Tag: writer’s life

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Invisible but seen

The last time I posted was five days ago. Two poems I shared that day. Before that, I experienced a bit of a poetical drought. And something unexpected happened during that time: it didn’t feel bad. It didn’t feel like writer’s block. It wasn’t dramatic. And it didn’t feel as if I was letting anyone down. Not even me. Instead, it just was. A moment to breathe and a moment to focus on other things.
Mainly work. As the school year comes to a close, there are many meetings and day trips. They need to be organized and reports need to be written. It’s nothing earth-shattering but it needs to be done and it takes time. As it should. I can’t really believe that my second year as a preschool teacher is almost over. Time flies. And that is okay.

During the last week of June, my beloved ukulele broke. I’m not sure what exactly happened, but it wasn’t salvageable, and I invested in a new instrument which arrived last Tuesday. And I am completely obsessed with it. It looks beautiful and has a rich sound that invites you to play and play and play. And I’ve been playing for hours without aching fingertips. It sounds lovely too, and to top it off, I wrote a song. My first ever. It’s called Linger, and I wrote the music, the vocal melody, and of course, the words too. It’s not ready to share and it is very, very short, but it felt like an accomplishment. It’s easy to judge or to look down on it, but making music is not as easy as all those talented people out there make it look.

I have written three poems today. Back to back. I think it’s a little like going back to my roots. I used to write with pen and paper, but somehow, in recent years, I switched to writing on my phone. I always have it with me and there is a built-in autocorrect. Writing with pen and paper gives the poetry I write a different edge though. It’s less polished or maybe that is just a subjective feeling because it looks neater when typed. The emotions are clearly visible on the page, not only in the words, but also in my handwriting (which is hard to read at times). I’m not ready to post them here yet, which is unusual, because most often poems come directly out of my fingers onto your screen. Weird, huh?

Restraint. Is that a sign of my age?

Lately, I’ve had the pleasure of hearing a lot of wonderful and unreleased music through private SoundCloud links. I think I mentioned that in a different blogpost not long ago. It’s nice being part of something, even if it is, or if I am, invisible to the world. It makes me feel as if I belong, as if I’m part of something. That’s very nice indeed. Invisible but seen.

I am still in a good place and phase. Still serene and still at peace. Why do I mention it? Simple. Because moments like this often fade quickly, and I cherish them all the more. I know that I am volatile, that my moods are unpredictable, and that my thoughts often descend into the obscure. So this positive streak is worth mentioning.

I will keep posting, don’t worry about that. All of this still matters and it will always matter to me. This blog is my home. A safe space for all my thoughts. I love that you check in with me. Thank you.

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For one second

My week has felt long and a bit overshadowed by severe allergy bouts. I did not sleep well because I could not breathe, and I worked more than usual. Add to that my husband being away for three days, teaching, playing taxi for my ever-busy kids, and a doctor’s appointment with my son.

A funny little thing happened there: the doctor did not want to speak openly in front of me because he thought I was my son’s girlfriend. Mind you, my son is 20 and I am 42. I clarified that I was Ollie’s mum, and the doctor blurted out that I must have had him very young. When I said I was 21, he did a double take and then genuinely complimented me. He thought I was at least 15 years younger. And he was not just flirting or joking. His confusion seemed real. Or he is a really good actor.

Anyway, today is Saturday and I had the day off. I spent it mostly listening to music and playing on my phone, wasting the hours in a chill, relaxed way. In the afternoon, I took a long bath and decided to dress nicely for the evening. I straightened my hair, something I have not done in a while, and I put on makeup. A touch more than I usually do.

Mind you, I will just be on the couch watching the Eurovision Song Contest with the family.

When I looked in the mirror, I was surprised to see someone beautiful. Usually, I notice all the flaws, all the things I wish were different. But not tonight, and that made me smile. The straight hair and makeup changed something. Subtly, but enough for me to feel it.

But you know me. I am a bit of a cynic and always very self-aware. Objects in the mirror are different than in real life or in front of a camera. So I took a selfie. And I really like it. I look radiant and serene. Beautiful, even.

Now, sure, I know how to tilt the camera to hide my double chin. But the rest is how I look tonight. And for a moment, I doubted whether I should share another selfie this week. But then I thought, I want to let you be part of this. A rare second where I allow myself the same kindness I offer so freely to others.

Thank you for being part of it. 💜✨

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I offer my words

Yet another reflective piece about writing, but I am asking a question, that only you know how to answer.

Some days, the words come in a flood, filling my fingers and spilling onto the page. Other days, even the simplest ones seem distant, slipping away before I can catch them. Perhaps it’s because I translate everything in my mind before writing. English doesn’t come naturally. Every sentence requires effort, a careful balancing of thought and feeling. It would be easier to write in my own language, but that doesn’t feel right. Somehow, the words lose something essential when they aren’t shaped in English. They feel foreign, detached, as if they no longer belong to me.

Still, when the words come, I gather them carefully and offer them to you. To read. To swallow. To make yours, if you wish.

I don’t judge their worth. That isn’t my task. I’m only here to listen, to catch them as they fall, and to offer them without expectation. There’s something sacred in that process, something that asks me to trust the voice that speaks, even when it feels fragile.

Earlier today, I read the word glimmer and, without warning, a poem fell out of my fingers. Yet the word remember, so simple, felt just out of reach. It’s strange how some words find me while others remain distant. I don’t force them. I wait. And when they come, I let them shape what needs to be said.

For months now, I have been writing up a storm. It wasn’t something I planned. It simply happened, like a river carving new paths through familiar landscapes. Poetry, reflections, scattered thoughts… I let them flow because I know the silence always follows. And when it does, I have learned not to fight it. Silence is not the enemy. It is part of the rhythm, a pause before the next wave begins. For now, the voices are here, and I am listening.

I haven’t written much poetry on the blog this year. Most of it has found its way to Threads, appearing daily like whispered offerings. Should I crosspost more often? I don’t know. Threads feels intimate, fleeting, like speaking into a quiet room where only a few listen.

Perhaps more of those words belong here too. Perhaps they need a place where they can linger longer, where they won’t be carried away by the endless scroll of a timeline. Like me, maybe they just want to be heard before the silence comes again.

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Sea sick or World sick?

I’m lying here in the dark, with the rain and wind knocking at the window, asking to be let in. My head’s spinning, and I can’t tell if it’s a stomach bug, a migraine, or something else entirely. The dizziness makes everything feel like a blur, like being seasick but with nowhere to steady myself. Maybe I’m world sick.

Tears slide down my face quietly, more out of frustration than anything else. Frustrated that my body has decided it’s not up to the task today. When I close my eyes, strange images drift in and out—a man I don’t know, a man who isn’t mine but whose presence feels comforting, as if our souls are shared dust. And then another image—a blade against my skin. No cut, no blood; just an echo of past pain. These thoughts don’t belong together, but they linger in the dark, fragments of something I can’t quite piece together. I wonder if the dizziness brought them on, blurring my thoughts the same way it’s blurring my senses.

And then, like an anchor, my sister-in-law’s words float to the surface: You’ve been longer with my brother than without. She’s right, and I feel a flicker of pride in that thought. I’m still here, beside a man I love deeply, weathering whatever comes our way. Even on days like this, when everything feels unsteady, I hold onto that, as if it could keep me grounded.

Outside, a sliver of daylight is creeping in, outlining the shape of the lamp above me. I don’t dare move. The world is already spinning enough. But maybe if I just close my eyes and empty my mind, I can drift off and let sleep take me. Maybe my body knows what it needs, and I just need to give it space to heal itself.

For now, I’ll surrender to the quiet, trusting that the storm will pass, and I’ll find solid ground again. Not sea sick, not world sick, just here. Breathing in the new morning air.

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suicide prevention day

Today, on World Suicide Prevention Day, we’re reminded that behind the smiles we see every day, there are often silent battles being fought. It’s a day to pause, to reflect, and to remind ourselves—and each other—that no one has to fight these battles alone.

I’ve been there. I know what it feels like to be swallowed by darkness, to believe there’s no way out. I’ve felt the crushing weight of hopelessness, and at my lowest, I attempted to take my own life. It’s a hard thing to admit, but that’s why I’m sharing it with you. Because I’m still here. And if you’re in that dark place right now, I want you to know that you can be, too. There is a way through it. And there are people ready to help you find it. Sometimes, one conversation can make all the difference.

When we hear about the passing of beloved musicians and actors like Robin Williams or Chester Bennington, it hits hard. These are people who seemed to have it all—fame, fortune, talent—yet they were still caught in the grip of deep, invisible pain. It’s a powerful reminder that mental health struggles don’t care who you are. No one is immune.

Think of Kurt Cobain—an icon whose music defined a generation, yet his inner demons won the battle. Or Robin Williams, who made the world laugh while struggling silently with depression. These stories tell us that mental illness is real and it’s relentless, but more importantly, that we need to start talking about it openly.

These public figures are more than tragic stories—they are reminders that anyone can be struggling. And when we lose them, it’s heartbreaking, but it also renews the urgency to have these difficult conversations. We need to ask ourselves: How many more lives could we save if we spoke up earlier?

Awareness is power. By spreading awareness, we give people permission to speak up about their struggles. We help dismantle the stigma that keeps so many from seeking help. We let people know that it’s okay to not be okay.

It’s easy to feel alone when you’re struggling with mental health. But when we shine a light on these issues, we show that mental illness is not something to be ashamed of. It’s something to confront, to talk about, and to get help for.

What can you do? The most powerful thing is often the simplest—listen. Be there for your friends and loved ones. Check in with people, even the ones who seem like they’ve got it all together. Sometimes, the strongest people on the outside are the ones struggling the most on the inside.

If you’re struggling, there are resources that can help. Just knowing someone is there, ready to listen, can be life-saving. Again, one conversation can make all the difference.

Remember, suicide prevention is not just a day—it’s every day. This is a conversation that needs to keep going. Let’s not wait for another tragedy to spark these discussions. Let’s keep talking, sharing, and supporting each other now. Because you matter. Your life matters. And if you don’t believe that right now, I hope you’ll reach out to someone who can help you see it.

It’s not just about preventing death—it’s about nurturing life. It’s about giving people the tools to survive and thrive, even when their world feels like it’s collapsing.

—

Helplines:

U.S.:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: Call or Text 988 (Free 24/7)

Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 (Free 24/7)

Veterans Crisis Line: Call 988, then press 1, or text 838255

UK:

Samaritans: Call 116 123 (Free 24/7 helpline)

Papyrus (for young people): Call 0800 068 4141 / Text 07860 039967

CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably, for men): Call 0800 58 58 58

Luxembourg:

SOS Détresse: Call 45 45 45 (24/7 support)

Kanner-Jugendtelefon (for youth): Call 116 111

Netherlands:

113 Zelfmoordpreventie: Call 113 or 0800-0113 (24/7)

Ireland:

Samaritans: Call 116 123 (Free 24/7 helpline)

France:

SOS Suicide: Call 01 45 39 40 00

Suicide Écoute: Call 01 45 39 40 00

Germany:

Telefonseelsorge: Call 0800 111 0 111 / 0800 111 0 222

Belgium:

Zelfmoordlijn: Call 1813

Switzerland:

Die Dargebotene Hand: Call 143

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Final Thought

This is not just another blog post. This is a lifeline. If you’re reading this and struggling, or if you know someone who might be, take that step—reach out, talk, listen. One conversation could make all the difference.

cathy@boom.lu

I am always just a screen away,

Thank you!

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randomness

Yesterday, I went to a wedding again. I think most of my friends, acquaintances and family members are married now. Apart from my younger sister, but she has time and no one needs to marry anyway – it’s a very personal decision after all.

It is nice to be at all these ceremonies. But it also makes me remember my own wedding and how much I would change it today. But times were different 17 years ago. And we were different too. I was 24 when I got married. Patrick was 29. But we already had our son, we had a house…

Anyway…

I think we were older when we were young.

It sounds weird, but I think now that our kids are all teenagers (14, 15, 19), we can be young again too. We had many responsibilities when we were young and they made us feel old or live an old life. Dynamics have changed lately. And that’s nice. We live like roommates right now. The teenagers do their own laundry and their own cleaning. Often (during the summer holidays) they also do their own cooking. And still. We have one meal a day together. If possible, all 5 of us. We laugh and talk a lot. We often have philosophical talks too during dinner. I like that. I like to hear their thoughts and their views on life and everything. And still, I am still their mom, they still come to me when something is not right and I still spoil them with one on one time. With 3 kids it is important that they can be on their own with a parent at times. It’s something we always did. Partly because they had and have different interests and needs, and partly because they deserve to be heard without their siblings present.

The wedding yesterday was very nice. And I felt very good too. That’s not always the case at social gatherings. I often don’t fit. It was different yesterday. It started with the fact that I had a good morning. My best friend helped choose my dress (via pictures). And from there, everything fell into place. My hair was easy to style. I simply put it up and the right curls fell out. It was not planned like that, I actually just put the hair in a clip when I applied my makeup. But it looked good and I kept it that way. The dress looked beautiful on me too. In my day to day life, I only wear black. I like it that way. And have for many years. But you don’t wear black to a wedding. And so, over the years, I assembled a collection of more colourful dresses. Yesterday, I had 3 to choose from. All of them had never been worn before. One was white with purple patterns all over. Very flowy and airy. One was teal. The cloth is like a tshirt made of jersey, and it was a very simple dress too. The last one was orange at the top and had a colour gradient that turns into dark blue. Flowy and airy too.

My best friend suggested that one. It was also the one I had in mind, even though I was worried it would be too flashy. After all, when I tried it on for the first time and Patrick saw it, he said I looked like a fluorescent text marker. So… I was dressed in my orange dress, with a very colourful little clutch. Blue watch (Bering) on the right wrist, my bracelet that I always wear on the left. Flat black sandals and blue nail polish. I looked good. And I felt confident too. I think it showed.

My eyes are closed in the photo, but apparently my smile makes up for that – that’s what I’ve been told. And yes, the dress really empathizes my chest.

I completely lost the plot here… I have no idea what I wanted to write and communicate in the first place.

I am 41 one now. I have the same life I had when I was 30, except that I am working now. I still have the same interests (music, writing, movies). But I also think that I am more settled now. A bit more confident in myself. A bit less moody. A bit more content. And maybe that comes with age.

A couple years back (2 years, actually) I felt old and all wrong. Because of my (on-going) shoulder issues, I had changed jobs in quick succession which made me feel like a failure in many ways. I was unsure which way to go and how to go on. Then I started a job that I needed to finally find closure. It’s there that I understood that my age and the many jobs I had were assets. Experience is an asset. And my entire outlook changed. 1 year ago I dared to take my current job as a preschool teacher. And I love it. Every moment of it (apart from the long long summer holidays – they make me restless).

Living means evolving. It means embracing change. It also means embracing the past, because everything happens for a reason, and every step we take leads us somewhere. We might not always like where we are. We might fight it. But in the end, we always learn from situations and experiences. We grow. And isn’t that a gift?!

I think, I need to be more grateful for everything I have. I tend to forget from time to time that I have a rather comfortable life.

Have a great Sunday ☀️

I will do what I often do. Reading, listening to music, texting back and forth with the people I love, and reminding myself to keep breathing.

(PS: today I am wearing black again)

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remembering August – a throwback post

I am up early today. I already cleaned the kitchen, put in a load of laundry, and had a cup of coffee outside. I am on my second cup now. Quite mundane.

This morning, I got a notification telling me that there is a new subscriber on the blog, yesterday I received the same notification. I just wanted to take a moment to welcome you both.

It also gave me the idea to browse the blog and share what I have been up to in the last decade on here. Decade? Yes, it’s going to be 12 years on this journey and there are no signs of stopping.

Okay, so what has happend on or around an August 23rd on this blog since 2012? Here goes:

2012 : nothing. The blog’s birthday is in December 🙂

2013:

don’t let me die

2014:

frozen heart

2015:

Fragmented Thoughts

2016:

Callous Whispers

2017:

Throwback
This one is like inception: a post in a post in a post. It’s nice though, very much in the gist of what I am writing currently

2018:

drunken poetry

2019:

2020:

Sunday Scribbles #15 – mirrors

2021:

untitled_20210824

2022:

A modern vesper

2023:

Lost in space

What strikes me most is that I really wrote a lot of poetry and always seem to have. To be honest, I thought the poetry was a more recent thing and didn’t go back all the way. There is a lot of music too. August 22 was a month of music. And so many posts. So many words. And most are mine. It’s incredible. While putting this post together, I felt embarrassed by the words I read. And I was ready to change this post and make it something different. No one would have known, right? Well halfway through the embarrassment changed into something close to pride. I say close to pride because I am having troubles feeling that emotion. I was not raised to see my successes, I was raised to see my failures and dwell on them.

Be it as it may, above are (let me count again) 11 posts. I’d say they are worth getting some attention, but who am I to judge? The coffee is kicking in.

Did any of these posts stand out for you? Which one? I know it is a lot of work to read through them all, but let me assure you, there are less words in all the 11 posts combined than in this post here. The comments are open everywhere. Don’t hesitate to share your thoughts.

While I am writing this, I am also listening to music. (The moment I stop listening to music, something is very wrong). Oddly enough, the song is from the same band and the same album as the song from the 2022 post. Her Name is Calla – Animal Choir. Trusted readers know my story with this band extends way past the music.

Thank you very much for being there. It matters. You may think it doesn’t and that no one even notices that you are there. But I know and I see you.

If you want to know more about me or where to find me online or offline, take a look at this post:

about me
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Losing myself – finding myself

The photo captures a moment of pure tranquility – a woman, lost in the pages of a French novel, her fingers gently caressing the strings of a ukulele, a steaming cup of coffee by her side. It’s a scene that instantly transports me to a place of profound peace and self-reflection.In this image, that woman is me.

I’ve chosen to embrace this moment of respite, to lose myself in the rhythmic sway of the ukulele, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee, the lyrical cadence of a foreign tongue. It’s a chance for me to disconnect from the noise and reconnect with the essence of who I am.

In these fleeting hours, I find myself drifting, my thoughts unraveling with each turn of the page. There is a sense of freedom, of weightlessness, that washes over me. It’s as if the worries of the world have been lifted, leaving me to simply be – to exist in the present, to savor the simple pleasures that so often go unnoticed.

In a world that so often demands our constant attention, the ability to carve out a day of quiet solitude is a true gift. To sit in the stillness, to let my mind wander without the intrusion of notifications is a luxury I too often deny myself.

But today, I’ve chosen to embrace this moment of respite, to indulge in the restorative power of solitude.

So, I encourage you, my fellow wanderers, to seek out these oases of calm. Carve out a day, an hour, even a moment, to find that same sense of freedom and clarity that I’ve discovered in this moment of solitude.

###

I wrote those words knowing that I often struggle embracing these moments. Even more so right now. I went from being wired all the time to feeling invisible and un-needed. For now, I have not found the right way to embrace my first summer holidays as a preschool teacher. But it will come. If I don’t pressure myself and carve out new routines, if I lower my own expectations, it will come. And today is a start. 💜❤️💜❤️

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The school holidays are finally here

Good afternoon,

The much-anticipated school holidays have finally arrived, and I can’t help but feel a sense of exhilaration. After the whirlwind of releasing my book, “Fire&Rain,” I’ve been eagerly anticipating this time to savor some precious moments of solitude and rejuvenation.

This morning, I decided to embark on a refreshing hike, allowing the crisp air and the steady rhythm of my steps to cleanse my mind. As I walked, I listened intently to the soothing flow of the nearby water, its gentle sounds washing over me and filling me with a sense of calm. After a well-deserved shower, I found my cozy spot on the couch, ready to dive into the newest addition to my private library – Édouard Louis’ “changer : méthode.” To further enhance the experience, I put on my trusted Spotify playlist, allowing the soft melodies to envelop me as I turn the pages.

In a pursuit of self-discovery, I’ve also taken up the challenge of learning to play the ukulele. The soft tones of this instrument are sure to become the soundtrack to my newfound moments of tranquility and personal growth. As a preschool teacher, I can’t wait to incorporate the ukulele into my lessons, using its playful and engaging sounds to captivate and inspire my young students.

This is a time of boundless possibilities, and I am the architect of my own remarkable journey. I will cherish these moments of solitude, for they are the fertile ground upon which my next chapter will blossom. The words of Édouard Louis, the melodies of the ukulele, and the familiar tunes from my playlist will undoubtedly inspire me to embrace the transformative power of change and the beauty of the present moment.

The journey has only just begun, and I can’t wait to see where it takes me. Just like me, let the magic of literature and music guide you.

And if you need some literature, my poetry collection is waiting for you to read it.

Enjoy your Thursday

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Embracing my inner poet

As a passionate poet, I’ve been inspired to create and share more of my work lately. You may have noticed an uptick in the number of new poems I’ve been posting, and I wanted to take a moment to address that.

My creative process has been in full flow, and the words have been pouring out of me. When the muse strikes, I simply must capture those fleeting, evocative thoughts and feelings in verse. Poetry has become an essential outlet for me to process the experiences, emotions, and observations that fill my days.

The wellspring of my inspiration comes from the world around me – the music that moves my soul, the movies that stir my imagination, and the everyday moments that make me pause and ponder. I’m endlessly fascinated by the human experience in all its complexities, and I channel those observations and reflections directly into my poetry.

While I understand that a sudden increase in posts could potentially be seen as excessive or even annoying, please know that it comes from a place of genuine artistic expression. This is my way of inviting you into my creative world and sharing the fruits of my poetic labors.

I hope you’ll view these new poems not as a burden, but as a window into my inner landscape. Each verse is a snapshot of my ever-evolving perspective – my joys, my struggles, my wonderings about this complex human experience. In sharing these poems, I aim to connect with you on a deeper level and perhaps even inspire your own reflections.

So, if you’ve noticed an uptick in my poetic postings, please know that it comes from an authentic place. I’m simply following the flow of my creative impulses and allowing my voice to be heard. I appreciate you taking the time to read and engage with my work. Your support means the world to me as I continue to hone my craft.

I look forward to continuing this poetic journey with you. Who knows what other verses may emerge, inspired by the music, movies, and moments that captivate me? I’m excited to find out, and I hope you are too.

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How I go about publishing my books

I was asked a couple of times how I went about publishing my books.

Now before I dive into all kinds of things, let me burst one or two bubbles. I am not a bestselling author. Far from it. If I sell 20 copies of a book, that’s a lot. And it’s true, I would want to sell more, of course I do. But I have no idea how to advertise myself any better, and I think that’s the biggest issue. I believe in the quality of my poems and my stories. But if they are invisible to the world, no one will be inclined to purchase my books. I wish it was different, and I need your help to spread the word about me on your blogs, your socials, with your friends and coworkers. It doesn’t matter if you are from a neighboring country or from across the world, my books are available everywhere.

Publishing a book starts with one thing: writing. Writing writing writing. And then deciding which poem is worthy of being printed in a book. I recommend putting the poems in a Word document or a similar writing program. Get acquainted with the program. Know about headings, styles, headers, toc, page breaks, etc. Research things like the format your book should have. Mine are usually 5 × 8 inch. It’s a little smaller than a pocket book. Apply the format you chose as well as the margin specifics in the layout tab, and remember to mirror your pages. That’s important for the looks of the book.

But, all this can be easily researched online and you will probably understand a lot better how to format your manuscript when it is explained in depth or accompanied by videos.

The next step for me is usually getting an ISBN number. If you self-publish via KDP (Kindle Direct Publishing), you can ask to get a number from them, for free. I did that on a couple of my books. But, to reach a greater local audience, I applied for an ISBN number at my local authority. Again, you need to do your own research, but for me it was sending an application to BNL (bibliothèque nationale de Luxembourg). This was for free too, but I am not sure if that is the same for every country. If you apply for a personalized ISBN number it has to be in your own country. (As far as I know.)

When all of this is done, I begin thinking about a title and a cover. In my mind, they need to go hand in hand. Even though the intention behind my covers is not always visible at first, they have a meaning. With the exception of Fire&Rain, I always did the cover work myself. (Taking the pictures, designing the cover art, adding the titles and the blurb of course too). Sometimes I used a little advice from a creative friend about fonts and the position of the title. For my three last publications: Perfect Imperfection, WORD THIEF, and Fire&Rain, I had some help with the title and artwork too. It helps that they are an artist too and have an esthetic eye and a deeper knowledge on things. They were a great help. I sent them the table of contents and they helped chose a title. They were always spot on.  I need to admit that. Giving credit where credit is due.

For Fire&Rain I tried something new for the artwork, I got the help of AI. And let me tell you, I love the cover. And that cover was only possible because of my friend chosing the title for me and me feeding AI the right words.

Once all that is done and decided, I take the easiest route with KDP. It’s fool proof since they tell you exactly which information they need. Once your finished manuscript is uploaded they point out issues with the formatting. After that you can upload your own cover or create it with the embedded tool. Again, it’s fool proof. Both these things done, you get to the next stage: pricing.

Now, pricing is something I find rather difficult to do. But at least KDP gives a suggestion with a minimum price. You can also set different prices for different market places. Though I tend to have the same price across all platforms. Transparent.

The last step is setting a publication date. Either you want your book to go live immediately or you can set a pre-order date. KDP will proof  and approve your script which can take up to 72 hours. Those 72 hours are quite exciting and most often KDP doesn’t need that long before your book is live and available across the many marketplaces Amazon offers.

As for copies, you can order a proof copy to check if the book is the way you want it to be. If not you can change things until you are happy with the result. After that, you can buy your own Author Copies. Publishing with KDP is print on demand and it usually takes around 5 days to be done. If you order your own copies, you will have to pay the printing price, which is fair though, I think.

Readers pay the printing price plus the amount set by the author.

Once all of that is done, the most complicated part begins. Promoting yourself and getting word out there. Once again, I admit that this is my weakest point and that I need your help. If you find me on Amazon, you will see that there are great reviews. And many of them are from people I don’t know. Of course that’s something I like and I am very grateful for it. And I want more of that.

I am convinced that Fire&Rain is the best poetry collection I ever wrote. And it deserves its recognition. Hopefully many readers will agree with me.

In a week, Fire&Rain will be officially released. I have 12 copies at home that are waiting to be signed and sent off into the world. Maybe one of them is yours? The button on this site works, if you want to try it. (The button is on your right if you use the desktop site, or all the way down if you use the mobile version).

I don’t have an agent, or a publisher, or a manager, or a team of creative people to help me with every step of the way. I cannot just write my poems and leave the rest to professionals. I have to do it all on my own. It’s a source of pride. But sometimes it really sucks, that’s why I am very grateful to that one friend who helps me out sometimes. I couldn’t do it without him. I couldn’t make all these important decisions on my own. And, let me point this out: he also wrote the music for WORD THIEF and The Best Pessimist. Both poems can be found on my soundcloud page. All my links can be found in my “about me” tab.

Mark your calendars for July 12th, when Fire&Rain will see the light of day. And perhaps one copy will find a home on your shelves.

Do you have any questions? Maybe I forgot this or that. I am here. Thank you for everything. 🙏

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breaking waves

Let the crashing waves be my guide, carrying me through this raging tide. I surrender to their mighty swell, yearning for their power to quell.

The storm rages, fierce and strong, but I find solace in the song of the ocean’s eternal roar, washing me ashore, once more.

In the embrace of the foaming crest, I find a sense of peace and rest. The waves, my faithful, constant friends, through this tempest, my journey wends.

They lift me high, then pull me under, yet in their rhythm, I find wonder. Let the breaking waves carry me, through the storm, forever free.

With eyes closed, I entrust my fate to the waves, their rhythm guiding me through the tempest’s haze. In their embrace, I find solace and grace, as they carry me to a tranquil place.

I let go, surrendering to the ebb and flow, trusting the process, watching my worries go. The waves, my companions on this journey of the soul, will see me through, keeping me forever whole.

###

Tonight, I will celebrate a small accomplishment. I finished my last training and will not have a permanent contract as a preschool teacher. This time last year, I didn’t even believe that this would be in my cards. I am so happy I took that leap of faith and believed in myself enough to do this. It was the best decision I could make.

i took this selfie earlier today… I look happy and that is nice. I think. After my training, I had a sense of “everything is right in this very moment” and I wanted to preserve that. Also – vain, I know, but I like the structure of my curls today, my eyes are shining, and the sun softened my pores considerably. Everything will be alright.

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about me

Greetings and salutations,

Hello, and thank you for being here.

My name is Catherine, but you can call me Cathy. I am a poet, a storyteller, and a collector of fleeting moments. I write because I do not know how not to. Words tend to spill out, sometimes uninvited, always looking for a place to land. This blog is where I give them one.

I was born in 1983 in Luxembourg. I live in the space between work and wonder, motherhood and music. When I am not writing, I work in early childhood education, helping small humans explore the world through play. I grow and learn with them, and together we find answers to questions that often matter more than they seem to at first glance. I adore my job.

I am fluent in Luxembourgish, French, and German, but English is the language where my inner world finds its voice most naturally. I write in echoes, in accents, in fragments of what I cannot always say aloud. My poetry is not soft. It is raw, honest, and often tangled with longing. It speaks of silence and survival, of love and loss, of all the things we hold on to and all the ones that slip through our fingers.

I did not grow up writing poems. That part of me came later, although I had written a few before I recognised them for what they were. It felt like finding breath underwater. Since starting this blog in 2012, I have been slowly carving out a space for my voice and letting it grow into its own shape.

Much of what I write is fiction, especially the poetry. But the feelings behind it are real. My writing is shaped by music, by film, by memory and by the need to make sense of the things I do not always know how to say. I write because something inside me needs to be set free. And if you are here, maybe something in you does too.


Where to Find Me

This blog is where most of my words live. But if you want slightly more:

SoundCloud – Spoken poetry and collaborations.

Bandcamp / Discogs – For those curious about the music that shapes me.


My Instagram is private. I post there, but not often.

Some of my words have found their way into books. If you want to hold them in your hands, you can find them here.

Collaborations & Contact

I have worked with musicians and photographers, blending words with sound and image. If you think my writing could be part of something you are creating, feel free to reach out: cathy@boom.lu.

Disclaimer

The words on this blog are mine. If they are not, I will say so.

My stories are fiction, even when they feel true. My poetry is truth, even when it is not mine alone. Any resemblance to people or places is entirely coincidental. No post is aimed at anyone unless clearly stated. The music mentioned or linked here is not mine.

Please do not copy, repost, or republish any content without written permission.

© 2012–2025 micqu.org. All content is original and protected.

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Intelligence

is intelligence inherent or is it something one can learn? Can intelligence be taught or is it something that comes natural. Is intelligence an insult or a compliment?

In the last days I’ve been called intelligent several times. Does that mean I was stupid before? Did I hide my intelligence? Did I get more intelligent?

All those questions are asked without taking it all too serious. I am sure there is an answer to it all somewhere, but it might be too scientific and over my head.

I was wondering though, in earnest, if intelligence has to do with age. As one gets older, they experience more, are exposed to more information, and probably (hopefully) learn to differentiate between facts and fiction; truths and lies.

And the more I think about it, I think – and that’s my own personal opinion, I think being curious about life, the world, and everything that happens improves intelligence too. Reading up to find answers to your questions. Searching for information to understand what you don’t understand.

In my case, I mentioned above that I was called intelligent for different reasons: once for mostly reading in English and German with neither being my native language. But, here in Luxembourg, most people grow up with at least three languages, some even with five. It’s normal here to speak and read in several languages. Not everyone is confident, comfortable or fluent in all of them, but the basis knowledge is there anyway.

Secondly, I voiced my opinions about national politics and tax changes that will be set in motion in January. If I share my opinions about politics, I add facts and explain how I came to my conclusions. Politics and religions are topics that always potentially lead to arguments. I often avoid sharing my thoughts and just listen to those conversations, but I am also a grown-up who is affected by what is happening in our country (and in the world too). I can’t always be silent. But, I think before I speak. Not always. Often enough though.

Third time I was called intelligent, I think they misused the word. We were talking about music and I had a lot to say, many facts, many songs I know, stuff like that. For me, that’s nothing to do with intelligence. It’s something I like. If I liked paintings, I would surly know about the painters and their biographies too.

I had a couple of very nice days recently, spending them with people I like and love, laughing until our cheeks hurt. Last night for example, I spent at a Christmas dinner with my ex-co-workers. I was invited spontaneously, and I admit, usually I would have found an excuse to not go, but I liked the team and my bosses. It felt right to go there. And we had a lot of fun. I am glad I went. My best friend put it like this: you are liked. And I felt liked for sure. I mean, they did not have to invite me, but they did. For me, it’s kind of a big deal because I never felt very included anywhere. I don’t have many friends (mainly that’s okay right now). I have many acquaintances, and sometimes I get the feeling they would want to be friends, but I keep them at arm’s length anyway.

Stop! This is not what I wanted to write about when I started this post.

The next three posts will be parts of the story. They are scheduled (like all the other chapters that were posted before and will be posted until January). You’re still the one is the same way I left it in 2015. I should have at least edited the chapters to get rid of cringeworthy grammar and spelling, but I didn’t. It’s the authentic first draft of that story.

Read you soon…

Oh and I would love to hear your thoughts about intelligence. Sound off in the comments!

PS: this is the 100 post in a row… it was a personal goal I wanted to reach, so I am a bit proud that I managed to keep the streak alive.

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Lazy days

Today is Saturday and I won’t do anything. Think Bruno Mars’s “Lazy Song”. I know, I say that I don’t like Bruno Mars, but I believe that you need to educate yourself in things you dislike. (This post would be written a lot faster if I wouldn’t have to correct every second word because of typos… urgh). Anyway. Bruno Mars… he’s on a level with birds for me. Yes, I have an incredible fear – a phobia really of birds. I read up on them to rationalise or irrationalise my fear, but the smaller the bird, the bigger the fear. And this does not have anything to do with anything. But… lazy song, lazy day.

I woke up later than usual, which is an awesome feeling. During the week I get up at 5am, today I slept until 8.15am. I went to the bathroom and heard voices from downstairs. I was not really concerned and yet, I knew that everyone with male voices in my house was still asleep. I went downstairs and noticed that someone had forgotten to turn off the TV the night before. And that’s how my lazy day started. I sat on the couch and played with my phone while simultaneously watching some thrash TV… Yeah, I like that kind of things to take my mind off everything and anything.

As per usual, I also wrote a morning text to my best friend. And continued doing nothing for 30 minutes. Patrick came downstairs and we had breakfast together. I cleared the table and in his manner, he began doing little things around the house while I got back to the couch and declared that I would not do anything today as I but my feet on the coffee table. I spent 15 minutes finding the right music for the day, then played another game on the phone. (I am maybe too old to play that much, but I have several apps with daily challenges, and again, it keeps my mind off things). I lit two candles and looked around the room. And of course I got up and cleaned the kitchen in depth, put in a load of laundry, swept the floor. Got back to the couch for some mindless scrolling, brought out the trash… and it’s not even noon.

And I noticed, that’s how I do nothing. I put on music, sing along loudly and do chores one by one.

Not doing anything is never an option, although I know it looks like that for my husband or my kids (who, by the way are still in bed… and it is almost noon) because they see me on the couch with my phone. In a couple of moments, I will close my tablet (after having pushed send/publish) and I will make lunch. And this too falls under the category of not doing anything. Because all of what I mentioned is not considered work. I mean, it is. But it isn’t.

And so, I am living my pretend lazy day. And I keep singing. And I keep dancing. And I keep merging stuff on my phone. And I keep in touch with my friends, my people. And I keep myself from overthinking… but at one point everything that keeps my mind off things becomes dull and boring and my mind takes over again.

Something I overthink right now is the blog. It’s December and I have a blog anniversary coming up. 11 years of doing this. 11 years of change and of the same. 11 years. And I keep doing this for me. I like that there are some people interested enough to read my thoughts and my poems and my short stories and all. I really love it. And I love sharing it. Even if it makes me feel vulnerable and fragile sometimes. Even if it makes me feel vain and pretentious some times.

I am not always a nice person, I try to be. But sometimes I seem cold and distant or even uninterested. I am not. I just don’t know how to show that I like people or what they are doing. Like, social media for example. I scroll and read and agree, but I refrain from commenting all that much. Because: who needs my two cents for everything? Why should I comment stuff that does not matter to me personally. My thoughts don’t have any weight in this world. But here, on this blog, they do. Because I trust you. I trust that you know when to stop reading and when to go on. This year, the blog has seen a lot less traffic, and that’s okay for me. I am just sorry to have noticed so many abandoned or deleted blogs. From people who interacted with me as well. I miss their posts and, selfishly, the interaction too.

Yesterday, I also noticed that for the first time in 6 years I have nothing planned to publish for the next year (2024). “Not yet” my person said, and he is right. But right now, I don’t see anything coming up. I’d like to do more with music again. And that photography project is still on my mind too, but I am afraid I am not good enough in either of those things.

Annnywaaay… lazy day. I forgot how to be lazy. I am going to prepare lunch now. Thank you for reading this stream of consciousness. (and it is only a bit passed noon now). I know, my thoughts are never organised, but this is exactly how my mind works. Nothing is embellished or made easier. I think I should apologise for that, then again, I don’t want to apologise for being me. And that’s the essence of what you get on this blog: the most bare and the most authentic version of me. Thank you for everything. xx

https://videopress.com/v/AEy2YGbU?resizeToParent=1&cover=1&autoPlay=0&controls=1&loop=1&muted=0&persistVolume=1&playsinline=1&preloadContent=metadata&sbc&sbpc&sblc&useAverageColor=1
WORD THIEF… the song. All words by me. All photos by me. Music and vocals by Daniel Cavanagh. This video is exclusive on this blog.