Here you have it. The (hopefully) long awaited seventeeth chapter of Blue. Enjoy. xx
“Hayden?” Currie called out quietly from their bedroom door. Her voice was more a whisper-yell, and it carried crisply down the hall against the dark-wood floor. When he appeared, peering with a humongous grin from around the nursery door, Currie couldn’t help but smile at his glittering eyes. He was smug as he walked quietly down the hall, his index finger to his lips before he giggled, shutting his eyes, his skin wrinkling and creasing around them in amusement.
“They’re both asleep…” he whispered, coaxing Currie into their bedroom before he shut the door.
“What?” Currie laughed, shaking her head in disbelief and looking, as if through the walls, towards the nursery. Sunday afternoons were usually lazy prior to Sunday dinner with Lyle and the rest of the crew, but they didn’t generally enjoy the luxury of two napping kids.
Happy Hump Day, my loves. Let’s have a chat.
Ever since my stomach ulcer has returned and my PTSD has flared over the last three months, I’ve allowed myself to be fairly introspective. I feel like pain and heartache aren’t thrown into our lives for no reason, and I don’t think that those who have less of it are any less wise. However, I do find them lucky.
If you know me at all, you know that over half the reason I have a Manhattan zip code is because it’s my heart’s desire to one day be a paid, honest to goodness, career novelist. Technically, I’ve haunted the Upper West Side for around seven months of this year, and while I don’t claim to be any more used to the city I’m falling so in love with, I do claim to be wiser from my time here.
Recently, my inbox has been flooded with messages about my writing: why I’ve stopped, why my stories seem to be on hold, when I will update, and so on. Honestly, I wish there was a straight answer. Here’s my attempt.
I write my soul. One of my favourite quotes about writing is from T.S. Eliot who says, “The purpose of literature is to turn blood into ink.” I believe that so earnestly it brings tears to my eyes if I focus on it. Because my heart’s been a little broken, it’s been hard to have words come flowing from it. I hope you can be understanding of that, and I also hope that you are happy and feel good with me when I say that I’ve decided, brokenhearted or not, I’m going to barrel through and fucking write my heart out because some days it feels like it’s all I have. That said, please expect updates to “Blue.” If you’re not familiar with my story “Blue” or it’s prequel “Fire Red”, I encourage you to become familiar with them. They’re on my blog, and I’ll be updating as often as I can, even if I am working fifty hours a week. Love to you all. Thanks for believing in me always. And thanks to all of you who’ve been endless encouragement throughout my rough patches. You’ll have to continue to give me your patience when it comes to my updating of the story “Pinot for the Roses”. I’m still living it, so it takes some time to write it all down.