Vivika Widow's Blog, page 47

Etched in Stone

You can hack away at the stone of life. You can work your fingers bloody and your arms weak trying to carve what life should look like. Somewhere underneath the rubble dwells that true face you’ve been trying to hide. You tried to bury it with drugs, with doomed relationships. You even tried to bury it in the patience of those closest to you but still it surfaces like a great ocean beast.

It’s an ugly face but it’s your face, you’re true one. It is the face of a childhood trauma best forgotten. It is the body you tried to destroy. That body is made of stżone though and so it will stand strong for a long time. True art is shocking. What happened to you was shocking so show it to the world in all it’s cruel horror. That smile. That gaze. It’s all you at your worst and you can’t take it back now.

Vivika Widow’s latest thriller MUSE is available now. Click HERE to read.

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Mirrors Don’t Reflect Anymore

“From the moment we are born we are burdened by negativity.

They pick out a plan for us and God forbid we stray even slightly from it.

So we grow hearing the words, ‘you can’t’ or ‘you won’t’

We learn to accept those limitations put on us to hold us down.

What are they so fucking afraid of?

They’re worried the artistic vision will expose them for the monsters they truly are.

Mirrors sure as Hell ain’t reflecting reality anymore. We can still smile in a mirror.

Art let’s that true inner demon shine through and when people try to hold it back with their bullshit negativity that demon becomes pissed.

We all go the same way in the end. We all go without a coin, a care or a friend.

How much of that negativity you want to carry with you along the way is the only thing that matters.”

David Finn is finding his inspiration again. Click

Character Profile: Glenn

Features in: Muse , Knock Knock

Age: 47

Occupation: Harvester Farm Hand

Glenn was a hard working man. No one could accuse him of being lazy. Providing for his family is of prime importance. His daughter, Susie, is all that matters but he also takes his comittments seriously and he committed himself to the Harvester farm back when Jacob Harvester was in control. He has worked the farm ever since he was a young man and has seen the old Harvester’s only child, Julia, grow up like an uncle. He saw the farm blossom. He watched it fail.

The old Harvester became sick and it fell to Julia to decide its future. Glenn – like the rest of the farm hands – was always treated like family but decisions on the Harvester legacy was out of his depth.

Still, as difficult as things became an overbearing investor changed the world around them. Glenn remained strong in his commitment. As long as Susie had everything she needed it didn’t matter what he had to do. Even when the investor began to push them towards new jobs, well out-with their duties, Glenn carried on. It wasn’t glamorous. It wasn’t easy. It probably wasn’t legal but pride and family were at stake.

Somewhere in the city resides a down on his luck artist whose path collides with Glenn’s as his search for inspiration brings him to the farm. As he sets his sights on Julia Harvester as his new MUSE it could be time for upheaval once again.

The full story is available to read HERE

Putting your heart into it.

Many people are aware of this but for those who aren’t familiar I would like to take some time to explain the beginning of Ragdolls UK. It is my charitable foundation that supports girls and women with Turner’s Syndrome as well as people with other genetic disorders. The small time work tirelessly to provide support, advice and raise awareness of a condition that occurs in about 1 in 2500 females across the globe.

For more information on what TS is click HERE.

I am often asked my reasoning behind setting up Ragdolls UK and the answer is simple. I am a TS girl myself. I was diagnosed at birth. I am what is termed MOSAIC. The reason the foundation is called Ragdolls UK is because as a child I was going into hospital for one of many visits. It was my first over night stay (that I was old enough to acknowledge) so my grandmother knitted me a rag doll to take with me. It was comforting and in the strange bed with strange lights above, strange people around and a constant feeling of tension as nurses dashed back and forth I was able to clasp my rag doll for comfort. That same comfort is what Ragdolls UK aims to bring to TS sufferers and their families.

When RED SNOW was published back in 2013 I asked then that proceeds from it support Ragdolls UK. Since then each VW title has gone on to help Ragdolls UK continue to grow.  It is why I do what I do.

My fellow authors will understand that it can be a very isolating career as you spend a lot of time in your head and can lose track of what is going on around you. Just the other afternoon I was at a check up at the hospital. I was in the midst of an ECG (I get regular checks on my heart due to issues caused by TS) and as the physiologist was prodding and pushing to get the best images she could she kept apologising. I am a sturdy built little woman so it wasn’t really bothering me but it occurred to me that others may be uncomfortable, frightened even. It reminded me of how important it is that I let my fellow TS girls know they are not alone. Also, to any TS girls who may be reading this it is vitally important that you attend your cardio check ups. We have lost too many TS girls from heart troubles. If you have a loved one with TS nag them endlessly to keep their cardio appointments.

Ragdolls UK has made huge strides are we are extremely proud of what has been achieved so far. However, there is still so many out there who aren’t getting the advice and support they need. You can help a small charity flourish in so many different ways. For advice on this click HERE. Even if just one new person learns what TS is from this post it has served a purpose. Google Turner’s Syndrome, share your TS stories. My DMs are always open for anyone looking for more information.

Much love!

Our work supports women and girls with Turner’s Syndrome.

Ragdolls UK work tirelessly to provide support for girls and women with Turner’s Syndrome and their families. We are proud to say that proceeds from all Vivika Widow titles goes towards this worthy cause.
Any donation large or small helps continue to raise awareness of a condition that despite occurring in about 1 in 2500 females few are still aware us.
Visit ragdollscharity.info for more information.
Thanks!

£1.00

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Sanity for Sale (Adapted from Vivika Widow’s Muse)

“It’s something alright.”

Art gallery owner, Harper, was quite taken aback. She knew David’s work to be provocative, free thinking and often bold in it’s use of colour and theme but never before had she seen anything like it. He had been off the boil for quite some time though. He had disappeared into obscurity, sealing himself in a cocoon of alcohol and drugs. Before he was lost completely he came to her with something groundbreaking. If she chose to hang his latest piece it would have the whole city talking. In all her years in the art world she knew that. It would cause a sensation in the name of artist David Finn.

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She was concerned too. David had been a friend of hers for a very long time and she wasn’t sure he was strong enough to cope with the attention. Fame was a double edged sword after all and as uplifting as it was it could cut deep. He seemed determined though. He was disheveled. His bleached blonde hair hadn’t been washed in what looked like days. His clothes, were a combination of borrowed artifacts and what items where close at hand at the time of dressing. His leather, slip on shoes were worn. He wore no socks. Harper was used to the quirky nature of artists but there was a fire lit behind his drug addled stare that she hadn’t seen in him for some time.

“You look like shit,” she told him firmly. “You really need to get yourself together.”

He attempted to smile but his concern was still on the piece.

“You really like it?” he asked.

“I love it,” Harper assured. “It’s challenging, bold and unlike anything I have ever seen. I must ask though, what inspired it?”

David sighed. “It was that girl Julia I met. She encouraged me to dig deep. She gave me what I needed to finally break through. I have been waiting so long to break through. I’ve needed this. I’ve been holding myself back. I’ve been letting the negative shit hold me back. She helped me listen to my soul and this was what it screamed to me.”

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Julia was a simple farm girl. Harper couldn’t quite put together what she could draw from David that would bring such despair carved into a statue. The pain in the figurine was really hard to look at. From some angles it invoked tears, from others it brought repulsion but no matter what way it stood it was art in all of its raw, painful and cruel beauty. David always drew his images from the world around him. Harper hoped that wasn’t the case with this piece. She hoped that no one in the world would have to experience the pain that was etched into the face of the figurine.

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David’s artistic journey is just beginning and seemingly innocent farm girl, Julia, carries the keys of a childhood he had long thought buried.

Click HERE to read the full story.

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Caution: Toxicity is Harmful to your Health

“He’s your blood.”

We’ve all heard things like that said before.

“You should make up because you are family.”

This is sound advice, normally, but when there is someone so toxic in your life you should not feel guilty for cutting them out. Being blood related is no excuse to bring negativity and poison to you. For the sake of your mental health and that of those closest to you it is important that you keep these toxic people at bay.

We have all met them. Those who go out of their way to make you feel bad about yourself or who belittle what you are doing or what you are trying to achieve. Mostly this is because there is something so unsatisfying about their own lives that it makes them insecure to be around positive people who are making a difference. It might not be in outwardly cruel words or violent actions, it may also be in more subtle suggestions or manipulative tactics.

I realise that I sound quite bitter now in writing this so I am going to take a little step down from my proverbial high horse for a moment and try to explain my reasoning.

Firstly, I absolutely and completely hate bullying. For me, toxic people make natural bullies. Their hunger is only satisfied by the upset of others and they will go out of their way to get it. They are also natural narcissists and if you call them on their bullshit they will work it as best you can to make it seem like you are the one being unreasonable or that it is your own fault for feeling upset.

Secondly, the reason I would like to take some time to draw attention to this is because we all, unfortunately, will encounter toxic people at some point in your lives. If you are lucky enough to have only been surrounded by positive, supportive people then I am so happy to hear that and that there is some like you in the world. I hope you take something from this then and gain an understand of toxic people and what that means.

For most the toxicity comes from family. It is said that, ‘those closest to us can hurt us the most,’ which is true. Seems a little nihilistic for my tastes but it can’t be denied that those closest to you have easier access to your emotional triggers. Therefore, when the toxic person in your life is a family member and they are making you completely and utterly miserable, you are well within your right to cut them out. You will be made to feel guilty by other family members for having done so but this will likely be because the toxic person will already be making it seem like your reaction to their behaviour is disproportional. It is not.

Life is too short to not have people in your life who are behind you 100%. You deserve to be supported in reaching for your dreams and you are worth the time of those closest to you. Never have anyone make you feel otherwise. Also, family is more than blood. Family is about being there for each other, helping one another and bringing out the best in each other. Toxicity is harmful to your health.

It is important to open the discussion on these matters. My DMs are always available for those who are struggling  and wish to talk (no penis pictures please

Exhibit C

Never had grey looked so vibrant. Light and dark battled for centre stage as greyish faces watched the artist from the shelving. Some were finely carved, almost human. Most were still waiting for their features. They had survived the abortion of the carver’s knife.

The artist looked at the shelf above him. Another clay face smiled back knowingly.

“You will just continue to fall downhill.”

The words WASHED UP were carved across it. The shame of this realisation was deeply embedded. The artist ignored it at first. He lifted the carving knife and reached for the clay in front of him, unborn, formless. He wet his hands in the bowl. The cool water did nothing to relieve his intoxicated mind. He reached out and caressed the clay carefully, searching for the curvatures.

“You are nothing.”

Three identical masks observed him, perched high. Each of them bore the word DOUBT. The artist leant back on his stool but his drug-addled mind was too far-gone to keep his balance. He leaned back too far and as he jerked forward he knocked the water bowl over and cut his finger on the scalpel he used to carve details into his creations.

“Fuck!” he exclaimed as the vibrant red began to gush from the wound, spilling onto the grey. His vision was blurry. He didn’t normally feel this way after a hit. Joe must have gotten purer than usual.

At age twelve the artist had turned to smoke. The calming effects saw him through pre- pubescence. It calmed the storm of his teen years. He tried powder and pills along the way but when he reached his twenties only needles would do. He had come off them for a while as his career as an artist took off. He had it all then but the high of life shook him, gave him unrealistic expectations, sucked him dry then left him with nothing but the needles for comfort. His friends encouraged him but no matter what he did, his work could never reach

those heights again.

The needles didn’t think he was washed up. They were always there to make him feel better. They even numbed the pain as he put a deeper cut in his hand as he tried to grasp the scalpel again.

“A pathetic excuse for a human being.”

The artist looked at a clay face that lay discarded on the bench. The word FRAUD was embedded into it.

The artist swung his legs round but it threw off his balance again. This time he tumbled to the floor. He looked up towards the window. A figurine of a slim woman was hanging by its feet. “He’s just a little down on his luck.”

The figurine spun around on the wire that held her captive. Her face was flat. It had no features yet. Only her buttocks had any detail. The words HAS BEEN were written into her. “Fuck off the lot of you!” the artist cried, climbing to his feet. “What do you know about it?”

He swung his arms in a meaningless gesture but it caused him to fall into his bench. The corner caught his hip painfully.

A hand fell on him. He shrieked. The clay digits clasped his shoulder.

“You had it all. It’s gone now. You are nothing. You had no real talent.”

The artist cried out. Hooks, shelves, walls, more clay faces and figurines watching him, accusing him. Whatever he did have it was gone. His artistic vision was gone and all the needles in the world would never numb that kind of pain.

The faces closed in.

“Lost!”

“Broken!”

“A talentless junkie that got lucky!”

The artist hated that he had become a tortured cliché. He hated even more that everything he turned his hand to lately fell flat. It wasn’t inspired. It wasn’t bold. He struggled to get even those closest to him to give a second look. He was an artist cliché without the talent. He thought he was giving birth to kings and queens whose reign would be spoken of for centuries. Instead he held still born after still born. So he hung them, scraped away at their skins and occasionally, when provoked, he smashed them to pieces. Paintings, carvings, models, all deserved incineration. Burn them all. Never let those failed experiments see the light of day. They would tell everyone how uninspired their creator was.

The artist turned on his stool. Dizziness overcame him. A large male figure was looking down on him from the shelf. He had no legs and was leaning on muscular arms. The muscles in the arms and abdomen were painstakingly clear and well defined. As strong as the figure looked he would never have those legs. Below his waist would remain as absent as the creator’s mind. “Why bother even trying?”

The question startled the artist. He stood up again and kicked the stool over. The eyes of the legless figure had more life in them than the artist’s own. The last time he dared look in a mirror his face was vacant. He looked dead. He might as well be. The dark roots were showing

through greasy, bleached hair. His lips were grey.

“Leave me alone!” he warned them.

He stumbled out of the workshop, falling to his knees on the sodden grass as he missed the last step. He looked back up. The statues would always be there. They would always mock him for the ridiculousness of their existence. David Finn’s career as an artist was all but over.

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All roads lead to the same place in the end.

Vibrancy.Colour. Bold shapes. The world is filled with art if only we are to look. But what happens when the world begins to lose that brightness? What if all you can see are haunting images? What if you try to tell those closest to you and they just don’t understand? They don’t understand your pain. They don’t understand you.

What if you used to be someone but the rainy days have washed all of that away and all that is left is pale, formless?

You can rise up to the top again but the shadow in the background wishes to hold you back. It suits the shadows purposes to keep you down.

There’s nothing more so you might as well embrace the shadow. It watches you always anyway so shine a light on it and get a clearer view of the face. It it the face of past regrets. It is the demon of a childhood best forgotten. Embrace it. Feel the pain. All roads lead to the same place in the end any way. Show your soul to the world and become the greatest living artist this city has ever known.

Vivika Widow’s latest thriller MUSE is available HERE.

Free for Kindle Unlimited users.

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Character Profile: Julia Harvester

Features in: MUSE

Age: Nineteen

She may have broad shoulders but the responsibility of the farm that fell on her after the old Harvester became ill was immense.

Jacob Harvester didn’t want the farm life for his daughter. She could have been a doctor, a lawyer. She could have been anything but Julia gave it all up to protect her family legacy. Thankfully the Harvester brand has thrived in recent years. Now the meat and dairy trucks can be seen all over the Shady City.

Shackled to the family farm by an over bearing investor as well as her loyalty to the farm hands Julia had lost all hope of ever escaping. That was until she met artist, David Finn. He saw something in her. She inspired him and in turn he inspired her. He helped her find the confidence she needed to break loose.

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She is warm, friendly and has an attitude to life that seems a little naive. Be careful though. Underneath her seemingly innocent persona dwells a fire that could easily get out of control given the right motivation.

She is often found close to the man who offered her father new life, Dr Winslow. She owes him everything. Not only did he save her father’s life but he also saved the farm and all those on it but when motives against her family legacy turn sour Julia’s loyalty will be tested to the limit.

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Vulnerable? Unworldly? Or one to be watched closely?

Learn more about our titular MUSE

Click HERE to read the full story.

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The Unveiling

David‘s art has been his life for as long as he can remember but like most artists he aimed for a perfection he couldn’t possible achieve. We should learn to love the imperfections. Their unique breakages, bruises and scars are beauty in their own artistic way.  David wanted perfect.

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Seeking perfection in an imperfect world leads David down a dark path. He is an empty shell. No matter what he does he cannot recapture his former glory when he was one of the most sought after artists in the city. His work was presented in some of the most prestigious galleries. Now they have stripped him bare they want nothing more. He’s not that man anymore. He is empty. Alcohol, stronger drugs – none of it brings the same high or dulls the pain of having peaked so early. The girls he has sex with are empty shells too. They are looking for pseudo affection, to numb their own pains for their own reasons.

Julia is a good girl. Obedient and dutiful she is a simple girl and has lived her entire life on her family’s farm. It was never meant to be her life. Her father didn’t want the farm life for her. She had other dreams and aspirations. But when her father falls ill the entire Harvester family legacy is in jeopardy. Julia is forced to make a decision. She gives it all up to maintain the family farm. Under tyranny the Harvester brand grows but her humanity depletes.

When a washed up artist sees what his new muse is can truly be everything changes. With the keys to unlock a tortured past, David’s work has the chance to become bolder, more striking and better than ever. Will his muse lead him to greatness or will he fall at her feet as his world around him crumbles.

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Find out by clicking HERE. Vivika Widow’s latest thriller Muse is available now. (Free for Kindle Unlimited users).

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Check out other titles in the Shady City thriller series by clicking HERE.

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The Knock, Knock graphic novel series is free to read here on Vivika Widow Online. Click HERE.

If Gothic horror is more your think check out the Red Snow series. Click HERE.

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