Last year it was a new computer, this year... living expences!

Dear Saladin Ahmed,

I'm sorry that you have mental health issues. I'm sorry that you suffer from "anxiety…and depression…and chronic fatigue…and vicious insomnia".

I'm sorry that your songwriter/research psychologist wife is having trouble supporting your family, with seemingly very little no help from you, because of your mental health issues.

I'm sorry that your books are so popular that you have been invited to be on a convention panel, and that someone there will be cosplaying one of your characters; it sucks that you cant afford to go. I suppose we could say that you are a victim of your own success.

Or perhaps we should wise up and realise that, you simply have a victim mentality.

I'm not usually in the habit of playing "mine's bigger than yours" but the following is fact.

1) I have never suffered chronic fatigue, but I have suffered with, depression and continue to suffer with anxiety and insomnia. I have also tried to commit suicide in the past. Not my finest moment, I'll admit.

2) I was (and still am) an alcoholic, albeit a sober one for the past 7 years.

3) I'm dyslexic. Yeah, I know, a dyslexic writer.  Writing is so not a career I was ever encouraged to enter into in any way shape or form, so maybe there's a little bit of a masochist in me too.

4) I suffer from PTSD after being stalked, (which as you can imagine, does wonders for my anxiety).

5) I walked out of my life, left everything I owned behind except 2 suitcases and a car when  was 30. I had less then £100 in my pocket. Sometimes over the last 5 years I have literally had £20 a week to buy all groceries, feed myself and my dogs with. Credit cards and loans weren't an option, because I had no credit history, because I couldn't give my old address in case my ex found me.

I admit, sometimes I have borrowed money from my family, but only when I have had no alternative, and never more than a few hundred, because I know that anything more than that, I probably wouldn't be able to pay back. I finally got out of my sisters debt just a few weeks ago. (thanks Sis, you are the best!)

But if the help of a few supportive readers/friends can make a trip possible, it seems silly to let pride keep me from asking."

That's not pride, dear boy, that's your self respect, screaming at you to be a grown up and sort your life out! Taking charity doesn't help.

 

You have been a finalist for the John W. Campbell Awards and the Nebula Award. Your stories have been published in places such as Strange Horizons, Orson Scott Card's InterGalactic Medicine Show, Clockwork Phoenix 2, and Beneath Ceaseless Skies. Your novel trilogy is being published DAW Books. 

YOU have the life and the success that thousands of struggling authors dream of, and yet all you can do is sit there with your begging bowl out and proclaim "woe is me". You have no idea how lucky you are because you are so short sighted that you can't see everything that you have been blessed with. 

But, yes, woe is you... for being such a spineless sack of dog poo! 

There's nothing wrong with you that a little backbone wouldn't sort. Or hell, here's an original idea, GET A FRIGGING DAY JOB!!! Believe me, most authors don't live of their spouses, nor do they go begging to the public to make up the shortfall. Most actually have 2 jobs, the one that pays the bills, and the writing they do out of hours (which is more of a compulsion than a job)!

You might be surprised by the amount of self respect paying your own way gives you, not to mention the total exhaustion is either very helpful in overcoming the insomnia, or if not, you just have more of lovely time to write!

Those who did donate to you probably think that they were being kind, but the reality is that the loving thing to do is not always the nice or the kind thing to do. They are simply enabling you to remain a victim and refuse to take responsibility for your life and your choices. The first step on your road to recovery is to put the begging bowl away (this isn't the first time you have done this) and take some responsibility for yourself, your life and your problems. 

Yours Sincerely

Cat Winchester

Who despite the many problems she has, or has had in life, actually considers herself blessed and is proud of the life that she is still rebuilding. 

If after reading what a horrid life I have had and how I have suffered for my art, my choice in boyfriends, my addiction, and my generally being a bit of a sap for the first 28 years of my life, kindly send a donation to one of my preferred charities.

Canine Partners, who help people with disabilities to enjoy greater independence and a better quality of life, by providing specially trained assistance dogs.

Edinburgh Cat & Dog Home who rescue stray and abandoned animals. They are solely dependent on public donations to survive.

The Feminist Tightrope

Natural large breasts

We feminists all walk a tightrope between our feminism and our desires.

Damn it, I want to be pretty, even while knowing that the image of beauty that we are presented with applies only to 5% of the population, and I shall NEVER achieve it! Beauty is something that we have been taught to want however, rather that comes naturally to everyone, and as I come to terms with this fact, there are times that I am willing to bite the bullet and go against the herd mentality.

I have big breasts and bra's hurt me, so on Sunday I finally made the decision that it didn't matter if my breasts weren't perky and perfect, I wasn't going to keep strapping a bra on and off just to walk the dogs, so that I can fool the world into believing that my bosoms are perfect and perky. They are my breasts, their look and appearance was decided by my DNA, and there is nothing wrong with them, damn it, except that they don't live up to this foolish 21st century ideal.

Real vs Photoshopped Maria.

And let's face it, many of the perfect breasts that we are supposed to live up to aren't even real, having been enhanced by either surgery or photoshop! These are the breasts I was born with, and damn it, big (natural) boobs tend to sag! 

Two days later I see a female friend (who shall remain nameless) tweeting about how, thanks to the warm weather, there were so many awful, bra-less women about with, well I'll let you read it

My god you see some sights in [redacted]! Bra-less boobs hanging round the waist! #notagoodlook

Needless to say my new found feeling of freedom disappeared, and I simply feel self-conscious and awkward again. Now I am back to hiding under a bulky coat (despite the temperature), rather that strapping the painful, perky-breast-maker back on again.

We are our own worse enemies, and that is an important realisation to come by. Just because we are women, doesn't mean that we haven't been indoctrinated by the patriarchal society that we live in. At least once we understand that, we can begin to start making informed decisions about what rules we want to follow, and why we want to follow them.

Which is more frightening, the ever increasing hair or bust?

In a few weeks I will probably manage to once again convince myself that there is nothing wrong with my perfectly natural breasts, but I cant help but wonder how long it will be until another "harmless" (and thoughtless) remark sends me running back for the bulky coat/camouflage.

While we're on this subject, Can I just ask why there are no posts about men and their exposed moobs, beer bellies and white chicken legs? Personally I don't find those things attractive but then again, I accept that men not only can be more than just a physical presence (attractive or otherwise) but that they should be more than that, as well rounded human beings. I expect them to have goals and aspirations that have nothing to do with looking good so that they might be appreciated by the opposite sex. As such, it doesn't really bother me if men are imperfect.

I apply that same standard to women. I wish more of us did.

Northern Light, Chapter One

Another day, another Sample Sunday!

Book Blurb: Sometimes described as the female Dickens, Elizabeth Gaskell's classic novel, North and South, dealt with issues of class, feminism, social reform and the plight of the working classes, entwining those themes seamlessly with a timeless romance between Margaret Hale and John Thornton. Northern Light is a continuation of that novel which sees John and Margaret embarking on their lives together whilst working to improve the lives of their work force.

With the threat of another strike, a series of bad mill accidents, a lethal fire and failed speculation, life in Milton is not easy for anyone and it won't be long before the mill masters and their workers clash once more, with devastating consequences.

Getting married and starting a family is difficult enough at the best of times but for John and Margaret, married life will present unique challenges and despite the reforms they are making, even they will not escape Milton's troubles unscathed.

Half Past, Chapter One

It's time for another #SampleSunday. Today, book two in the Past Series.

Book Blurb: Simon Hamm was a run of the mill con man, lying, cheating and stealing his way through life until met Marilyn, a vampire. Enthralled by her power, he courted her and made her fall in love with him, whereupon Hamm was reborn as a child of the night and Marilyn was dead by his hand.

Unwilling to play by the rules, Hamm turned rogue and cut a bloody trail across Britain in his quest to build himself a private army of vampires, courting the wrath of the vampire council in the process.

Employed by MI5 to police the supernatural community, Frankie Wright's life is far from normal but when Joshua asks for her help in tracking Hamm down, her life quickly begins to spiral out of control.

Forced to stay away from her boyfriend, Frankie begins to realise just how important Alex is to her but deceived and betrayed, she soon finds herself fighting not only to bring down Hamm but for the right to even exist.

 

Chapter One

When the alarm on her phone went off Frankie groaned, switched it off and turned on to her front. The damn thing would go off again in a few minutes but at least she might get a few more moments of blissful slumber.

“You’re leaving?” Alex asked, his fingers beginning to trace circles on her back.

Frankie moaned, partly in pleasure and partly by way of an answer.

“You should be asleep,” she mumbled. “It’s daylight.”

“How can I sleep with you beside me, tempting me?”

Frankie smiled and finally opened her eyes. “Charmer,” she accused.

“Guilty.” He leaned over and began to kiss her shoulder, working slowly towards her neck.

Frankie clamped her hand over her neck. “Not today. I have a telephone conference with my boss and I need my faculties intact.”

While Alex never drank much blood from her, it was one of the more disturbing aspects of sleeping with a vampire. Not that she didn’t enjoy it; in fact it felt very pleasurable but it left her feeling like a meal rather than a lover. She didn’t feel she could refuse however, since one of her conditions when they began a relationship was that he stopped feeding off other people. That left bagged blood from the hospital (which he made no attempt to hide his distaste for) or her.

Upset by her own confusion on the matter, she slipped from the bed before the alarm had even buzzed again. 

Past Due, Chapter One

Bertena Varney, sociology professor and author of Lure of the Vampire: A Pop Culture Reference Book, recently reviewed Past Due for The Examiner and awarded it 5 stars. Read her review here.

Right now, it's time for another #SampleSunday. I hope you enjoy this excerpt of Past Due.

Book Blurb: Francis 'Frankie' Wright thought she was an old hat at dealing with the supernatural, until she was reassigned to Edinburgh, the most haunted city in the world.

Her latest case soon takes a deadly turn. Young women are being slain in satanic rituals and it's up to Frankie to find the murderer before he kills again.

Frankie must juggle vampires, shapeshifters, witches and zombies, all the while trying to keep the truth from her sceptical ex-boyfriend, Will Campbell, who just happens to be heading up the police investigation.

The clock is ticking and she soon finds herself forced to team up with the vampires and shapeshifters in order to stop the killer before he can literally unleash hell on earth.

Chapter One

Francis Wright took one last look over her shoulder to be sure no one was watching, then deftly picked the door lock. Thirty seconds later she closed the door behind her, safe inside the apartment. It wasn’t that she was a master lock picker that gave her such speed, merely the right equipment.

Should she be caught carrying a locksmiths tools without a locksmiths licence there would be awkward questions, but Frankie was certain she’d never face any consequences.

She felt along the wall until she found the light switch, and then headed deeper into the apartment. The fact she’d had to come at night made stealth both harder, in that she needed to use lights at all, and easier in that there were fewer people around to see. She’d long ago learnt that using a home’s own lights drew a lot less attention than a flickering torchlight.

The body had been moved but it was easy to see where it had lain, just inside the doorway to the living room. There were no helpful chalk outlines but the large pool of blood suggested that whoever had fallen there, had not walked away under their own steam.

She sighed and pushed a gloved hand through her dark hair.

“Sometimes I hate this job,” she muttered. She knelt down beside the largest blood stain and pulled one of her leather gloves off. She rested her palm gently against the carpet and closed her eyes. Images of the horrific death flashed through her mind and she gritted her teeth. The poor girl had died painfully, but at least it was quick. A small mercy.

She opened her eyes and removed her hand, swallowing down the residual pain and fear she was left with.

“Sometimes I really hate this job.” She stood up, whirling around as someone coughed behind her.

Where does a writers responsibility begin and end?

Following my post on Fifty Shades of Grey, and the white hot rage it and it's message inspired within me, not to mention arguments such as racefail (which still has cause to rear it's ugly head from time to time) and this recent article in the Guardian, I've been thinking a lot recently about a writers responsibilities.

There isn't a lot of fiction out there that elevates any minority to positions of equality. Those that do exist are most often found within the realm of science fiction and fantasy, though there are equally as many fantastic universes created which still seek to oppress minorities, seeming to long for the good old days, when women were little more than princess in ivory towers and slavery was normal.

Any media can be a force for change, putting forward points of view that make us stop and questions ourselves and our preconceptions. Star Trek having a black woman on the bridge, for example, was unthinkable in the 60's. Of course the majority of telephone operators in a telephone exchange were women, so perhaps making her the communications officer was not that ground breaking after all. It made a bold leap, no doubt, but was that leap bold enough? Why couldn't Spock, the second in command, have been a woman, or heaven forbid, even the captain! Even just making a woman the navigation officer would have been better, and at least then the Enterprise would stop and ask for directions when needed!

Hope for Tomorrow, Chapter One

It's #SampleSunday again.

Book Blurb: When housemaid Martha began an affair with her Master's son, Lucien, the future Earl of Marchwood, it was always destined to end badly.

Single, pregnant and unemployed, Martha struggles to forge a new life for herself and her daughter, only for Lucien to inadvertently destroy it.

She and her daughter are homeless and starving when they come to the aid of a man who proves to be their salvation.

Lucien is still obsessed with his lost love, the only woman who has ever rejected him.

A chance meeting seven years later could spell disaster but can they put their pain and pride behind them and seize this opportunity, or will old ghosts ruin their last chance at happiness?

Chapter One

Lucian reeled backwards as though Martha had struck him.

“No,” he told her, his usually robust colouring turning ashen. “You can't be, it's not possible!”

“I can assure you it is!” Martha said, her previous dreams of everything working out for the best crumbling before her eyes. The pain his denial caused burned deep into her soul and her fiery temper began to assert itself, as it usually did when she was hurt. “It took two of us to make this baby and you were there!”

“But... a baby! I can't have a baby with a housemaid!”

“A housemaid? After everything you said, all those dreams you shared with me, is that really all I am to you?”

“What?” Fear was now causing his own temper to rise. “You thought that I would marry you? Me, the son of the Earl of Marchwood marry you, a servant in my father's home?” He laughed but was it cold and brittle, far from the warm laugh that she loved.