Myths, Magic and Matresence

My youngest daughter was born in late December last year, and I had barely written a word during my entire pregnancy. Anxiety loomed in the back of my mind for months, dousing any creative spark I might have had. We had a few scares where we thought we had lost our baby, and a narcissistic family member overshadowed a lot of what should have been a joyous year.

I knew I wanted to get book two of the Trinitor Chronicles down on paper, but it was like rubbing sticks to start a fire, yet my imagination refused to ignite. As the birth drew closer, I threw myself into one thing that always managed to clear my head by keeping my hands and head busy; crochet. Christmas blanket crochet to be precise. In the space of six weeks, I made two and now when I looked at them almost a year later, they hold the magic of memories past. A tired, sore, scared me. A festive, quiet Christmas with a tiny newborn, my four-year old and husband.

After our second daughter was safely earthside, and we returned home on Christmas Eve, I felt like the weight of the world was off my shoulders. The narcissistic parent was, for now, no longer a burden, and the hazy cocoon of being freshly post-partum wrapped around me. The house felt cosy, despite the searing Australian heat outside, our baby girl and I were safe and well, and we literally nothing planned for nearly six whole weeks.

Maybe it was sleep exhaustion, hormones and taking it easy, that had me turning scenes over in my head. I'd listen to my writing playlists whilst rocking our little one to sleep, and steadily, the need to write came creeping back like an incoming tide. I had forgotten how much newborns slept, so I carved out time with my laptop on the couch or on the bed, typing away. It felt like a release, a transformation. Like a flickering ember of me before pregnancy and birth was still there, I just had to protect the flame.

I treasure the time when I wrote Dawn Sky Rising. It feels raw, emotional, in a way that Night Sky Burning never could have been. Now, ten months later, our littlest is on the move, exploring in every nook and cranny that she can. I have less time to write, but the fire is burning bright. For now, the notes app on my phone is more than enough to jot down what I need to.

Thank you for reading my first blog post! Whether you're a fellow indie author, or a cherished reader, welcome. It's lovely to have you here.

Much love,

Hayley

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