Manuscripts Away!

I have now sent a sci-fi manuscript in Danish to one publisher and an urban fantasy manuscript in English to another. Also, just today I sent three poems to a webzine. If I just send enough out to different places, someone has to publish something, right?
I’ll post an update with much dancing and woohooing, if anything is accepted 😉

Do any of you know of publishers in USA or the UK who accept unsolicited manuscripts? If you do please let me know.

All the best!

Inspired by the Moody Comic (or Amaryllis)

Not long ago, I read this SMBC comic.  It made me write this sonnet.

 

Every day I look forward to seeing

Your shape beneath the yellow fever trees

For a short moment, I feel you freeing

This heart within me my chest seems to squeeze.

Sighing, I admire the dappled sunlight

Kissing your pink blushing tips and your leaves,

And though my clumsy descriptions will slight

I weave in my mind what my eye perceives.

And as I compose, I find new colours

In your trumpets facing every which way

Has every part been described by scholars?

Or have you kept some secrets to this day?

Oh belladonna, you enrapture me

Scentless, your curving petals capture me.

Amaryllis belladonna

 

 

Where did the Time Go?

My calendar says June, but that can’t be right. I submitted the last post in February and I said I would see you in March. So that means it must be March now, right?

Sooooo, what has happened since?

I sold my flat and moved into the ground-floor and basement of a house with my boyfriend and three other people. So now I only have to make dinner once or twice a week, and I can play Zelda on my roommate’s Nintendo Switch, when he’s not using it.

I still work at the same firm, but I was moved to another department, because a third department was not meeting their deadlines.

More recently, I have been writing a lot.

“But Beatrix,” you might say, “you haven’t posted anything since February!”

I know, I know. That is because I have written two short stories for a competition, then two poems which I submitted to two different magazines, then another short story, which I’m going to submit to a third magazine when I’m all done…

The problem is that if I want anything I write to be published by anyone other than me, then I can’t put it on Abolg. So after thinking about that for a bit, I’ve decided that this blog will have to change a bit. And when I say a bit, I mean a lot.

 

 

You may have noticed that I used my real name above and not my pseudonym. I’ll keep using my real name from now on, since it will make it easier for people to find me.

I won’t delete all my old posts, but I won’t post any new poems or stories unless I’m absolutely certain that I don’t want them to be published anywhere else. Instead I’ll make more real-life-update-oriented posts about what I’m working on, where I’m going, maybe interesting things I’ve seen. I’ll make sure to tell you if/when something is published and where you can find it. But if I don’t have anything interesting to say, I won’t post anything, which means updates will be “when something happens” instead of “twice a week”.

I want to thank you for reading and commenting my posts up until now. It was really nice to not just write for myself.

I hope you’ll find it interesting to follow me in this new way as well.

All the best,

Beatrix M. G. Nielsen

 

 

Moving

I’m moving out and selling my flat after having lived here for almost seven years.

It’s going to be new and exciting!

But between packing all my books into boxes and showing potential buyers my flat, I haven’t had much time to write.

Next week I’m going skiing and might write in the evenings, but regular updates will have to wait until I’ve settled in.

So if not before, I’ll see you in March! 🙂

In The Mind

storm_by_bokor-deviantart

(Credit: Bokor on DeviantArt)

Her mind grew dark

As the wind picked up.

The growing storm

Threatened to pull

Strands of consciousness

From her head.

She went down deep

To a cavern

Where the water was completely still

And clear

And bottomless.

On the shore,

With her candlelit thoughts,

She waited for dawn.

Restless

never-sleep-tim-etchells

(Credit: Tim Etchells at timetchells.com)

A veil of mist has been drawn over the city tonight.

Cold droplets settle on my face.

I should go home and sleep.

Neon signs scatter emeralds and rubies on the water.

I wish I could take the gems with me as restless legs carry me over the bridge.

I need sleep.

A murder of crows are emptying trashcans and fighting over the spoils.

They whisper their advice, but I know they don’t mean well.

I should sleep,

But my legs are still restless

And my thoughts won’t leave me alone.

A Sunset

colorful-clouds-sunset-hdwplan.jpg

(Credit: hdwplan.com)

It should be red, she thought, and turned towards the sunset.

But the clouds were lilac with a rosy lining. The sky was light blue then yellow, which turned into a deep orange at the horizon. As a plane drew a pink line across the sky, the blinding sun brought her a surging symphony of fond memories.

Her heart swelling, close to bursting, she closed her eyes and saw on the back of her eyelids a burning circle and the face of someone, whom she would have shared all her sunsets with, if only things had been different.

When the sun was halfway below the horizon, it finally turned red, and in its bloody light she shovelled the last spadeful of dirt onto the grave.

Alone On A Beach

Sharp rocks Rykardo DeviantArt.png

(Credit: Rykardo on DeviantArt)

The wind brought in a fine spray from the sea, which settled on her bare arms and made them sticky and salty. After a long day of beachcombing, she withdrew to a small cave, where she roasted crabs and apples over a fire and licked the salt from her lips as seasoning.

She was cautious when she climbed further inland, and she never went into the water. The rocks were slippery with algae and most of them were sharp enough to cut flesh.

However, she did not resent the traitorous rocks.

They kept the people away.

Layers

peeling_paint_by_darkcrystal1209

(Credit: darkcrystal1209 on DeviantArt)

Scratching at the paint with a red lacquered fingernail, I wonder whether I will ever see the original wood again.

Notwithstanding the flaking, the desk is white all over, and maybe it is even white all the way through. Could it really be that there is no wood, only layer upon thick layer of paint and varnish?

I am determined to find out, even if only a woody skeleton will remain in my study.

With foaming Ajax, I attack with first a sponge, using the rough side, then steel wool. Powder is washed from my hands, but I ignore it even when my nail breaks. Sweat makes mascara run into my eyes, but it is only a small distraction. A small distraction from something that I have wanted to do since forever. Or at least since I gave it my own layer of paint.

I feel that I am getting closer with every layer lost.

Closer to that real, original thing, which must be there.

The carpet soaks in water, paint and make up.

The legs grow thin, as my lipstick smears.

I must be getting there and soon.

The small drawers are already gone.

My hands and knees dissolve.

Is that my hair?

What is left?

I am.

Nothing

 


With help from www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts

We Meet Again

My old nemesis writer’s block has reared her ugly head.

Do you know any good writing exercises which might help me chase her off?

Or maybe some inspiring artwork?

Please let me know.

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