Eliza Long, The Gypsy Girl

Hi everyone, I know it’s been a while. I’ve just finished drafting another book, so while I recover from that and other things, I thought I’d share a little poem I wrote for my nan’s 97th (I think) birthday, titled ‘Eliza Long, The Gypsy Girl’. For a bit of context, my nan’s always loved reciting John Keats’ Old Meg, and she used to tell me stories about when her mum was little and hid under her grandmother’s large gypsy skirts during storms. Also, my nan’s maiden name is Long, hence why it appears in the poem’s title.

Anyway, it’s just a fun bit of verse:

Eliza Long, the gypsy girl,

Danced daily atop the grassy hills;

Vibrant skirts twirling about her,

And around each ankle, chains of bluebells.

The townspeople, far below,

Whispered and muttered behind their hands:

“Hark, there’s that bold lass again,

Ignorant of how she endangers our lands.”

“Tempting the wrath of fairies

With each idle flick of her feet;

One day they’ll come swarming

And magic us away in a single beat!”

Jigging merrily between bush and tree,

Eliza heard their gossip on the wind,

But their worries did not trouble her,

For she feared no such thing.

True, the delicate bluebells’ ringing

Was said to bring unfortunate events,

For it alerted the fairy folk to any

Who might disturb their woodland dens.

Yet it was for Eliza’s loyal service

Of healing countless sacred animals,

That the Fairy Queen herself, no less,

Had gifted the girl her very own set of bells.

Talismans granting swift protection

(Should she wear them every day),

Against any who followed her home,

Or strived to put her in harm’s way.

Eliza Long, the gypsy girl,

Danced daily atop the grassy hills;

Calling upon the Fairy Queen’s aid

Whenever strangers tried to exert their will.

“How many have been spirited off now?”

The townspeople hissed over the years.

“Caught by scores of terrible fairies,

All due to those bluebells’ peals?”

Ignoring their suspicious chatter,

Eliza sang their curses away over the hills,

For she had not the heart to tell them

Every single victim had wished her ill.

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Audiobooks!

Hi everyone, I know it’s been a long time between posts — I’ve had lots of stuff going on both personal and book-wise lately, and it’s taken a lot of energy to keep up with just my usual daily routines. I’ll post a full update sometime next month, but for now, I thought I’d chime in with the audiobook release of two of my books:

Wings In A Wounded Sky is a middle grade fantasy featuring a cast of lively characters inspired by various mythical creatures, and the wonderful narrator, Sarah Brown, put a lot of heart into bringing each one to life. You can find the audiobook here (UK) and here (US).

Here’s the blurb:

While the orphaned Ogg, Rae, dreams of being able to socialize with humans, she doesn’t expect to be welcomed into the home of two complete strangers. When she learns they’re from another land and have no idea that humans are supposed to fear and hate Oggs, she begins to settle down and count them as family. 

But when the mysterious phenomena that brought them there—great gashes in the sky that cause dramatic shifts within Culmina’s landscape—suddenly get more frequent, the situation soon threatens Rae’s newfound way of life. Discovering that the cause is the war between the Fae and the Dragon-people, who live on floating cities high above the clouds, she vows to put an end to it to save those she loves. 

To do so, she must team up with the sassy ninth princess of the dragon-people, the downtrodden third prince of the Fae, and Max, a fellow orphan and hot-air balloon enthusiast. But when prejudice runs high and time is running out, can she get them to work together?

If We Could Hold Up The Sky is a poetry collection that covers the friendship of two neurodivergent people, based off personal experience. The audiobook’s narrator, Jessica Sinacori, did an excellent job of performing each poem, and from our discussions, I feel she very much understood the heart of the collection. You can find the audiobook here (UK) and here (US).

Here’s the official blurb:

Love is malleable and comes in many forms. It can be shaped into bridges and carved into doorways. It can become a hand to hold up the sky when everything threatens to crash down around us.

Inspired by personal experience,  If We Could Hold Up the Sky is a poetry collection revolving around the tale of two neurodivergent individuals who meet as colleagues, fall rapidly into an iron friendship, and gradually become romantic partners.

The collection also explores mental health, childhood, societal expectations, work-related stress, and how a solid foundation of support can make all the difference to overall well-being.

To celebrate the release of both audiobooks, I’m giving away ten copies of each (via promo codes that can be redeemed on Audible’s website). All you have to do to win one is email me at kathrynoftreeshallow@gmail.com and state which audiobook you’d like and whether you’re in the UK or US (to any readers elsewhere, apologies — the codes I have only work for Audible’s UK and US sites). I’m operating the giveaway on a first come, first serve basis, and will update this post when all copies have been claimed to prevent leaving anyone disappointed.

That’s all for now — happy reading and happy listening!

Kingfisher – Week 40 #52weeksofnaturepoetry (Raising money for RSPB)

Under a tiny bridge

linking the path beside the River Yar

to a nearby copse,

a vision of copper and metallic blue

hovers above the shallows.

Executing a smooth dive,

it re-emerges a blink later,

spraying droplets

back into the current.

Head lifted, it carries its catch

to a secluded stitching of branches.

Almost shyly, this jewel-bird

returns to the bank,

gaze hardly leaving its submerged targets.

Quick preen to set feathers in place,

followed by another dip,

another prize.

An everyday fisherman

doing an everyday job,

but to any spectators,

its skills awaken dormant joy:

a sudden connection with nature –

a sweet, natural high –

so electric

it leaves them applauding

for an encore.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

Puffarazzi! Week 35 #52weeksofnaturepoetry – raising money for RSPB

Whipped by salt heavy winds,

the photographer pulls their coat collar tight

and crouches low,

becoming landscape;

an unimportant, moss-covered rock

with raw cheeks.

_______________________________________

Camera gripped in restless fingers,

eyes trained on the puffin colony

hard at fishing.

_______________________________________

Snap!

_______________________________________

Lens focused?

Timing right?

_______________________________________

Quick check:

Sizing great, subject clear – but

colourful bill obscured,

clumps of grass

urged into frame by blasts of ice.

_______________________________________

Which unlucky species

did this individual catch?  

What quantity?

_______________________________________

Speculation is fruitless,

mere guesswork never equals

accurate data.

_______________________________________

Back to the trusty tool of trade;

listen, wait.

_______________________________________

Incoming at two o’clock.

Ready for your close-up, eager one?

Steady. Steady. Click shutter…

now.

_______________________________________

Success!

Head perfectly centred,

silver dripping from its bill

in the shape of sand eels;

nutritious prey

for lively chicks.

_______________________________________

Another fine slice of research

ready for analysing.

Citizen science at its finest.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

The subject of this poem was inspired by Project Puffin, a citizen science project organised by the RSPB to gather data on what foods puffins feed their young and how these have changed over time, in order to determine whether lack of food is one of the reasons behind the steep decline in puffin numbers. Click here to find out more.

[Apologies for how these poems are formatted. I do write them in stanzas, but WordPress rarely decides to keep them, no matter how much I argue with it.]

Residents of Dodnor Creek – #52weeksofnaturepoetry Week 31

‘Please mum, give me some more!’

Duckling demands, shadowing its parents

as they forage for snacks

around the old millpond’s

murky shallows.

Meanwhile, siblings catch some shut-eye

on a long-discarded traffic cone

half-buried in mud and algae;

a streak of neon orange

and reflector tape

distinguishing it from old branches.

Across the way, another family

swims into view.

Coots and their young, nipping

into willow scrub and reeds,

scouting for food of their own.

An unsuspecting moorhen paddles by,

concerned with its own needs –

until it receives a peck from Mrs Coot:

‘Maintain your distance from my chicks,

if you please, sir!’

she declares with her mighty

ARK-ARKing call,

sending it scarpering elsewhere

along the creek.

Positioned on a central reed bed,

two lengthy white necks look up

from their wicker-like nest

and single bundle

of grey, fluffy joy.

Trouble brewing?

Ah, another row between neighbours.

Best to leave them to it.

‘Come on, junior. Let’s visit

the youngest ducklings

by the pond’s fringe,’

they say, and swim off

on a family outing; breezy, soft clouds

protecting a touch of rain.

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

[Apologies for how these poems are formatted. I do write them in stanzas, but WordPress rarely decides to keep them, no matter how much I argue with it.]

My ADHD diagnosis

In my last update I mentioned I was waiting for my adhd assessment. Well, as the title of this post suggests, I got the diagnosis – and I’m so relieved that I did.

However, the assessment wasn’t easy, there were many tough and deeply personal questions asked, and though I was prepared to answer things about my childhood and school life, the ones that hit hard were actually nothing to do with those topics. I mean, I did cry when talking about my primary school teacher bullying me; for some reason, whenever I explain that to a doctor, the tears always appear. But I expected that, so after the influx of emotion passed, it was fine.

What got me was attempting to explain how, if I had ADHD and thus my concentration was so bad, did I manage to write books. Not only this, but the doctor (a psychiatrist specialising in neurological conditions) went on to ask how successful a writer I was, including how many books I’d sold. And considering I’ve had high imposter syndrome recently and have been questioning whether writing to be published is something I should even be pursuing still, it cut me deep.

Other questions that hurt were why I still had my birds when their sounds were distracting, why I don’t want kids, and how I knew I had something close to an eating disorder when I was younger (I didn’t have any diagnosis or records of one, but gosh did I have the mindset and sadly could slip back into it easily if I’m not careful). So, ouch, on all fronts, to the point where I completely broke down after the assessment was over.

But – as I’d also provided lots and lots of notes beforehand explaining my brain – I got my diagnosis then and there at the end of the session. Quickly, abruptly (as to my mind, things really hadn’t been going well. I’d been rambling and getting flustered, so it felt like my responses weren’t particularly coherent), and without much extra explanation. I was asked if I had any questions, but my brain was fried at that point, so any I had promptly left.

Fortunately, after emailing the head ADHD nurse, who I’d been in contact with during preliminary screening, I had a good conversation the next day with full permission to explain my feelings and rant as much as I needed to to get everything out. After that, she went through reasons why certain questions were asked, and went on to detail all next steps and options open to me.

Though I’ve been hesitant to try medication before, on the grounds that if I’m to have it, I want to make sure it’s the correct type for my neurodivergent brain and won’t simply cover up the symptoms of an underlying condition (untreated ADHD can often cause anxiety and depression, both of which I have), I chose to be put forward for ADHD medication. After a few tests at my GP surgery, which included blood pressure, pulse, height, weight, and an ECG, I received my first prescription of methylphenidate, which is a slow-release stimulant.

Now, medication isn’t for everyone, and there are lots of treatment options for the parts of ADHD that interfere with daily life. But, for me, I’m really pleased I made the choice I did. Within an hour of taking the first dose, a subtle, yet tangible change occurred to my thoughts. Usually, my brain runs off at top speed on anything and everything, flitting from topic to topic. But, though I still had the thoughts – meaning, I was still very much myself – I could choose to follow only the ones that were relevant to what I was doing at the time, and go back to the others later. When I explained this to my partner (who we also suspect is ADHD), he came up with a great metaphor: instead of everything being dumped in a box that I have to sift through to find something, I’d been given shelves where I could see everything individually and just select what I needed.

As of writing, I’m on day six of being medicated, which admittedly, isn’t very long, but it does appear that my ability to maintain focus on writing has definitely increased (the very fact that I’m writing this, after not posting an update for so long due to lack of energy and motivation, is good evidence of this). And the thing that’s most surprising is the realisation that the fatigue I felt from doing any kind of task was caused mostly by my chaotic thoughts, and now they have (slightly) more order, that fatigue is nowhere near as bad. I can feel it, but I’m not completely crashing anymore.

Sadly, my laptop battery is now fading, so I’ll have to wrap this up. Getting confirmation of my full neurodiversity (I’m autistic too, and yes, you can very much have both conditions), has allowed me to understand and accept how different, yet cool, my brain is. Even though I struggle with things on a daily basis because of it, I can see my creativity and ability to notice things few others do all stem from it and make my world brighter.

This process has taken, well, a lot of processing, but I’m getting there. And taking medication, despite all the controversy surrounding it, is no different to when I wear my ear defenders or sunglasses to help lesson sensory overload when I’m outside. It’s an aid to help me, and it’s not a bad thing. (I will point out, though, that I’m taking my medication exactly as prescribed by my doctor and I’ll be having strict, regular reviews with them to make sure it’s still doing what it should and nothing else.)

Lastly, for those interested or considering pursuing diagnosis, some key details. I’m in the UK and went through the NHS, so the process may differ considerably in other countries, but here’s the route I took:

In mid 2019, I spoke to a general GP at my local doctor’s surgery, explaining that I wanted to be referred to the ADHD service for diagnosis. I had a few notes with me on traits I resonated with so they could easily see my reasoning.

After that, I had a very long wait (possibly made worse by the pandemic), but eventually got sent some screening questionnaires to complete and send back. After that was done, a phone call was arranged with the ADHD nurse for an hour long further screening conversation, in which I had to answer a lot of personal questions about school, family, work, social life etc.

Determining that I was eligible for a diagnostic assessment, I was then given a virtual appointment and completed the assessment I’ve spoken in detail about above, and as mentioned, after diagnosis, I was offered options for treatment, which included various therapies and medication. I received very detailed leaflets on the option I chose, so I could thoroughly research before finalising my decision.

So, there we go. I hope this essay of a post has been interesting and/or helpful. Thank you for reading!

#52weeksofnaturepoetry Week 24 – Sky Dancer

The poem below is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. Being autistic, nature is often my only place of solace, and I want to do all I can to protect it. As I’m not very comfortable around other people, most of the standard ways of helping out (volunteering, ‘traditional’ fundraisers etc.) were not a good fit for me, so I came up with #52weeksofnaturepoetry, where I have to post a nature poem here on this blog each week for an entire year without fail.

If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

Sky Dancer

Snagging the updraft, she glides high.

No fuss, no theatrics.

Just drive.

Her next meal awaits below, somewhere unseen for the moment.

Not for long.

With due perspective, she’ll pinpoint her catch.

In a quiet spot, she might be able to leap from perch

to extract a tasty morsel,

yet close to ground, disturbances always threaten.          

Other predators, rowdy humans, her own hunters –

the ones who claim she kills their game

as if she is playing as they do

rather than being fuelled by pure survival instinct.

When she rides the air, deep eyes alive,

everything becomes clear.

Nothing can hide.

She’s looking for her main course,

no mere snack this time.

Her mate circles close, nothing yet for him.

His luck is his own.

Her skills deliver: mottled brown fur, a speck to our eyes.

A prize for her.

Talons poised, she bullet-dives.

Faster than an arrow meeting its target, near soundless

and every bit as deadly.

For her prey, that is.

Snatched in a blink, life extinguished by her grip

and several nips from her beak.

Devoured quickly.

Precious energy not easily gained.

Querying, rewriting and ADHD

Hi everyone, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything other than my fundraising poems, which, though I’d appreciate you all having a read of them and sharing, aren’t the sole purpose of this blog. I like sharing my writing journey and the struggles I have, in the hope that others currently struggling with writing (or anything, really) don’t feel so alone.

And wow, have I been struggling.

Last year, I did quite a few edits of older projects, drafted a new book — something I try to do every year — and starting querying literary agents for the…seventh time, I think?

Meaning that come New Year, I was quite worn out. Add to that a broken laptop, and work became rather hard, to put it mildly. (I’m currently still using my partner’s laptop, which I’ve grown used to and he’s more than happy to let me use for as long as I want, so I got over that hurdle pretty quickly). My focus, however, has been particularly bad.

I wanted to rewrite a project that, from feedback I got from agents, was about 15,000 words too short for the genre. As I never know how to relax and get bored between projects, I actually tried to start the rewrite just before Christmas, but then my laptop failed and it got put on hold until I could grab the files from the hard drive. (I’m usually good at backing up my stuff, but as I’d only started the rewrite about three days beforehand, I hadn’t gotten round to it. Naturally, the one time I delayed, ‘disaster’ struck.) When I did manage to get back to it again, despite engaging with the story and characters, it took hours to go over four double spaced pages. I tried repeatedly to go faster, to try and be more productive with my time, but it simply wasn’t working. By the time I reached the half-way point in the book, working on it felt comparable to digging a trench with a teaspoon, and I’m incredibly impatient with certain things.

Now, here I’m going to jump in with the ADHD part, as it’s likely relevant. I’ve been on the waiting list for assessment since mid 2019. I knew it’d be a long wait, just like for my ASD one, and when the pandemic happened, I resigned myself to an extra long wait. Several times I considered getting it done privately, but it does cost a lot, and as I get imposter syndrome, one week I’d be convinced I needed a diagnosis, the next I’d be unsure — I’ve heard this is common regarding ADHD in adults, particularly as it can present quite differently depending not just on age, but gender too. That aside, I was then super surprised when I got a phone call last month saying in-person assessments where I live were no longer supported due to costs, so the people in charge had decided to go with online assessments and mine wouldn’t be too far off. After another phone call and some screening questionnaires to make absolutely sure I’m eligible, I was finally given an assessment date. It’s early next month, and I am nervous as hell. But I already sent them extra notes, so hopefully it’ll go smoothly, whether the conclusion is ADHD or something else.

Anyway, back to writing talk. I’ve always struggled with focusing on and maintaining projects, but I’m stubborn and refuse to quit. So I ended up giving myself a tight deadline and marathoning the work until it was done. It worked, but as always when I do that, I ended up exhausted as it’s really not good for me. That’s the main reason I haven’t posted much lately. All my energy has gone to rewriting, recovering, or writing poetry. (I am happy with the way the rewrite tuned out though!)

As for querying, this round is going better than past attempts in that I’ve actually had a couple of full and partial manuscript requests, but not as many as I’d hoped. Which is disheartening and has led to many hours of ‘what if I never get an agent?’ thoughts. Of course, there are many options, one of which I’ve already pursued for my previous books — finding indie publishers. But the rejections piling up still hurt.

On a side note, though, my publisher recently informed me that two of my contracted poetry books are moving to the editing stage, so that’s something to look forward to (and also be anxious about. You may be thinking I’m anxious about a lot of things, and you’d be right. That’s just my brain.)

So, to bring this ramble to a close: if, like me, you’re a creative struggling with current projects, I see you and I understand. My family keep saying productivity shouldn’t be linked to self-worth, and while I get the idea of that sentiment, I haven’t yet found a way to make it stick. Even writing this post, which I could have left until I felt better and had more energy, is part of that. I didn’t feel like I’d done enough today, so words had to be written. But maybe someday, I’ll have a healthier approach to self-worth.

#52weeksofnaturepoetry Week 21 – Something About Leaves

The way they poke up from the ground, peeping moles at first, growing braver every day until all at once, it seems, they spring out full force, declaring, ‘I’m here!’

Sometimes, they arrive swaddled within themselves, and day by day they unwrap a new section – like a long game of pass the parcel with only one piece of wrapping – and the prize is all their delicate veins and bobbles finally getting chance to stretch.

Then we have those that simply step out from another through the thinnest of slits: ‘Door’s open, here I go. Bit of a squeeze, but I can manage…there!’

Pop. One new leaf.

Of course, we mustn’t exclude the coiled fronds which roll open in yo-yo fashion.  Chlorophyll-rich tongues lapping at the sun or arching gently over the moist soil of riverbanks (or that shaded brick wall you’ve ignored forever).

Branches wave and shake, responding to the seasons. In a disco spread across months, this barely perceptible flailing culminates in the arrival of buds that push out green sails, ready to carry the plant on to its next stage.

Blossom!

This poem is part of a project I’m doing to raise money for the RSPB, a UK wildlife conservation and protection charity. Being autistic, nature is often my only place of solace, and I want to do all I can to protect it. As I’m not very comfortable around other people, most of the standard ways of helping out (volunteering, ‘traditional’ fundraisers etc.) were not a good fit for me, so I came up with #52weeksofnaturepoetry, where I have to post a nature poem here on this blog each week for an entire year without fail.

If you’d like to help, please share this poem to encourage others to take joy in nature, and if you have the time and means to donate, you can do so here. Let’s help keep our wildlife wild!

My work caught up to me (as always).

It’s been a while since I posted something other than one of my #52weeksofnaturepoetry poems, so I thought I’d rectify that with a ramble about what’s been happening lately.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, I’ve been busy with various writing projects this year – drafting, revising, going through major edits, most of which came back to back. In early November, I finally managed to finish the ‘final’ revision for the book I wrote last year in order to get it ready for querying (which I’m currently doing).

Shortly after completion, the weight of all the energy I’d used up doing everything hit me hard: my sleep, which has never be good, got worse, and I couldn’t handle much physically or mentally. I probably should have seen it coming, because it’s happened before, but even if I had, I’m not sure what I could have done about it. I’m terrible at taking breaks and resting. I’m not even sure if I know how to rest – no matter how hard I try, my brain won’t stop chiming in with all the projects I’ve got lined up, and if I don’t have any, it ‘helpfully’ comes up with some.

The thing is, the longer I put off resting, the worse my energy levels will be affected when I do get to it. So I had to force myself to slow down, because my body was telling me I had to. So I spent a while playing games, which I rarely do otherwise despite how much I enjoy them, went out for more walks, cared for and added (substantially!) to my houseplant collection, and only worked on my fundraising project.

This did work for a while, but then I got a few emails about being part of a story festival, which meant I had another project to prepare for. And it seems that, if I have any sort of deadline, no matter if it’s ages away, my brain will not let me settle until whatever it is is done.

I ended up doing it all as fast as I could so I no longer had to think about it, and I felt so much better afterwards that I even managed to do some small festive crafty things (I like the idea of making things, but generally I’m too impatient and get bored halfway through, which then means I end up resenting it while being too stubborn to give up. Conundrums, conundrums.)

But then I got the itch to rework an older book, and though in some ways, I probably would benefit from taking a few more weeks to recover, when I started taking a look at the story and began tweaking, I felt like I was achieving something again. It’s an odd headspace to be in – I’m tired as I’m still not sleeping well, and I can’t really handle more than one activity a day (I disregard general cleaning, as that’s part of my morning routine, and I get so badly thrown off if I don’t do it that it’s just not worth skipping it. Also, I have birds, and their care comes well before mine). Yet if I don’t have some sort of work on the go, apparently I feel unfulfilled.

I do wonder if other creatives, especially those who are neurodivergent, have the same problem?