Thank you…

I sold the first paperback copy of both books this year. Yesterday. Thank you.

I still have some copies at home and I send them out worldwide. Or, you can find the books on Amazon.

I should add that they are poetry collections. And they have 5star reviews on Amazon and on Goodreads.

I am grateful… For many things. And you!

xx

Cathy

untitled_29022020

And I am sitting at the window, gazing at the shadows shaped by the bare trees. The streetlights and the fog cast an eerie glow down the road. It reminds me of a scene from a horror movie. In such a movie, unspeakable gore will follow, screams and loss and death; but this is my life. It is quiet, boring, trivial.

I wish I were sunken in thought, creating stories and characters in my mind, but I am not. I am empty. Emotionless. Where did these emotions that used to fuel my creativity go? I don’t know. I don’t miss them, yet I do. Everything used to inspire me; now, nothing does.

My breath hitches when I feel your breath against my skin. I didn’t hear you coming down the stairs. Your nose buries in my hair, and I push myself closer to you, closing my eyes, savouring the closeness. I enjoy these intimate moments; they became so rare. You kiss my hair and leave me on my own again. No words, no further touch.

I used to feel the loss of you, but it became so normal, I can’t remember a time when we loved each other the way lovers do.

Oh, no!

A couple of months ago, I announced that I would edit an existing book, stuffing plot holes, adding paragraphs and chapters, editing grammar and spelling… All was good. I felt motivated and at home with my characters. Emerson and Riley are great characters to write, with flaws (many of them), but also with many some things that make them loveable.

Anyway… I was writing and doing and all that stuff, until I realised that I was working on two different copies of the same document. One was already formated into print book size, the other wasn’t and since I was in my tunnel of just wanting to write, I didn’t notice it until it was too late.

I was devastated. Frustrated. How was I supposed to find the added sentences, the replaced words?

I didn’t know. And to be honest, with my mental health deteriorating more and more, I did not have the will or the strength to fight for that story. I just dropped it and hoped no one would mention it. Which no one did, because, I didn’t mention it – it made me feel like a failure, and I was not ready for well-meaning advice of any kind.

But, I can be a persistent person. If I am passionate about something, I will do everything (in due time) to make it happen.

And this book “Heart of Stone” will happen. Sometime this year, I hope.

The cover and the ISBN are waiting for their content.

I found out – due to some research, that Word has a feature to combine and compare documents or highlight changes. I didn’t know that before. I write and I format, I can help with margins and headers and footers, but combining and other such things? Nope, not my area. Anyway, imagine my elation when I found that tiny little drop down menu. I compared the two documents and there was a lot different. Then I combined the two, and now, I am reviewing the new document to make sure it all makes sense. The word count is still growing and it will be the longest story I ever wrote. I can’t wait to have a paperback copy in my hands.

All this gave me an idea. Is anyone interested in proofreading the first half of the story? I am afraid I am a bit blind to plot holes and the story as such. I am too involved in the characters.

+The genre is romance BUT, I write real characters with layers and opinions. There are only a few clichés, I hope. The story includes a couple of steamy scenes, but most of them will be cut – the story doesn’t demand them. Big themes in the story are anxiety and/or panic attacks for one character, and coming out of the closet (admitting they are gay) for the other. So – yes, you guessed it, it is a same-sex story. For a very brief moment, I considered making one of the characters female, but they are both so very male in the way that I see them, that I couldn’t do it.

+I am open to constructive criticism BUT, on a bad day, I might overreact. I will feel attacked and like a bad writer, and I will not see that you are helping. (However, I will not fight with you about it. I will fall silent.)

+There will be lots of work. I love writing in English, but some phrases and sentences will make you smile or shake your head in disbelief because they don’t make sense. (This is not all true. My English is incredible for someone who learned it in school twenty years ago, and I seldom need it in my real world. The vocabulary I need daily is to do with babies and toddlers and their eating, sleeping, and digesting routines.)

+I am bad with punctuation – commas being my biggest issue. I also love using passive voice. Grammarly doesn’t like that, but I do.

There you go. I need a little bit of help and maybe a small amount of pressure to write more again. (It will be challenging with my injured shoulder for a while though)

Thank you!!

Cathy

Continue reading “Oh, no!”

Can we pretend?

In and out of the cage

I am taking pictures with my phone all the time. I see a weird pattern, or something beautiful, something unusual, or something that could have a deeper meaning, and I snap a picture. (Often from odd angles – ordinary things turn into something new in that way.) Some of these pictures are posted on Instagram (@micqu_1); most of them are on my phone for months before I delete them.

I don’t want to say that this is art; in fact, it is pretentious (and embarrassing). I was told that my view of the world is unique; maybe it is. I pay attention, that much is true. I often tell my kids to open their eyes and look at the world and see it. I want them to see the beauty in everyone and everything, but I also want them to be happy (just like me) when they see little random things that are a little less ordinary on second glance.

I can’t draw. Not even a little.

I can write, when the mood strikes.

I listen. To people and to music; to the sounds of life.

I take pictures. Random. Of this and that.

Am I qualified to do any of these things? Who cares?! As long as I enjoy doing it, and I do.

So, if you want to take a look at my Instagram account, do. Please. Maybe you’ll see something pleasant and new.

I had a good day. Lots of pain, and I am not allowed to take any painkillers right now, but a good day nonetheless. Next week, I will be on sick leave again. Again! It is frustrating, but if it helps, it helps. Lol. I love my job, though. And the colleagues too.

Have a great night. (I was already asleep, but woke up and didn’t go back yet… Impulsively, I wrote this post – and share it…)

Lots of love

Cathy

Something for the pain or surgery? Maybe both? Yes, both. Please.

And the shoulder will heal. One way or another.

soon there will be a butterfly

I bled and bowed to the invisible thieves hiding in the shadows.

I weaved a million thoughts into wings.

But as I neared the light, my safety failed me. I faded.

Once, I was a fighting lioness, covered in battle wounds.

Now I am what the past spit out, with too much rain behind my eyes.

If I were who I was, I would have never met me in your eyes.

I don’t look behind. I carry you under my skin.

A tattoo on my chest reminding me that it is time to breathe.

I am drowning to swim. I am buried to grow.

Slowly, I am uncovering the lies in my head.

Cravings are turning me from black into grey.

Where else should I run? Out of breath, out of reasons to stay alive.

But somewhere deep inside, I know the inescapable truth.

And as I am trying to catch my breath, my wounds stop bleeding, my head straightens.

Empty. There is nothing left to give to anyone else. I need to feed myself first.

I disagree

I read (again) that no matter how busy you are, you always find time for your friends. I disagree.

Working, family, responsibilities… Those things are exhausting. And I believe that we have to make time for ourselves to recharge our batteries before we can be there for anyone else.

It’s the same with the idea that “happiness comes from taking care of others.” No! Caring for others drains us. Sure, we can be momentarily happy and proud, but if we always care for others, feed them and be there for them, it drains us, and we will be left empty and (again) exhausted.

It has nothing to do with cynicism, but with personal experience. I was always there for everyone. I cared for them, and I let them vomit their negativity on me. I became an emotional dump for their physical and mental problems. And it emptied me so much that there was only a void left. Once I began standing up for myself and dared saying ‘no’, I found myself alone and humiliated. I was embarrassed because I was told how selfish I was for not being there for them. But, I had to do it to protect myself.

It taught me another negative behaviour, though: I learned that I am only loveable, or I am only worth being loved if I care for others and do whatever they want me to do. Saying ‘no’ equaled giving a reason for being denied, love.

Twisted way of seeing it, right? But it was the way my brain was wired for a long, long time.

I am working hard not to attach my self-esteem, self-worth, self-love to that of someone else.

And that’s why I disagree. We have to take care of our selves before we can take care of others.

Stepping off my soap box.

PS: I have a long winding road ahead of me, but the destination is healing and health. And those are things worth fighting for.

International Mother Language Day

Moien, mäin Numm ass Cathy, an et freet mech dat dir all Daach hei op Besuch kommt. Meng Mammesprooch ass eng zimmlech kommesch, matt aussergewéihnlechen Lauten an Téin, an se ass och net weit verbreed (+/- 500 000 Leit schwätzen lëtzebuergeg – weltweit).

Mir hunn mol keng eenheetlech Grammaire- an Orthographie Regelen fir ze schreiwen. An awer, ech sinn houfreg op meng Hierkunft an op meng Sprooch.

Wéi ass dat bei ierch? Wat ass är Mammesprooch?

Translation:

Hello, my name is Cathy, and I am happy that you visit this site daily. My native language sounds weird with unusual sounds and pronunciations, and it is not very known. (+/- 500 000 people speak Luxembourgish – worldwide).

We don’t even have grammar or orthography rules that we apply when writing. And yet, I am proud of my heritage and of my language.

How about you? What is your native language?

xx

Moments in me

I was lost

I was found

I ran

I hid

I thought

I screamed

I fought

I lost.

.

But I was love

And I was not

I was light

And I was dark

I died several times

Was born again often too

I was there for everyone

until my essence faded into them

And I was empty

But, I was love.

.

Now I am here looking at my reflection in the mirror

And I wonder, will you love me when I am myself?

Is my home in my heart and in my eyes?

Is my soul free or am I forever hunted by the past?

I breathe the salt of my tears and write invisible lovesongs to my future self.

.

I am lost, but I am love. I am heaven and I am earth. I am dreaming and I am awake. I am all and I am nothing. Moments in me.

Fading. Failing. Heart.

I wanted to write my heart out for you, but the words got stuck in my fingers. My heart, fading, failing.

Sounds made in my throat, once songs, now lost moans, unspoken sadness. Voiceless.

Rain or tears? Shower spray? No one will ever understand the difference. Oh my heart. Black and white, lost its colour.

But you are not to blame, it is all me. I let my guard down. Soul wide open. Come in and love me.

I will fall. I won’t sleep. I will be. As long as there are memories of you in me, I will be free.