I thought I would give you a bit more of Ivan .....

Ivan

Ivan sat with his back pressed against one of the megaliths that made up Pentre Ifan, up in the Preseli Mountains in West Wales. It was this place that gave him his name.  One translation was ‘Village of Ivan’. It was were his parents had met all those years ago, now having buried his mother and his father having long since departed from this realm, he chose this point in his life to go on this personal quest to.  He had just turned forty; his once dark hair was slowly being peppered by grey, which only seem to highlight the vivid icy blue of his eyes.  Any amount of women past, said his eyes where as cold and unfeeling as he was.  He had now buried the only women who truly seemed to understand him; he took this quest upon himself to do some long hard thinking.  Somehow, inexplicably, which rankled him, he had an urge to be at this place. He had never walked to the burial ground before, passed it and heard tales of it.  But until now he had never been here.  He had heard tales of fairies and of the Dolmen being a gateway into another realm.  As a cool and logical man, this held no water with him. Where was the evidence of such tales? It was however a calm and relaxing place.  The blue sky was scattered with mackerel scale clouds, the sheep bleated in near by fields and over head could be heard the call of a buzzard as he soared the air looking for his prey. Maybe it was the fact this place was sheltered up in this exposed mountainous place that gave it its esoteric appeal.  Maybe this is why the ancestors of these hills had chosen to bury their dead here, a solace, with fine commanding views over Cardigan Bay and the Preseli peaks around. Shouldering his pack, he made his way back down the Nevern and the pub where he was staying.

On his way down he came across a rocky pool, there were mossy rocks, with green feathery ferns growing out.  Tufts of grass grew between the rocky boulders; scurry creatures could be heard within the secret holes.  He sat on a rock by the pool. Taking his boots off his dipped his toes in the water, watching the mountains around him reflected in the water, creating a web of beauty and intrigue. He was lost in the moment of it all, feeling like he could dive into waters and be up in the sky with mountains all at once. Where earth and water seemed to become air.  So lost was Ivan in the illusion of it all, he almost failed to see the sun beginning to dip in the sky, between a gap in the mountains, the sky was beginning to get a pink tinge, and the air started to turn quite chill. It was only the chill wind on his bare toes, which brought Ivan out of his reverie and made him aware he was still a long way from warmth and shelter. The wind was picking up and the air smelt faintly of rain to come.  Sinking his feet back into warm socks and dry boots he stomped off down and towards the welcome bar and warm fire at the journeys end.

Spring equinox - 21st March its release day!

I have taken the final leap, and yesterday I agreed a release date, you can find where to buy it here , well at least be able to buy after the 21st of March.

I am all excited now, watch out for #Samplesundays on twitter. You can follow at @KJ_author




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My Bio

Bio

“One day you will write your own book, just let your heart guide you”. Those were the immortalised words of my teacher in the 5^th Year of Primary School; I was 8 at the time.  I’d just had a short story published in the school magazine, and won a prize of a book for my privilege. I knew I had wanted to write since I could write sentences.  28 years later I am realising that dream.

I am a wife, a mother of two and owner of 2 cats and 1 dog.   One of my cats seems to make certain that I stay sat at my laptop long enough to get at least some words down every day, in a way only a cat knows how. I had avoided the urge to fulfil my dream because of lack of self-confidence.  Then fate started to impose its views; over the last few years I have become disabled by a condition known as Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, POTS for short. It basically means my body does not like standing up; as a result it makes me lie back down again, often in dramatic and swift ways.  On bad days even making a cup of coffee is a challenge, trust me this challenge I would crawl over red-hot coals to achieve!  It has meant doing the other things I have done in the past, have become impossible.  I was wondering what direction I should send my life in. Then in 2010 I got some gentle, and not so gentle encouragement to write. I partook in Nanowrimo, and this event had the equivalent effect of opening Pandora’s box. Now there is no going back, I am officially addicted to writing.

There are many things that influence my writing.  The fact I now have to use a wheelchair and can no longer run and play with kids, go walking or even go shopping easily! Also the places I have visited, and the people I know. I also have many hobbies and I am generally a creative person, so you never know what you may come across in my writing, spinning wheels are after all for spinning and not pricking your finger on!

Another version

MK - given up which mark we are on now :D

MK2 image cover

Image cover first draft

This is the first draft for the image cover of my forth coming book; a compilation of short stories. The image is where one of the stories starts out from, a place called Pentre Ifan. It needs some more work, but am quite pleased with myself for achieving this far.

An insight into Ivan

I am passionate about many thing, tarot being up there with the best of them. I have created a short story using some randomly drawn cards, using the properties of these cards to shape the story, with a little bit of artistic license to draw the story on.  This is an exert from the short story, can you tell which card he is?

Ivan sat with his back pressed against one of the megaliths that made up Pentre Ifan, up in the Preseli Mountains in West Wales. It was this place that gave him his name.  One translation was ‘Village of Ivan’. It was were his parents had met all those years ago, now having buried his mother and his father having long since departed from this realm, he chose this point in his life to go on this personal quest to.  He had just turned forty; his once dark hair was slowly being peppered by grey, which only seem to highlight the vivid icy blue of his eyes.  Any amount of women past, said his eyes where as cold and unfeeling as he was.  He had now buried the only women who truly seemed to understand him; he took this quest upon himself to do some long hard thinking.  Somehow, inexplicably, which rankled him, he had an urge to be at this place. He had never walked to the burial ground before, passed it and heard tales of it.  But until now he had never been here.  He had heard tales of fairies and of the Dolmen being a gateway into another realm.  As a cool and logical man, this held no water with him. Where was the evidence of such tales? It was however a calm and relaxing place.  The blue sky was scattered with mackerel scale clouds, the sheep bleated in near by fields and over head could be heard the call of a buzzard as he soared the air looking for his prey. Maybe it was the fact this place was sheltered up in this exposed mountainous place that gave it its esoteric appeal.  Maybe this is why the ancestors of these hills had chosen to bury their dead here, a solace, with fine commanding views over Cardigan Bay and the Preseli peaks around. Shouldering his pack, he made his way back down the Nevern and the pub where he was staying.