” She’d been shocked to learn that she had inherited the place when her uncle had passed away three months beforehand. Growing up, she’d been passed around the family after the death of her parents, spending most of her childhood with her aunt. The shop had always been a bit of a sanctuary for her, seeing herself as the “unwanted object” in the family. As a child, she’d imagined the shop as a “real life” episode of Bagpuss; as an adult, she was at a loss as to what to make of it.
What did she know about running a shop?
Glancing round, all she could see before her was clutter and junk. A thick layer of dust covered everything in sight. Most of the items on the shelves and in the display cabinets looked as though they’d been there since her last visit.
Leaving the door open, she ventured further inside. A letter addressed to her, in her uncle’s shaking writing, lay amongst the dust bunnies on the glass counter. Leaving it unopened for now, she explored the rest of the shop. Both storerooms were piled high with yet more junk. The small kitchen cum sitting room right at the back of the building looked completely unchanged from her childhood and was desperately in need of a good clean.
“Oh, why, Uncle Samuel?” she sighed as she walked back through to the main shop.
A cough from the doorway startled her.
“Hi. Are you the new owner?” asked a tall guy with long dark hair, pulled back into a ponytail, his bare arms covered in tattoos. “I’m Sam. I’m your neighbour. I own the art gallery next door.”
A ray of sunlight broke through the clouds at that moment. With a cloud of dust motes creating an aura around him, he smiled.
Coral McCallum 