My Wonderland

So, while we’re on the topic of creepy, and since we've already had a spotlight on Kaedyn the ghost magnet, and me the possessed, let me introduce you to Dante...or Gemma? Dante is sweet. Dante is clever. Dante is also, apparently, not from around here... Let’s rewind to when Dante was three. This tiny human toddles up to me one day and, with all the casual confidence in the world and says: “My name is Gemma. I was shot. I was fighting in a war.” I’m sorry, WHAT?! He dropped that bombshell like he was telling me what he had for lunch. Meanwhile, I was standing there like a ghost had just slapped me. Of course, woo-woo me kicks in immediately. I ask questions because my curiosity has piqued. Which war? When? Where? How? I don’t get all the answers. But he mentions Halloween. That night, I’m lying in bed, and this has been sitting with me all day so naturally I google... Halloween...war! The Vietnam War began on November 1st. Yep. Halloween, almost! I didn’t go digging through milita...

Alright, besties...light a candle, grab your crystals, and grab your trusty cat or dog to protect you, these will get a little creepier over the next few days if your into the spooks. It’s time to let a little of the crazy out into the air. You might think I’m totally nutty by the end of this (or just nuttier than usual), but hey—what’s life without a little supernatural spice? Let’s talk about Kaedyn. Now, if you know my kid, you know he’s sharp. But what you might not know is… I’m convinced he has a sixth sense. Legit. I’ve always believed that when you lose one thing, you're gifted something else. Some unseen force steps in to balance the scales. And in Kaedyn’s case, it’s the veil. The other side. The woo-woo realm that none of us can explain. He doesn’t see them much now. Thank God, but when he was younger, he saw things. And not the "oops I left the laundry basket in the hallway and scared myself" kind of things. No. Real things. The kind that makes your arm hairs s...

 I’ve tried...I have tried so fucking hard this year to stay calm and assume the best. To smile and nod and be the understanding parent. I told myself, maybe people just deliver things differently. Maybe it’s tone. Maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s me. So I let things slide m ore than I should have.  Because I wanted to believe the people around my son,  the ones entrusted with his growth, his education, his self-worth... were doing their best. And then came the comment. “Why did you write a book if you can’t read it?” To a disabled child... MY  child. You said that out loud and thought… what? That it was clever? Funny? That it would teach him something? The only thing it taught was that adults in positions of power can be cruel as fuck  regardless of age. Kaedyn is not soft. He has lived through things most people can’t even imagine. And he turned it all into a book... A real book. A beautiful, powerful, soul-bearing book. A book that empowers children...

I’ve hit 40,000 words and... No one’s been naked.  No one’s been pinned to a wall.  No one's been fucked, choked, or moaned against ancient stone. And yet I am emotionally devastated. Because I’m writing a slow burn.  Not “we kissed in chapter two and had sex by chapter four but we waited so it still counts.”  No, I mean aching. Yearning. Soul-level longing through prison bars. Meanwhile, the market?  It wants spice.  It wants dirty talk, thrust counts, and thigh-gripping  Fae who know exactly what to do with a willing mouth and a moss-covered log. And here I am… Terrified that if I don’t give the people what they want, if I don’t slide some smut between my battle scenes, I’ll close the door to a whole readership. That my books will be passed over for not being horny enough. And let me be real with you...every indie author I’m friends with writes smut. Every. Single. One. And that’s totally fine! I’m not here to judge what anyone writes, I’ll happily b...

 Well, today was chaos… the good kind. The kind where you're sprinting between appointments like a travelling circus act, but somehow it all works out. And by the end of it, your heart is full, your kid thinks he’s a rockstar ( he is ), and you’re somehow still functioning despite running on absolutely no caffeine. But let me backtrack. Because before we talk about the magic of today’s new OT session, there’s a shadow that deserves its own spotlight first... On the way to Little Bodies, Kaedyn asked me a question about his old beloved OT. “Mum, why do you like Julian so much?” How do you explain a person who didn’t just do their job? They changed your life? Julian wasn’t just Kaedyn’s OT. He was part of our family. He still is! We all hold so much love for him, his wife, and his kids; they are every shade of warmth and brilliance. He showed up. Not just physically, but mentally, emotionally, practically. Kind. Grounded. Generous with his time, his memory, his spirit. ...

There was a time when therapy felt like war. Not the inspirational movie kind. The real kind. The one with screaming, resistance, heartbreak, and me standing in the hallway taking deep breaths as I fought back tears, telling myself this is good for him. Kaedyn has hated therapy more times than I can count. And honestly? I’ve tried to black out most of those sessions.... #PTSD But this year… something changed. Kaedyn started asking questions, and so we started having some pretty big conversations. The kind no parent really wants to have but knows they have to . The ones that pull no punches and leave your heart sore for days. “If you want to walk, buddy… you have to want it. You have to fight for it. You’re allowed to hate it—most people would. But five or ten years from now, you could be walking with a frame, or a stick, or maybe even unaided. That future? It’s yours to shape. We’ll help you, but we can’t do it for you.” I didn’t think it had sunk in. He’s 11. His world revolves ...