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sofia1

WARNING

 

This is a deeply personal post. If you’re looking for light ‘n’ fluffy, come back to this another day.

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Writing has been compared to many things. Here’s a new analogy to toss onto the heap.

It’s like struggling to get to the top of a hill and then seeing another, a bigger hill hiding right behind it. Ever done that? You were convinced you’d be on top of the world when you got there…only you weren’t, because it was only then you realised how much further you had to climb.

And the further you climb, the higher you get, there are still more to be tackled.

Five years ago, I dreamed of being a published author. That was my goal. My first hill (well second, maybe. The first was completing the novel in the first place).

Three years ago, I was gearing up to tackle that first hill. Getting my support crew in place. Scoping out the trail that would take me there. Readying the bubbly for celebrating with.

The following January I plonked my flag on the Published Author hill, and sat back to gaze at the rocky slope behind me. It had been a long, loooooong time coming. There was no time for celebrating though, my second hill beckoned, and then the third. They were a breeze in comparison to the first one, and I lifted my head high. I’d achieved my goal three times over. Already! In just six months.

I sat down for a breather and swapped tales with the climbers all around me. Some were just waving hello as they zipped through, others were going at a similar pace to me. Buddying up was good. Confidence inducing – and fun.

15227201_sThe next six months flew by, another hill was claimed, and that’s when I started to take note of the big hills looming. They made my successes look like bumps in the road.

Getting published was cool. Getting published by a more influential press would be a much bigger hill. Likewise getting an agent (abandoned that as a non-starter). The Great Sales Mountain was scary to look at, with hundreds of tiny figures flailing around at the bottom. Every now and then, one writer would leap up, but they fell back again after a brief moment of glory. Did I really want to tackle that one?

I did some research. Compared notes with other climbers. Different routes, they all said, but each one offered different advice too. Slow and steady appealed to me, but even then I needed more equipment. More training. More support people around me. And none of it came for free.

So here I am, three and a half years into my current climb. When the sun shines, I sometimes take a pause, find a comfy spot to sit, and admire the view. I’ve come a long way, but I know that the minute I turn around and pick up my track, I’ll see the mountain in all its ugly glory again.

There are days, lots of them if I’m honest, when I think I’ve had enough. I’m battling the elements on a daily basis, going without sleep, neglecting my family and completely bypassing anything close to a social life – all in order to climb the next ridge. When it rains, and every step is trudging through mud, when covering even a few yards feels like more than I can dream of, I ask myself why?

Thing is though, I know when I break that ridgeline and peep over the top, I’ll be thrilled again with the view. The sun will shine, the peak will twinkle in the distance, and it will look achievable.

Having fantastic climbers buddying with me makes all the difference. They make the gloomy days fun. They hold my hand when I slip in the mud, and I grab theirs when they are floundering. We’re roped together tight.

We’ll make it. * HUGS *

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

If you want to read my first published work, a sexy little story about a psychic and a ghostly cowboy, take a peek at Come To Me.

 

ComeToMe(3)$0.99 on Amazon

 

Summer Meadows is a gifted psychic, and used to seeing ghosts, but sexy cowboy Jack McKane is unlike any spirit she has ever encountered.

He doesn’t know he’s dead.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

It’s a gorgeous sunny day today, and I’m feeling generous. If you’d like a gift copy of Come To Me, leave a comment and it will be yours 🙂

 

Excerpt

Summer, Lisa and the client – a middle-aged woman called Ellie who wanted to contact her recently dead father – settled around a small table in the client’s kitchen. The candles burned smoothly, their hands were linked and Summer had barely started to call in her head, when the cowboy appeared.

He stepped up to the table as calmly as though he’d walked through an invisible door. “Hello, darlin’.” His smile was for her alone, and his honeyed words washing over her made her stomach flip. .

Summer tried to hide her excitement. This time she wanted to keep him here longer, keep him talking.

“Hello, Jack. Nice to see you.”

He wore the same clothes as last time, the same wicked grin and look… That sexy little dimple flashed enticingly again. Her thoughts drifted towards salted caramel and doing sticky things with messy fingers. Her mouth dry and her nipples on full alert, she tried to order her wayward imagination. “We’re looking for Peter Fry this time. Can you help us?”

He stepped closer and then raised both arms above his head, stretching, before yawning. “Every time I dream about you, Shu-gah, you ask me some strange things.” He reached the edge of the table, mere inches away from them.

Summer feasted her eyes on his image. He looked solid – real – as though he were flesh and blood. She could practically feel the warmth pouring from his skin.

Hang on, what had he just said?

“You think you’re asleep, Jack?”

“Well, sure.” His smile dazzled her, literally made her weak at the knees. “How else could you be here? You’re hauntin’ my dreams, darlin’.” He moved to the side and stood next to her, close enough to touch.

Summer heard Lisa’s steady breathing, felt Ellie’s palm sweating in her own, but ignored them both, every atom focused on the man staring at her.

“I hope I didn’t hurt you last night. You sure are a pretty little thing, Sum-mah.” Slowly, gently, he lifted one hand, touched her braid and stroked gossamer light over her hair.

She felt it.

Like standing next to an electricity pylon, she tingled all over. The breath caught in her lungs, the words dying in her throat. She blinked – and he was gone. What the… She looked down. Her hands were still linked with the other women’s, the candles burning. Lisa and Ellie stared at her with matching bemused expressions.

“Did you see him?” It came out as a squeak.

Lisa shrugged. “See who? We’re still waiting for you to start.”

 

 

 

 

 

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