This is present me wishing past me had realised making a new
year resolution about posting my newsletter on the 1st of each month
was going to trip me up come April. Maybe it’ll be so run of the mill that no-one will mistake it for an April Fool’s joke?
Publication and Writing News
No recent publications, but I am currently back working on my summer serial. I just submitted part two so fingers crossed I’ll be starting on
part three later this month. Luckily, it’s so bright this spring, which really helps with replicating the summery mood in the serial. There’ll be goat rides, brine therapy and a ghostly bride.
I also submitted the proposal for my longer post-World War II piece set on the Norfolk Broads, so fingers crossed!
Due to health issues the serial has been my
main focus so I hit my deadlines. With the longer days and warmer evenings, I’m
hoping I’ll get more time to work on side projects – and cooking! I’d love to
do a few blog posts about the local dishes I’ve featured in my stories.
Preview
💚
Willow Blyth was the most beautiful girl in the village.
She wandered the woodlands for herbs to make remedies for whatever ailed a man,
not any of this witchcraft nonsense.
I could not stop thinking about Willow. Her very image was
stitched upon my mind. I lay in bed, drowsily dipping in and out of sleep.
Willow had an easy smile, as if she had been born with her
sunset red lips upturned. One of my sisters once told me Willow reminded her of
our cat Dandy when she sat by the fire and eyed us the same way a heron waits
for the shimmer of a fish.
Her hair was a mystery to me, as she always had it tucked
underneath a bonnet. Once, I had caught the tantalising glimpse of a lock of
hair, like a head of corn curling around her ear. I was often tempted to pluck
at her ribbon ties, to see the whole wheat field tumble free.
I awoke mid-breath when I caught an odd smell in the air.
It was not the last wisps of the blackberry syrup we had drunk with supper.
This smell was a clean, sharp scent. The same as when I strode out across the
fields after a heavy night of rain.
I looked out of the window. The sky was not dark or bright.
It was every shade of green: the moss that crawled on the walls when the rain
would not let up, or the grass that peeped through when winter ended.
The colours swirled and entwined. The mist seemed to crook
a finger and beckon.
- The Green Mists, The Wherryman's Daughter Short Story Collection
Writing Tip
Now, this one is very important to writers, artists, any
sort of creative… sacrificing to the Great Muse so we actually get our
inspiration. According to folklore books, hundreds of years back the nearest book burner or commissioner who didn’t pay their invoice was chased through the
marshland and left for the Muse to find.
Nowadays, we have to provide a more human
alternative.
So… what does the Muse prefer? It depends on the medium. For
writers, it must be a first draft engrained with the author’s sweat, tears and
endless papercuts along with chocolates and perhaps a bottle of
blackberry syrup. (Seasonal gets bonus points, so get grabbing those Easter
eggs!)
… but if there’s too many plot holes, then that tastes very
bitter. If the Muse is enraged, one blow of their
lips and the words will fly from the pages to vanish into the night. Therein
lies the origin of writer’s block.
April Fools 😉
 |
| About the Author |
Kitty-Lydia Dye wanders the beaches for inspiration with her dog Bramble. Her historical fiction has been influenced by the local myths roaming the haunting landscape of the Norfolk marshes. Many of her short stories have appeared in The People's Friend magazine. She has also released a collection inspired by Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera. She enjoys knitting dog jumpers, gazing at the waves at night, exploring church ruins as well as taking part in amateur dramatics (and played the part of an evil flying monkey!)
