Ruth Miranda's Blog, page 2

Where were you ten years ago? - A chocolate, walnut and fig cake to celebrate your victories

"Where do you see yourself in ten years' time?" This is probably the question I hate the most. I never knew what to say in response, because I could never - still can't - picture my life so far ahead. Ten years is a long time, how can I know? I may be aware of where I'd like to be in ten years' time, but I also know I can be dead in ten minutes. So I've always refrained from answering that question. You have no idea how many jobs that cost me. Even though I knew I should have answered every single time, I have a problem with coming out and saying something I don't believe in. I get uncomfortable, I get sick to my stomach. So I usually shrug when that question comes up, give back platitudes like "Happily married and healthy, with a nice job." and move on. Because I honestly have no idea where I'll find myself in ten years. I hope I'm still writing and publishing and keeping this blog. I hope I'm a lot more successful than I am now - and it never crossed my mind to be as successful as I already am! I hope I sell a million copies of my books or more, in the space of ten years. It's where I want to be and I'm going to work on getting there, but... we all know it's not as simple as that.

But the fact I don't like to predict where I'll be in ten years' time - or any other time - doesn't mean I don't find myself making a bit of a retrospection on where I was and how far I've come in the past ten years. Ande November has found me doing a lot of that.  Because, frankly, so much has changed in these ten years. So much has changed in my life, but mostly inside me. In my heart, my head, my overall disposition, my being. Ten years ago to the day I was smack into what was the opening months to a very rough, very hard, very bad few years. For a few years, I was doing things that went againts my beliefs, my ethics, my morals. The jobs I worked were soul-sucking, life- shattering, and the pay, honestly, did not make up for all the bad, all the terrible. I was in a place where I no longer knew who I was. I was in total survival mode. And I hated myself. I had no self-esteem. Absolutely no self-confidence, no self-belief. I really thought I deserved the worst, most humiliating jobs there were, and was confident I'd fail at them too, because I was a failure. I was an ugly, disgusting, fat failure. And in my head, I deserved all that. I deserved to constantly lose the jobs I got, I deserved to fail at the goals set (goals that were made to be failed, and I knew it, but my head said I failed because I was worthless.) I didn't deserve to get a job I enjoyed doing, nor did I deserve to be appreciated. This was where I was ten years ago.

Maybe I was suffering from post-partum depression, maybe it was just general depression, maybe it was nothing, but the truth was I could not see a light at the end of the tunnel, nor an end to that particular tunnel. It was so bad, so crushing, so soul-destroying I gave up. I honestly gave up. The jobs I go were temping jobs that lasted for a week, two. Or maybe they lasted for years and years, always on a temping status, of course, being paid bellow minimum wage, sometimes not even being paid at all, doing things I loathed, and that depressed me even more, only to be told I was fired if I happened to have to take my son to the doctor or keep him home from pre-school because he was sick, thus having to skip work because there was no one else to stay with the kid - and before anyone starts fuming his father could have, let me just point that the money we'd lose from him skipping work was three times the amount we lost if I was the one skipping, That's equality in Portugal for you. Truth is, it got to a point where I simply gave up. I wasn't even being called for interviews for one day temping jobs, let alone something better than that. So I just stayed home, and kept on staying home, and eventually I wasn't looking for a job anymore.

Slowly, very slowly, our life started to improve. I still felt like the worst person ever, I was a failure, crap, someone living off her husband's work because I was too lazy to go find myself a job. And it didn't help that so many people around me saw me a little like this. Insisted I should get out there and accept any job that came along, just so I got back in the market. Jobs that demeaned my CV, honestly, jobs that were akin to slavery, jobs where you didn't get paid for one, two, three months, and only if you managed to pass those three months' worth of training would you start getting paid. We couldn't afford it, so I just stayed home. My self-esteem started improving a little, my joy too. I was wrinting again - had so much time in my hands I could revert to doing the only thing that had ever made me happy. Then one day I wrote A Study for Love as a dare to myself, and thought it was pretty good. Slowly, really slowly, I started looking into publishing, I started studying the business, I started researching and trying to understand how it goes and... one year later I published my first novel. I cannot tell you how much my overall state of mind improved from doing it. But if anyone were to ask me ten year ago where I saw myself, this wouldn't be the place. I believe the universe did conspire, though, to get me here, I believe this was meant to be. This is where I was meant to be. And if I don't get much further from this, it's fine. For now, this is a really great place.

So this past October, when I celebrated my birthday, I celebrated all these milestones too. I celebrated the ten years it took me to get to this place, ten years down the line and ten books published. I celebrated myself and my decision to give up, when in fact I wasn't really giving up, I was giving in to the only thing I can do. It may not pay the bills, but I hope in ten years' time it'll at least help cover some of the expenses. Until then, I have cake and books and it's not bad at all. So here's the cake for you:150 gr flour150 gr sugar150 gr butter2 tsps baking powder3 medium to large eggs100 gr dark chocolate + 100 gr dark chocolate1/2 cup cream1 cup walnuts1 tsp buttercaramelized honey figs (just heat up honey in a saucepan, let it darken slightly, add the figs, let cook for five minutes.)Fig jamTurn on the oven at 180º Cream the sugar and butter until fluffy and white. Melt 100 gr of dark chocolate and add to the sugar and butter, mixing well. Start adding the eggs one by one, along the flour and baking powder. Make sure the batter is silky and everything is combined. Fold in the walnuts, pour into a baking tin - I used a small round one because it's a small cake, really - and bake for at least 35 minutes, but check at the 20 minute mark. When the cake is done, allow it to cool completely before you decorate it. I cut the cake horizontally in two and layered some fig jam over the bottom half, then covered with the top one. Then I melted the rest of the chocolate with the butter and the cream and poured it over the cake. Finally, I added the caramelised honey figs and served. It's an easy but delicious cake, one you can indulge in once in a while, especially if you want to celebrate yourself!

A different mindset, a book release, a milk loaf

September has just sped by, and suddenly, it's the second week of October, my birthday is just round the corner, and I find myself with yet another book published! I still don't know how time eludes and passes me by without my even realising, but the truth is, there's not one single moment when I feel like I'm just going through days trying to reach the end of a race, never mounting up to much, never getting anything accomplished. There was a time, and it wasn't all that long ago, where I used to feel this way every single minute. As if nothing I did was worthy, as if it carried no meaning, no importance at all. As if it was all void. The truth is, this kind of mindframe does not come only from the inside of our heads. It's put there. It's not just our own, personal fault, it's not a mirror of how little self-esteem we have, or how much we lack confidence. No, this kind of idea is put into our brains, shovelled inside a little at a time.

I fear it comes from an over-consumerist, over-capitalist society where value is measured in terms of money and achievements and success are told by how much you've earned. We are meant to think this way, and end up perpetuating these thoughts and dogmas sometimes even without realising it. So for many years I considered all my work - hard as it was - as meaningless, it was just something I did to entertain myself and it had no added value at all. Plus, because the results of said work were so meaningless, I surely wasn't working hard enough, nor was I capable enough, talented enough, deserving. It was a spiral of demeaning thoughts that cluttered my brain constantly and always had me feeling like I was nothing, in the grand scheme of things, and meant nothing. Like I was wasting my time sat at a desk writting silly little (well, not so little) books, stupid little stories no one cared about but me. It took some soul searching to get out of this. It took some evaluating too, of who and what I was surrounding myself with. It took the conscious decision of shutting off those voices - both inside and outside my head.

Not that I'm there yet, on a frame of mind that has me believing what I do is important - it is to me and that should be enough! - or meaningful, but it isn't meaningless any longer. This matters. These books matter. The long hours I put in, the hard work, the joy it brings me when I go over those lines, those sentences, those paragraphs, it matters and has meaning. It brings something to the world. And, yes, it is enough. What I do and who I am is good enough, despite certain voices constantly making me feel like I am never quite quite there, and what I do is never quite quite good for them. But the moment I shut these presences from my life, I have been feeling a lot more confident. I have been feeling better about myself and what I do, what I say, how I say it, how I do it. Because these were voices that always made me feel like I did all wrong, all the time, and that no matter how I expressed myself, they always found fault in my words, or twisted my meaning, or read second intentions in my every action and every word, when there weren't any. And I ended up feeling constantly like the most horrid person in the world, and so demeaned I found it very hard to believe in myself, in my worth.

Avalon Hall, my latest release, was a labour of pure love. That entire trilogy was. I mean, all my novels are, but these three books more than any. I struggled a lot with whether I should or shouldn't publish these books. I doubted myself constantly, I feared letting them out in the world, I didn't want to share that story. I don't really know why, it's not as personal and autobiographic as the Blood Trilogy series. It's not as tentative and naïve as The Preternaturals series, nor is it as rookie as A Study for Love. But for whatever reason, I've loathed the thought of publishing these far more than the rest. But in the end, I decided I had to do it. If only to force myself to grow out of these fears. What's the worse that can happen? People may hate and bash it? So what? It's not like I have much self-esteem, so what will this do? It won't kill me, it won't kill my son nor my husband, it won't make them love me less or admire me any less for all the hard work I put in, in every aspect of my life. So what if readers detest it? I will be hurt, of course, desperately so, I will go into a very dark, depressive place, and I will hide myself. In my writing. Which is pretty much what I already do, so there'll be no difference there. And if I have learnt something about myself over the years is how resilient I actually am. I hurt and bruise and suffer a lot, but I get back on the horse.

And who knows, maybe it will toughen me up. It forced me to face my fears, look them in the eye and say 'You know what, yes I am terrified, but I'm still gonna do this.' It forced me to pull out of the safety blanket it was to let others dictate how I see myself, the safety blanket it was to allow others to rule the way I lived my life, it forced me out of the cocoon and straight into the fire. This is a good thing, regardless of the results. So what if I only sell a couple books? What if I don't make it to whatever kind of lists there are, what if I'm not flavour of the week or hot new release or what the hell I'm supposed to be only so that others may respect me? See, that's not the reason I should be respected, at all. I should be respected because I have never disrespected others, that's the first point. But also because I worked my arse off and did it with as little help as I had available - not that some folks didn't offer, but that is not who I am and this should also be respected. In the end, if my work is not taken seriously by others, it is their problem, not mine. I take it very seriously. This is not a hobby. This is not a whim, a caprice from a middle-aged woman catered to by a hard-working husband who she leches off. No. This is my job, my work, my lifelong dream, my breadwinner. And this has to be respected, if it's not, then you have no place in my life.

So I can safely say there was a huge mindshift happening in my head recently. I went from desperately seeking others' approval and respect to demanding it. If they can't give it me, I'm not going to keep running round their ankles like the tongue-lolling, love-seeking good puppy who gets only kicks and the occasional pet up its head. I will respect myself and my work, I will cheer myself on even if no one else does, and I will be damn proud of the work I've accomplished and the results I've had so far. It's not just money and sales that matter you know? In the four years since I've entered this business I've learnt so much, I've grown so much, I've evolved so much. Only now am I starting to look at all I've done with an amazed eye - did I really do this? Wow, is this really all I've accomplished, have I really come this far? - and the self-respect for not having thrown down the towel and persisting with what I believe in, what I dreamt one day. Right now, as I write these words down, I couldn't care less if I sell books or not - ok, who am I kidding, we all want our books to sell - I don't care that I make money out of it or not, that isn't what's going to determine my success and my achievements in my eyes. If this is all that matters to others in the way they perceive and view me, then that's their problem, not mine. If they want to see me as lacking, as a loser, as a ne'er-do-well, again this is their problem, their hang-up, not mine. But I won't allow their words and beliefs to push me down. I won't allow my words to be twisted into something other than what I meant, and when someone tries to demean me publicly and make me look bad, I will walk away. Let them have their cake, if it's what they need to feel their life is liveable... I'd rather have bread, anyway!

And here is a rather delicious milk loaf that will have you drooling over it with a smile up your face. I swear this can turn your day around! Here's how you get it: @page { margin: 2cm } p { margin-bottom: 0.25cm; line-height: 120% } 125 ml  lukewarm milk 10 gr yeast 50 gr butter 200 gr flour 100 gr barley flour 1 tsp salt 2 tbsp sugar 1 egg + 1 yolkTurn on the oven at 180º and line a baking tray with parchment paper. On a bowl combine the flours with the salt and the sugar. Dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm milk, melt the butter and mix it to the milk once it's lukewarm as well. Beat the egg into it and add the liquid mix to the dry one. Knead for five minutes on a floured surface, then return it to a floured bowl, cover with a tea towel and let it rest for one and a half hours. Turn the dough over onto a floured surface again and knead briefly. Line a loaf tin with baking parchment, divide the dough into balls and place them inside the tin, some on top of the others. Cover again with the tea towel and let them rest for another half hour. Turn your oven up to 200º. Beat the egg yolk with a sip of cold water and brush this mix over the loaf. Lowering the temp back to 180º, bake the loaf until it's golden brown, this should take twenty minutes depending on the oven. Keep an eye on it, just to make sure. Pull the loaf out of the tin and allow to rest over a cooling rack, then serve with butter or jam, you won't be sorry!

La rentrée, lifechanging decisions and sesame seed cookies

And so it is we come to the end of the holidays, the return, la rentrée. September is here, school's about to start, a new cycle feels imminent. I've always loved Septembers. Life has thrown a hell of a lot of shit at me - at us - on this month, year after year, and it still has not killed the magical hold it has in me. It's a month for new beginnings, that come in line with what we have tried to do all year long but perhaps failed, or did not get right. It's a month for closing doors that no longer serve us and open new ones. It's a month for setting out with a new spring to our step, perhaps letting go of what we once believed was right for us but that August, with it's leniency and ease of time, has helped show us isn't really what we want or need. This is a month for fresh starts, yes, but also for closures. At least for me, it has always been this way. As if I go through the entire year just trying to get by and cramming in everything I absolutely can just so I can get a sense of fitting in, of living up to expectactions. And then August comes and I slow down and I pause and take stock. Boy, do I take stock during that month. I seem to have so much time in my hand - which isn't really true - that I tend to ponder a lot, analyse, search my soul and my inner instincts for the answer. My sort of meditation, you know. Lying on the beach, sunlight kissing my scantily clad body, and brain working, working full time, but drowsing at the same time. As if I'm in some sort of trance. And this August was really very good where it came to it. Very good in making me see 'the light'.

I reached the end of that month with one certainty only: that I will not be allowing permanence in my life anything that pulls me down. I won't be bullied anymore into doing what I don't really want. I won't welcome in my life people who don't care shit for me. I won't allow the people who always talk me down and terrify me with their abuse to talk down to me anymore. I won't be pulled into their dramas, their need for belligerance, their attempts at making me lose my head and lash back, their need to break me. And I won't continue to fall over myself trying to get people to accept me. All my life, I've felt like the little match girl, standing outside in the snow, cold and alone, looking in on other's people's lives but never being allowed to be part of it. I've always felt tolerated inside the groups I gravitated to, but never really wanted there. If I'm useful, when I'm useful, I'll be allowed in and treated well enough, even praised, sometimes. But normally, I'm just the punching bag, the one that's so easy to lash out against and hurt, demean. No more. I won't allow others to demean me anymore and make me feel awkward, constantly wrong, appologetical for even breathing. I won't let others taint my self-esteem and happiness anymore. Their hatred of me - for whatever reason! - their dislike, their sometimes envy (of what I don't know) and belief I don't deserve the life I lead, the blessings I have, all this I must keep out of my life, and on the occasions this is impossible, I must not let it weaken me, on the contrary: it shall empower me. But this must not be the only change. I came home decided to be more organised, so I did something I never had before. Got out a daily planner and wrote down everything I intend to get done until the end of the year. Dates where I start working on certain things, dates when those must be finished, tasks I need to sort and get done - newsletters don't write themselves, sadly! - goals and whatever I mean to accomplish until December 31st. As I finished and went back through the planner, seeing all I had yet to tackle, I can't deny I was instantly overwhelmed and tired. But a minute later, I was excited, energised, rearing to go, wanting to do it all. We'll see how that goes.

One of the first things on my list is, of course, the start of the school year, and for that, I always like to have jars of cookies to send as afternoon snack for my son. These are packed full with sesame seeds and they are the crunchiest treat ever! Here's how to get them done:350 gr flour250 gr cold butter175 gr dark muscovado sugar50 ml milk1 egg6 tbsp black sesame seeds1 tsp sesame oil1 tsp baking powderMix the baking powder and flour together. Pour over a clean, cold surface and make a circular hole in the middle. Add the sugar, butter, milk, sesame oil and egg. Combine the ingredients into a dough. Add the seeds and knead very softly, to bring it all together. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for half an hour. After that time, bring the dough out and roll it over a floured surface. Cut into the shapes you prefer. Transfer the cut cookies into a baking tray lined with baking parchement and bake in the oven for about 12 minutes at 170º. If you find the dough is really ahrd to work for being too soft, try placing it in the freezer instead of the refrigerator, and always keep the dough you're not currently working with refrigerated so it doesn't get soft. Enjoy!

Mascarpone vanilla ice cream, a newsletter and new projects

Again long time no see, but the truth is, things have been rather chaotic here on my writing HQ. Although I'm glad to say all systems go for the upcoming release of Avalon Hall. Final re-reads were done, last minute edits and changes applied, it has been formatted to the best of my capacities - which, let's face it, aren't all that jazz but hey, they will do, the book is readable and looks pretty enough - the cover reveal was a success (you can view and read the blurb at my author webiste) and I have a TON of graphics for social media promotion already done and locked away inside a folder so I can start using them as soon as I'm back from my vacation. Which I will be leaving for in about a week. I honestly cannot wait, seeing I've already packed up a couple new projects to my full schedule... but hey, turns out I am a workaholic when it comes to writing, and I'm not sorry for that.

To add to my ever growing to-do list, I decided it was about time I tackled the NEWSLETTER monster. This beast has been on my mind for the past couple of years, and it started to take a firmer hold (a nagging voice in my ear telling me I should really look into it) after I started my Author Website. So this past month I decided to look into it and take a few hours to understand how to make it work for me and set one up. Am glad to say success has been achieved and I have now a monthly newsletter where I will fill you in on all my writerly news, bring you new releases from other authors and share book recommendations. You can sign up here, I promise I won't spam your inbox. Maybe you'll even find your new read through it, who knows!!

Along all this, I've been forced to cut down on my reading time, which means I had to turn down some ARC and Beta reading projects I was very keen on, but hey, I figured if I really want to take this seriously, I need to put my work first, and seeing time won't stretch beyond the 24h a day, and I do have a family to tend too as well - it's Summer school break for my son, so my working hours have been cut down by half - something had to go. Seeing I don't want to give this blog up, I am now down to one post a month, which I'm okay with, and only taking on ARCs and Beta reads I've already compromised myself with. Thing is, I am already working on a new trilogy - writing book two as we speak - and have added a couple new (super secret for now) projects to my already overwhelming workload. But these are projects I couldn't resist and which made me breathe like new life had been instilled on me the moment I decided to go for them.

I'm not going to rush them, there's plenty of time, and with them being a bit of side-project, I feel I can be very lenient when it comes to them. It's not as if I don't have books to publish - one of my biggest fears is running out of written material I can keep publishing so I garner new audiences, but seeing I'm not getting new readers, I figure that's a bit of a mote issue - there's the entire Avalon Hall trilogy to put out, and I plan on delivering one of those per year. I know indies are supposed to just keep publishing and publishing month in, month out, but seriously, that's not working for me. I have 9 books out, all of them currently on promotion at half price (you can get your copies here) and they're still not selling. Maybe it's the quality of the work, maybe it's the economy, maybe it's none of the above and I just can't sell my work to save my life, the reasons aren't all that important. What is important is that overworking myself in order to get 3 books out per year is doing mw no good, so why should I? My latest release I Am the Night isn't doing well AT ALL, despite being one of my best work. So now, and in order to keep myself sane, I won't be publishing more than a novel per year.

That should give me more time to work on each book individually prior to publication - it also allows for a longer breathing stint, as I let them sit for months or years before I go back to them and edit, and this, I've found to be rather beneficial. And it does give me time to pursue other pleasures and dive into other projects, because the moment you put a book out there, the amount of promotion and marketing work you have to do is excruciating and so time consuming. This way, instead of having to do this for 3 books a year, I only have one to worry about. More time to write and work on other stuff is a win for me. More time to read, also. And hopefully more time to go back to ARC and Beta read for some of my fave indie authors, which I love doing and have sorely missed. Also more time for pleasure reads? We'll see. I hope to get myself so organised I manage to fit in everything to please my never pleased self.

As for now, I'll leave you with a mascarpone ice cream recipe, and promise to return by the end of August with another post. To make yourself some of this you'll need:200 ml milk70 gr sugar (I used brown sugar)2 egg yolksone vanilla podone packet of mascarpone chees2-3 tbsp light brown sugar1 tsp vanilla essenceStart by making a custard with the 200ml milk, the egg yolks and the 70gr of sugar. Refrigerate it overnight for optimu results, just remember to cover the surface of the custard with cling film to stop it from forming a skin. After the custard has refrigerated for at least a couple of hours beat the mascarpone with the sugar to soften it up. Pour it onto your ice cream maker and add the vanilla custard. Start the maker going and let it beat the mix together for about half an hour, twenty minutes, it usually depends on the machine. Once it's reached that perfect setting, take it out of the maker and pour it onto a container that can go to the freezer. Serve it with pitted cherries or strawberries, I find that this kind of ice cream works very well with red berries.

An unexpected new release, the pursuit of quality books and food for thought - a bread with bacon and cheese to feed the cravings

This week I published yet another book, after I'd decided to give it a break on the publishing part of the job and focus on getting my ever-growing pile of manuscripts written, revised. edited and fixed for a later date. I'd planned on having only one book release this year, that of Avalon Hall, due for publication somewhere around October. That was to be my ninth published novel and the first of a new trilogy, but alas, the idea for I Am the Night  lodged itself in my brain and would not budge until I put it down to paper. Or screen, in this case. Being a novella meant it was a speedy work, as were the revisions, the edits, the re-writes and everything else. Last Tuesday ot was finally published, with little to no fuss as it is intended mostly to fans of the Blood Trilogy. It's a companion novella for that series, after all. 

So I failed my "goal" of only publishing a book a year in order to work deeply in those novels I already have written and that lay collecting dust inside folders on my laptop. I wanted to give them time to sit and stew, so that I came back to them with fresh eyes, after having worked in other stories, other characters, other worlds. I thought this might improve my capacity to pin down what needs work, what has to change, what's not quite good, and it does. It happened with Avalon Hall, I nailed down quite a few bits and pieces that needed the distance and the time I took from it so that my brain could work out solutions with a fresh new view. Because as an indie author, as a self-published writer, I do want to present my best possible work to the readers. I'm not one of those people who'll tell you that you can only achieve this if you have critique partners, then beta readers, then proofreaders, then editors of all types, then reviewers in order to achieve this, no. I don't think you need all this. But you do need to take time with your book and time away from it, so you can better see what needs fixing. And you should really take that time.

Because if there's one thing that really drives me mad is a self-published author that didn't bother doing this. Someone who simply writes the book and immediately publishes it. This is bad for everyone in the business. Bad for the writer, because the book will have issues, bad for the reader, who will notice and get dispirited with those issues, bad for other indies because then we all get tagged with delivering a product that lacks quality and work put into it. Because look, it's not dishing out on amazing covers that's gonna assure a really good book. I've recently come across one such novel and it has left me so angry, so furious. Because it promised so much and it failed to deliver. I mean, the cover was really good, I loved it. Then the plot promised to be a really good one, and the first few pages I was really into it, I liked the writing voice, the style, the characters, the world building, I was really looking forward to that book and how it was going to evolve from there. I was hoping for something that would make me sigh deep with content and joy while reading.

But I was wrong. I was wrong not on the story being a good one - it was, it is. I was wrong not on the characters and the world building being really interesting, they are. Problem is, after the first couple of pages the entire book reads like a VERY rough first draft. I mean a very rough one. There were major grammar issues (jumping between tenses in the very same sentence, which for me is a really jarring thing, and I'm not sure if it was purposeful or an accident, because those bits where the author used the present tense as opposed to the other tenses used along the rest of the book felt like those lines had been hastily added there to be later developed into a proper piece of writing. Which the author had forgotten to do.) there were hundreds of typos - always the same typos like bought instead of brought - there were misspellings, lack of punctuation, you name it. It was a rough draft that hadn't even been through a basic spellcheck. As if the writer hadn't even bothered rereading their own work to see if there were any issues. When they finished writing they immediately uploaded it onto KDP and sold it on Amazon. That really maddens me, because the book had so much potential.

But that's not even the worst part, for me. The worst was seeing this book and the next one - it's a series - were offered to new subscribers of the author's mailing list. As an introduction to their work. And they hand you a shoddy work. As a reader, I would not buy into the rest of the series after this. Why would I pay for something the author didn't even bother with working it to its best results? It's like the writer didn't really care. As a fellow author, I'd be ashamed of doing this. I'd want the first contact the readers have with my writing to be as best as I can make it, not a rough draft situation. I'd want to make sure I'd at least put it through an online editor to search for such simple things as grammar issues and misspelled words. Because that's your greeting card, the moment you offer your books for free as a taster of your work. It's your greeting card for the world, and why wouldn't you want it to be the best it can? Assuring an amazing cover but not bothering with writing more than just the first draft is bad. Tells me the writer just couldn't be bothered. If the entire book had been trash - as I've come across a few times - I wouldn't even be angry, but it held so much promise, it had so much possibility of being a really amazing book. Why not make it so, then? If there's one thing I'd tell new authors is not to rush publishing. But also don't delay it so much it loses momentum.

It's down to a balancing act, in the end. Like these rolls. Bacon and cheese and a simple, tasty dough seasoned with wild oregano. A sure winner. And here's how you do it.350 gr flour7 gr fresh yeast200 ml lukewarm water1 tsp salt1,5 tbsp olive oil1 large handful of oreganofive to eight slices of Flamengo cheesefive to eight slices of baconStart by pouring water into a bowl along with the olive oil. Mix the salt into the flour, crumble the yeast and add it to the mix. Pour into the bowl and using the hook implement on your mixer, knead for 5 to 10 minutes, until it's smooth. Cover with a cloth and allow the dough to rise for at least one hour. It's best to allow it to proof for two and a half, three hours. Once that time has elapsed, turn your oven on at 180º, line a bread tin with baking parchment and reserve. On a floured surface stretch out your dough and knead it slightly. Divide the dough in small portions and flatten wach one out. Place a slice of bacon and a slice of cheese at the center of each portion, then roll the sides to cover the filling. Shape into rolls or the shape of your preference and slash a couple of cuts on the top so the bread steams and the bacon sizzles and the cheese melts in those slashes. Bake in the oven for about forty minutes, with the fan on - if you don't have a ventilated oven, place a tray with water at the bottom so the steam makes your bread rise. Let it cool over a rack and serve as entrée.

A white loaf and the definition of good and plentiful reading - how much is enough?

I was recently told that I should read more, a lot more than what I do, if I want to be considered an author. This comment took me by surprise, and indeed offended me. See, I consider myself to be quite a prolific reader, if not let's see, ever since the start of the year I've read twenty-eight books. Sure, I know of people who are already on the 100 mark, and when I was a teen, I'd already would have read about that number myself. When I was at university, too, and in those first years of my working life. I had a lot of time, then, and little else to do but work and read. That is not the case nowadays. Wanting to be an author, my days are packed and free time is something I don't have much of. Because there's a home and a family to attend to, lots of time lost in school runs - I can't read inside moving vehicles, it makes me vomit - my own books to write, proofread, edit, revise, format, publish, market, advertise, campaigns and promos to run, social media to handle, graphs to design, posts to make. Honestly, the fact I've managed to read 28 books so far is a bit of an achievement for me. I always take half an hour each day for my reading - I read while exercising on my stepper machine - and try to take another half hour after the final school run. Somedays I manage one and a half hours reading, others there's just those thirty minutes. But I do consider myself to read quite a bit.

So that comment stuck in my head, and had me pondering. I think what the person meant was not that I should read more books, but that I should read more "diversely". See, I only read indie authors nowadays, and mostly I read books that are free. When one chooses to follow their 'calling' - don't know if it's the right word - and their dream (mine is to write and write and write) one must make certain 'sacrifices'. I can't afford to dish out ten euros on a book when my son needs a new pair of sneakers for phys ed. I can't afford to spend thirty euros on a hyped trilogy everyone says it's a must read when those thirty euros will pay for a month of farmer's market shopping for fruit and veggies. It is what it is, so I don't buy many books nowadays. But it doesn't mean I don't read, I do. Indie authors mostly. Being an indie author myself, why wouldn't I? It's something that still makes me wonder, the fact that most readers still view indies as crap. Especially if their books are currently going free on amazon or any other platform. I happen to disagree, there are gems to be found, I have come across a few. But yeah, only a few. So, in the end what I think the person was telling me to do is read what is currently being read by everyone else, those books everyone is currently raving about. And maybe I should. One day, perhaps, when I can afford to or the local library stocks up on them.

For the time being, I'm sticking to indies. And I've read all manner of genres, there. From romance to historical, from mystery to horror, fantasy to paranormal to magical realism, I've covered a large spectrum. Of course I have my genre preferences - I really don't like Romance - but I find that if a book is well written, it doesn't really much matter what genre it is, I'm sure to be touched by it. I've read romance books that even though I don't care for the plot, the writing is so good I can't help being taken and moved by the novel. Although I prefer Fantasy or Mystery, I've also come across the worst possible books in those genres. It's all about the writing, for me, see. It's all about the quality of the writing. It either resonates with me or its doesn't. I don't much bother with the formatting - although most readers and other indie authors make such a fuss about it, and go about condemning other indies because their formatting is not up to par with their demands, which I find absurd, sorry, shouldn't the story, the writing be more important? I'm also not very hard on the typos and the proof-reading, although I grant it annoys me a bit to go about a book that is riddled with misspelling and typos, but I also cut some slack there. And as for the editing, you can say what you want ("there are rules", "there are books that tell you exactly how you MUST edit", "you need to comply to what X and Y say is proper editing" I don't care a toss for this, editing is a question of trends and fads, which ultimately comes down to personal preferences and herd behaviour, so I also don't really look into the editing with the eagle eye of other indie authors searching for faults to point out about their fellow writers.) I will always prefer books with long, verbose descriptions, books that are slow paced, slow burners, with a bit of action, but frankly, it could have none and I'd be fine, books that are character driven and not plot, books that have a certain poetry in their lines.

Because for me that is what is most important. The quality of the writing. I've come across books that are pristine in their formatting, there's not one single typo in view, they've been professionally edited and proofread, but they just don't do it for me. The writing is of poor quality, and it fails to grip me, to spellbind me, to capture me. Maybe the characters are very well developed and are all short of amazing, but if the writing is banal, simplistic, easy, then the book will be a snooze fest of an eye roller for me. And everyone has their own preferences and their own opinions on what quality writing is. Let me take two rather hyped about books as example. Deborah Harkness's A Discovery of Witches and Ransom Riggs's Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children. As for the first book, I found the writing really gripping. I bought and read the entire series because of her writing, which for me is frankly good. The story too, I found the basis of it to be quite interesting and it had me curious to see how it would unfold. But then I hated the books. I loved the writing and hated the books. I couldn't connect with the characters, I couldn't care for them, if they lived or died or what happened to them, and I almost DNF'ed the final book. Albeit the writing style being good, I found that the characters were underdeveloped and frankly abhorrent. Maybe the editing did that?

Now take the Riggs' book. The writing was feeble. Simplistic, infantile, childish. It had no magic nor poetics, for me. It was boring. But the characters were charming and interesting, and mysterious, and the plot seemed good enough to keep me going. I never bought the rest of the trilogy, though, because that writing was so lacking in quality I couldn't be bothered. It did not keep me turning the pages like the Harkness trilogy. It took me ages to read that small book, because the writing was so basic I felt like my ten year old son could have written it. I actually felt that it was a book more suitable for my son than me. It reminded me of his beloved Magnus Chase trilogy, the writing of which I also find really childish and uninteresting, despite the many jokes added for interest. So for me, what makes a book is really the quality of the writing. I don't care if the formatting is crap, or if the editing doesn't comply to the trendy rules, or if there are a couple of typos or misspellings - although I'd really love all of us indies took better care of that, really - if the writing lures me and the plot is a good one for me, I am not going to refrain from giving these books a very good rating, am I? Even if they're only indies self publishing the novels they wrote in their spare time. All this to say I was really offended at being implied I don't read enough - or maybe diverse enough? - because I only read self published books. Fact is there are true gems to be found in that universe, fact is plenty of indie books have been professionally edited and proofread and formatted and worked on to be on a par with trad publishing. Fact is plenty of indie books out there are just as good or even better than the trad published books everyone is raving about, they just don't get the same amount of radio time, sadly. And fact is, like Murakami once said (I can't stand Murakami's books, btw!) 'If you only read what everyone else is reading, you only think what everyone else is thinking.' or something like that.

So for me, in my own opinion - the only one that should matter, in the end - I do read a lot. And diverse. Even if it's not the societal approved sanitized trad publishing books. And like I consider myself to read diverse, I also like to eat diverse. Diverse breads, for instance. ALthough I'm all for those multi floured, filled with seeds and bran and what not breads, a fluffy white bread once in a while goes down a treat. So here is one.125 ml  lukewarm milk - brought to a simmer with a few threads of saffron10 gr yeast50 gr butter200 gr flour100 gr barley flour1 tsp salt2 tbsp sugar1 egg + 1 yolkTurn on the oven at 180º and line a loaf tin with parchment paper. On a bowl combine the flours with the salt and the sugar. Dissolve the yeast in the lukewarm milk, melt the butter and mix it to the milk once it's lukewarm as well. Beat the egg into it and add the liquid mix to the dry one. Knead for five minutes on a floured surface, then return it to a floured bowl, cover with a tea towel and let it rest for one and a half hours. After that amount of time has elapsed, turn the dough over onto a floured surface again and knead briefly. Place the dough inside the lined tin in layers, cover with the tea towel and let it rest for another half hour. Turn your oven up to 200º. After the thirty minutes have passed, beat the egg yolk with a dash of really cold water and brush onto the top of the loaf. Lowering the temp back to 180º, bake the loaf for 15, 18 minutes - until golden and lovely and hollow sounding. Let them cool over a rack. Serve with a generous spread of butter along with a good cup of your beverage of choice and maybe an indie read.

The wrong career choice and a perfect bread for Summer days

This past month has been extremely productive, I think. As we reach its end and enter the month that marks half point through the current year, I sit with a sense of accomplishment - however fickle and fake it may be. Truth is, I've promised myself to not overtax myself this year, not too work too hard, not take so much into my plate, and I believe I've been able to somewhat live up to that. It's a fact I've put a lot of work into these past months, and started and finished a number of things. I've seen them all to completion, and that makes me glad, they're put behind me, it's one less thing staring hard at me. But I feel I've taken it slow, in the end. Despite the six novels and one novella lurking inside folders on my desktop, that is, glaring and demanding I decide what to do with them.

See, the truth is I'm the kind of person who should not be a writer, really. Don't get me wrong, I love writing. I live for it, I breathe it as if air, eat it as if nourishment, it is what keeps me sane and going, it is what gets me out of bed eager to find myself at work. I've had many jobs, of various types, and none has ever made me feel like this. I do love writing. So when I settled for this profession, this 'career' - if I may even call it though, seeing I make so little money out of it most people tell me it's a hobby and not a job - I did it because I love writing. So far so good, you'd say, a writer should love writing, telling a good story, playing with words and sentences and lines of plot and all that. Of course. But that's as far as it gets for me. Most writers, real writers, people who were really born to do this, they love writing, yes, but also sharing their work with others. They love putting their books out there for their readers to enjoy, for people to discover them, for others than them to experience those stories, those words, those lines. I hate that.

It's nothing less than a conundrum, in fact, that I decided to work as a full time writer but then I hate to share what I've written. I hate to edit and revise, I hate to wait for betas' feedback, I hate sorting out covers and blurbs, I hate to rewrite and rework what's not making sense, I hate to format - with a passion - I hate to publish, I hate to sell. I am the worst salesperson to have ever graced this world. I hate promoting my work and I honestly cannot find a way to get sales on those books because... truth be told, I probably don't want to sell. All I want to do is write, and forget about everything else. I don't want to hear readers' opinions, I don't want to deal with cover designers, I don't want to go to and fro with an editor that doesn't understand me nor I them, I don't want to spend my entire day pitching my novels on social media and coming to the end of each month with barely a single sale. I just want to write my stories and forget about the rest.

This makes me the least capable person to be a writer, to have this for a job, a career. And I'm well aware of that. But seeing nothing else gives me as much pleasure and joy as this, I insist, I stubornly demand to be taken seriously because I happen to take my job so seriously, despite the absence of monthly pay, and the already stated failings in my approach to a career that was of my own, personal choice, not imposed upon me by the vicissitudes of life and need. I'm the worst possible writer, although I do believe I write very well. But I'm destined for failure from the start because I lack what it takes, and that is the capacity to do as much for my written books once they're... well, written, as I do when I'm actually writing them. So I've devised a few strategies to ease the burden. The first one is I try to avoid reading reviews and I don't see my sales report until the end of the month. And I don't see it every month. Another thing I do is really treat my writing as a proper, real job. With hours to put in, with goals demanded, with tasks to perform, with the same seriousness as I would any other job. I start work at 9 am and usually end at 5 pm. In the meantime, I divide my writing day into different tasks.

Like writing in the morning. Since the start of this year, I decided I only actually write in the mornings. It's been working out fine, so far I've managed to pen down two 145000 word novels and a 45000 novella, and am 40000 words into my current wip. But with so many books waiting in folders, if I do want to make at least a little money with this, I know I need to handle them. Revise, edit, re-write, edit, re-read, format, and all that. So this is what my afternoons are for. So far, I've managed to work on one novel which is ready for publishing (coming out next October, if you were wondering) and the novella is almost there. But I also use my afternoons to make my social media posts, work on graphics and photoshoots, do the editing of these, come up with teasers and sneak peeks, interact with readers and authors alike, work on the covers and images and all that falls out of the actual writing scope. And it's been working fine for me. Has it improved my productivity? Actually, yes. Has it boosted my sales? My reviews? No, but at least I'm still sane. Like I said, I was born to write, not to be a published writer. That is something I will never, ever succeed at. But while I'm alive, I'll keep on trying, even if only for the sake of being stubborn. But now I make sure I leave enough time for other pleasurable pursuits as well.

Like this delicious cornbread. It has fresh spinach straight from the market and sundried tomatoes, it's savoury and more-ish, delightfully filling and with a hint of sweetness that will leave you satisfied. Here's the recipe:1 cup all purpose flour1 1/2 cups cornmeal flour1 1/4 cups of milk4 tbsp melted butter1 egg2 tbsp sugar1/2 tsp baking soda1/2 tsp salt2 large handfuls of fresh spinach leaves, chopped1/2 cup sundried tomatoes, choppedolive oil, salt and pepper, garlic powderTurn on the oven at 180º, and line your tin with baking parchement. On a fying pan heat up a glug of olive oil. Add the spinach and the tomatoes to it, season with salt, pepper and the garlic powder and let them cook. Once they're done, reserve and let cool. On a bowl, whisk the milk, the egg and the butter together until they're combined and start adding the dry ingredients, stirring constantly with a wooden spoon. Mix in the spinach and tomatoes. Once the mixture is smooth, pour the batter into the tin and bake in the oven for about half an hour, keeping a close eye. As soon as the bread is golden and done, take it out of the oven and le it cool completely before unmoulding. Seeing picnic season is just around the corner, this is the perfect treat to pack and head out for a nice day in the woods, or the nearest park, enjoying nature and the sun. Enjoy!

The toils of the self published author and a sheet of cookies to help us get by

And here I am, this time no so long after my last post, huh? Something's picking up? Maybe. Not that the workload has diminished, at all, I'm still up to my elbows in all I can do to get everything going. Still keeping up with social media, which in fact robs me of so much time, but has to be done, right now that is my only means to get an audience and spread word on my work. As I plan on getting a few promos going for my books, I need to spend time advertising them online, and that demands I get working on those graphs before I set the campaigns so I can use them all around! So that's been taking up a bit of my time, and I'm still hoping for the results to start showing - hope is eternal, know what I mean? Another thing that's been eating my time is that one final round of edits on my next release. Avalon Hall has reached the stage of the out-loud read, where I am usually confronted with problems in the flow and sense of the narrative. So far, it's not been too bad, I've had to tweak a few sentences, work on a few paragraphs so the reading is easier and more alluring. It's not going too bad, but it's so time consuming! Seeing that I'm doing this on the afternoons - as my mornings are usually dedicated to writing - and I only get two entire afternoons where I'm alone and can read out loud without disturbing anybody else... it's taking longer than I wished. Nothing to it but keep going, perhaps tweak my schedules a little, change the writing hours here and there to get more out of my time. I really want to get this done by the end of this month, you see.

Because next month I want it to be all about formatting and preparing the MS for digital and print, and this tends to take a while, and get me a few headaches. Seeing that my time is not my own, I have no idea how much I can allot to this task, but I need to have a print copy on my hands by July so I can takle those final reads where usually the odd typo or grammar fluke that eluded every other edit comes screaming to my face. This is a lesson hard learnt throughout these four years of self-publishing, that something will always escape your eyes. Especially if you have to do it all by yourself - hey, I'm sure not gonna tell any other self-published author they need to hire professional proofreaders and editors, because I know not every one can afford to, no matter what others say. It's fine if you do it on your own, but it is a lot of work, and it demands that you read and read and read through it so you manage to correct at least 90% of the bits and pieces certain readers tend to search for so they can hang us indie authors from the rope and crucify us. Actually, what's up with that, why this overwhelming demand on self published writers that they are more than perfect, they are pristine? Not even trad publishing goes without the odd typo and the editing we may not like or agree to, so why this demand on indies who do it all alone, why the incapacity to cut us a little slack? I'm not talking blaring grammar mistakes and typos, here. Just... some slack. Some readers go into a book obsessed with FINDING something wrong with it so they can hand out terrible reviews to indies. Why? They must get a real kick out of that.

Last, but not least, I've started another book. Two weeks into what was supposed to be a novella, and I'm already over 40000 words in, so it's gonna be a novel instead. I can't afford to take any of it away, not in such an amount as to keep it a novella, seeing I'm not even halfway into the story yet! This one is for those fans of the Blood Trilogy, and it takes place in the years between Marcus's death and Cai's trip to Scotland in search of their father. So I kind of neede to stock up in cookies for all this extra load of work I tend to dish upon myself. Luckily, hubby stepped up and made me these beauties. Delicious and buttery they are, and filled with an array of seeds that gives them extra crunchiness. So here's how you can bake your own batch:350 gr flour250 gr cold butter175 gr dark muscovado sugar50 ml milk1 egg6 tbsp mixed seeds1 tsp vanilla extract1 tsp baking powderMix the baking powder and flour together. Pour over a clean, cold surface and make a circular hole in the middle. Add the sugar, butter, milk, vanilla and egg. Combine the ingredients into a dough. Add the seeds and knead very softly, to bring it all together. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate for half an hour. After that time, bring the dough out and roll it over a floured surface. Cut into the shapes you prefer. Transfer the cut cookies into a baking tray lined with baking parchement and bake in the oven for about 12 minutes at 170º. Allow to cool over a rack before trying to even taste them, unless you burn your tongue!

Biting more than you can chew, again - a rye and walnut bread to ease off the workload

Long time no post, right? And this is going to be short and sweet, actually, as I'm in the middle of complete chaos overload. As usual, I bit more than I can chew and am stretching myself thin with way too many projects up my sleeve, so besides feeling rather exhausted, I'm also scatter brained with all the things I need to get going! Well, no one ever said the life of a writer is an easy one, but this does sound like a lot of work and very little play, lately. Ah, who am I kiding? I love it.

So, what's new, here in the HQ? Earlier this week I finished writing the (not so) first draft of book three on my fantasy trilogy, so that's another project done - of course it still needs a lot of revising, editing and rereads before I even think of putting it out there! At the moment, I happen to have six complete novels written and yet to be published, so if the muse fails me, at least I have these to fall back to, right? I'm a bit sad to say goodbye to those characters and that story, but I'll be back there soon, when I start working on getting it ready for the world.

In the meantime, I've been lost in editing hell, getting my Autumn release ready for publishing. Avalon Hall is the name, and it's book number one in an Arthurian trilogy that will get readers travelling through time and enjoying two distint timelines and a set of memorable characters - at least I hope they're memorable! I can't wait to have this one out there for the world to enjoy it, it was so much fun writing those books, and a project I have wanted to tackle for a really long time. I've dreamt of writing an Arthurian retell for ages, and never had the guts to do it, well, I finally did and am damn proud. The Heir of Avalon trilogy has been a work of love, and a lot of work it was.

And while I'm editing, I'm also working on social media graphs for my upcoming books, and working on promoting them ahead, while I keep up the hype for the already published novels, in the hopes sales pick up. I won't lie, it's been a rough few months, the year ahsn't been going as I had hoped it would, where my already published work is concerned. No way to make ends meet for the time being, but I'm not ready to throw down the towel and quit. I believe in my work and stand by it, thankfully a few lovely people do to, and they've done me the honour of buying, reading and reviewing my novels, something I can never thank them enough.

And while I'm so hard at work, I need all the carbs, like this delicious rye and walnut bread. If you care to indulge, here's how you can:250 gr strong bread flour100 gr rye flour1/2 cup chopped walnuts200 ml lukewarm water10 gr bakers' yeast1 tsp salt1-2 tbsp oil
Place the flour and walnuts in a bowl, and dig a hole in the middle. Scatter the yeast around the edges. Inside the hole place the salt, the oil and add the water. With the help of a fork start mixing flour and water together. WHen it's all mixed in, take the dough off the bowl and start kneading by hand over a surface scattered with flour. Knead until you obtain a silky, smooth dough, that has some elasticity to it. Form into ball and let it proof inside the bowl four a few hours. Once it has proofed, get the dough off the bowl with the aid of a spatula onto a floured surface, knead it for a couple of minutes and place it in a loaf tin. Let it rest for 30 minutes. Bake in a previously heated oven at 200º, with the fan on, until it's golden and cooked.

Of self-publishing, self-belief and allwoing yourself to be who you are and do what you want - an unhealthy rice that comforts the soul

Now that Spring is officially here, I bring you a dish that fits Winter, with all its comfort. But that's me, always late for the party, always swimming against the current, always climbing uphill when everyone's already been there. Not groundbreaking enough, or way too ahead of my time? Doesn't matter, this is March, when mornings and evenings are still chilly and a bit of comfort is always welcome, especially when you get to the weekend after a long, tiresome, overworked week. I must have broken some kind of record with this week's writing, because I'm beyond exhausted and my current wip is fast approaching the half mark. Yes, that would be the fantasy series I mentioned on my previous post, this is the third and final volume I'm writing, and I can already see a huge amount of work waiting for when I do revisions and edits. But that'll come in time, seeing I'm not planning on publishing it any time soon, if ever.


See, self-publishing is hard. It takes a toll on you, and it can crush your hopes, your dreams, your assurances. Because, in the end, being self-publishing, you're left to your own, you're alone. And that can be difficult to handle. It has opened the door to the possibility of so many people who long dreamt of contributing to the world of books now being able to do it, but it also opened the door to a host of side businesses, where everyone is just trying to make a living and toot their horn. Quite fair, to say the least, we all do what we got to do, but sometimes, it gets too much. It gets in your head. And leaves a brunt, a mark, a taint that accumulates, joins another taint, until you're beaten black and blue and left without knowing which way to turn.


When I published my first novel, I didn't much think about anything aside the story, making sure the story was good and tight, the characters were good and tight, the plot made sense. Formatting was hell, it was my first time and I'm useless with tech stuff. There were a few typos, and the editing wasn't up to par with a lot of people's preferences, sentences being very long, paragraphs being never-ending, adverbs being in plenty of use, and even the purple prose made its odd appearance. Despite having spent an entire year editing that particular novel. I thought it was ready, made the cover on KDP's cover design tool, and set it out in the world. It was as good as I could get it at the time, almost 3 years ago, with what I knew and what I had at hand to work with. And I was PROUD. I was stoked, elated, happy. The sense of accomplishment, of achievement, that followed was sensational. I went through some of the best months in my life, where it comes to self-esteem, after publishing that book. Of course hardly anyone read it. But I was fine with it.


But then I published my second novel, and although I was even prouder of this one, and although the cover on this was far better, and the formatting was also better - I did learn something after the first attempt, but this was only the second one - and the editing was far more detailed, the first critiques I received for it were from fellow authors who refused to post a review because the book wasn't up to par for them. The writing style was much critized - from boring to unreadable, from purple prose-ish to silly - as were the characters - not diverse enough, not believable, no one acts like that was mentioned a few times - as was the formatting, which was the thing that did take a huge toll on me. I had spent hours trying to tackle it, and done my best, and on my reading app it looked quite well. (I've later learnt that it tends to look different on different apps, so there.). But my self-esteem and my self-belief took a nose dive. When I started getting four and five star reviews for that novel, I didn't trust them. I couldn't bring myself to believe anyone but me had liked it. But I still went ahead and published the rest of the series, and I was still in love with those books, and still am. In the time elapsed from the first publishing, they've undergone several new edits, mostly because after the first critique I decided to edit according to what that particular author told me I should get rid of, and I later repented it very much indeed. After all, she had suggested I completely change my writing style and kill my writing voice, and that, I cannot do.


Enter my latest trilogy, which I wrote knowing would garner hard criticism. For starters, it touches on certain hard subjects, difficult themes, triggering issues. It's not for everyone, I know, and some people may even have a hard time reading certain passages. But I had to write it, and I am damn proud of it and of broaching those subjects. And because I knew the theme was a bit controversial and brutal (addictions, murder, suicidal tendencies, abuse, rape, you name it) I wanted covers that touched those themes and showed off what each book was all about. The covers got so much heat, and even very harsh personal messages throughout Facebook and Instagram, as well as some hate mail. The contents of the books too. At a certain point, one reader messaged me to tell me they wouldn't be reading anymore because certain scenes were brutal and handled badly, and they made me feel very ashamed of having written those books. They kind of hinted I had written it all for the shock value and trying to cash in on the violence that goes around those themes. Demeaning people who went through those issues. I was deeply ashamed of the books and their covers. Almost pulled them off, but because I'm stubborn, I didn't.


What I did do was - and this when I had an entire other trilogy all written and ready to go - not publish anymore. For a while, at least. My self-esteem and self-belief was way beyond repair, at this point, with the constant criticism to the choice of subject and the writing style - I tend to write character based, not plot based, sometimes I don't even care for plot because what matters most to me is the characters' insights, and their feelings. But this, apparently, can only be done in literary fiction, and I was writing paranormal... - even heat on how I'd chosen an open ending to the series (with one reader saying the book had no ending at all, I mean, it's an open ending, so of course there's no proverbial, literal ending, duh!), enough to drag me down to very dark places and never want to put out anything anymore. I'm well aware not everyone will like the same thing, but at a certain point it felt like no one liked my thing but me, and when it gets to this, one needs to pause and take a break, which is what I did. But then I decided I wanted to at least publish the trilogy I had hidden in a folder, as it tied up nicely with the previous two series I'd written. And I was damn proud of those books too.


It's a trilogy that dives into Arthuriana lore - and boy, I could see a world of heat coming my way because of certain liberties I took! - set in the Dark Ages and modern day, with vampires and witches and whatnot. I was very happy with the plot, the character arcs, the writing, even the covers I did on Canva and that would be completed through KDP's cover creator. I was really proud of it all. Even did tons of teasers and had a marketing plan all set up for it. But then I started second guessing myself, and wondering if I could put up with the bad reviews, the bad opinions, the not so good impressions on the books. And realised I couldn't. It's a personal thing, and many have already said that if I can't deal with bad reviews, I shouldn't publish at all, so I was of a mind to listen to these people and give the whole thing up. And even though I'd already started marketing it, I had so many doubts. Despite all the pride I felt on having done it all by myself - it is SELF publishing, and I did it all alone, depending and resorting to no one, this made me proud, this made me believe I had value and talents and capacities. But the doubts still nagged, and then I read a blog post from an author whose work ethic and insights I admire and respect, and it was like she was just vindicating all my doubts, and my reserve on publishing anymore.


Because, let's be real here, I can't afford to hire a cover designer, nor a formatter, nor an editor. I can't pay for those services, and I can't afford to save money for it. It is what it is, and everyone has their lot in life, from the moment I decided to publish my first book, I knew I'd have to do it all on my own. But the market does not accept that, the market demands you present a professional book, which means hire professionals to do certain things - even if it means killing your entire aesthetic and writing voice! - and that I cannot do. Readers demand beautiful covers, a perfect formatting, edits that comply to specific rules, and will settle for nothing less. That post practically screamed at me that I didn't have what it takes to self publish anyhting - especially the thick skin to endure the bad rap!! So I changed my mind again, decided to pull back, not publish after all. If I couldn't present the reader with what they want and expect, then what right did I have to put something out there that wasn't according to norm? What right did I have to present such unprofessional, half-assed work to the world, something that lacked the finesse and beauty of having professionals do it for me?


Enter a couple of self published books I read this month. Some of them had beautiful, artistic, professionally designed covers. And pristine formatting. And a world of four and five star reviews to boot. There were no typos, no odd spellings. There was no soul, either, to some of them. No writing voice, just a string of words and sentences pulled together. The plot was achingly mundane, the characters lifeless, soulless, barren. The writing style was frankly lacking in everything, especially maturity and magic. Yes, magic. Talent with words, making them sing. These books had none of it, they told a story as if pointing out facts, and that was it. But the audiences loved them! I hated them, was left wanting for so much more other than gorgeous covers and perfect formatting, I wanted to be swept off my feet, I wanted to fall in love, and these books did not do it. Then there were others, with a hefty number of really bad reviews - which mentioned a lot of formatting problems, and editing, and typos or spelling issues, along with things that make a book great for me but that for the general audiences bore them to death - that really made me swoon with the contents. Were there so many issues, when it came to the typos or the formatting? If so, I didn't even notice, as engrossed as I was with the story. I fell in love with these books, and realised that even in my reading preferences, I tend to go against the grain. These were slow books, not packed full of action each and every scene. These were much like mine, in that aspect. Character centered. Introspective.


This got me thinking, I had no right NOT being proud of my work. In three years on this business, I've improved all my skills by a long shot. I've designed my covers as I believe they suit the books, not audiences - which may be a huge mistake, but it is who I am - I've upped my writing style, I've learnt how to better format, better market, better tease the reader. I've worked countless hours editing my work, going through it, lumbering, giving it my best, my all. How dare I not feel proud of this? I even designed a couple of maps for my wip, and I was so proud of them until someone told me they were a great basis for a cartographer to use when designing my maps for publishing. See, I had thought of using those for my published book, but immediately allowed that comment to take me down and have me doubt the quality of my own work. Is it perfect? Not by a long shot. Will probably do a few more versions of those maps, but I'm sure as hell not hiring a cartographer because I can't afford to. I've already designed the covers for this particular wip, and again, I'm proud and happy with them, and am keeping those because it's what I can afford to do. So right now, I'm once more sitting on the fence, wondering whether to publish my Arthurian trilogy or not, but of a mind to do it. It's self publishing, and one of the reasons I chose it was the freedom it allows me on doing exactly WHAT and HOW I want. And I should be damn proud of all the work I've done so far. Even if only one or two people like it.


It's like this dish. Heavy on the charcuterie, it's not healthy food at all. But it's not that bad either. When in moderation, this is a perfect comfort dish, something you might partake of once a year. Not everyday, but when you give yourself some leeway and allow yourself to cut some slack. It has tons of cabbage too, so it's not all that bad. Here's how to get it:

1 black chorizo, chopped1 onion chorizo, chopped1 spicy chorizo, chopped100 gr of pork, cut into small cubes1 red onion, thinly sliced2 garlic cloves, chopped1 portuguese cabbage, thinly sliced1 and 1/2 cups of red rice3 cups of stocksalt and pepperolive oilFry the garlic, onion and the chorizos in a drizzle of olive oil until slightly translucid and sizzling.  Leave some of the spicy chorizo aside for later. Add the cabbage and let it steam for a few minutes. Pour in the rice, give it a couple of minutes coating it in the juices. Add the stock and check the seasoning. Allow it to cook until rice is done and tender, check the seasoning again and adjust, transfer to an oven dish, scatter the remaining spicy chorizo over it and bake in the oven grill for ten minutes, give or take. Serve with a robust red wine and enjoy! And also don't judge a book by its cover.