Tag Archives: #IndieAuthor

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)

Staircase (poem)

Darkness enveloped the staircase ahead of me

Shadows stirred in its inky depths

Slowly I began to climb

Trusting that it was the path I should take

Step by step I climbed

Slowly the darkness fell behind

Grey ghostly mists swirled around

I continued to climb

Trusting that it was the path I should take

Sunlight filtered through

Dispersing the mists

Warmth and hope surrounded me

I continue to climb

Trusting that I am following the path I should take.

(image sourced via Google- credit to the owner)

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)

The Measly Jar of Motivation – how would you take special care of yourself for a day?

And that really is a challenge!

Anyone who knows me personally would most likely tell you that I’m historically not the best at taking “special care” of myself. I am passionate about wellbeing and for the past couple of years have been focused on making sure that my “personal battery” is well cared for and kept charged. Well, I’m trying to focus on that.

Throughout the majority of The Big Green Gummi Bear’s terminal illness, I was running on fumes. It’s only now, when I reflect back, that I can acknowledge that I burned out towards the end of 2021 and then kept going for two more years. Life really didn’t leave me any other choice.

That level of burn out (emotional and physical) takes time to recover from and it’s something that on many levels, I am still healing from.

So, if I had my ideal day to take “special care” of myself, how would I spend it?

There’s an obvious answer – I’d click my flip flops together three times and transport myself to the beach at my happy place.

I’ll resist choosing that option and instead describe a day spent at home.

Let’s imagine that it’s Monday and I have a “rest day” off work and the whole day to do as I want.

My day would start off gently with some yoga, most likely Yin Yoga as I would have the luxury of more time than I do most mornings, followed by a short chakra meditation combined with some crystals and some self-channelled Reiki energy. When I have finished my yoga and meditation, I would journal about the session and set an intention for the day. This is something I do every day, recording it in my gratitude journal. The intention doesn’t need to be complicated. It might be one word or a short phrase like “I will be gentle with myself today” or I will be kind to myself” or “I am worthy”. I would also draw an oracle card for the day from my preferred deck.

The next act of special care on the agenda is a long hot shower followed by breakfast – OJ, black coffee and a toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with a few rashers of smoked streaky bacon or pancetta. (I never said that I was necessarily going for the healthiest option here.)

I would then spend the rest of the morning doing something creative, either preparing a blog for posting or working on my current book baby. If the weather was being kind and was warm and sunny, breakfast and this creative time would be spent outside at the picnic table in the garden with my cats milling about.

I’ll assume for the purposes of this blog that it’s a beautiful warm summer day,

Lunch would be a simple affair- caprese salad, yogurt, an apple and a bottle of flavoured water. (I’m a big fan of Waterdrop tablets so who knows what flavour the water might be). I’d read my kindle while I was eating lunch outdoors.

After lunch, I would continue to read my book for a while in sun before setting off for a walk along the coastal road to the beach. This stretch of beach is quite short but it’s just enough to feed my inner “beach bum”. As I walk along the sand I’d scour the beach for sea glass, searching in particular from some blue sea glass.  By the time I arrive back home a couple of hours later I could easily have walked five miles.

If time allowed, I’d relax with another drink of water, a handful of plain Pringles and my kindle until it was time to cook dinner. I enjoy cooking so making a meal isn’t a chore.

After dinner I’d feed my creative soul and spend time working on my current book baby. As this is my ideal day, the words would flow effortlessly onto the page…if only!

Around 9pm I would put down my pen and spend an hour or so relaxing by watching TV with the Boy Child. This may also involve a glass of white wine and a few more plain Pringles (I’ll admit to a weakness for plain Pringles)

Before bed, I would write my gratitude journal for the day- best moment of the day, three things I’m grateful for and three things I’m looking forward to. I would also write my diary. (I’ve kept a daily diary for over 40 years) then read a few more pages of my book before turning out the light and enjoying eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Oh well, a girl can dream!

That would be a good day though.

How would you spend a day taking “special care” of yourself?