The Binding Is Fragile

My palms are etchings, words

written into my very pores.

Pages papered to my body

forming my skin,

roots of ideas growing

from my fingertips.

 

I am a person.

I am a creature.

I am a pathway.

 

I am a book.

Boogie

The ribcage was tied with bows –

blue, pink, green – visible

as the sequinned waistcoat flapped open

from the sharp hip swaying.

Kinetic. Tangible.

Creepier than she imagined.

Unless it was imagined.

Hallucinogens pumped into the air, perhaps?

Her best friend was now

an orange rat, after all.

And she was sure she’d had

more skin before.

Slumber

We wouldn’t all fit in a bottle, some of us would

inevitably come tumbling back out the moment

the stopper was loosened. Flowers

of certain bushes only bloom at night,

so only those few who stumble, wakeful,

alive, at that hour, may appreciate them.

Are you tired? Have you ever been more awake?

A simple mark of spilled ink

will never erase a broken heart.

End of year thoughts

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions, because I have many long term goals that I’m simply going to keep working towards, so I thought I’d take a look back at the good things that have happened in 2017 instead.

I started out this year determined to be published before I was 27 (my actual words to everyone were ‘by the end of my 26th year’. Perhaps it sounded more achievable if I spoke about it like a prophecy). I had two ways to achieve this: find a literary agent and get a publishing contract VERY soon after, or approach a smaller publisher directly. Because I was impatient, and running out of time – this was a goal I’d set myself some years ago – I did both. For my older manuscripts, I sent them to small publishers, and for my newer ones, I sent them out to literary agents. While I had some interest from agents, none have taken it further so far, but as I recently finished editing one of my latest manuscripts, I can still query with that one. I did, however, have an offer from a small publisher for my middle-grade book, Unofficial Detective, with interest in its sequels, and that was published in late August. As my 27th birthday was in September, I just about achieved my goal of getting published before I reached that age. And I’m quite proud of that, even though it’s only the beginning!

I also really wanted to start a blog this year, and keep it up by posting regularly. Initially, I was going to write posts purely on writing and about my journey to publication – so detailing the query trenches, my work methods and habits – but the process of querying takes so long that it can be months before hearing back, meaning my posts on that subject would be few and downright boring. I decided to share some of my short stories and old, highly questionable poetry to fill space. Yet I soon ran out. So I had to write something new, and that’s when I discovered my love for writing poetry, which if you’ve been following this blog for a while, is probably what you see most of. As I tend to post everyday, I consider this particular goal fully achieved.

Starting a YouTube channel wasn’t something I’d planned to do from the beginning of the year, but in an attempt to increase my author platform, and because I love watching Booktube videos, I thought I’d try it out. What surprised me is how much I like doing it. It’s just nice to talk about books and express my enthusiasm. I don’t really get to do that otherwise (though my husband has recently got heavily into reading, so now we rave to each other about different books. Yay!).

On a non-book related topic, my husband and I moved and now have our own flat. It’s fantastic to finally have a space for just the two of us (four if you count our feathered family members). And it’s so peaceful. Considering we’d been living with my parents since getting hitched in 2013, this was a long time coming and very much overdue. My mood has increased dramatically, and I feel good about the future.

Which brings me to my final note of saying that over the last few days, my book has been doing rather well, reaching some of the highest rankings on Amazon that it’s had so far. Also, book two has been accepted by my publisher and the manuscript has been proofed, and I’ve been asked for ideas on what I want to feature on the cover. Which means that the book itself should be released early next year, hopefully around February or March, if all goes well.

So next year, I’m going to keep writing, keep blogging and keep striving to find a literary agent so I can get published by ‘the big guys’. More work, but work that I want to do, and I honestly wouldn’t dream of doing anything else.

Kat out.

Circles

Circumference, measurement of the round.

If I spin, arms out.

Jig around a Maypole.

Mark a central point,

and chalk its walkway

with taut rope.

Take the lens out a magnifying glass

and roll it down a hill.

Lock my eye on yours

as you sip from a cup

made on a potter’s wheel.

Palmistry

If we all had our deepest, truest  attribute

etched onto our palms, what would yours be?

Kindness? Never judging, listening to the full story

and helping in whatever way you can?

Bravery? Never backing down, no matter what the odds,

swallowing your fear because there are more important things?

Or is it something simpler, yet not so simple at all?

A concept many take for granted, yet twice as many don’t have?

Self-acceptance. To know yourself, to be okay with it,

but also knowing that wanting to change is fine too,

if you don’t like who you are.

Because accepting that

is to recognise what it means

to be you.

Just you.

My favourite things

Brilliant crisp snow and frost covered berries,

Footprints that mark out our path and adventures,

Robins that flit from bush to tall tree,

seeing all of these things makes me happy as can be!

 

When the storm hits,

when the bills come,

when I miss that call,

I simply go off to my memory bank,

and then I don’t feel

so small!

Eve

Quiet times,

merry things,

holding hands,

sweetest dreams.

Clever little weaver

In the drumroll of night,

the spider weaves a catcher above my head,

luring away the aches of my mind

to feed on them and become fat.

Contented, it will scuttle away

at daybreak, regurgitating tapestries

of my dreams as it goes.

Disobedience

My lungs heave up and down, played by my fingers like bagpipes

whining into the night about the injustice of you walking away

from him. How dare you? You’re both so close, such a true pairing,

but my pen never lets you tell him how you feel. You’re

out of my control, not a character, but a person in your own right,

not mine. I want you to run with all your passion back into his arms.

Can’t you obey the ink, just once?