Review of Kyrie Wang's Healer's Blade (Enemy's Keeper #1)
There is something about Wang that is just so lovely that I feel lucky to have crossed paths with her. She radiates positivity, kindness, and joy and is one of those rare people that makes you feel good no matter how your day is going. A pathologist MD by day, (and hamster-toy creating mom after work), Wang writes clean alternate historical YA fiction by night. Her debut novel Healer’s Blade hit the shelves on June 30, 2023 to a very warm reception.
I met Wang through Nick Stephenson’s Dream Team Network where she had been connecting with authors to share her upcoming book to their audiences. You might recall seeing Healer’s Blade featured in my June newsletter, where some of you bought it (to her delight!).
As for me, I was intrigued by the premise of an alternate history based on the time period just after William the Conquerer claimed England and crowned himself King.
It was an interesting alternate history concept, especially when I saw there were Vikings in the mix (what? how?!), so I added it to my Kindle to read and let Wang know I would be reviewing it in my August newsletter.
Wang is one of those rare authors who has carried her story in her heart and soul for years. If you check out her website, you’ll find blog posts detailing her research behind events that happen in the book, and where she uses her medical expertise to share with us how what she wrote about really can happen. It’s an act of love to dedicate so much time and energy to ensure a credible narrative, especially in a story more than 1000 years removed from our world. I admire Wang’s focus, dedication, and generosity in giving readers additional aspects to explore after the final page is read.
She has even created a beautiful adult coloring book you can download for free when you join her newsletter. (I might borrow that idea because it’s awesome!)
Healer’s Blade is the first book of a series of books to be released in the Enemy’s Keeper series. The first book follows the trials and tribulations of Aliwyn, a young woman caught in the crosshairs of a society rife with power struggles, rebellions, and constantly shifting loyalties after the onslaught of war and decimation by a conquering nation. She just wants to keep her head down, take care of her chickens, and nurture her crush for her near life-long friend, Aelfric.
But of course, it is not to be. Wang does an incredible job dealing with Medieval brutality in a clean way, yet without somehow glazing over the horribleness of what Aliwyn was experiencing psychologically and physically.
Aliwyn is alone in the world, her family killed in the war, and her guardian, an expert healer who lived alone in a water mill, has also gone over to the other side. She lacks experience and only craves the simplicity of looking after her chickens and caring for the mill. So it is to be expected that her internalizations and reactions to the chaos that descends upon her is going to send her into a place of deep uncertainty. Caught up in events far beyond her ability to manage, I found myself constantly rooting for Aliwyn to be able to find peace and safety, instead we are taken on a journey through her inexperienced eyes that is both unsettling and harrowing. More than once I found myself comparing her experience to what is happening right now in places of severe conflict, where people just want to live but this is taken from them completely.
I know that Wang’s book isn’t meant to be a commentary in any way about our current world, but the fact that Aliwyn’s travails elicited a sense of just how fragile our lives can be - how in a cruel twist of fate everything can be taken from us - this meant something to me. Aliwyn has to face choices that are not black and white, and her struggle to resolve these choices makes up a large part of her internalizations. I found myself wondering what I would have done in her situation. I’m not sure, and that’s because Wang does a brilliant job of keeping the reader in Aliwyn’s head.
This is the first book in the series, and ends with a cliffhanger. What happens next? We can only wait and see.
Note to my audience. This book is YA fiction and very suitable to early YA readers. I would have loved this book when I was 13! So if you have YA readers in your home, I thoroughly recommend Healer’s Blade.
Healer’s Blade is currently a finalist in the ongoing 2023 Page Turner Awards. Congratulations!
Review of Lauren Lee Merewether's Salvation In The Sun
What I absolutely loved about this book was how much research was put into it. While many may know of the discovery of the burial chamber of the young King Tutankhamun, not as many are perhaps as interested in the story of his father (although his stunningly beautiful mother Nefertiti is certainly well known).
The story of the brief Amarna period is exceptionally interesting since it's when the uninterrupted worship of the Egyptian pantheon of gods was outlawed on pain of crippling fines and brutal whippings, and a monotheistic religion enforced - that of the worship of the sun disk, Aten.
Ms Merewether does an astounding job of marshalling together what historical information there is to create a compelling and genuinely plausible fictional narrative of how these incredible events might have unfolded. It's unique that she chose to write about an era in Egyptian history that the Egyptians systematically erased almost as soon as General Horemheb was crowned phararoh. Even the city of Amarna was torn down, vilified by all for what it had once represented in its the rejection of the divine order of things.
And yet, the author capably breathes life into the story through the eyes of Nefertiti who is both regal and relatable through her youth to her unexpected marriage to a man she did not at first love, yet was determined to do so despite his zealotry, gross ineptitude as a ruler, hermitic existence, and eventually his full disconnect from reality into fanaticism.
As I read through the pages (which I came back to as often as I could since the story was deeply engaging) I thought how Nefertiti's plight had the power to resonate with many readers - of what it is to love someone who hasn't the ability to return that love, through perhaps no real fault of their own.
Her strength, intelligence, and resolve in the face of crisis after crisis speaks of her resilience, while her dissonance of her own belief in the pantheon of gods to her husband's moral dictate that there could be no other god worshiped than Aten must have been exceptionally difficult to bear.
The author beautifully draws all these threads together into a colorful and immersive tapestry. The details in her world and society are also extremely well drawn, as though she herself had been there and recounted the world as it was. A true pleasure.
This is a five star read I would highly recommend to anyone who enjoys a historical fiction that is thoroughly researched and accurately presented in an authentic and engaging voice.
As someone who loves the history of ancient Egypt, it was a treat to lose myself in the little-known time when Egypt's society was locked in upheaval, famine, and unrest, ruled by a pharaoh who could not be questioned even as he drove his great civilization into the dust - and of an all-too human queen who walks the dangerous line between his madness and preventing her empire from falling to ruin.
Review of Eon, the hardest sci-fi treat I've ever read. 5 Stars.
This meaty book sat unread on my physical bookshelf for many years, (then put in storage for almost two after I had to leave Sweden and camp out in my best friend's house during a brutal divorce). Now, in this new chapter of my life in a new country, I retrieved this book from its lonely place in the storage container to treat myself to a novel that demands some mental gymnastics. The wait was worth it. This book is unforgettable. A hard sci-fi novel that easily deserves to stand alongside the brilliance of Arthur C. Clarke's Rendezvous With Rama.
I don't think I have ever come across such a depth of imagination in any other fiction or even film. This book goes to the limit and then pushes right past it into new and incredible concepts. Greg Bear has an imagination that feels enhanced, beyond his time and culture. He wrote this book in the 80s (first published in 1985) long before the Internet or any of the advantages we have gained through the rapid progression of research into quantum physics, the nature of reality, time, and the multiverse.
Just the fact that he created this incredible feat of fiction without any of these advantages, and that the concepts inside this book still stand up against what we have learned in the intervening years about the above is astonishing. This alone makes it worth anyone's time to invest in his mind-blowing work. I'm not sure how he did it, but I felt as I read this book that perhaps Greg Bear was not entirely one of us. This book is a gift to anyone who wants to explore concepts that take your mind to new and exciting places.
As this book was written during the Cold War, there are anachronistic details regarding this for the modern reader, however, reading this during the year that Russia has cruelly attacked Ukraine and the Western world has mobilized to help protect their democracy, there is a strange resonance to this old construct in a modern world.
TLDR;
Mind-blowing hard sci-fi concepts leave you thinking about just how much potential surrounds us - of other worlds, other times, and other entities - and grounds you in what really matters amidst all this magnificence.
The Sudden Immensity of the Little Muffin
Delighted to share that on Sept 1, 2022, The Sudden Immensity of the Little Muffin was awarded Honorable Mention in the Inspirational/Spiritual category of the 91st Annual Writer's Digest Writing Competition.
This is one of my favorite pieces, and holds a special place in my writer’s heart. I am so pleased that it’s received recognition from such a prestigious and historic contest that celebrates writing excellence on a global scale.
One day a batch of muffins was removed from the oven and laid out to cool. Once they cooled, they were placed on a plate and left to themselves.
The muffins considered each other and compared their differences, deciding who was perfect and who was not. They talked amongst themselves in their silent muffin language, about where the muffins went who never returned.
The largest muffins were taken first, so they decided the biggest must have been taken to a wonderful place as their reward. Because of this, the remaining muffins tried very hard to make themselves look bigger so they would be chosen next.
The smallest and flattest muffin was left to himself. He could only listen to the other muffins because whenever he tried to speak, no one listened to him. The others sneered at him - how could he have anything interesting to say when he was so small, flat, and unimportant?
He was very much alone. Secretly, he wondered if the other muffins were wrong since they never questioned themselves. Since no one would pay attention to him, he moved a little apart from the group and occupied himself by looking at the strange world around him.
He didn't understand what he was looking at or what the big moving thing was that took the other muffins away. He wanted to understand, but he had no one to ask. He only had himself. So he watched, day and night while the other muffins jabbered about their importance and formed ideas of a bigger original muffin they came from, who was invisible and watched over them. The other muffins liked this idea very much and spent a lot of time discussing it.
The next morning, while the other muffins were sleeping after a protracted debate over which laws, rewards, and punishments the Mighty Muffin had for muffins, the little muffin noticed the Big Being began to make a lot of noise. It carried things from closed-in places and placed them on a flat surface. It took other things from a cold place, divided all of the things up, and then combined them together in one place. He could hear the things from both the cold place and the closed-in places talking excitedly amongst themselves. Although he didn't understand what they were saying, he felt their excitement. Something big was happening! He wanted to share this with the other muffins, but they told him to be quiet, they needed their rest to be chosen next.
Then, an amazing thing - the Big Being put something on the flat surface the little muffin remembered from when he woke up. It was flat and had deep, round holes in it. He watched, fascinated as the Big Being poured the mixture into the little round holes. He heard the voices of the others more clearly as the Big Being carried the flat thing with the filled holes to the heat box. They were so excited and happy!
The little muffin felt sorely out of his depth, but he persisted in watching and listening. Nothing happened for a long time until the Big Being took the flat thing out of the heat box.
His little muffin mind reeled. It was not possible! Those wet, flat things had turned into...him! This meant he was not only a muffin...he was all of those other things too. He had seen them, individually at first and then combined together. He saw them divided up into the flat thing with holes, in the same place where he woke up.
Filled with joy, he watched as the Big Being took the new muffins out and placed them on a new plate. They were silent, perhaps they were sleeping. Impatient, he waited for them to wake up so he could ask them questions. Who were they before they became like him? Why couldn't he remember anything from before being a muffin? What did they remember? There was so much to learn!
While he waited in a fever of excitement, the Big Being came and lifted the plate he and the remaining muffins lived on. Because he had moved himself to the edge, he fell off and got left behind. Upside down, he watched as the Big Being opened a huge shiny container and let the muffins slide off their home down into its depths, their screams of terror silenced as it closed up behind them. Then the Big Being brought the plate with the new muffins over to where the little muffin remained and set it down beside him.
One by one, they woke up. He wiggled up to the plate. Who are you? he whispered. They stared at him as if he were dense. Maybe it was because he was upside down. He tried to turn over but didn't have the strength. He asked again. One of the bigger muffins replied: We are muffins, just like you...except you are a stupid muffin, you don't even know how to sit upright. And then, they laughed.
Sadly, the little muffin realised they had forgotten who they had been before they were put into the heat box - even when he told them what he had seen. They told him to stop making up stories. In horror, he listened as they followed the same path as the muffins who came before them, admiring themselves and each other, allocating power to unknown entities...all of this they could do, but they could not see what they were within! When he could not endure their mockery anymore, he worked his way into a dark corner and spent his time alone, trying to understand the things he had learned.
Days went by and the little muffin became very old, he felt that he would cease to be a muffin very soon, but he was not afraid. He knew he didn't understand all there was to know, for he was only a little muffin, but he had done his best to understand difficult things.
He closed his eyes to sleep his final sleep. As he slipped away from the old and ruined muffin form he had lived in for those long and lonely days, he felt incredibly light, lighter than anything he could imagine. He didn't know what he was supposed to be without his muffin form. He felt vulnerable and disoriented but he mustered the courage to let go. Soon he felt himself speeding backwards, remembering the parts he had been before he was a muffin. Then he became what those parts were made of. Further and further back he travelled - faster and faster - until he approached a place of beautiful light. As he merged with the light, he realised he had never only been just a little muffin. He was immense. He was everything. His muffin time was just a part of it.
And now, he was home. Ready to begin again.
On Writing, Being Stuck In Elevators With One's Favorite Celebrity & Winning Twitter's Pitch Wars
Meet Carly Vair, the bright new light behind a stunning, dark and gritty YA novel of love, power, paranormal abilities, and yearning. I reached out to her to have the coveted opportunity to look at the work that won in 2021’s Twitter Pitch Wars. She obliged (lucky me) and left me devouring her words far into the night.
It’s not often I come across writing that resonates with me in a way that remains in my soul for days after but hers hit that rare sweet spot. Original, troubling, at times unsettling, it’s real in a way only the best fantasy can be. An allegory to our own plain, quiet, dull and unadorned world. Where, if we had the chance to reach the lightning heat of our passion and take it beyond the realm of what we know, we can experience the love and pain of those who are burdened with powers we can only dream of. It’s sexy and cruel in a Donna Tartt’s The Secret History kind of way, but without that generous side of Hamptons frat.
Fascinated by her humility and her cool detachment from just how incredible her talent is, I reached out to her post-breathless-reading of her book for an interview. I wanted to know more about the talented mind behind one of the most original, unique, and in-your-face books I have come across, in well, ever.
And she didn’t disappoint. Her book Masks of Living Bone is a bestseller waiting to happen. Until then, here’s a little more about the woman behind the book that’s got the chops to end up as a series on Netflix.
If you could live in any time period, (past, present, or future for one week), when would you choose to live?
Jazz Age, baby! I don’t actually listen to jazz, but the vibe feels right, especially for only a week. A little bit of bootlegging, a little bit of women’s rights, a little bit of Art Deco — what’s not to love?
When you’re not writing, how do you spend your time?
I have three Pitbulls who are the loves of my life, so most of my non-writing and non-working time is spent walking or training or playing games with them. They’re big fans of hiking and playing hide-and-go-seek, and I just started a basic scent work class with one of them. Other than that, I’m your garden-variety nerd, so I read some books and watch some anime and play some video games. I’m also a nerd-variety gardener, so on summer mornings, you can catch me wandering around outside with my coffee, talking nonsense to my dahlias.
You are stuck in an elevator with your ultimate favorite celebrity or fandom character. Who are they and what would you do with them to pass the time?
I love how open-ended the latter part of this question is. ;) My ultimate favorite celebrity would have to be Tom Hardy — he’s equal parts heartthrob and muse for me. I’ve written characters with him in mind and learned so much from watching him inhabit characters. Assuming I didn’t just crumble into mortified ash as soon as he perceived my existence, I’d probably talk to him about dogs; I know we have that in common.
If you could go back in time and visit your younger self, what would you say to make yourself a better writer, faster?
I would tell myself that writing is a craft, which means it needs to be practiced. Although there is something absolutely alchemical about writing, the gold doesn’t come out of thin air — you have to approach it with no small amount of discipline and willingness to just wade through the suck. I was lacking that when I was younger; I waited for the muse or the mood to strike before I wrote, and I wasn’t active when it came to learning how to structure a story. I assumed that being a reader was enough, and even though that’s a necessary and invaluable part of writing, I would’ve caught on to how stories work a lot faster if I’d gone looking for answers rather than hoping they’d fall in my lap.
What inspires you to write?
I was thinking about this the other day as I was potting up seedlings, wondering why my stories are so dark when I enjoy so many light and beautiful things in real life. I don’t, at this time, feel the need or desire to write about flowers or dogs. I think it’s because they feed me, whereas I write out of a need to vent. I write about things I need to understand more deeply, things that have grown out of opposition to something else that exists in the world. I’m obsessed with godhood and power and trauma, and writing about those things comes more naturally to me. I think writing about wholesome, uncomplicated goodness would be a challenge.
Do you ever wonder if the world and characters you create become real in an alternate universe? If so, how does that make you feel when you put them through the ringer?
I’m not sure I ever considered it in that exact sense, but I do think characters have life beyond their pages. My characters stay with me even once I’ve written “the end” in their particular book, and maybe someday they’ll stay with readers too. I do think the alternate universe idea is fun, but no, I have absolutely no qualms about making my characters suffer. For one thing, conflict is the point; if you couldn’t tell already, I’m not someone who thinks a conflict-free book is some kind of magical evolution of storytelling. Also, my characters always win in the end. My stories are dark, but they’re not tragedies in the traditional sense; they’re villain origin stories, so even if the victory is something of a monkey paw, it’s a victory nonetheless.
What’s the story behind your latest book?
Jason Chessam is going to kill his mother.
After fifteen years honing his bone-splicing ability as a cartel enforcer, he’s returned to his hometown to murder the woman who destroyed his life — and everyone who helped her. To get to her, he’ll have to evade the superhuman peacekeepers of Diamond Heights, including Titan, his lightning-powered childhood friend who’s risen to infamy as a dangerous, unpredictable guardian of the city.
Who he doesn’t count on is Leilah, the manipulative and beautiful fixer assigned to help Titan hunt him down. Her minor psychic power should be too weak to be a threat, but she seems to guess his every move, and Titan is never more than a step behind him.
As Jason’s path to revenge carves through not just his mother’s enablers, but the superpowered criminals who run the city’s underbelly, his burgeoning attraction to Leilah and fraught history with Titan complicate his mission. Jason finds himself drawn into their orbit of sadism and seduction, and with the city’s heroes, cops, and kingpins closing in, he’ll have to decide who’s worth killing for — and who’s worth dying for.
How has your book changed since its first draft?
Almost everything changed between the first and third drafts. For a book that was supposed to be a dark, sexy superhero story, the first draft was a lot about permits and building codes. Jason wasn’t even introduced until after the midpoint, and his goals and personality were completely different. It was a very politics-focused story, and although I do think all stories are political in some respect, I was writing the book I thought I should rather than the one I wanted.
You were part of the last Pitch Wars class, tell us about your experience.
It still feels slightly surreal to know I was part of the last class! The mentorship experience itself was a dream; my mentor was Jackson Ford, who was not just wise and generous and encouraging, but he got the book. His advice was always spot-on, and I never had to fight to defend my vision or felt that the book was becoming something other than mine. Jackson made his suggestions, but the final decision was always mine. I ended up changing the tense completely from present to past, and I rewrote about the first 10% as it was originally somewhat slow and laborious for a superhero thriller.
The thing to remember with any mentorship program, especially one with an agent showcase or pitch element, is that it’s not a silver bullet. The books that did well in the showcase were the books that would’ve gotten snatched up out of the slush pile anyway, and everyone else is doing better or worse in the query trenches just as they would have without Pitch Wars. If you have a weird little off-trend book that’s not so easy to pitch, you can hope that the reputation of your mentorship program is enough to even the playing field, but there’s no guarantee of that. You’re much better off focusing on the actual mentorship and making the book better than hoping you’ll be the one snatched up by an agent within 48 hours
What are your five favorite books, and why?
The Night Circus — every word of that book is so incredibly beautiful, and I read it annually in the fall.
The Song of Achilles — exquisite pain. The first time I read it, I was amazed that I could be so shaken by a story that I ostensibly already knew. I cried on and off for three days when I finished it.
Gideon the Ninth — that book rocked my world so hard I couldn’t even be envious of the writing. So funny, so dark; extremely my shit.
Jade City — the Green Bone Saga is, to me, the coolest series in SFF right now. The fight scenes, the twists, the family drama, I’m here for all of it.
The Hobbit — sentimental value, here; it was my first introduction to fantasy.
What are you reading right now?
I’m lucky enough to have an SFF book club at my local library, and for that I’m currently reading Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor — Nigerian fantasy, very cool. For fun I’m reading Wild and Wicked Things by Francesca May, which is full of glamor and magic and women being bad, all of which I love. I’m working on a witchy book right now, so I’ve been reading lots of witchy books for comp research.
If you could have dinner with any author from any era, who would you pick, and why?
I have to say Madeline Miller. I’m obsessed with The Song of Achilles, I loved Circe, and I’m eagerly awaiting whatever she gives us next. I’ve heard her on a couple podcasts (her interview on the Ezra Klein Show is so good, highly recommend), and I could listen to her talk about mythology and research and process forever.
The secret beauty of Ursula Le Guin's final novel Lavinia
“No doubt I will eventually fade away and be lost in oblivion…” - Lavinia
Ursula Le Guin’s beautifully-spun tale of the arrival of the defeated Trojans to the settlements of the Latins before the Roman Republic’s hazy dawn comes to us through the eyes of Lavina, a young woman brought to life more than two millennia ago by Vergil.
Winner of the 2009 Locus Award for Best Novel
Ms. Le Guin makes clever work of Vergil’s epic poem, The Aeneid, breathing life into the almost non-existent character of Lavinia, daughter of the king of the Latins, who becomes the third and final wife of Aeneas, cousin of Hector and refugee of a fallen Troy.
Known in the poem only for her blush, and almost nothing else, Ms Le Guin crafts a credible story of the woman who was to become (according to Vergil) the mother of the line of kings that led to Augustus. The mother of the Roman Empire.
And yet, all she is granted in almost ten thousand lines are a scant few:
And it was read by seers to mean the girl
Would have renown and glorious days to come,
But that she brought a great war on her people
From these small crumbs, Lavinia is brought to life by the author’s pen into a thinking, feeling, decisive woman who is both the dutiful daughter of her father’s Regia, and a woman who refuses to submit to the will of men who intend to use her as a pawn in their political games.
No man may crush her under their sandal, be they king, son of a king, or even the poet who takes it upon himself to cross the boundary of time and visit her as he lays upon the threshold of his own death more than a thousand years later.
Their meetings are brief and in them, Lavinia learns who Vergil is, of the magnificent city to come - and what she is - a work of fiction- an astonishing thing to craft into a tale, yet there it is, in all its poignant beauty.
Filled with regret for not giving her more of a place in his poem, Vergil tries to remedy things by confessing his failure. He tells her of all that is to come for her. Of Troy, where her noble soon-to-be husband sails from after years wandering in search of his destined home; of the queen, Dido, who impaled her heart with a sword when Aeneas left her alone in Carthage to fulfil the prophecy given to him by his dead Trojan wife.
And Vergil tells Lavinia of the war Aeneas’s arrival will cause, of the multitude of lives that will end, and of her part in it.
All these events we experience through her eyes and suffer with her, until, in an abrupt moment, the poem ends.
And after a quiet pause, Lavinia’s story carries on.
Within this part of the tale, we are treated to the clean simplicity of Lavinia’s expectations, of her ability to love with all her heart - while bearing the burden of knowing how brief her marriage to her beloved husband would be.
We are carried along the channel of her life as it goes from stage to stage until at last, we expect her to die of old age, but no, again we are in for another breathtaking treat.
In Lavinia, Ms Le Guin’s final novel of her career, we are left with a sense of forever. And somehow, it’s both a homage to Vergil, and to all those characters authors create and leave behind.
And when you know these are the final words of her final novel, it’s beautiful enough to make you cry.
I, Cassandra Wins Honorable Mention in The Writer's Digest 2021 Self-Published e-Book Awards
“The theme of apocalyptic climate change is very current, and the late 21st century world is a believable extrapolation of our current situation. While the concept of a cybernetic organism and a personality “sleeved” into a body isn’t new, it’s handled with a unique perspective here, and the scale of the story elevates it to a new level. The twist at the center of the story is powerful and effective without being overwrought.”
Absolutely thrilled to announce I, Cassandra was chosen as a Winner in the 2021 Writer's Digest Self Published e-Book Awards and awarded Honorable Mention in the Sci-Fi genre.
“A stunningly innovative sci-fi novel, with just the right mix of romantic dystopia.”
— The BookLife Prize Critic's Review
“Stirring SF on a mythic scale... ”
— Kirkus Reviews
“Carter’s sharp prose bolsters her intense plot. Her writing is both satisfying and disquieting, with natural dialogue and extraordinary worldbuilding.”
— The BookLife Prize Critic's Review
“I was on the edge of my seat...”
”Original and deeply satisfying...”
”Echoes of Oryx & Crake, Earth Abides, and Altered Carbon...”
”Ryan had me at ‘smuggling cat food in his underwear’...”
— Goodreads reviews
If you like the dystopian atmospheres of Blade Runner, Ex Machina, and Elysium, you’ll love I, Cassandra.
She is a prisoner who can alter reality. He is a dead soldier brought back to life as a sentient machine. A forbidden love affair that transcends time, the end of the world, and what it means to be human.
I have since discovered sci-fi is where my writerly heart beats and am excited to share my next book is a sci-fi reimagining of the Hades and Persephone myth. It will be my most ambitious project to date with multiple love affairs between the star-crossed lovers over thousands of years and a story arc that challenges the very boundaries of reality. I can’t wait to release this one!
Happy Holidays, Love from E A
Wishing you a wonderful holiday season, and a happy and healthy new year. Now, where is that mistletoe and mulled wine?! xoxo
The Lost Letters hits the Shortlist in International Book Award, wins a PR Campaign from a top London PR firm
I am thrilled to announce The Lost Letters placed in the Shortlist in the International Page Turner Awards and won the Highly Commended Award in the Non-Fiction category. It won a PR campaign from Palamedes PR in London, one of the biggest PR firms in the UK. I can't imagine a better book of mine to get this kind of exposure. I am grateful and happy. But mostly grateful. ❤️
You can read the article here
The day social media died...
It didn't even take nine hours. It took minutes, really. To feel the chains fall away, for my world shrink down to those I truly know and care about.
'It's like 1988, again.' I said.
'It's like...before.'
When things were simple. When you weren't overloaded with thousands and thousands of lives as if we had become gods and must invest ourselves in the clamor of a multitude, all vying for attention...for validation...for love. For the quiet kiss of approval. For that little heart. I should know. I did it. I am guilty.
Oh god, what have we become? 50,000 years of human misery to come to this? Slaves to a red icon? I woke up as if from a fevered dream and felt nothing but shame. All the hours wasted, for what? I don't even know.
There is only this for me, now: Words. I told my father tonight if I had to choose between my face or my words I would always pick my words because my words are far more beautiful than my face could ever be.
And those faces here, millions of them. It's too much. It's unbearable. I tire of it. There will always be beautiful people captured on filtered shots. But where are the beautiful hearts, the beautiful souls? Let us find them, and celebrate them.
I am tired. It took mere minutes of silence, and my enslavement ended with a snap so hard I felt it in my soul. And so I bid you farewell. Instead of this place, I shall live, read, write, live, dream - away from where I believed my efforts mattered, even though they did not. Ah, the hubris of it all. The addiction. The arrogance. The pure indulgent waste of it all.
And so it ends.
It ends.
At last.
The Lost Letters hits the Longlist for The Page Turner Book Award
Almost one year ago I traveled to Poland to spend a month in isolation writing a book to chronicle my true story of nearly a decade surviving and healing from an extremely controlling and abusive narcissistic relationship. Eleven months after the last word was written, I received an email that it made the Longlist of the Page Turner Awards and sits alongside USA Today bestseller authors.
I wrote this book to reach women who are isolated and alone who need to be supported the most, to help them find ways to go on and believe in themselves even when they feel there is no hope.
I cried every day writing this book. My father Skyped with me every night to put me back together again. When I read it now, I realise it was worth the sorrow and pain, because if it helps just one person, it will be enough. More than enough.
To wait for love...how long could you do it?
What is the longest you have waited for love? A week? A month? A year? Longer? What about a love cast against the social divide, a dying world, the machinations of the mighty and powerful, and the erosion of time?
"I was on the edge of my seat..."
"Original and deeply satisfying..."
"E A Carter is already a master of epic fantasy romance, and she does not disappoint in her sci-fi debut..."
"Echoes of Oryx & Crake, Earth Abides, and Altered Carbon..."
"Ryan had me at 'smuggling cat food in his underwear'..."
...From Goodreads reviews
What are you waiting for? Click below find out what you're missing...
Or as Ryan Maddox would say: "Click the damn link and prepare for the ride of your life."
The Through Line...
Ever since I was a little girl I have been making up stories in my mind. I don’t know where my inspiration comes from, it’s just there - a well of longing and love that pours itself out in its multitude of variations.
But we live in a world where we like things to be neat and tidy. Most authors write in a genre. Romance. Fantasy. Non-fiction. And then they stay with it because it’s what they know and love. Their fans get used them, can rely on them, and everyone is happy. And then there’s me.
My poor readers. Just when they get used to my name being linked to a deeply researched historical fiction from the Bronze Age I turn around and write a non-fiction followed up by a sci-fi. Or, there’s a hugely popular unpublished book of mine that has almost a half million reads on Wattpad - a high fantasy based on the lore of World of Warcraft. It’s won a ton of awards and been featured by Wattpad HQ as an editor pick. I still get messages to this day about how its readers still think about it, years later.
For a long time I felt ashamed of my inability to ‘fit ‘ into a single genre, that somehow I had failed as an author to fall into a genre and stay there.
And then while out hiking under the endless skies of a wild UK countryside it hit me. I don’t write in a genre. I write in a theme.
And I wonder is this a failing on my part, or a kind of creative evolution? Perhaps writers should be permitted to write in a theme. Why must we have different author names for each genre? Who decides this? Ah, yes, publishing houses. It turns out I have inadvertently waved the flag of freedom as I have pushed myself past industry boundaries without the conscious intention to do so.
But, as always, if we wait long enough, observe long enough, the through line appears.
So, my dear readers, fans, and those who just don’t know what to make of me, may I offer you this : I write in a theme, and my theme is:
Conflict. Both inner and outer. Multiple threads tying into one major thread. Solid character arcs with believable characters. Strong beats so the pace keeps escalating into a satisfying climax. And love. Passionate love thwarted, denied, fought for against all the odds through war, time, and worlds. Love that persists. No matter what.
Perhaps I am genre-less. Several of my books even contain several genres at once, but it works. Which means you can count on me to give you stories made of love, over and over again, in hundreds of variations and genres.
Because that’s how I was made, and I intend to stay that way. Without shame.
I hope you will remain with me as I am and enjoy explorations into worlds unknown and loves untold in all their delicious variations…
For as long as I can give them to you.
E A
Behind the scenes...I, Cassandra interview
1. Why did you write the book?
I am a huge fan of both sci-fi and cyberpunk fiction and thought it might be an interesting way to address many of the issues we face as a society, of the widening divide between the rich and the poor, the effects of climate change, and of a future where high tech gives us the power to transcend our mortality. I put all these themes together and out of it, over the course of 9 years I, Cassandra came to life.
2. Who is this book for?
If I am completely honest, I initially wrote I, Cassandra to confront several enormous issues I couldn't grapple with, to make sense of a world changing faster than I felt comfortable with. I started to write it when all the mass animal deaths happened all over the world, and thousands of birds fell from the sky and no one ever knew why. It completely freaked me out. This was in the run up to 2012 and everyone was talking about the Mayan Calendar and the end of all things. I researched a lot about this, and thought, "No, we are a smart species, it won't end like the Mayans say, but perhaps it will end," and this book is how I envisioned it as a fictional story.
3. What is YOUR favorite part of the book?
Oooh...that's a great question! I honestly adore everything about Ryan and Cassandra's love affair. There are parts of their story that continue to give me a delicious thrill when I think about it, but I don't want to ruin the surprise for readers. Let's just say, Ryan is the kind of guy I wouldn't mind falling in love with.
4. How is this book different from other books in your genre or niche?
Considering my niche so far has been historical fiction from the Bronze Age crossed with elements of fantasy (ok and a teeny-tiny bit of quantum physics), I, Cassandra is a huge pivot for me. I believe writing sci-fi is the hardest thing an author can do, especially if they are going to make it allegorical to their present society. I hugely admire many legendary sci-fi writers for doing this very thing - when a story isn't just a story, but perhaps a harbinger (like Orwell's 1984). That is why it is called I, Cassandra, because the main character predicts many things, including the end, but perhaps, ultimately I wrote this book because I felt like a Cassandra myself, and could not rest until I told this story. And just like Troy's Cassandra I think none shall believe it. Which perhaps makes it my most unique book of all.
Interview with Jackson Dickert, (hilarious) author of the debut YA fiction The Quest for the Golden Plunger
"When aiming for your daily word count, just try to shoot for the moon every day (but whatever you can do is still awesome)." - Jackson Dickert
Not so long ago, Jackson was just a guy who wanted to write a story. A really BIG story, an epic fantasy in the footsteps of Brandon Sanderson. So he started with great enthusiasm.
Then he realized he had no idea what he was doing. It turns out writing epic fantasy was HARD.
He almost gave up, believing he could never write a book when his creative writing professor said: “Just write what you know and the story will come.”
Jackson thought: “What do I know? I’m just a guy in college, what could I possibly write about that people would enjoy reading and I would enjoy writing?”
And then he remembered…
...how much he loved being a Boy Scout. And a kid. And going to camp. And having madcap adventures.
The story poured out of him...and when it was done he called it…
The Quest for the Golden Plunger
(as one does)
But let’s get to the good stuff. I’d like to thank Jackson for taking time out to share his answers with us despite his busy schedule as Chief Marketing Officer at Campfire Technology (which is a lovely tool that helps authors plan, write and tell their stories). I’m not an affiliate, btw, just sharing the love!
So Jackson, Golden Plungers? Wait, maybe let’s not start there…
E A: Tell us a little bit about your backstory to your book, what gave you the idea for it?
Jackson: I got the idea for the book from my creative writing professor, basically. I was having a tough time deciding what to write, and was especially struggling with dialogue. I avoided dialogue like the plague in all my early short stories, it all sounded paper thin to me and the characters lacked personality. He suggested I write something I'm more familiar with than hellish apocalyptic city-scapes or far off fantasy worlds. I was a Boy Scout for more than 7 years, and thought that was a setting with a lot of wiggle room for fun, so that's what I decided on! The first chapter I wrote was actually the car scene that is now Chapter 2. So I didn't get the idea from a stroke of genius in the shower or on a quiet, reflective walk... It's just what made the most sense for me to write. And, as I started it, the dialogue was much easier to write. I found it much easier to get into the head of a rambunctious teenage boy, which I think is reflected in the copious amounts of dialogue in the book!
E A: Are any of the antics in your book based on real-life experiences?
Jackson: Haha, of course some of them are! Let's see... There was actually a kid who pretended he could talk to a Devil Rock. He got in all kinds of trouble over it, it was hilarious. One of the leaders hid the rock from him, but I saw where it was hidden. I told the kid where it was, and in the middle of dinner he made a big show about how he could hear the rock calling to him. The troop leader was horrified when the kid actually completed the impossible task of going straight to its hiding spot. One time I got in trouble and had to fix benches as community service. We actually had to do stuff, though, unlike Do-Over and Shovel. Camp Winnebago is based on the camp I went to every summer, Camp Buck Toms. The Culling is based on the Order of the Arrow's mysterious "Ordeal". We all had nicknames every summer, of course. Mine was Napoleon one year. (Like Napoleon Dynamite. My poofy frizzy hair along with my glasses made for a direct parallel.) Annnnd we always joked about stealing kayaks to row across the river to a fictional girl's camp across the lake. We never did. There was no Girl Scout Camp across the lake, after all, but it was fun to mess with the younger kids.
E A: How did you craft so many different (and totally believable) characters? In other words, if you have any tips to create great, relatable characters we’d like to hear them!
Jackson: There's a part of me in every character. Every single one is a reflection of me in some way, how could they not be? I created them. If you want to create an unhinged character like Uncle Ruckus, find that part of yourself. If you want to create someone who's a little dopey and maybe doesn't always pick up on the obvious like Shovel, find that part of yourself. If there isn't a little part of you in all of your characters, you're going to have a much harder time. It's easier to find those parts of yourselves with more life experiences because you'll have more to draw from so... If you want to write, I don't think you should sit in a room staring at a keyboard all the time. Go out and do stuff, even if it doesn't always sound like fun. You can also steal little bits of other people. Listen closely when people talk. You can use pieces of other people to create the characters and, again, they'll feel that much more real. They aren't just characters, they need to have pieces of humanity to be real.
E A: How did you come up with all these random events that unfold for your characters, because it’s extremely hilarious when all the events begin to intersect. Did this layering of various threads just happen naturally in the course of the writing or was it carefully planned out?
Jackson: I started with a list of funny things that could happen at camp. I put the list of things in an order that made logical sense and would have a "misadventure" feel to it with the reader constantly swept from point A to point B. I started down the path I created, and after a few chapters... I veered off course. I'm a pantser through and through, so I have a hard time following my outlines. I get bored, and it's more fun when the characters do what they want. I didn't end up using all the funny events I initially wrote down, but I used a lot of them. Even as a pantser, it was nice having an idea of things I could write towards. Sometimes things would pop up and surprise me, characters would take a left turn, or I'd get a new idea. But I'm happier with the way the story turned out than the initial outline I created.
EA: If you could have five dinner guests from any time period - who would you have a dinner party with tonight?
Jackson: If I could have five dinner guests from any time period... Well, first I'd want to have a stegosaurus. He'd sit to my left, and we'd get to laugh at how many people don't think stegosauruses are capable of speaking English. The fools. To his left, I'd put a Viking. Any Viking will do, I suppose. I'm considering writing a story about them for my third novel, so it seems like top notch research. The stegosaurus would be able to protect me in case the Viking got too rowdy. The third guest would have to be Julia Davis Chandler, the woman who first published the recipe for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It'd just be great to shake her hand. I have so much respect for her, and I have enjoyed her work all too many times to not show my gratitude. The fourth guest would have to be Taylor Swift. It might be my only shot to make her fall in love with me. After all, who could resist the wiles of a man with a stegosaurus? The final guest would be myself from 2050. If that guy doesn't show up, then I'd know there's no point in saving for retirement which is a very freeing prospect. No point in penny-pinching if you aren't going to make it that long! If he shows up, though, I'm most interested in seeing if he still has his hair. God, I hope he still has his hair.
5 Top Tips for YOUR writing journey!
As a bonus, Jackson has shared his top five tips from his own book writing adventure…because writers love to help writers!
Tip #1 Be accountable!
To help motivate yourself to write, share your intentions on social media to write and what your writing goals are so you’re accountable to others for your progress (and they’ll be asking!)
Tip #2 Build the story and characters first
To create an unforgettable world (even one in the here and now), think about the story and characters first. Focus on developing that in your mind and then as you write you can refine and improve on it. Don’t create the world first and then try to make the characters and story fit the world.
Tip #3 Don’t sweat the small stuff
If you’re a pantser, it’s critical to have a story bible (a document /spreadsheet / notebook where you note details of the characters, world, etc) where you can keep track of details you might forget, like the color of a character’s eyes
His tagline is: “We’ll fix that later, in the next draft.” Just focus on the story. Don’t stress over the details.
Tip #4 Give everyone a secret!
One great way to build suspense is to give each of your characters a secret. You don’t even have to share it with your readers, just give each character a secret that helps you understand their motivations and goals (this also gives depth to your characters and makes your story feel realistic to readers!)
To keep up the pace, end each chapter on a cliffhanger, so when you next sit down to write you get to begin writing at the ‘fun’ part. This kind of writing also keeps the reader turning the pages.
Tip #5 Listen to the crowd
If the feedback from multiple beta readers is the same, it’s good to listen, because this kind of feedback helps make your story better (and can give you great new ideas, too!)
In case you are wondering….here’s my review of The Quest for the Golden Plunger
Get The Quest for the Golden Plunger
The Comparison Game
It's hell sometimes, isn't it?
You wake up feeling good, happy. Content. You feel gratitude and express it.
Thank you birds for singing; thank you for this beautiful, comfortable bed; thank you for my health; for my family and friends; for the amazing wine I had last night.
You roll over, feeling pretty good and fire up your phone to check your social media. And then it happens: between the cute cats posts and the motivational quotes, that ONE image that nails you to the wall, that starts the spiral, that f-ing fall into the abyss of nevergonnabegoodenoughshitshitshit.
You know the dance by heart, I bet. It always begins with: "I will just take a quick look, like a few posts, leave a few comments and get on with my day."
And it never changes, this lie we tell ourselves, does it?
Because there's always that one post that wrecks our happiness and starts a war inside ourselves that leaves us in tatters, shredded, and struggling to find our compass for the rest of the day.
I know you get this. I can't speak for men, but for women I have a lot to say. Because it's hard to be a woman in a social media saturated world where there are thousands—no, f-ing millions—of women who have what we don't. Bigger breasts. Smaller breasts. Bigger bum. Smaller bum. Rounder butt cheeks. More muscular legs. Fatter legs. Smaller waists. Bigger waists. Eyes of green, or blue, or goddamn purple ffs. Cheekbones chiseled by Michelangelo (or volumizing injections, same thing). Blonde hair, dreads, red hair, black hair, hair down to their butt, freaking shaved head with an extra cool tattoo on their scalp. Those "I just woke up" posts that make your want to throw your phone out the window straight into your neighbour's Beamer with a satisfying smack.
I know you know the feeling. I definitely do. And I hate, hate, hate it. I hate being caught in a world where every woman is forced into a gladiatorial battle with every other woman in social media's existence to stake her place—to somehow, some way stand out and matter. Like it's a competition? For what? The biggest womanizing jerk on the block? Come on.
And really, it all comes down to is the most basic stuff. Butts and boobs. Because for the women who have EXACTLY the right proportions du jour, the social media world is their oyster. Men slaver all over them ejaculating emojis like there is no tomorrow. Some of the more literate ones might actually construct a sentence amongst the emojis, (not that's she's reading boys, she's just there to roll in glee all over her emoji cumfest).
Am I bitter as I write this? No, but I might be a tiny bit inebriated (but in a classy, writerly way where one can still spell inebriated) which gives me the moxie to say the things that all women think but never openly say.
I'm tired of being 'cool' about this fucked up patriarchal shit that we have to endure day in and out. It's bull. Every single woman is unique and beautiful in her own way and this crap of having to fit into a rubber-doll-one-size-fits-all version to please the god damned male gaze is prehistoric at best, and abusive at worst.
So here's what I have to say about all this: If you're a woman and looking at social media and it ever makes you feel shit...
Remember these three things:
1. You are a goddess. You can bring life from nothing. You are everything! You are gorgeous, interesting, intelligent, gifted, a healer, a lover, a giver, a work of art. No one else can be you. You are unique, perfect, and a gift.
2. Men do not define us. (Also screw their male gaze which demotes women to the lowest common denominator which makes them worth nothing more than the amount of flesh per square inch, I mean, what are we…race horses?)
3. The women on social media getting a kabillion likes are just as insecure as we are. It's true. Because the male gaze is a zero sum game. No one ever wins. Every single woman in this mess feels exactly the same as us, even the ones we think 'have it all'. Every woman is insecure. Why? Because the rubber doll rules are constantly changing in subtle ways which means unless you are an alien that can morph indefinitely you're going to always feel like an outlier. So the (male) house always wins. And we continue to play... why?
So the next time you look at social media and see a post that slays you, remember she's enslaved to the beat of the male gaze drum, desperate to be the one that men want, when really all a woman wants—what we all want...is love.
And the real question is. Are these boob and butt obsessed men even capable of love?
What are we doing? Really? We are a sisterhood. We need to unite. To stand together against the oppression of our beauty and uniqueness.
As for me: I am with my sisters. Men will always come second in my world. Always.
Because there will always be another rubber doll and he will run after it like the animal he is.
But my sisters. They stay, they stand strong through thick and thin. And that's what matters.
Us. Not them.
Us.
Don't Be a Lady
In the society I grew up in, I was taught I must always put others first. Always. Because that is what a lady does. My needs were secondary. To think of my needs first was a crime too unspeakable to mention. When I asked what if I needed to go the washroom? I was told if it would make others uncomfortable or put the focus unnecessarily onto me I must hold it until the appropriate time. It was drilled into me each and every day how I was only allowed to think of my needs once I was alone and the day’s duties were done.
This ‘education’ led to many things developing in my life: one was a tendency to have repeated kidney infections, where I would pass blood clots and experience excruciating pain for no obvious reason. An investigative operation was done. When I came round in the recovery room, the specialist said: ‘Do you tend to hold your water?’
I hadn’t ever thought about it, but I said I guessed I did. He said they filled my bladder while I slept to see how much it could hold. They kept filling and filling it until they hit the limit at 1.5 liters (nearly four times the usual daily amount, and almost twice the night time amount). He said this normally only happens when someone is forced to hold their water for very long periods of time and the body adapts. He left the question hanging in the air. I didn’t say anything, but I knew the answer. He went on to explain that holding my water was breeding the infections that caused the bleeding. To reset my system, I had to take three months of antibiotics and retrain my body to take washroom breaks much more frequently. Every four hours. Very unladylike.
But these brutal infections were nothing in comparison to the true cost of my training to be ‘a lady’.
I learned I was second to everyone else. Worth less than everyone else. Strangers mattered more than me. I existed to serve, never to be served. I was invisible, an avatar to some kind of mysterious belief in feminine submission. I was taught how to walk, how to sit, how to dress, how to set a table, how to host an afternoon tea, made to read the book on how to address a marquis correctly (because as I was told, one never knows whom they will meet and it’s vital to be prepared). How to plan, cook and serve a beautiful meal and entertain guests, without ever flagging in energy, how to pair wine with food, how to talk about art and theatre, in short, how to be a trophy wife in the 1980s patriarchal world of my teenage years. But never how to love myself. Never that.
My mother had very fine ideas for me, as if we still lived in the 18th century. She imagined me married off to a very wealthy, much older man who could, (as she proclaimed far more than once), ‘Take care of me.’ Around the edges of this restrictive, demanding, exhausting life I read tame stories about love. When I didn’t have anything left to read I made up my own (better) ones in my head.
I was thoroughly and completely groomed to be useless. And so it was that I found love in all the wrong places until I slammed into the ultimate version of the one who could fulfil the fantasy my mother buried into me: my worth defined by the man who loved me - and the more successful, handsome, charismatic, and powerful he was, the more I was worth. My mother wanted it all. Everything. Love was negotiable. When I became engaged to a high society Frenchman whose family were friends with Jacques Chirac, my mother dragged me around a party to show everyone the massive Cartier diamond ring that weighed down the entire joint between my knuckles.
I felt like a prized race horse paraded by her proud owner. I had done everything she wanted, and yet…those love stories in my head troubled me. I wanted that. I wanted to feel something deep, meaningful, powerful. Something that could awaken my soul. My mother told me to calm down, that love was a lie and it never lasted after its first blush.
So I obeyed, thinking of the weekends at his Parisian apartment near Luxembourg Gardens and our pretty little flat in Holland Park, London. How we traveled first class on the Eurostar every weekend, and dined in the best restaurants both cities had to offer. I could have whatever I wanted. He sent me to Luxor to write the first draft of The Lost Valor of Love in a suite overlooking the Nile. I was living the dream. Or was I? I cared for him, admired him terribly. But I didn’t love him. I know he loved me, and I felt awful I couldn’t feel the same. Everything felt wrong - as if my life were a lie. I ended the engagement. I simply could not marry a man I didn’t love. He said he understood. My mother, predictably, stopped talking to me.
But then, one fateful day in spring 2009, it happened. Both my and my mother’s most cherished hopes juxtaposed into a single, perfect possibility. The day I met him my life changed the way a key unlocks a door one never knew existed. It felt as if everything at last had come together. I exulted in vindication, in my long, long wait for love.
But I lacked something essential. My own worth. I let a powerful, charismatic man sweep me off my feet - an empty vessel with a heart primed to be loved and given worth, to be given a reason to exist. What a lesson I set myself up to learn. How painful to comprehend over the course of that fateful marriage and the carnage that has come after how important it is to have worth before one seeks to love another. Love is not enough.
If I had believed I mattered, my needs mattered, I am valuable, equal and do not exist simply to serve others, would I have lived the life I lived? Been with the men I was with? I do not think so. My whole pursuit of validation through love has defined the selection of men I have allowed into my life.
And now, I have learned through great pain where my error was, and where it leads. And now, there can only be one purpose. To continue to embrace my worth, my value, to speak my truth, to be unafraid of those who will try to push me back into a corner. To be fearless. To be alone and to choose - not to be chosen.
And there lies the greatest difference of all. We do not wait for the privilege of love. No. A woman who has earned and holds her power, her worth, and her value knows others must earn the privilege to love her. And now the wait will be worth it, because we are enough. Far, far more than enough.
With love,
E A
What Do You Wish For?
There is a tale of a man who went for a walk. He walked a long time and wandered into a paradise filled with beautiful flowers, warm breezes, blue skies, and a single perfect tree. Fatigued from all his walking he lay in the soft grass under the shade of the tree and slept.
He woke and was refreshed. But hunger called to him. He thought of his favorite foods, and they appeared. So, he ate a beautiful meal until thirst came; he thought about his favorite wine and it appeared. He ate and drank and was satisfied.
After a while, as he relaxed under the shade of the tree he began to wonder how his favorite food and wine could arrive as they did. His thoughts traveled to darker places. He began to believe his food and drink had been brought to him by demons. This frightened him, and the more he thought about it, the more he was certain he had been led into a trap. Soon, he began to see demons materialize before him, one by one.
He was convinced they would torment him. They crowded around him, and began to do just that. He believed they intended to kill him. And so, he died.
But this man had fallen asleep under a fabled wishing tree. Whatever he thought became real, and with his thoughts he created sustenance, pleasure, then fear, pain and eventually…death.
The tale of the wishing tree is an allegory. The Indian guru Sadhguru explains: “The wishing tree is not a fable. It is in us.”
“We are the creators of our own reality. Whatever our thoughts dwell on, that is where our emotions go, and where our emotions go, our energy (and action) follows, and finally the body aligns with that, for good…or for ill.”
He then asks a question:
“What would you get right now if every one of your thoughts and limiting beliefs were manifested at once?”
For this author, it would mean loss, sorrow, failure, and death. Not success, wealth, love, and joy as one would expect. Why? Because when I sat down and mustered the courage to list all the things my mind dwells on, the beliefs which drive my emotions and actions, (and affect my health) turned out to be predominantly negative things, not positive ones.
Deep inside each of us is a wishing tree. We tell it our inner narrative, to the tune of 70,000 thoughts, imaginings and expectations every day. Our tree will only manifest for us what we feed it. Food. Wine. Demons. Death.
So if we say to others we want to succeed at something but our inner narrative is the belief in our ultimate failure, seeded with negativity and a continual search for ‘proof’ our outlook is correct, then we will do the things guaranteed to ensure we realize failure.
By visualizing this sacred tree inside of you, you give yourself the power to face those limiting beliefs blocking you from realizing the wonder of your life, of the fullness of your potential.
The tree wishes to be fed good things. We want to feed it good things. But how?
Sadhguru says to begin each day with this mantra:
“Today wherever I go, I will create a peaceful, loving, joyful world both for myself and for others around me.”
He explains when we commit to this, our minds become organized and the way we think becomes the way we feel, which organizes our emotions. When our emotions are organized, our energy gets organized and once the mind, emotions and our energy are organized, the body follows suit. At this point, our ability to create and manifest is phenomenal.
And it all begins with a tree. And a thought. One day at a time.
With love,
E A
A dream of love.
In a world where hearts no longer beat for love, where feelings are transactional, and emotions are fleeting, false...
I dream of love, of being cherished, of being honored. He finds me in the midst of a storm, catches me against his warmth, against his solidness, his lips brush my ear as he breathes the words I both dread, and yearn for.
I turn. Face him. My heart still. Waiting. Disbelieving. Another lie. Always a lie.
His eyes tell me he means it. His kiss sears my soul. This. This is real. This is what love feels like. I memorize it. The feeling, the breadth and depth of it. The enormity of the honesty of two souls colliding, vulnerable, bleeding with trust.
I know it is a dream, but I hold on for as long as I can.
To savor the feeling, the bond, the oneness of being loved. Of being held. Of my thin, dying body not being hated, reviled, rejected. But made sacred. Fragile. Precious.
Of not being Compared. Found wanting. I am not her, the woman du jour of Instagram. The cover girl on a men's magazine. I am me. Tiny. A slip of a thing. Wasting away. Soon now it will be over.
I wake. I touch my lips. All is silence, except the storm in my heart; the ache in my soul.
And I know...
It shall never come again. This kind of love. Not in this world. Not for me.
And so I close my eyes, and dream of love, of a life denied.
And weep.
Sex, Lies, and Social Media
Guest post by Joe Frango, a multiple-award-winning copywriter and creative director whose career spans top companies and major brands. His fitness blog is found on @dadboddoneright.
It’s complicated. Love in real life, that is. On social media, not so much.
Though many of us seem married to the idea that social media can make us happy, so assiduously do we post and primp and preen on these platforms, our devotion to them may be more problematic than we’d like to believe.
Our buzz-driven culture of celebrity crushes is all atwitter with titillation over every gossipy tidbit that takes us inside the love lives of the rich and famous. But social media enables us to script our own romantic narrative and control our own spotlight. We may not be Alex and J. Lo or Kim and Kanye, but thanks to the popularizing power of social media, we can have so much more than the 15 minutes of fame Andy Warhol imagined we all would experience in the future. Enshrined on the marquee of our social media, our name is our fame, our selfie our star, and our love lives the blockbuster feature.
We are easily enamored of our ability to edit our love lives on social media and tailor them for the perfect Pavlovian response from our connections. We can’t help but feel the love as our parade of posts spurs a swelling series of thumbs-ups and hearts. Selfies make self-glorification and the romanticization of even the rockiest relationships a snap. Posing as the perfect couple is just too tempting to resist, like a comfy pair of Yeezies. Being in love or at least “in a relationship” is always trending on social media, where we hash out the hashtags that will attract the most admiring eyes to our posts.
Who cares if IRL that beautifully bleach-toothed and flawlessly filtered selfie partner may be MIA in a crisis—if the relationship is based more on contrivance than connection? Likes are so much easier to come by than love. Heart emojis are fun and flirty and a far cry from opening your heart. And our poses are perfect for a Pollyanna virtual world of filtering and fakery.
And the sex. All these cuddly, grinning, look-at-us selfies scream sexual chemistry to the world—or do they merely make us groan in oh-come-on disbelief or resentment? With such carefully crafted narratives of sexual nirvana, how can those of us who are single or struggle with real relationship problems not experience profile envy? And consider the proliferation of women on social media who claim to be happily married in their bios (wedding ring emoji next to peach/ass emoji!), yet post endless shots of themselves in stylized, sexually provocative poses, inviting objectification. In creating our alternate realities on social media, we pool our loneliness and prop up our fantasies. Are we spreading our lies more than our legs?
Groping in the Dark
Emojis have replaced emotions with new hieroglyphics. Icons overtake words to convey frivolities over feelings. Whole articles are written to decipher the dazzling diversity of heart emojis. What does the vibrating pink heart mean as opposed to the flat red heart? The social media wall has become the new cave wall for modern-day Neanderthals to post nebulous scribbled sentiments. And just as in Plato’s cave we only see shadows, the cave-dwelling of social media can keep us in the dark about what’s really going on in each other’s lives.
In a sense, social media has always been a form of social distancing. Like online dating, it absolves us of the need for interacting as real, flesh-and-blood human beings, with all the messy nuances and intricacies our humanity entails. It allows us to exclude or edit out of our lives people we deem unworthy, and to keep the rest at a safe distance, beyond the complications and disruptions of authentic emotion. Kissy-faces may be nothing more than a kiss-off, and those rose emojis cost nothing—not even an emotional investment.
Research suggests that people who over-post about their love lives are building their “relationship visibility” to mitigate their “relationship insecurity.” But perhaps we are trying to compensate for a lack of love itself—of meaningful romantic connections we can rely on, not just to help us get more likes, but to provide the emotional support and security we need to be truly happy.
None of this is to bash social media, which can encourage the interplay of ideas and the exchange of information and connect us to personalities and possibilities we may not have been able to experience otherwise. Social media can be a wonderfully expansive way to foster a sense of community, celebrate milestones, and share memories and memories-in-the-making.
But in a world where so much is considered disposable, from our dates to our dignity, it makes sense to question a cultural mindset that uses social media as a substitute for the love that extends far beyond selfies—to our most private, intimate, and vulnerable selves. Maybe we need to look deep within, to those flawed human beings inside us who long not so much to be liked for their selfies, but to be loved—really loved—just for being themselves.