Body Jump

In 2004, I sat down to write a novel, my third. Body Jump is a thriller, with a supernatural twist, which if you've read my work, is my trade mark. Murder, mayhem, sex and violence weave a web through the pages of this fast paced human drama. As any author will tell you we love all our stories, but Body Jump has taken me on a ride that is and always will be unforgettable. The characters were back then and are today so real and compelling, especially Susan Claw.

Susan is the main protagonist, who was never in the story to start with. She came to this story when I was wrestling with the first chapter and I had already sorted out my characters, (so I thought). Even back then our first meeting was auspicious. She was not kind or even gracious, but she was certainly tenacious, forthright and extremely complex. My most complex character to date. She turned this story into her own, she is smart, sexy, and street savvy.

Believe it or not I actually conceived this story when I was around four, or five years old. I used to sit on the upper floor of an English double decker bus and look down on the people below walking by. I used to wonder where they were going? What they were doing, or who they were meeting? What if you had that ability, effectively projecting yourself into them? Through line of sight you could Body Jump someone. This means you could use their senses, see, hear, smell, touch, taste. Listen to their thoughts and go through their innermost desires. You could take from them whatever you wanted and they would never even know you were there, dangerous people indeed.

As I got older I asked myself the same questions. Where are they going, what are they doing etc. Until one day I asked myself. (Hey! what if that guy over there, is on his way to commit a murder?) What would you if you was a Body Jumper and you knew what was about to happen? Would you go to the cops? Would you follow him? Or could you go home and forget about it? Well the moral implications are huge and the book Body Jump was born.

I can tell you now it's a lot more complicated than that. These characters are in a league of their own. Even now they fascinate me, each and every one of them. For most of you it will be available on Amazon soon, so keep your eyes open. Let me know what you think, because I can't Body Jump. 

Bluebells

Once again time is a bitch and runs away. December 2011! That was my last post!From December last year till now I've been away from home, more than I have been there. Lots of things have happened but everything is still the same, well apart from time marching up and down my face. I've had very little time for writing or for even attending the Black Sheep writers group meetings. This week however I have written two short pieces one for the group and one for Bravehearts. Bravehearts is a charity run to protect children from sexual abuse. I support this charity and applaud the good work they do. They sent out a call to break the silence and to send them your experiences with regards to sexual abuse. I wrote this piece called Bluebells and I sent it to them.


 Bluebells

Although I live in Australia today and have done for well over forty years now. The one thing that takes me back to the UK in a split second is the mention of, or the sight of Bluebells. Those exquisite flowers that bloom profusely throughout the British countryside in the spring and summer months. The unfortunate thing about the sight of Bluebells is that the images also bring forth the day my innocence was forever taken away from me, amongst those most beautiful of flowers. It's with mixed emotions that I think about them now. It's such a shame they will always be a source of shame and pain instead of conjuring moments of beauty into my life, they will always be synonymous with emotional pain and distress.

I was around four years old when the first incident happened, it was an older family member that led my younger brother and myself through the woods that grew behind our house. We were led to a clearing and I remember a large boulder being there also. I suppose you could liken it to an altar. An altar where innocence is sacrificed and lost amongst the leaf litter on the floor. I truly have no idea what these people are thinking when they commit these truly heinous crimes against their own blood. How on earth can anyone justify these actions? How can they live with the pain they inflict? I know through growing up with a mentally abusive mother that there is no way I would ever pass that cruel pain on to my children. Nothing is more abhorrent to me than seeing children abused, beaten, or sexually assaulted. I know the pain of two of these sins.

 How I hung onto to my sanity back then and today is a source of amazement for people around me who know of my situation. Believe me it's a constant battle, each day is a new challenge. Although these days I'm so much more in control of my own destiny as well as my mind. The pain is duller, but still there. You can never truly be free, but I rest easy in the knowledge that both of my sons will never know that pain, nor fully understand it either. For that I am truly grateful. They are both beautiful human beings who treat others as they wish to be treated. I have to take a small pat on the back for that. You see for me it's all about the quality of my children's lives. Why do I feel like a lone voice in the wilderness when I say this?

 I can't help but feel that if the children were left alone to be children, to be loved and nurtured then a lot of the problems of this society wouldn't exist. As an author I speak publicly on many occasions and I'm honest and open about why my stories are dark. They are dark due to the fact that I grew up in the dark and from having to live in my head for most of my childhood. Because I am open and honest about my past I'm constantly shocked and saddened by the amount of strangers who will come up to me after I have spoken and tell me their stories. I have been asked why I feel I need to tell the world about my story, when it should be private. I respond with this simple message - because someone out there is in pain, and if I can help to shoulder some of that burden and take some of that pain then I will always do that. It's so important for those suffering that they don't feel alone, isolated and afraid. Let them know they are not alone, for God's sake let them know they are able to live a life. Let them know the rent in their heads doesn't have to paid every day. Unfortunately the Bluebells will always be the rent in my head, but I don't have to pay as often these days.

 Kev C Webb © 2012

Too Long

Wow, I just looked over my blog and realised it's been far to long since my last post. Time passes so quick and before you know it another year has gone. Just like this one. I have a lot to look forward to next year. I know that my second novel in the "Dream Raider" series was supposed to be out now, but once again life gets in the way and the unexpected wraps you in it's tendrils, as time slips from your grasp. To those of you waiting for this book I apologise. Sorry for mucking you around. You will be pleased to know however that I will also be releasing my first adult novel next year as well, so keep an eye out for that one. It will be released under the pseudonym K.E.Vee to save problems with regards to the YA novels.

Why K.E.Vee? Well simple really. I've always liked just being called Kev. K E VEE spells Kev. I promise to visit the blog a bit more regular in the future and keep you posted on the happenings with the book fronts. I'll post again soon, enjoy the holiday period.

Kev. AKA K.E.Vee

Pete's Diary

Hi everyone today I'm going to Blog about Pete's Diary, it's the online companion to Dream Raider, that we have on our Johnny Marsh website. The Idea was first put to me by Anthony, (Ant) my business partner. After getting the website off the ground he was looking for things to fill it up and pad it out. Ant wanted something unique and something that would grab the readers and keep them coming back. He put the idea to me and I loved it, so together we hatched which character should write the diary, what would it's content be and how much of the storyline we could give away without spoiling the book.

I really wanted it to be an authentic looking diary that a teenager would write so it should be scrappy, since no one else is supposed to read it. It doesn't matter about neatness or spelling or punctuation. So it's full or errors and missing words and bad spelling. It's not a stretch for me to write like that believe me. And while we're on the subject, yes I hand write them myself. We thought in the beginning that it was a good Idea and we have been proved right, it is the most popular spot on our website.

Ant also saw the potential and made sure it had a nice home, so he took time to craft a beautiful page for it with Pete's glasses resting at the top of the page, some tea cup rings, and a pen under the diary. Plus he used some scraps of paper to click on to go from page to page. They are also my hand writing. (It's very lucky that my own handwriting is extremely scrappy.)

We now have over twenty entries in the diary and it's growing. Because the story is centered around Johnny Marsh, people are finding it interesting seeing things from Pete's perspective. You get to see another angle of Dream Raider and the fans like that. They like it that Pete talks about a girl he likes, or of his own fears about a certain situation. I guess most of the readers also like Pete and feel he deserves more book time and this is a perfect way to enter his little piece of Dream Raider.

Touching Lives

I remember the excitement of putting my ideas down for the first time and wondering if I really had it in me to finish my first story. Johnny Marsh, Monster Hunter. Yep that was Dream Raiders first title. It started out as a project very much for myself, A hobby, after all it was only going to be about fifteen thousand words long. As I wrote, the characters and the story grew, then ran ahead of me, I was truly unable to catch up at times. It soon became obvious that these characters would demand another story, another book was in the planning stages, long before I had finished the first.

Something happened the day I became a writer. I changed, I had that moment, the moment we all hear about, the moment where you realise that you have just hit a major turning point in your life and you don't ever want to go back. At that stage of my life I was healing, writing it seems was my therapy. Fifteen years have now passed since that day and I had no idea at all about what was in store for me through all that time. I simply thought that I would write my stories, get them published and give up Construction work forever. WRONG!!!

It has been tough, exciting, fun and frustrating, but the one constant that made me push on, was the fact that I was touching lives. Everywhere I go and every chance I get I talk about my work...my real work. I can see the spark light up in peoples eyes when I talk about my books and the journey I'm now on. I can see them searching, looking deep within themselves. Wondering whatever happened to their dreams. Is that you? Do you ever wonder where your dreams went? Perhaps like most people these days they are buried, buried deep under your mortgage. Or more likely, buried under your day job.

I asked myself the other day, how many people have come up to me in the thirty three years I've been in construction, just to say, "The plastering you have done has inspired me to follow my dream."
Yeah Right! But my books are another story all together. I can make a difference, I can touch your very soul with my words. I have been told that Manjucus the soul stealer in Dream Raider is scary, creepy and downright nasty. Some people despise him. I think that is so cool, that a character I made up can evoke strong feelings in my readers. It means I'm touching them. Whether I inspire, or whether I instill mistrust, it means I'm touching lives and my stories will live on, to be discussed well into the future.

To live and work uninspired is a crime. A crime against you very soul.

Edit

Apart from the horrendous natural disasters to hit Queensland this year, things do seem to be looking up. I am talking on a personal level here. The decision to independently publish our next book looks like a winner all round. We have embarked on the editing journey at the moment. With a huge part of the whole journey behind us, now we can look back and see further ahead. (I hope that makes sense) We have made some firm friendships along the way, that enable us to deal with people we know we can trust. That's a big thing when you step out into the big bad world alone.

Everywhere I turn these days I have good people watching my back. I know that if I do fall there will be many hands to help me up again, and even more encouraging words of support. I feel that the next book in the Johnny Marsh series will please the ever expanding group of readers that already have a copy on their bookshelves. I'm getting good vibes off it from people who are reading it in it's current form.

It's strange because it's been a while since I finished it. I remember at the time stressing about it being the follow up in the series and worrying whether it was worthy. I read it today with a confident eye. I must admit there are a couple of places where I think to myself. Wow! Did I write that? I'm not trying to sell anyone the book here and now. I just want you all to know that I write these as much for myself as I do for my readers. That's no lie. It's simply, the truth.

I was a late starter when it came to reading and writing. One of the thing's I remember thinking while reading other peoples novels, was, these books are great, but they're so predictable. I could see closed doors everywhere in the stories and wondered why the authors never opened them. In my stories there are open doors everywhere and I trust my imagination, so watch out for the next Johnny Marsh book, we hope to have it to you real soon. I promise you will be the first to know.

A Brand New Year.

Something about last year still sends a shiver down my spine. I'm glad we've seen the back of it to be honest. There is a certain sense of optimism in the air that wasn't present last year. I hope it lasts and that everybody benefits from that optimism.

I'm about to embark on the next step in my life's journey. We have set the wheels in motion for the next book to be published in the Dream Raider series. It's in the capable hands of my editor as we speak. I have to admit I love the editing part. It's like watching a beautiful flower open. It's not until it's open fully that you see it's true beauty. I can't wait for that moment.

Apathy

I don't know what it is at the moment but there is a certain sense of apathy about me just now. I can't get into the swing of things. Since I was forced to have a break from work for a month without pay due to lack of work, I seem to have started coming apart at the seams. It all just gets to hard at the moment. I'm back at work now but it feels like the world changed in that month I was away and now I have to find my niche again. It all feels too daunting.

Life can be a cruel mother, always when you feel you have a handle on it, the handle breaks. If your lucky, you only get skinned knees but mostly of course you come off worse than that. I feel like that at the moment, it could just be that 2010 was a crap year and I'm feeling the effects of the fallout from it. I have seen the results of the GFC, we may not have had a recession here in oz but the ripple effect is present for all to see and to feel. Sometimes you know when you've had enough don't you.

Body Jump Prologue Revisited.

A couple of months back I posted the Body Jump prologue. Now I love this story and the characters in it. Since its first posting it has been worked and reworked again & again, so now I can put up the final edit, this is what you will read when it comes out in hard copy or E format. A big thanks once again to Maggie Anderson for her unwavering help and support with this, as well as her belief in Body Jump

Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee ©
It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming. Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the one thing she can’t get accustomed to. A uniformed Sergeant leads Susan to the apartment where Bryce is already working the scene. The cop hesitates at the open door. The putrid smell of rotting flesh wafting into the hallway is enough to turn his stomach, although he's a seasoned cop and has seen his fair share of murder victims, he doesn't want to see what’s waiting for the detective in that bedroom.

Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up the phone.

‘What have you got for me, Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she’s been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.

Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘How could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.

Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks. As if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.

Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim.’

‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’

‘Do we know that for certain?’

‘Forensics hasn’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at the bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard the silk has embedded into her skin. I can only assume he removed her hands and feet for trophies. I’m hoping she was dead at this point. Lack of blood seems to suggest it. Could be the bindings acted as tourniquets.’

Susan looks intently. ‘It’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not.’

‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but none of the previous victims were flayed. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’

Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up. ‘Not sure, Jim, it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’

‘Yeah,’ she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’

‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz. Age 32.’

Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush into his head, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood spattered walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.

Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth, and tries to dislodge the thought. All of a sudden, he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention - he can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen. And he’s seen a lot of them.
There’s no sign of the knives or a hacksaw anywhere. Both cops try to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.

‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’

Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’

‘No...I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’

‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take. I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.

‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’

Susan nodded. ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body can be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’

Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake. He concentrates on the blank eye sockets staring up at him. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, where is her soul now?
The detectives stand at the bloody bedside in silence, until Susan turns to Bryce and says, ‘Where the hell do we start?’

Are Writers Broken? Part 2

I'm a bit melancholy at the moment and I'm not sure why. It could be the fact that I have no work for a few weeks, thanks to the GFC. It could be life or it could be the ghosts of the past haunting me again/still. I asked a few months back if all writers were broken and do we to try and mend ourselves with the soothing caress of the written word? I know from personal experience that this is true of myself. I haven't written for a couple of weeks and this could have something to do with my current state of mind.

It does seem that writing is an outlet through which I funnel my steam. Writing this blog right now is lifting the clouds. I sat down tonight not knowing what I was going to put up on my blog wall, but knew I had to write something. I must say I'm glad I have this blog here. I know that very few people read it but it is a comfort knowing it's here. So to those of you who do read this thank you, and know that I'm battling my demon's just like you are. So I guess that answers part 2 of the question. Yep still broken.

Body Jump Prologue

Well here it is, the Body Jump Prologue. This is an adult story so you have been warned. This is to set the scene and lead the reader into the story and not too gently I might add. Please enjoy and feel free to comment on this Prologue. I must give a special thanks to Maggie Anderson for her wonderful support and encouragement with this prologue, thanks Maggs.

Body Jump Prologue
By K.E.Vee 2010 ©

It’s the smell. It hits like a fist in the face. The pungent stench of death is overwhelming.
Susan Claw braces herself. She’d mastered the stomach clenching phase a few years ago, but the sickening smell is the thing that gives a sharp jolt and warns her of what she's about to witness. A uniformed cop leads Susan with hesitant steps to the room where Jim Bryce is waiting for her.

Bryce was still at the office when the call came in, Susan on the other hand had already left; She had a date and was ready for a night of passionless, animalistic sex.

Susan had just opened a bottle of Shiraz and was about to step into a long, hot bubble bath when the call came through. She stared at the phone willing it to stop ringing. The caller ID displayed “Bryce,” and she knew she had to answer it and what it would mean. Susan could sense the desperation in the ring tone. Sighing heavily and wrinkling up her nose, she snatched up her phone.

‘What have you got for me Jim?’ She tilts her head back and closes her eyes as he gives her news she has been dreading. ‘Shit! I’ll be there as soon as I can.’

This memory plays out in her mind as she steps through the bedroom doorway. The bizarre sadomasochistic room screams depravity—one wall lined with sex toys and whips, while chains with a neck cuff and shackles hang from the ceiling.

Bryce is hunched over the body shaking his head. His eyes wander unsure of where they should rest. The rotting corpse of a young woman is tied to the bed like an X. Under his breath he mutters, ‘how could you let this happen to you?’ Several flies take flight as he leans closer to examine the mutilation. Their buzzing around the body is a real violation as far as Bryce is concerned. It sickens him. He looks over the disturbing scene and sighs heavily.

Movement catches his eye. Her top lip is twitching. He narrows his eyes in disbelief and stares at her mouth, which is encrusted with dried blood and saliva. A fly squeezes through her parted lips and zips away. Fuck! Bryce thinks to himself, as if this poor girl hasn’t been through enough.

Susan approaches her partner. ‘Good God, Jim,’
‘I know. It just keeps getting worse, doesn’t it?’ He exhales deeply. ‘Why would you ever have a need to flay someone…alive?’
‘Do we know that for certain?’
‘Forensics haven’t arrived yet, but that’s what it looks like to me. Look at her bindings where she’s been tied to the bed, she’s pulled at them so hard that the silk has embedded into her skin. He’s removed her hands and feet for what I can only assume as trophies. I’m hoping at this point she was dead. Lack of blood seems to suggest this or it could just be that the bindings acted as tourniquets.’
Susan looks intently, ‘it’s possible, but I sure as hell hope not’
‘Is this our guy? I mean it sort of looks like his MO, but there haven’t been any past victims that have been flayed before. Body parts missing, yeah, but certainly not flayed.’
Susan is consumed with what she sees and doesn’t look up when she answers. ‘Not sure, Jim it could be.’
‘Shit, Sue…it looks like he’s used a saw to take off her hands and feet.’
‘Yeah she says, taking a closer look. ‘I’d go with a hacksaw. What was her name?’
‘Elizabeth Paula Jenkins, but everyone called her Liz, she was 32.’

Visions flash through Jim Bryce’s mind. The frantic scenes rush at him, blindsiding him— Liz struggling, pulling at the red silk, restraining her to the wooden four poster bed. The glint of steel plunged repeatedly into her convulsing body. Bryce can only imagine this woman’s suffering. Thank God we can’t feel her pain. His thoughts return to the blood splatter around the walls and what forensics would make of it all. It wasn’t the same knife that opened her up, he notes. A long blade would have caught the internal organs. It was a short bladed knife, something more akin to a builder’s utility knife, the kind that has a disposable blade. That means the killer came prepared and it was premeditated.

Bryce hopes she was dead before she was cut open and hacked up. He could only imagine the thought of her being alive while the knife sliced through the skin and muscle of her stomach, cutting a trail to her sternum where it temporarily got stuck in the bone. He winces, drawing air through his teeth as he tries to rid himself of that thought. Then he hears it, starting at the back of his mind and working its way forward, demanding his attention. He can hear the grating of a saw drawn back and forth through bone. He wants to cover his ears but it wouldn’t make any difference, the teeth-jarring sound won’t stop until the hands and feet drop off. It’s a horrible mutilation, one of the worst Bryce has ever seen and he’s seen a lot of them.

There’s no sign of the knives or hacksaw anywhere. Both cops are trying to come to terms with the gruesome scene. They can see this is a young woman, but with no hands, feet or eyes it is hard to register that right now.

‘How long do you think it would take to remove the hands and feet?’
Susan looks up not really wanting to. ‘Not long. Have you ever used a hack saw?’
‘No....I’m not what you’d call a handy man.’
‘A few years ago, I was on a similar case. It turned out to be a hacksaw job. The coroner cut through a pig’s foreleg to get an idea of how long it would take’
‘I was invited along to watch the test. It took less than a minute to make four complete cuts through flesh and bone. I tried it myself, it was unnerving how fast the hacksaw blade ripped through the bones, in fact it was sickeningly quick.
‘Less than a minute? You’re shitting me.’
Susan nodded ‘I know, scary isn’t it. To think a body could be cut up in less than twenty minutes.’

Bryce reckons he could do without that sort of knowledge, but understands why the research is needed. These days it appears to be more the norm, mutilated corpses stuffed into every corner and crevice. What the hell happened to the days when murders were clean for Gods sake, thinks Bryce as he surveys the annihilatory scene beneath him. The worst has to be the blank eye sockets. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then where is her soul now? Jim Bryce and Susan Claw heave a collective sigh.
Susan turns to Bryce and says. ‘Where the hell do we start?’

Bloody Punctuation & Spelling

Regular followers of my blog will have noticed that I'm not the best with punctuation and spelling. Well I'm here to tell you that from this day forward, I'm not going to change.

Sorry, but to be honest, I can't promise something I just can't deliver on. My grasp of the English language is very weak and I'm painfully aware of that sad fact, it's pointed out to me on a regular bases. I'm no scholar and I've never professed to be. What I am is a trier, I try my best with everything. I excel at some things in my life but unfortunately fall short with others, punctuation and spelling are two that I fall down on.

So if after 47 yrs I have failed to understand it, I really don't think it's going to click into place anytime soon, much to the frustration of my family and friends. Now if they're frustrated then how do they think I feel about it?

What I can do is put together a great plot, with some wonderful characters thrown in the mix. So I can bake the cake but I can't do the icing, that I have to leave in the capable hands of others, thank goodness there are people in my life I can trust to do that. As for those of you I frustrate with my bad punctuation well I guess you had best not follow my blog, because it won't be changing any time soon. For those of you willing to stay, please enjoy the ride. I will be posting the edited prologue for Body Jump at my next blog post so keep a critical eye open for it.

Good News

I was mucking around on my iPad the other day when an email came in. Nothing too significant really, emails come in at all times of the day, but I don't normally hear them come in. When I looked, the email was titled, "Bad & Good." So I read on, it was from a guy I submitted three pieces of Flash Fiction to back in the early part of this year.

The email was to say that two of the three flash pieces had been selected and they were going into an anthology, along with the works of other Australian authors. I was overjoyed at this news, because as any other author will tell you, we rarely get acceptance letters. The letters we do receive are normally always rejections or just the normal bills from everyday life. I had even received conformation earlier in the year that the three pieces I'd sent were short listed and even this failed to move me towards excitement.

I guess after all this time I'm a bit jaded, because each time in the past I've gotten excited, the anti excitement police would bust down my front door and take no prisoners. Leaving me, to feel hollow once again. Ha! Not this time I can actually enjoy this moment and give myself a well deserved pat on the Back, all the while saying, it's about bloody time.

Three Questions

Today I'm posing three questions. I never meant too, but after putting these questions to a writing group and receiving so many varied answers, I just thought it would be interesting to post these questions on my blog.

Q1. What do you think is the colour of the wind?

Q2. What is the colour of your heart?

Q3. What is the colour of your tears?

Think about it and those of you that want to can post your answers in the comments.

Tax & Reflection

I have been sitting down today doing my personal taxes plus the taxes for the book; I have an appointment with the accountant tomorrow. When I did the tallying I found that as expected there were no profits and far more expenditure than I thought. I went around to visit my ailing mother after crunching the numbers and we discussed this, she said to me that I may not have banked a fortune or had broken even, but I have never seen you so happy.

God she's right! Just crunching numbers and doing the figures can be tough and depressing, but when I look back over the last year and think about the friendships I have made and the fun Anthony and I have had, the dollars spent mean nothing. What price happiness indeed. I would never have met some of the most wonderful people that are in my life now, had it not been for this book and for that, I'm truly grateful.

To Leigh, Maggie, Debbie, Kelly, Karen, Helen, Robin, Penny, & of course Anthony. Priceless!!!!

Critique

I have recently joined a writers group. For the first 14 yrs I had done and been alone with my writing. So being around a group of writers was a daunting prospect. I was really nervous about submitting a piece for critiquing as I had this vision of people looking over the top of their glasses, all shaking their heads with extreme disapproval at what they had just read. It's what school was like for me, so that's what I was expecting when my turn came for submission.

What I did find was a group of dedicated people who really care about the other people sitting at the table. None of them were condescending, or put themselves above the others. Basically we are all the same so that's how we are all treated. I submitted a piece of flash fiction it's a piece I posted here around Christmas time, called 'Long Haul' originally titled 'Why' also posted here. I got so much helpful feedback that once I got the time, I sat down and sorted through the comments.

I felt like I was opening a Christmas present it was that good. I sorted through all the comments and tweaked the story once again pulling it tighter together. I'm lucky, the writers group I belong to is generous and caring, but I have heard horror stories about other writing groups. So thanks to Andrew,Jan,Kelly,Maggie,Deb,Robin and our group leader Karen. I'm glad to be part of the team.

Trials

Once again it's been a while since my last post. I try to get back here as often as possible, but life gets in the way. Since my last post I have changed jobs, my mother was taken seriously I'll and I had to train to get my forklift licence. All things that have caused me stress in one way or another. At my darkest point I found writing to be a comfort. I have used my words as a healing agent since I started writing, but while waiting for my mother to come out of her latest surgery, I used thoughts and memories of beauty to help me through the darkness.

It helped, I had something I could keep reading that helped me deal with situations out of my control. It's hard when life snatches the controls out of you hands and your flying on a wing and a prayer. I guess at times like these we all need comfort and understanding. It also shows us who we really are, I know that I went through a lot of stress and found it hard at times to deal with. But I got up every day and went to work as well as to the hospital and carried on as best as I could. Surly it's all we can do.

Everyone goes through this at one time or another, please don't be afraid to talk about it to your friends or family, they will support you and be there for you. I know this for a fact. I would like to thank everyone that has been there for me in the last two weeks, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, if you ever need me I will be there for you as well.

Teacher

I found something today that I honestly thought had gone by way of the Dodo. It's something I wrote on the 17/6/1997 it's simply called, "Teacher." It's short and sweet and I think quite poignant. I'm not sure why I wrote it, but it was on my very first PC which died years ago. I actually found a hard copy and I'm so glad I did. Here is Teacher.

Teacher

The greatest teacher of wisdom is Pain

The finest teacher for learning is experience

The ugliest teacher is lust

The prettiest teacher is joy

The hardest teacher to understand is life

The strangest teacher is yourself.

Kev copyright 1997

Are Writers Broken?

Believe me, I'm not being flippant when I ask this, plus I will clarify the question. It's more an observation really I suppose, I know from personal experience that I heal when I write. You see I had a rough time as a kid and carried around my fair share of pain, yes I was broken and in need of repair. Writing did this for me, it allowed me to go to places in my head that I'd never been to before. It allowed me to explore areas that I would never have gone to otherwise. When you write fiction you can go where others fear to tread. You have the ability to explore the dark side of yourself and others, it's that part that is hidden away shunning the light of day.

I find it incredibly exhilarating to come up with story lines that make people say."Where the hell did that come from?" You draw on your own pain, you write from your very soul or what's left of it, and because you have been there, you know how to touch others with your words. I see it also with other writers, you only have to talk to them to know we are all coming from the same place. Most writers are extremely sensitive and wonderfully supportive, we are emotional and love music. I can't function without a tune running through my head. I especially love to write to music as do most writers I know. All the years I have been writing have also been years of healing for me. The one thing I worry about is that if I heal, will I lose my edge will my writing not be as powerful? If I suddenly start to love everything in sight will my words turn to flowers? Now that's a scary thought. I think for my own sanity I must stay a little broken, besides being normal is a little too weird, even for me.

So are writers broken? Are you a broken writer, or one that's healing like myself?

Incredible Journey

When I started writing all those years ago, I had no idea of where it was truly going to take me. All I knew back then was that I had finally found the one thing in my life that had always been lacking and was completely untapped, my creativity. I had never been so happy and so busy all at once. Every day was a new adventure in research and story direction. Each new fact screamed at me and told me that it was a perfect piece for the jigsaw puzzle that is Dream Raider.

I have been on this incredible journey ever since and I don't want it to ever end. I love escaping and hiding, running through my own worlds, breathing the air of my own creation. When I write that's where I go, I am totally immersed in my own world. I experience the world through my characters eyes. When I'm in the zone, well lets just say I can't type fast enough. Dream Raider has given me far more than I ever thought possible, it has provided me with opportunities I would never have otherwise had. It has also provided more pleasure than I have ever experienced before with anything else I have achieved.

I have met some truly wonderful people through this book and can highly recommend this journey to anyone also contemplating it. "WARNING!" It is not easy and can be thankless and sometimes soul destroying. But just like every other thing in this life, you have to experience the bad to truly appreciate the good. Take it from me though the good stays while the bad fades, and the incredible journey continues.