Ruth Miranda's Blog, page 6

Bad reviews, good reviews, imposter syndrome and a boring life - mushroom pies as a pick me up

At precisely two weeks ago tomorrow, something weird happened. You may remember last February I wrote a novella which I published by March, "BLOOD". Well, I must have done something right where it comes to sparking the public's interest, because so far this has been my best seller. And I must have written a good story too, because people are actually congratulating me on it, and severeal readers have asked for more, for a follow-up to that book. I intended on doing a prequel, at some point, after I was done with my Arthurian saga, I wanted to write down Marianne's story, but later this year. I wasn't very interested in following along the life of a jaded, drug addict, alcoholic rock star who finds out he is not what and who he thinks. As far as I was concerned, 'Chaos' Nilsson was done. But then two weeks ago tomorrow I woke up with a whole new story in my head, one that picked the lead singer from 'Morning Rain' where I had left him at the end of "BLOOD" and told the rest of the tale.

Obviously, all my plans for a quiet, respiteful Saturday ended right there. I vaguely remember sitting down at my laptop and writing away in a frenzy all through that weekend. And then repeating the process all through that week. I got to next Saturday completely exhausted and drained, what I had assumed would be just a short story, a tying up of loose ends already turned into another novella. But I hit a bit of a wall, over that weekend, and had no idea where the story was supposed to go, could see no way to end it. I needed to rest it a little, let it simmer in my head, try to make sense and to pinpoint exactly where I had gone wrong that it didn't feel like it was working anymore. I took a little break, hoping to be ready to tackle it back later. But then I happened to read a particular bad review about what is to this day my favourite novel, of everything I have written. I won't lie, it really got to me. It really hurt me. The one thing that stuck the most was how the reader claimed she was bored with it. The book was boring. Why did it hurt, you ask? Why did it sting so much? Well, of everything I have ever written, "Unnatural" is the one thing where my soul is most exposed. There is just so much of me there, too much of me. Basically, someone saying the book is boring is someone saying I'm boring. Which in the end, I suppose I am.

See, my life looks very bland, and boring, from the outside. I'm not adventurous, nor outgoing. I don't travel, I am a homebody most of the time. I post about food and books on social media, listen to weird music, dress as if I am still in my teens and shy away from people. I don't mind being very raw and honest about my feelings, my disappointments, my hurts, my pain. I am a melancholy person with a tendency for over-sensitivity and emotional bursts. Aside from writing novels, raising a child, catering to a husband, and blog about food, I don't seem to do much. There's no wild tales, no breath takinh moments, no fabulous events. There's no fame, no glamour, no spark of interest to my daily life. There's normalcy, an abundance of it, and a going on and on about stuff only I care about. There's a fine line dividing what I share as a way of getting stuff out of my chest and people interpreting it as me being a constant whining asshole who complains all the time - and yes, I have been told this more often than not. That I complain and complain about everything and do nothing to change the things I complain about. Basically, I'm a moaner, a grouch.

But of course, I see myself very differently. There's nothing boring about me. There's actually so much life within me, and so much life is put into every little thing I do. I am bursting with life, in fact, and I don't have many a dull moment, or am I easily bored. There are so many layers to the person I am, so many currents coursing through me. Exactly how I see myself, this is how I saw my book as well. "Unnatural" had so much hidden in between the lines, and so much story, and so much going on within every page, I was shocked someone found it boring. I wouldn't have been half as shocked if someone complained it was excessivelly emotional, or a complete cliche, trope, whatever. But boring, it had never crossed my mind that it could be. Because that novel is me, and I always assumed that was the last thing I could ever be seen as. Boring. So that review hurt more than I can explain, for reasons I suppose I am failing to make clear. But it tore down my confidence, and stuff I had been told years ago by other authors came back flooding to my mind, and had me thinking that maybe, this was not the road for me. This life of being a published writer was not for me, as I often have been told that if I can't take the heat, I shouldn't put myself out there. If I can't take criticism, then I can't publish novels, as they will be criticised, and sometimes in ways far meaner than this review - and I should know it, because I have been told far more horrible things about my books. This one only hurt because of the boring, I think. Well, all the others hurt as well, it always does.

So I went very down inside myself, to a very dark place within, and for a day I couldn't and didn't want to write. I re-read some of the stuff I've written, couldn't find where it was boring, I felt very sorry for myself, but most of all, I doubted my abbilities and my capacities, I doubted above all my merit in having been given this life, where I can get to sit down and write. If what I put out there is boring, fails to entertain the reader, than what right do I have to this, to claiming I'm a writer, to publishing my work? I riddled myself with self doubt. When I got out of bed the next day, my head was brimming with ideas for the novella I was writing and which had me stuck. I sat down for an hour and a half and wrote nearly 6000 words. Words I believe are good, and not boring at all. In a story I believe is good and not boring, either. And I still believe in "Unnatural" and it is still my most favourite novel out of all I have written, because, as I said, it is the one that is most me, and well, excuse me if I actually do like myself quite a bit and find myself extremely interesting and intriguing. And then I had a five start review for "BLOOD", and a request for an interview (which you can read here, thank you Ursulla for the opportunity) and I caught myself thinking that yeah, I will get other, many, bad reviews, and with any luck I will get more good reviews too, and I can be very sad and down about it all, but I always bounce back. I always bounce back. I go back to doing what I want to do, because in the end, this is my life, and this is how I feel alive, this how I know there's just so much life in me, and I'm way far from being boring. No one who has so many lives in their head can ever be boring, I think.

Like these mushroom pies. Come on, how can these be boring? There's dough, there's a creamy filling, there's mushrooms, what more can you ask for? So they might not be vegan, but they are vegetarian, and you can totally substitute the butter for margarine, and veganise the whole thing. I just hope you give this a try, same way I hope people give my novels a try, even if one was deemed to be boring

Staying inside your comfort zone - Why leaving it is not for everyone and a cake that looks bad but tastes so good

We're constantly told to step out of our comfort zones, challenge ourselves, try different things, be adventurous, brave, or else we will only stagnate and not move forward, we won't evolve. I am one of those people who loves to live inside her comfort zone and actually believes many very good things happen inside my comfort zone - because in the end it's all a matter of perspective, of how you actually look at something. I find that I can evolve, grow, inside my comfort zone. I find that I can be much more adventurous inside it, and even take risks I wouldn't if I did not have that (probably fake) blanket of comfort around me telling me I'm safe within my bubble. I play better and to my best results if I don't leave my comfort zone. But once in a blue moon, and because I do like to pretend I'm one of those unpredictable people you never know what to expect of, I step out of it.

This is probably going to sound strange, but I have a comfort zone regarding my writing that I like to keep to. Datation (is that even a word?). If you've happened to have read more than one of my books, then you know I tend to headline my chapters, scenes, what have you, with a date, the one in which the action takes place. That's my bubble. That's my thing, you know? I think it's a stylistic gamble that makes me who I am as a writer, something that the readers recognise as my work, because I tend to use it always. Like a trademark, you know? But when I wrote "BLOOD", I stepped out of my usual writing style, I wrote it in a completely different style - even though the genre was the same - and it turned out to be my best selling book so far. But did I get out of my comfort zone? No.

And because I was keeping to that comfort zone, of where I feel "safe", "protected", I was able to take a couple of risks with the style of the writing, if not with the gist of the story. So I am one of those people who will always defend the benefits of actually staying inside one's comfort zone in order to be, well, more adventurous. It tends to work for me, it does not mean it will work for others. I think it also has to do with what to me means a comfort zone. For me, staying inside it means I am not doing something that I don't want to do, that stresses me out, that I know I won't feel comfortable with doing and will end up leading to dissatisfaction and anxiety. That is what stepping out of my comfort zone is for me. It's far too risky in the sense that, even though I may seem to be taking risks, these are not calculated in a sense that will bring benefits to my overall progress or demeanour.

Because for me there is no real evolution, no progress, if I am doing something that goes against my grain, my preferences, my way of being and the things I like. I might not be ready to do a certain thing today, meaning it falls outside of my comfort zone, and then in two, three years time I will want to do it, try it that way, take that risk. Because in two, three years time, it may fall inside my comfort zone, and I will be ready for it, and will reap the fruits of it. But unlike me, there's so many people who will only thrive this way, by stepping into the wild unknown, by being adventurous in plunging themselves into something that goes against their grain. And that's cool, that's ok. Everyone is different and does things differently, what works for some is bad for others. What I have a problem with is when everyone starts putting every body else into the same bag and telling everyone how to do their thing, live their life. You do you, I will do me.

Like here. I tried doing stuff differently, where these images were concerned. I went for different settings on my camera, played around with it in ways I had never wanted to, because I knew what I was comfortable with, and it worked for me. I went against the grain, and this was the result. I did not do it with all my heart poured into it, I wasn't really 'feeling' it, so obviously, the result was a failure. These must be some of the worst photos I have ever taken, and this must be one of the most horrid looking cakes I ever baked. But I still want it to be here, because it not only illustrates a point, it also shows that even when keeping to my safe zones, I can still fail. The cake was an experiment that went very wrong, where looks are concerned, but tasted very, very good.

A lady that works with my husband and who happens to be his best customer where his cookies are concerned, always gifts us with little yummy tokens, like different teas, special vanillas, organic blueberries. The latest present she sent for our son was two individual packets of Quaker's Oat So Simple instant porridge. We are not porridge people, but I love adding oats to cakes and breads, and as I saw the packs, I knew what I wanted to do with them. One was apple and blueberry, the other honey and vanilla. That one got thrown into a batch of bijoux breads my husband baked for the kiddo, the first one I turned into this cake. I had frozen cassis on the freezer, and apples abounded as always, so my head was working so fast in coming up with this crazy idea. A kind of upside down cake with a crunchy topping. It did not work quite as I had expected it to, but the taste was actually a clear winner. And this is not a sponsored post.

So here's how I made it:150 gr flour150 gr butter150 gr light brown sugar3 egss1 tsp vanilla extract1 medium sized apple1 small cup frozen cassis - or fresh blueberries1 sachet of Oats So Simple blueberry and apple flavoured.Turn on the oven at 180º and line a round tin with baking parchment. Cream sugar and butter into a fluffy cream, add the flour alternating with the eggs one by one. Mix well together, add the vamilla extract and half the cassis, blending in softly with a wooden spoon. On the bottom of the tin, scatter the contents of the oat sachet. Peel and slice the apple, spreading over the oats. Add in the rest of the cassis and sprinkle with vanilla sugar. Pour in the batter, bake in the oven for about forty minutes, or until the skewer comes out clean. Allow to cool before unmoulding. It might not look like a pretty cake, but it sure packs in a whole world of flavour!

Tasks and goals and failed successes - A savoury soda bread to fuel creative endeavours

Friday is here, and to my surprise I actually managed to do everything I had proposed myself to when Monday came round. I had planned on finishing the edits and revising for volume two on my Arthurian saga, I had planned on adding a couple of scenes to that first - well, now it's second - draft, which I did, I had planned to start writing volume three, and it's well underway, and I had also planned on editing photos for the blog and jotting down a blog post, which I am doing. I should be patting myself on the back, congratulating myself on a job well done and all these goals achieved, but the fact is, these were not goals, they were tasks. I ticked them off, alright, and am happy for it, but goals to me is a whole other thing.

I usually don't publicly announce my goals, because they end up unmaterialised. Maybe I strive for far too high in the achievement pannel, maybe I just don't do enough, but the truth is that most of my goals since the year began have been falling short of what I set. Except for March, March was a good month, and I did manage to get them goals going. I had planned on having a sale boost during that month, and even though it did not pan out the way I had hoped it would, sales weren't too bad for my novels, especially for "BLOOD". "A Study for Love" also got its own boost, which is always good, seeing it was my first ever published novel, and I really don't promote it enough. But where it comes to The Preternaturals Series, oh my, what a flop the sales ended up being. Even though I'd had the books on promotional prices, I didn't get to sell as many copies as I had hoped, which is a shame, seeing they are still my absolute faves. I just wanted to world to love the story as much as I do.

So for this week, I had a goal of boosting sales on my novels. I did market and promote them through Instagram and Facebook, but my numbers fell far from the ones I set as ultimate goal. Of course every little bit counts, and any progress is a good progress, right? Still, as for goals, mine have failed, although the tasks I set up to have done by the end of this week have all been accomplished. As a writer, as a person, that's pretty much what I need to work for. I managed to get done all I planned on doing, even stepping up with my exercise routine, I also managed to finish reading a book I wanted to review, I started reading another one for research, actually I did tackle a lot of research I had no idea I still needed to do. I guess that's a writer's life for you, all summed up in these words: I need to research this. And for my books I am always doing some kind of research or other.

I actually think I do most of my research only for the pleasure of it, you know? The joy of finding out something about one subject or other, just for the fun. Because in the end, not much of it gets thrown into my books, but I do like to immerse myself in the feel of things. With The Preternaturals Series I researched a lot about Nola, Helsinki, Rovaniemi - and ended up wanting to move to Finland even more. I researched not only the cities and their lay, but also spent hours going through property sales sites, just browsing the properties and the way the houses were decorated, only to get a better feel of what it's like, what people are like, what their lives are. There's always a lot of common ground in there, and it can help immerse you in the feel of a particular city, village, town. I also did a lot of that on my current WIP. Aside from all the historical issues I need to tackle here, because Arthur and all.

But research is very tiresome. I know that most of what I do is sit around all day, either writing or reading, and that may sound like the easiest, breeziest job of them all, only it's not. Your brain is constantly working at full speed, absorbing stuff, making connections, creating and weaving and spawning life. Ultimately, as an author, that's what I want to do: infuse my writings with life. I want my characters to come alive when someone reads them, I want their surroundings to merge into the story leading the reader right into it, as if they were there. I want the whole narrative to feel palpable, bite-able, nourishing, growing. I want it to breathe and move and weave about, alive. And that's exhausting. Writing is exhausting, taxing, complicated and messy. But there's noting else that makes me feel so lively as the act of telling a good story, so I rather welcome that sense of complete and utter tiredness with which I greet the end of a working day. Especially when there's something so filling and more-ish waiting for me at my table, as these soda breads. Perfect fuel for my art.

I made these for Easter, in a gesture of homage to the typical northern folares of my country, which I love. These soda breads are filled with cheese and bacon, and have a scatter of grated cheese on top that melts and oozes in the oven, caramelizing into a chunk of heaven through every bite. 150 gr strong bread flour100 gr spelt flour1 level tsp salt1 tsp soda bicarbonate1 tsp chopped fresh rosemary300 ml buttermilk or plain yogurt with a dash of vinegar1 egg75 gr bacon rashers3 to 4 slices of flemish cheese cut into chinky squares1/2 cup of grated emmental cheeseCover a baking gtrey with a sheet of baking parchement and turn on your oven at 190º. Prepare the yogurt buttermilk by adding a dash of balsamic vinegar to two plain yogurts. Top up with milk if it doesn't reach the 300ml mark. Set aside for at least fifteen minutes. On a bowl, combine the flours, salt, soda bicarbonate, herbs, bacon and flemish cheese, mixing all together with a fork or a knife. Beat the egg into the butter milk and pour over the dry mix, whisking together with a fork. Do it by steps, don't add all the liquid in one go. Once you've poured the final splash of liquid and the dough comes together, pour it onto a floured surface and pat together until you have a rough rounded ball of dough. Divide it into four smaller rounds, pat them together, place them on a baking trey covered with baking parchement. Now scatter the grated emmental over each bread, patting it to the dough so it sticks. Bake it in the oven for about forty minutes, with the fan on, if you have a ventilated oven. Serve warm on its own, or with a dip of your choice. A tapenade goes so well with this!

Finding one's journey in life or why I write - a pie that is a journey of flavours in the palate

As I look at the calendar, I can't help a groan of surprise that April is already one week down. What is it with time, that seems to be speeding by so fast, these days? I entered my son's Easter school break with a hopeful mind of getting all this work done, and as I stare at a blank screen, trying to jot down a blogpost, realise I have failed my mark. I have not reached my goals. Mostly because I tend to pack up way too much into my to do lists, way more than I can honestly come round to tackle. Also because I tend to get very easily distracted when I'm revising and editing, needing a break every five seconds in order to clear my head - all excuses, because revising and editing are my least favourite things on the writing process, and I always find one or two excuses to break from it. Like finding a wonderfully written sentence or piece of dialogue that I must because I must turn into a teaser that I can use in the future to create a buzz around my books. That will force me to scour through image banks in search of the perfect image, and then I will have to actually do the graphics for the teaser, and that takes time. Time I'm robbing from my editing and revising. While telling myself I am working ahead, and this will serve me in the future. It will, I know, so not all's lost.

But the thing is, while I am doing all of that, I am not writing. As soon as I finished the first draft for the second volume on my Arthurian saga, I decided I needed to do a re-read, revision and re-edit of volume one and two, to catch any continuity fails, to tackle certain specifics (there's a few Scottish characters and I wanted to get a bit of that on their dialogues, that meant reading through all of it and changing the 'I' for 'Ah' and 'you' for 'ye', amidst other regionalities), I wanted to check dates and actually remind myself of certain little details concerning the particulars of each character before delving into volume three. Of which I already have the first paragraph written, and of which I already have countless scenes in my head. Because my writing process is so weird, I am always seeing bits and pieces, snippets of narrative in my mind's eye, and then trying to pierce them together with the rest, putting them to their place, like I'm editing a film. Because actually that is how I write. I envision every scene in my head first, a thousand times, I see them as films, and then, when I write first draft, I'm only telling what I saw on the film. The beautifying of it comes later, when I'm editing and revising. First draft is always much more descriptive, and I have been told my books would make great movies. Perhaps I should revise those particular novels...

I think this has much to do with why I write. Because I don't have one of those wonderful stories on why I started writing, what got me into it. I did not go through a life chancging experience that made me need to write. I did not read a book that inspired me into telling a story my own way. I was not overcome by a sudden blast of words I needed to put down. I didn't have a prophetic dream, nor any other dream, that, when I woke up, I knew I had the makings of a marvelous story in my head which needed to be written. It was never like that. The story of why I write is the most boring in ther world. I write because I can. No, I write because that is the only thing I can do that makes me feel human, that makes me feel like I exist. The only place where I don't feel invisible is this place in my head where I am writing a story. So I sit down and write. But it did not start there. There was not one life changing moment where I said to myself I would sit down to write, no. I have always written, since I learned how to string words into a sentence. That's how it was. Ever since I was really little, I did this one thing: I told stories in my head to put myself to sleep. I still do. Only now, I turn those stories into novels. I don't count sheep, I tell stories. I have no idea why I do this, but ever since I can remember, it has been the way I fall asleep, this telling of stories in my brain. At some point, I started putting them down on paper. Small, short little things at first, becoming increasingly larger, more words strung into them, more detail, more world weaving. That's how I got to where I am.

Throughout my life, I never thought things were leading in a certain direction, for me. Now, looking back and with the benefits of hindsight, I think I can see how everything in my path, in my growth, in my progress has led me here. How certain things that have felt like the end of the world, or lightless tunnels, bottom of pits, were actually overgrown paths in the forest I needed to thread to find my way. My way, not someone else's. My path, my journey. I went through my life trying to follow on other people's steps, travelling the same roads they did, when I was not meant to. A learning curve, it was, everytime I took the road I was told to, the one I believed I must because that was the way of the world and what people expected of me, it lead to dead ends, falls, precipices of pain and despair, frustration and unbridled unhappiness. Because those were not my paths, those were not my roads, that was not my journey. Only when life made it a point of shoving my pourney down my throat - I'm rather thick sometimes, and need to be shown things clearly so I get the message - did I begin to realise why I could never be happy, or satisfied, or certain that I even existed. Why I always felt invisible. Because I was invisble, see. My real me was being squashed in order to put up a persona that would satisfy others. A persona that was NOT me, so I was invisible, I did not exist. I didn't see it straight away, it took me about three years to even begin to realise this.

Only now do I think I'm starting to see it more clearly, with the benefits of time and a lot of soul searching. It was always there, in front of me, but I always ran from it. My place in life and in the world was always this, I was supposed to do this. Do I wish I had seen it sooner, realised it sooner, had the clarity of mind and the courage to follow my dreams sooner? No. I didn't even understand back then that these were my goals. They were only dreams, in the realm of the 'I wish I could', things never to come to fruition, brought to life. All that time I travelled down the busy roads and destinies of others, fate was laying the ground for me, or I was laying my fate. A number of elements were conspiring in the background, and it wasn't the right time. For twenty years, it was not the right time. I do believe certain things come to the realm of possibility when they have to. I pursued other ventures because it was not yet the right time for me to stray off the beaten path and follow my own personal journey. And I am glad it wasn't. All those years that to some may sound like a waste of time, where I wasn't doing what I am meant to do, I was collecting, amassing, gathering. Kindle, tinder, experiences, nourishment, knowledge, gems that I could later turn into words, stories, characters, the bite in my books, the breath inside them. It has all served me well, in preparation for when the time was just about right and I decided to take a path that was darkened and filled with obstacles I couldn't even see. A path that was in the end, the only I could follow. That's why I write, because it is what I must do. Not for others, not for the readers, not for the fame, the success, the money and the sales, no. For me. So that I am not invisible to myself. So that I can feel alive.

What's that gotta do with pie, you ask. Absolutely nothing. Except that pies are my food journey too, I love them this much. And when I saw Nate from TermiNatetorKitchen post this pie, I knew I needed to try my hand at a version of it, with the stuff I had around the house. So here it is, my portuguese cabbage, sausage and mushroom pie. Good lord, it's as good as writing.
For the pastry (we used two times this, to make up for the covering of the pie as well):250 gr flour100 gr spelt flour100 gr butter or magerine150 to 200 ml water1 tsp saltaromatics of your choice (we used chives and thyme, dried)Mix the flour, salt and aromatics on a food processor. Add the cubed butter or margerine and pulse until you have a sand like consistency dough. Pour onto a bowl and slowly add in the water, mixing with a knife to combine everything together. Once the dough comes together and looks smooth, wrap it in baking parchement, form into a ball and let it rest in the fridge until you're ready to use it. The longer it rests, the better.


For the filling:4 medium sized good quality sausageshalf a portuguese cabbage1 leek1 cup of mushrooms (canned, dried, frozen, fresh, you choose. Shitake works wonders here.)1 cup stock (chicken, vegetable, plain water if you prefer.)olive oil, salt, pepper, thyme, flourChop the leek and the cabbage, cut the sausages into small chunks, dice the mushrooms. On a pan, heat up a good glug of olive oil and soften the leek in it. Add the cabbage, let it cook until it has reduced to half its size. Now throw in the sausages and the mushrooms, allow to cook and wilt for about ten minutes. Add the stock and bring to a boil. Lower the heat, season well, and let it simmer. On a cup mix a couple teaspoons of flour with a little water or stock and add to the pan. Let it thicken up your sauce to the consistency you prefer, turn off the heat and remove the pan. Allow it to cool for a quarter of an hour, thereabouts. While it's cooling, bring the dough off the fridge and roll it on a floured surface. Line a round tin with baking parchement and spread a little over half the dough over it, so it covers the bottom and the sides. Pour in the filling. Cut the rest of the dough into strips and weave them like a basket, cover the filling with this lid. You can use eggwash to make sure it turns golden and shiny in the oven, but you don't have to, if you don't want. Take it to a pre-heated oven for about 40 minutes or until the pastry is cooked and sizzling. Serve warm, but it's great also if you let it cool completely. Perfect for making in advance and serving guests.

Photoshoot fails and hot chocolate cakes - when stepping out of comfort zones is a fail

Whenever I try to be a little adventurous with my food photography and step out of my comfort zone, I fail. Like big time. Only have to look at these pics to realise how big of a fail something that at first hand felt and looked right it turned out to be. Instead of sticking to my usual spot for photos, I wanted to try something different, and once again went to my son's room for the massive light it gets on a day that was dark, sombre, rain pelting down the windows and grey clouds covering the skies. Oh, how stupid of me.

Although the light in my son's room is magnificent, it hardly ever works for my photos, you only have to browse through the archives here to come up with plenty of examples for why I should stick to what I know and is familiar. See, sometimes stepping out of comfort zones is being an idiot, and this was one such time. Anyway, it was an experiment, and many have failed, many will still fail in the future - I'm all for trying new things and then faceplanting myself on failing them ahah. Because, if you look carefully at the setting, it had EVERYTHING to work out fine, and look beautifu. Alas, not even careful editing saved these photos.

Truth is I was really tired and overworked when I set out to take these pics. My brain was not fully functional, worried as it was with sales and ads and graphics and edits. I was also trying too hard to improve my photographic skills with a point and shoot camera and my skills on styling, after having had honest feedback on how my work was not really working out good. I was far too preoccupied with doing things different, with improving, being better and more efficient, more hardworking, to make up for the lack of natural talent. Of course it didn't work. The idea was a good one, the end result, well, not so much. I was also using a long photo session to avoid going back to my laptop and finish writing the first draft on the second volume of my Arthurian saga. For some reason I am loving writing that story, but also dreading it at the same time. Freud might explain, I know I can't.

Anyway, I was eager to try a version of Patricia's hot milk cake after having seen it on her blog and falling in love with its simplicity and appeal. I had made up a few versions in my head, like hot vanilla milk cake, hot turmeric milk cake, hot cinnamon milk cake, hot coffee milk cake (this one still on my must try soon list) but ended up settling for a hot chocolate milk cake version, because, well, come on, it's chocolate and we all know what I'm like. It's actually a hot cocoa milk cake, because I used raw cacao powder, which I love, instead of chocolate. It's a mild, light cake, flavourful but not overpowering, like a cloud of choco goodness, which made the delights of father and son, to my own satisfaction. It was gone in the blink of an eye. And I think it will be a good addition to an Easter table, don't you?

So here's my version, with a few adaptations because I didn't even have all the correct amount of ingredients when I baked it - I told you, I was overworked and brain tired!!5 eggs (I used 4 large ones)250 gr flour200 gr yellow sugar150 ml milk with 4 tbsp raw cacao powder100 gr butter1 tsp vanilla extract1/2 tsp baking soda1 tsp baking powder1 pinch of saltPre heat the oven at 180º. Lightly butter and flour a bundt cake tin. Warm up the milk with the butter and the cocoa without allowing it to come to a boil. On a bowl, using a whisk, mix the sieved flour with the baking powder and the baking soda. Cream the eggs and sugar together with the salt and the vanilla for about ten minutes or until it triples in size. Add the flour mix in two stages, making sure you mix it softly. Finally, add the milk carefully, stirring together until everything is blended and smooth. Pour into the bundt tin and bake in the oven at 170º for about 35 minutes. Allow to cool on a rack before you place it on a plate and decorate it - I left mine simple because I am like that, a rebel! But it looks great with icing sugar over it, so do indulge on it. Hope you enjoy eating this cake with a cup of warm tea or coffee. Happy Easter for all those who celebrate, enjoy yourselves!

Burnout and cappuccino cookies - when trying too hard is not the thing to do

Since 2014 I have penned down two and a half books in Portuguese - a work in progress, one day I'll return to it - seven novels and one novella in English. In four years. Of these, I have self published five novels and the novella, which means I had to revise, edit, rewrite, revise again, re-edit and do-over each one of those works. And then upload them to Amazon, with all it entangles and requires. There's a lot of work attached, what with researching, studying, reading, compiling, the actual writing, and all that comes after. Because once a book is published, that's not the end, it tends to be the start. Of the promo and advertising rounds, the marketing, the self selling, the pitching, the trying to find your audience and getting your work noticed, read, reviewed, talked about. This you have to do yourself, if you're a self published author. Which means I did. On top of the ten books I have managed to write in four years, I did the teasers, the ads, the visual exciters, the moodboards, and still kept a food blog with regular posts and recipes. A food blog is a lot of work. First you need to cook, of course. But you then need to style the food, work with the light, capture the best angle, the best composition, take the photos, edit the photos, write the recipe, write the blogpost and promote the blogpost. A bit like what you do when you're a self published author. It's like having two jobs, actually. There's like a gazillion food bloggers out there, who all do this. And have daytime jobs too, unlike me who sit around all day and do nothing really worth while. There must be hundreds of self published authors out there who also have daytime jobs and work so much harder than I do. I'm no better than any other, I'm not here trying to say I have accomplished so much more and worked so much harder, no; we all have to do this, if we're self published. It's hard work, it's tiring, depleting. It leads to exhaustion and burnout, if we're not careful. I never thought I might be at risk of it, until it happened to me. I'm still trying to navigate through it, but I am aware I'm on my way to being depleted in a vary bad way. Have I overtaxed myself more than others? Probably not. But we all have our capacities, and mine are smaller, I am weaker and more prone to dark meanderings of the soul, which tend to deplete as much as overworking.

I only started thinking in terms of burnout after reading this post. The symptoms were all there. I thought I was just going through a minor bout of depression, but now I'm not so sure. See, I believe I have really pushed myself too hard ever since the year started. Actually, I believe I have been pushing myself far too hard for quite some time now, and that comes out of guilt. I always feel that the lack of accomplishments means I'm not working hard enough, doing enough. I always feel like I am sat here doing nothing worthy of mount. So I work hard. Actually, I have been pushing myself too hard since January 2017 when I published my first paperback. But January and February 2018 have been crazy months. I had published the last instalment on my The Preternaturals Series in December, was working hard on marketing and promoting those books, writing an Arthurian saga, of which the first volume was already on first draft done level, researching for it, reading works by other indie authors so I could post reviews on Goodreads, doing my house chores, being a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a human being, sometimes even a woman who is vain and loves to do herself up a bit - which I have since given up, and that should have given it all away. I was always on the go. And then decided I wanted to write and publish a novella by early March. Which I did, the story practically wrote itself off. And also decided it would be a good idea to fish out from the bottom of a trunk an old set of short stories I had written twenty years ago, polish them up a bit, revise, rework, edit, so I could have them set for publishing soon. But I had just added to my stress and work levels a whole new load. Now I needed to do more ads, more teasers, spice up interest on this new book, bring in the numbers and my laptop decided to throw a fit when I most needed to use it to full capacity. Another load on the pile.

I came down with a cold in the first days of March. I had a hard time shaking it off, it lingered for two whole weeks. I was listless and tired, more tired than my usual. Having trouble sleeping. Losing appetite, not taking care of myself, see, I had no time for that. Who's got time to don a facemask, or tend to her hair, or do her nails, when there's a trilogy to finish, a book to read and review, six or seven teasers to make, ads to create, social media rounds, foodstyling and photographing for the blog, then editing those photos, writing blog posts, revising the work, do some research, cook dinner, lunch, do the school runs, clean up house, do the shopping, laundry to sort, to wash, to iron, a husband and a child that require attention... what do you think gets neglected first? Myself. It's always easier that way. And it's not like I wanted to do my nails, or fix my hair, or put on make up, dress pretty. No. I couldn't care less - this usually happens to me in March, so I thought nothing of it, but I should. It all escalated into a feeling of extreme exhaustion, where I was struggling to get one single paragraph written. I just felt like I had no words inside me, anymore. I wanted to write, had the whole story in my head, all the scenes, but I couldn't put the words down. All I wanted to do was hide. But I had books to read so I could review and help fellow authors, I had posts for instagram sharing my fellow authors' work to try and give back a little of what they have given me, I had my own work to promote and market, and photo challenges to enter, and blogposts to create, and more novels to write. How could I hide, where would I hide?

I wasn't sleeping very well, anymore, having a hard time nodding off and waking up several times through the night, but it's something that happens from time to time, I have insomnia so there are sleepless nights. One night, though, I wasn't really sleeping at all, my head overworking why I wasn't succeeding, why my books flopped, my blog flopped, my instagram posts flopped, everything about me flopped. I had been confronted with some brutally honest opinions on my work, and no, this wasn't humbling at all, it was eye opening. In the sense that, contrary to what I usually consider, I am not all that. My work is not acceptable, nor good enough. These opinions forced me to look at all I do in a whole new way, and that night, I couldn't sleep from analysing it all. I wasn't good enough, yet, despite all the studying, the researching, the hard work, the trying and trying and trying to improve myself, my work, my results. I still wasn't good enough, probably because this is all I've got. So why do I insist, and work, and study and try to learn, to get out there, to share my work? At that moment I wanted to delete all my presence from the online world. I wanted to delete my instagram, facebook, this blog, unpublish all my books, disappear, never try again, as I was failing myself and everyone else around. I decided to wait, and do nothing rash. But my mind kept urging me to move, work harder, do better, write more, accomplish more, be more productive, be better, do better. Shouting out all the time that I need to do more and worker much harder, because what I am doing is clearly just NOT ENOUGH.

 Next morning there I was, sat on my desk, still unable to write, now feeling sick with a cold again, one I am having a very hard time shaking off. And my brain is numb. And I should be resting. And perhaps I should give up this blog, or take time off from writing, or simply lay off social media for a few months. Maybe I should disappear, because working hard is really not working out for me. See, when one works really hard, one wants to see results, expects to see results, hopes at least to get them. And when they simply don't come, what's the point to all the hard work? And if there's no results coming, then it must be because you're not working harder enough, so you start looking for ways to do better. Trying to figure out how to improve, how to become good enough, do well enough. And you just want to stop and cry, but your brain keeps telling you you need to work harder, do more. I was so ready to call it all quits, and am still on the fence about it. But then I read about burnout, realised I might be suffering from it, maybe I do need to slow down quite a lot. Thing is, March is far from being over and I do have so much still hanging on the back of it. There's a few promos I want to do this week and next for my novels, starting today with The Preternaturals Series - I'm having them at reduced price for three whole days - and going on until the last day of this month, with the other novels getting their chance as well. There's ads to be spruced up for these promos, there's teasers to prep, and these take time, and are hard work. You have to search for royalty free images that fit the novel in question, then go through your own book searching for a quote that fits the image you got, then you need to design the layout, work the lettering, the colours, make sure it's juicy and gets people to notice and want to read your books. It's a lottery, but needs to be done. And through all this, there's still the Arthurian saga missing one volume, there's still the compilation of short stories that needs to be dealt with. But I know I need to stop, at some point, and rest. Get my head straight.

Perhaps what I really need is to sit down with a jar of cookies and indulge myself. If you thought these cookies were something to rave about, I'm sure you're in for a treat right now, right here. How about a batch of cappuccino cookies? Huh? What do you say? Because that's just what we got here. Sounds good? So get baking, here's the how to:350 gr flour250 gr cold butter175 gr dark muscovado sugar3 tbsp instant coffee powder3 tbsp powdered milk1 egg1 tsp baking powder
Mix the baking powder and flour together. Pour over a clean, cold surface and prise a hole in the middle. Add the sugar, butter, and egg. Combine all ingredients into a dough. Knead it very softly, until you have a silky dough. Now sprinkle the powdered milk and the coffee, kneading a little bit more. You don't want to overdo it, what you want is to make sure you combine these new ingredients to the rest of the dough and get that marbled effect on it. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate it for half an hour at least. Then bring the dough out and roll it quickly over a floured surface, cutting it into the shapes you want. Transfer cookies to a baking tray lined with baking parchement and bake in the oven for about 12 minutes at 170º. Serve with a tea, coffee, or a piping hot cappuccino!

A reminder that life does happen and a savoury pancake to make it all better

This past week has been one of getting derailed at every step I take. Sometimes life likes to remind us that it will happen, and throw shit in the fan, whether you like it or not. Being so close to jotting down "the end" on my current WIP, I have been prevented of it all week long. Part of me wanted to get to the weekend and see these past five days behind me, part of me wanted to have more time at hand so I could work a little bit more, strive a little bit more, get things done. I do impose upon myself a rhythm of work that is not always feasible, and when it gets thrown to the wolves, I tend to go down with the deluge. I tend to fall apart a bit. Control freak and what not, you know.

 It was all minor stuff, nothing big, nothing worthy of real importance, but combined, it prevented me of focusing and working. Started with no internet access, no phone all through Monday. I need my access to work, as I am constantly checking facts on line, places, names, historical stuff. Also, I use a dictionary and a thesaurus online, as I can't really afford to buy a good one. And being without a phone, although I detest calling or answering phone calls, gets me very anxious: what if something happened to my son and the school needs to call me? Or my husband? Or I need to call someone? Of course there's always the mobile, but I seem to forget, even though my son's school never call me on the landline... And not being able to check my facts online while writing a book that does feature certain historical figures, well, that did it for me Monday. I got nothing done.

Enter Tuesday, and as soon as I am sitting down to work, hoping and praying my provider has fixed the problem, lo and behold, the bell rings and it's the building admin saying they need to check something with the doorbells and what not. A whole morning was lost to this, I got mad as hell because there had been a meeting just three days before and we should have bneen warned this procedure was needed, and was taking place this week, but no. Why bother, right? After all, people tend to assume that because I work from home, I actually do not work at all, so I have all this free time in my hands. Thinking I would manage to make up for the time loss later, I plunged myself into work, but because I was expecting a delivery - a copy of my first published novel and my latest published work were finally making their way to me! - I could hardly focus. I mean, it would be the first time I was gonna hold my very own books in my hands.

Suffice it to say the delivery took forever, and even though a certain hour was assigned for the package to be delivered, it took two more hours and a few phone calls to finally hold the books to me. Of course by the time the first phone call ensued I was already so nervous and irritated, I couldn't write another word. I do detest when people schedule a time and then are late for hours. It's very Portuguese and everyone here does that, but to me this is just rude and absurd, especially if it's work related. Unprofessional is the least I can call it. But finally I had the books and I couldn't work anymore, I needed to touch and leaf through them, I was so enamoured and so proud to have them here. It made all the hard work seem real, it made me feel like yes, now I am a writer, a published author, I have a job, a calling, a career. To say I was happy is the understatement of they year.

So by Wednesday I was back on a roll and managed to get so much writing done, I did do a lot of progress. The end was neigh, and was I glad! Then I could start jotting down plot twists for the final volume, checking holes between volume one and two that I needed to resolve on volume three, getting ahead with structuring the final instalment of this which is actually the ONE thing I have wanted to write all my life and always lacked the courage to. But come Thursday and I had a splitting headache that meant I was unable to do much more than fix the covers for these two volumes. After lunch I ended up turning off the laptop and sitting down on the sofa binge watching The Magicians, which is one of my fave guilty pleasures. I wrote next to nothing, last thursday, and am writing next to nothing today, because my brain feels numb already - we had a power failure in the area and my house is everything electric, so you can imagine the chaos it was, with hubby needeing to go to work, kiddo needing to go to school. By the time I sat here to work, my head was a blank, my mood was down, and right now, I feel like every little thing I write is a buckload of crap.

Being so close to the finish line and throwing down the towel is not for me, so I'm giving myself some space and making sure I take it easy. Feel like I can't write today? Then I'll work on the outline, the layout, move chapters around, bring a scene up and another back, just faff around the storyline. If I do get my juices up and suddenly writing becomes a necessity, I'll plunge into it with usual gusto, but won't be beating myself up for slacking on my work for a day or two. Stuff will still get done. I have a few promotions running for all my published works in a few days time - starting not this weekend but the next - so I'll work on getting everything ready for those, social media wise. I'll play around in Canva and do some teasers, some promo work, to try and raise curiosity and reach more readers, I'll laze about if I want to, even read my own books, if only to try and prove myself wrong, get it into my head that I'm not crap at all. It won't be  a wasted day, but I do confess I feel the need for some comfort food in order to feed the lowdown I'm in, the slump I got myself into, and these savoury pancakes are just what I crave...

I don't like sweet pancakes, nor do I ever cook crepes and what not. But when it comes to the savoury versions, I'm all for it. These were a treat down my gob when I cooked them for Chinese New Year a while back, and I do hope you try them, because it's all that's good when you're feeling down!
1 cup flour1 cup milk1 large egg1/2 cup chopped fresh chive1/2 cup chopped chinese garlic1/2 cup chopped garlic asparagussalt, pepper, five spice - a pinch of eachBeat the egg with the milk and add to the flour along with the herbs and seasonings. Mix well until you have a batter that's more on the runny side. On your stove, heat up a non stick frying pan that you've rubbed with a little sesame oil poured into a bit of kitchen paper. Using a laddle, pour a scoop of batter into the pan and allow for it to cook on one side until it starts to cook up the edges on top as well. Turn it and finish off cooking on the other side. Repeat until there's no more batter, enjoy these solo or with an array of other nibbles. Easy stuff, but oh so tasty!!

A sheet of hot chocolate cookies for Marta's March table

As I write this, the weather outside is atrocious and all I can think of is how I would welcome a piping hot mug of tea and one of these cookies. Instead, I have freezing hands, runny nose, a post to write and a book to continue. Also have a few teasers to design for my published works, ree online images to search through, this post to write, and so much more work that involves going out in the rain a couple of times all I really want to do is lie down on my sofa with my tablet and read the novel I dove into just yesterday.

But I know I won't do that, and I know I will persevere, even if the amount of work seems daunting to me. I will try to organise myself and my thoughts - always brimming with far too many ideas for me to be able to settle for one alone - and I will work my ass off, as I usually do. Even when it turns out that all my hard work is for nothing, I do it again and again and again because I'm a stubborn cow. These cookies are a product of my stubborness, see. I had the idea for them ages ago, hot chocolate cookies that mixed cocoa and milk in flavour and tasted like a soft, munchy hug of goodness. I tired my husband down to the ground until he caved in and baked these babies.

Marta's ingredient of this month is chocolate, and although I do have like a ton of recipes using chocolate to its best in this blog, I wanted to add a few more to the list. These cookies, which I had forgotten in a folder and managed to retrieve after my computer disaster of two weeks ago, came in very handy after all. This was the kind of post I had been saving for a rainy day, and seeing it's pouring outside, it couldn't have come at a better time. The fact they fit into Marta's table so perfectly is an added bonus. Because these are very good cookies, indeed, and you'll be dipping your hand into the cookie jar once and again, for one more cookie, only one more cookie, you'll say, and know it's a lie.

So without further ado, here's how you bake yourself a few of these pretty babies - I do love the marbled effect, don't you?350 gr flour250 gr cold butter175 gr dark muscovado sugar3 tbsp raw cocoa powder3 tbsp powdered milk1 egg1 tsp baking powderMix the baking powder and flour together. Pour over a clean, cold surface and prise a hole in the middle. Add the sugar, butter, and egg. Combine all ingredients into a dough. Knead it very softly, until you have a silky dough. Now sprinkle the powdered milk and the cocoa, kneading a little bit more. You don't want to overdo it, what you want is to make sure you combine these new ingredients to the rest of the dough and get that marbled effect on it. Wrap in cling film and refrigerate it for half an hour at least. Then bring the dough out and roll it quickly over a floured surface, cutting it into the shapes you want. Transfer cookies to a baking tray lined with baking parchement and bake in the oven for about 12 minutes at 170º. Serve with a tea, or a cup of hot chocolate!

A memorable week - computer disaster, new releases and poached pears for comfort

What can I say about this past week? It was an exhausting week, that's what it was. Since my last blogpost, feels like so much has happened, it won't fit into a new blogpost. It just feels like that, although it's not as tremendous as I make it sound. Always the drama queen, I am, but I don't mind that. It amuses me, in the end, when I look back at my hysterics and realise it was no biggie after all, whatever sent me into hysterics. This time around I even managed to stay moderatly calm, although for a blogger and a writer, what happened last week was a bit of a biggie. Enough to have brought me to tears, only it didn't.

The week before last, I noticed my laptop was kind of acting up, so I started backing up some of my stuff. I even joked about it with a few peeps, saying I was gonna go laptop-less soon. Well, last Saturday, I woke up with this weird feeling, this daunting sensation that something was gonna happen. I got up at crack of dawn, had my breakfast and sashayed - I do sashay - into my living room, where I proceeded to sit down at my desk and start backing up like mad. See, I had just finished copy-editing my most recent novella, in preparation for a final read through and edits, so I could get it published by March First. (It's already out, and actually doing very well, sales wise, even got a five star review already, check it out here.) I had already managed to spruce up a few promotional campaigns for it, as well as the other books I have out already, but wasn't much worried with those, what worried me was my writings, my final versions were not yet backed up.

So that's what I did Saturday morning, I backed up all I could, when suddenly the laptop died on me. And it would not come back to life. All my photos were there, like a lot of them, some I hadn't yet gotten round to edit, others that I had prepared in advance so I could have a few posts ready for when the launching of "BLOOD" demanded so much of me I didn't have time, nor the brains, for a new blogpost. I like to keep a few for a rainy day, know what I mean? Now, they were all lost. And being sans a laptop when what you do is write and self publish novels is like all hell broke lose. How does one work without a laptop and an internet connection, when one runs a food blog? A minor breakdown threatened to happen, but somehow it didn't. I kept my cool. Husband came along with some help, I also knew I could do the final edits and read through on his laptop and upload the manuscript there so I had it ready for publishing on the first of March - I had been going on about it for a few weeks on Instagram, actively trying to get a buzz on this book so people would want to buy it as soon as it was out.

In the end, we managed to salvaged most of everything, and what was lost ended up being retrievable as well, it is all a question of me sitting down and editing all those pictures again, but nothing was lost. By Monday evening I had a laptop in working condition, and in the end, it was for the best. A sort of blessing in disguise hid behind what it felt like someone throwing me the evil eye just to prevent me publishing a novella on which I had staked so much. So much work, so much love, so much attention and creativity. This novella means a lot to me. And because of it, and because I am determined to succeed, I worked extra hard on revising, re-editing, doing the final read through out loud to see if something sounded iffy - and there were a few iffies going round all right! - working again on the cover, which I hadn't managed to back up the final version (the images were all lost, though retrievable.), making a batch of teasers that I sprinkled around Facebook and Instagram on the days leading up to publishing date. It was a week filled with very hard work. And it panned out.

The novella is live on Amazon (paperback and eBook versions) and on its launch day sold quite a few copies as soon as it went live. This, of course, made me very happy. I had worked so much, and had pushed through that one final gigantic effort, I had planned ahead on building up the interest for the book itself, trying to hook readers into wanting it because the teasers spruced up their curiosity, seeing it all work out better than I had imagined was like a boost of confidence and self belief, a charge of extra energy and a sense that maybe I am not all that wrong in my career choice, maybe it will all work out fine and I get to have my stories out there, and people will want to read them, and will love them. I have worked harder before, even in stuff I hated, I have pushed myself to work far harder than I did this week, but never with the clarity of mind I did this week. Knowing I was on the right path, knowing I was sticking to a conscious plan, knowing even if it totally failed, at least I had thought it through, worked it hard, and could learn from the failure. It did not fail, and so I will persist. I am proud of my own self, yes, and proud of this little book, hoping it will be the one book that starts the wheels rolling. Hoping you guys wanna join in this ride and end up falling in love with that story as much as I did!

But because of all the work on the book, and because by Wednesday I had come down with a nasty cold that knowked me down a bit, the blog did not get as much love or attention as I would have liked it to. So today I have a very simple dish, a dessert that is one of my favourite, but one so easy that's quite easy to make. Poached pears. I hate cooking pears, baking them in cakes or tarts or pies, but a pear poached in wine and spices is actually one of the things I love indulging in. So here's my version:2 or 3 medium sized pears1 star anise1 cinnamon sticklemon peel2 to 3 tablespoon honeya dash of vanilla extract1 or 2 cloves150 ml of white winePeel the pears and place them in a pan. Add the spices, lemon peel, honey and wine. Top it off with water so the pears are completely covered with liquid. Bring to a boil, and then lower the heat and allow to simmer gently until the pears are cooked through. Serve warm. Sit down with it and a really good book (mine will do, thank you very much

A week of organising and a duck rice - how to be more effective and waste less, be it food or time

Friday, and we come to the end of a busy, busy week. I've been all over the place with a scattered brain, brimming with ideas, plans, schedules and timetables. It doesn't even sound like me, I'm starting to worry an alien has taken hold of my body and simply replaced me with one who is - mildly - organised and on top of things. I've even been jotting down on a notebook a few scheduled tasks of promotion for my books! Who am I, right?

But the truth is I need to be on top of things, if I want to get my work out there. Not only this blog, and my attempts at improving my styling and photographic skills, but my career as a writer, my work as an author. Being a bit of a control freak, I do tend to want it all falling upon me, but once you're an indie author, truth is it's gonna depend on you and you alone. You have to promote the hell out of your books, besides writing them. You have to come up with pretty images, catchy lines, teasers, snippets, ads, whatever you can in order to get those novels out there, in the public eye. And then you hope and pray someone will be intrigued and want to purchase and want to read.

So this past week, that is what I did. After finishing writing my novella "BLOOD", which comes out early March, I sat here and started devising a plan. Promoting this upcoming novella, arranging for Easter promos for my series, along with the novella and my mystery novel, constructing teasers and banners and ads, making up a detailed date plan in my head, choosing days for the promos, arranging images and choosing snippets from the novels, getting it all down on paper so I wouldn't forget a single detail. And boy, was this tiresome! It's friday and I'm knackered, my brain's knackered. To top it all off, I came across some old writings from twenty - and more - years ago and decided to go through them and salvage the best, so I can put together a short story collection I can publish come Summer. All this while attemptig to write an Arthurian series...

Cooking, styling and photographing have also been on the menu, whenever I can force my brain into thinking up a good dish. I have been relying more and more on old staples and easy to cook every day meal, because I haven't had much time, but I do end up having this or that idea I believe will work out fine, and these tend to make it to the blog. Like my philosophy of zero waste. Ok, so it's not zero waste, there'll be some, of course, but I do try to make do with what I have and use every bit and piece that is edible or usable. I often say we buy poultry whole and cut it at home. Ducks, for instance, we buy the whole bird and use every bit. Even the carcasses. This is what we do with them, we freeze a couple and then broil them on the pressure cooker, take off all the meat from the bone, and cook what I believe to be a staple of portuguese cuisine, the duck rice. My son loves duck rice, so once in a while we do indulge and get this on the table. With the least waste pssible.

How do we do it? Here:2 duck carcasses, broiled and meat taken off the bones1 chouriço1 onion2 cloves of garlic1 1/2 cups of rice3 cups of duck stock - use the water you broiled the carcass ina glug of olive oil1 1/2 tsp turmericchives, salt, pepper to tasteAfter cooking and de-boning the duck carcasses, cook the rice in the stock until it's done. Thinly slice the onion, half the chouriço and the garlic, gently stir fry all in a glug of olive oil. Add the duck, the turmeric, chives, pepper and the salt if it still needs, and let it fry for 3 to 5 minutes, then mix it all with the rice. Pour onto an oven dish, cover with slices of the remaining chouriço and bake in the oven at 190º fan on, until the top is crispy and golden. I like to serve this dish in Spring with a good salad on the side, but it's also a delight to have it in Winter with a side dish of stir fried turnip greens or spinach. I hope you enjoy!