Can you ever go home? | Greta van der Rol

I went “home” a few years back, when my son was younger and my oldest daughter a toddler. We were there for a couple of days to attend the wedding reception of someone who used to be my best friend at high school.

The town was the same. My mum lives in a different place now so we had to meet her in the park where I used to while away hours by reading under a tree… the park was the same, but I wasn’t.

The Wedding Reception was stuffed full of familiar faces. Most of the kids that I’d been ignored by as a teenager were there as adults. And yes, they ignored me again. I had no connections with anyone. Even the tentative connections with the bride and her bridesmaids (my other best friend and someone who I used to talk to a lot) were so thin that they almost broke.

Home is where the heart is. My heart isn’t where I grew up anymore. Even if I could live anywhere in the world, I wouldn’t return there.
The place I get homesick for is where I went to Uni and even that is fading now. The place that I want to be is with the family I have created for myself.

You can’t GO home. You carry it with you; it’s where you are at that very moment.


I’ve just been over at Pauline Baird Jones’s blog, where she wrote a post entitled You can go home again. It’s a fun read, that got me thinking. Did I agree? No. No, I don’t…

Source: Can you ever go home? | Greta van der Rol

Writing communities matter

Kira Morgana:

Authonomy taught me a lot about myself and a whole lot more about writing… it also showed me my greatest weakness – procrastination!

Originally posted on Today's Author:

A few weeks ago,  the writer’s site announced that it will be closing its cyber doors. I was a member there for nearly six years and met some amazing writers in that time. It was a great place to connect with the like-minded for critique and friendship and I’m hoping we find a way to keep our community together in some meaningful way in the future.

In the meantime, I want to highlight some of Authonomy’s success stories, with the understanding that we all define success differently. These people have taken what they learned on the site and created something tangible in the real world. There’s no way to mention everyone, so consider this a sampling of the many gems the site was able to uncover.

Most Likely to Succeed

John Booth – “Authonomy was a major part of my writer’s journey. It was the place where I found…

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Exciting news…

… well, it’s exciting for me anyway!

TTATE Collection (1)

The Tower and The Eye: A Quintology is now in Print! It’s a big book; over six hundred pages, but within that lie five stories of derring-do, so the price tag is well worth it.  It’s currently available through Lulu – here.

If you feel like getting a signed copy, pop across to Facebook and check out my Author Page there. Contact me via Private Message and we can chat about it.

If you want the e book version, it’s available on amazon – here.

Here’s a quick Excerpt so that you can see what you’ll be buying… I hope you enjoy!

* * * * *

“You idiot, Erendell, there’s a guard post behind the wall! They’re…” The Mech broke through the last of the wall. Behind it stood four massive two headed dogs, drool dripping from between their six inch fangs as they growled at the party from atop a wooden platform.

“…waiting for us.” Ariana shook her head ruefully. She deactivated the Mech with a flick of a finger and a small magic pressure before it could start to dig into the platform.

Erendell backed up quickly and bumped into Grald. The barbarian dropped Arnhammen to the floor and spun to catch the elf as she fell. Aranok jumped back to avoid being knocked over. Grald set Erendell back on her feet and moved back slightly, loosening his sword in his scabbard.

“What the…?” Aranok asked, glancing between the Hell Hound and Ariana.

“No time now, Brother, we need to get out of here!” she replied, turning to run back down the tunnel.

“Going somewhere?” a voice drawled languidly from the shadows.

Arnhammen scrambled up and hurled himself between the surprised mage and the rest of the tunnel.

Ariana produced a mage globe and lit it with a gesture. It flared bright white and lit the whole tunnel revealing a figure wearing luxurious, deep red velvet, in the form of a hooded robe, its face in hidden by the shadow.

“That’s a little too bright, young human,” the voice said. “Here, let me dim it for you.” The figure made a motion with a gloved hand and the mage globe changed to a pale yellow light. “That’s much better.”

Aranok found that he couldn’t move. Neither could Ariana, Erendell or Grald.

Arnhammen pulled his mace from its sling and growled, “Get ye gone from this place, Unholy One. Get ye gone in Tyr’s name, lest ye taste His Wrath through mine Holy Mace!”

As the dwarf invoked Tyr’s name, he struck the weapon against the floor and it burst into deep blue flames. The figure shrank back from the mace as Arnhammen advanced on it and the hood on the robe fell back, revealing the figure’s face.

Aranok gasped “Liana!”

“No, Half Human. I am the Lych Mistress, Keeper of this Dungeon that you shall soon languish in,” the elven woman replied harshly. “Seize them!”

Around them ten women appeared, all dressed in skimpy tight leather outfits with high-heeled boots. They seemed to have no weapons but their long fingernails were filed into points and their long hair was plaited and tipped with blades.

“Ye shall never take us, Unholy One, for no matter who ye be, the power of Tyr be far greater!” Arnhammen roared and charged at the Lych Mistress.

Four of the women dove on the dwarf and he bashed them away like so many flies at the end of a horse’s tail. They slammed up against the walls of the tunnel, disturbing the solidifying spell so that earth crumbled around them. The women screeched, showing sharpened teeth.

Arnhammen ignored them and attacked the Lych Mistress again. This time his mace made contact and the elven woman screeched and disappeared in a flash of blue light.

The rest of the party found they could move again and, drawing their weapons, attacked the other six women. The first four attacked Arnhammen again, trying to get close enough to scratch him. He smashed two of them to the ground, caving their skulls in like melons, the pink-grey brain matter and shards of bone splashing over the dirt.

Ariana loosed fireball after fireball at the two women who attacked her. She took the first one’s stomach out with a single shot and only just managed to cremate the second one, before she had her eyes scratched out. She fell back against the wall gasping, and dragged a vial bearing the pale green fluid of a mana return potion from her belt pouch, downing it in one gulp.

The moment Erendell could move, she pulled out her long daggers and whirled on her assailants without thinking. The speed of her attack surprised them and two stabs later she was free enough to help Aranok, who was having problems keeping one woman at bay long enough to kill the other one.

“You always were faster than me in melee,” he panted as he managed to slice the hand off his attacker and ran her through smoothly.

“Yes, but you can fight for longer; I tire too easily,” Erendell snapped. “Careful!”

Her foe had slipped around her and had jumped at Aranok’s back, obviously intending to take advantage of his distraction to slit his throat from behind.

Erendell sliced through the back of one shapely knee and as the woman dropped to the floor, slammed her other dagger down through the enemy’s skull, the point of her dagger emerging from under the woman’s chin.

Ariana joined Arnhammen to take out the last two, having recovered her breath, and between her fireballs and his mace, they managed to beat the women into the ground, where their blood turned the dirt into mud and their flesh roasted as their clothing burned.