Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith

Though this book is clearly within the realm of young adult fantasy, the author’s afterward lets us know how much of this novel was inspired by both real events the Jews encountered in the early 1900s and fairy tales/mythology. It follows two Jewish sisters growing up in the woods of Dubossary, and its historical origins gives it more of a literary feel than a more traditional fantasy.

For instance, the two sisters in the book, both approaching adulthood, encounter real historical events: the pogroms of Ukraine and Russia happen in the book, as does the anti-Semitic belief that Jews would take and use the blood of non-Jews for their own purposes. The book also uses extensive non-English vocabulary, such as Yiddish (there is a glossary at the end), which helps give it a realistic, historical feel.

Spoilers (sort of—we learn this rather early).

One sister, a bit plumper than the other, darker haired, grittier, is actually a shape-shifting bear. The other, blonde, airy, light, is a swan. Their Mami and Tati have to leave at just the right moment when all hell is breaking loose, which happens to coincide with their daughters having identify crises stemming from their animal sides.

So obviously, the book will require a suspension of disbelief. The events are based loosely on history, but the shapeshifting draws on the mythology and folklore of characters, such as (but not limited at all to) Zeus and the swan. If you are unwilling to read such fantasy, the book may not be for you.

I did enjoy how the two sisters’ writing styles helped to differentiate their personalities. Liba, the bear, speaks to us in long, complicated, earthy paragraphs, whereas her sister speaks in sparse, airy lines of verse to mimic her bird features.

I liked the flavor of the book. Some of the characters spoke as if they were from a different place and time, which I enjoyed. But the main character Liba sometimes seemed to slip into more modern expressions. While I believe this would make a modern YA reader understand her a bit more, it did break my emersion from time to time.

The pace was a bit slow. It took me several dozen pages to immerse myself in the book as I tried to figure out “what it was,” but its uniqueness pulled me in.

I did find myself wanting to finish the book, but the ending was somewhat of a let-down for me. With all these built-up supernatural events and characters, and the disappearance of Liba and Laya’s parents for the majority of the book, I was hoping for more to be revealed at the end. But in the final scenes, all the characters seem to be wrapped up relatively neatly in tidy gift-wrapped bows. I have mentioned in my reviews before that I often prefer darker elements, so this may be a personal preference. It was not exactly a “happily ever after” ending, but given the circumstances, it was close.

As someone with a sister, I did enjoy the bond of sisterly love. I just wished for more of the darkness of the forest, the fruit orchard, and the goblins, which were mentioned, but not enough to quench my thirst. I enjoyed the book more than I found fault, however, and I am glad I read it. Its mythological and folklore elements will stick with me for a long time.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt was created using a random generator. Use these five words in a writing: suntan, paint, waterfall, inflation, exposure.

This week story comes from Chiara. Chiara is currently quarantined in Berlin, Germany, and doing her best to catch up with semi-abandoned writing projects.

Inspiration

by Chiara De Giorgi

You’ve probably heard of the “writer’s block” before. I’ve never suffered from it. Not one time. My inspiration is always sharp and present, come rain or shine.

Except the one time when it was not.

It was a supremely unusual feeling, and a supremely annoying one too. Where had my inspiration gone? Why play hide and seek then, of all times?

I had acquired a lovely cabin in the woods, facing a waterfall. Since it needed refurbishing, I had bought three cans of paint and spent an enjoyable three days painting it anew, inside and out. I hanged laced curtains at the small windows, threw knitted blankets and pillows on the sofa, put a brightly colored, woolen carpet on the floor. I spent the days on the porch and gained a perfect suntan. With no exposure to the media I forgot everything about elections, economy, inflation, and other equally worrisome news from the outside world.

One night I talked to the fire that was crackling in the fireplace. I was cradling a glass, half full with red wine, and moaned. “Where is my inspiration hiding?” I asked.

“It was never yours”, the fire replied.

Since the half full glass was my fourth, the fire talking didn’t bother me in the least. “How do you mean?” I asked.

“Inspiration is a free creature, a living creature. She goes where she wants, not where she’s wanted – or needed, for that matter. You may try and call on her, though. What do you want her for?”

“I’m not sure”, I confessed. “I guess I’m just waiting for her to come to me.”

“And why would she?”

“I don’t know. She’s done that before.”

“Maybe you’ve done something to upset her and now she’s eluding you.”

“Maybe. I’ve no idea, though. But I don’t think so.”

“Maybe you don’t need her, then.”

“Of course I need her! How can I write, without her?”

The fire crackled a bit, before answering.

“Do you remember what the world is like, outside this cabin?”

I grimaced. “I try not to. So many problems.”

“Exactly. And how is it here?”

I smiled. “It’s great! I wake up every day to the smell of pine and the sound of birds chirping and water falling. I love every minute of my days here.”

“So, maybe the people out there need inspiration more than you do. Don’t you agree?”

“Maybe…” I whispered, unconvinced. “But what about me? How will I write again?”

“Well”, crackled the fire, “I guess you’ll have to make a choice. Stay here and live in your dream world, or go back and write about it.”

I pondered its words for a couple of seconds, then gulped the rest of the wine. I didn’t answer.

“So: which one will you choose?”

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt was created using a random generator. Use these five words in a writing: suntan, paint, waterfall, inflation, exposure.

Today’s post is written by Phil Yeats. In December, 2019, Phil (using his Alan Kemister pen name) published his most recent novel. Tilting at Windmills, the second in the Barrettsport Mysteries series of soft-boiled police detective stories set in an imaginary Nova Scotia coastal community is available on Amazon.

Ticky Tacky

When I was a young man in university, I imagined I’d make enough money to guard against inflation eroding my nest egg and killing my dream.

And my dream? To sail to a tropical island where I’d live in blissful isolation. Not a coral atoll where the maximum elevation was four feet, and I’d constantly fear exposure to global warming and sea level rise. No, I dreamed about an isolated spot on the flank of an extinct volcano where I could paint a waterfall and maintain an all-over suntan.

It didn’t work out that way. When I awoke from my university dream, I found myself in suburbia with a house, a wife, and two kids. If you want the gory details, you can look up the words to Malvina Reynolds song Little Boxes. It describes my lifethe one I lived, not the one I dreamed.

 ‘Little boxes on the hillside

Little boxes made of ticky tacky

Little boxes on the hillside

Little boxes all the same’

  

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

Today I’d like to welcome Carla Vergot to my Writer Wednesday feature. I greatly enjoyed her first novel and was excited to learn that her second book (the sequel) released yesterday–no foolin! She is also a wonderful human being who took the time to chat with me over coffee one day and also to talk to my creative writing students as well. Please check out her links at the end of the post to learn more!

Hey, friends! I’m so excited to be sitting here, tapping the keys, taking a minute to visit with y’all. This has been an awesome but hectic week. My publisher and I launched my second book on March 31—Book 2 in the Lily Barlow Series titled Lily Barlow: The Mystery in the
Mangroves.

The desire to write has been in my veins since elementary school. The skill to write has been there since college. But the time to write…that didn’t present itself until 2016 when my husband gave me the gift of a sabbatical. I put in for a one-year leave of absence from teaching special education at Fairfax County Public Schools, and that’s when it all started.

I did a series of things to position myself for The Year of the Book. I connected with a critique partner. We established a writing schedule and made a writing space in her home. I entered contests to get some initial feedback. I got my feelings hurt upon receiving the feedback. I eventually stopped listening to the feedback, and instead, I wrote my story. When the
sabbatical ended, I was so in love with the job of writing, I resigned permanently from teaching and started the next book.

I’m a slow writer. I do an incredible amount of re-writing as I go. I might change one sentence
20 or 30 times before I move on. That first year, there were days when I wrote for a solid
eight hours and produced barely 250 words. I’m talking about legitimate writing, not that
kind of writing you do when you’re really goofing around on social media.

That was the first book. I was faster and better at it for the second, because, well, that’s
what 84,000 words will do for you. Do your craft, and you get better at doing your craft,
right?

I love my first book (Lily Barlow: The Mystery of Jane Dough). It represented a big
achievement, the product that forced people to stop using air quotes when referring to the
“book” I was working on. But, no matter how much I love LB1, I have to admit that LB2 is
better. Which is funny to me since I wasn’t even sure I had a second book in me. I didn’t know
if the storyline would hold together, or if the characters would stay authentic, or if I had any
ideas left.

Now that LB2 is launched, I’m itching to start LB3. My plots weave elements of romance, comedy and mystery, and I borrowed the genre “romcomstery” to describe it. I don’t know where book 3 is headed. I have a couple of action items that need to happen, but how those things come about is up to the characters.

Book 1 starts in Marshall, Virginia, when Lily Barlow comes home from UVA to get her family’s bakery opened after her dad’s heart attack. That’s when Lily thinks she has identified a murder victim online. Meanwhile, she believes her landlady is caught up in something nefarious. Oh, and there’s the little matter of Jack, her best friend since kindergarten, who suddenly wants to start dating. In book 2, Lily and her friends take a short trip to the Florida Keys, looking for the identity of the murder victim, only to uncover a different mystery.

If that whets your appetite for more, join me in my Facebook group, Carla Vergot’s Back
Porch, or on my website, CarlaVergot.com. I’m also on Instagram @carla_vergot, and I love to
connect!

The world is under stress. The news is grim. Panic is contagious.

I, like many parents, am finding that I now have to work from home and watch my little ones full time. Though I am saving commute time, overall I find less downtime, less time for me. This can be frazzling, especially for an introvert like me.

So this week I have tried to focus on finding joy in the moment. I find it’s best to get through times of uncertainty one day at a time. If I try to plan out too far into the future, I lose my mind. After all, we can only control our reactions to situations, not necessarily the situations themselves. At least, not situations of this magnitude.

So today, I thought I’d celebrate this state of mind by sharing some of the moments I was able to capture with my children.

The first is—sorry—a little gross if you’re not a bug-lover. I was taking the kids for a walk when my daughter discovered a muddy puddle from the rain the day before. She knelt down studying the puddle, and at first I felt the annoyance rising up in me. After all, children take forever to do anything, and I was trying to get our cardio in for the day. Stopping to stare at a puddle certainly does nothing for heart rate, right?

mitesBut then she started getting excited. “Look at those little things. Are they ants?”

I couldn’t even see what she was talking about. But indeed, there was something tiny in the puddle. The picture below is the best I could do with my phone (while trying to keep the toddler out of the road—in case a car did decide to come by). The whole collection would fit on less than half of a dime.

A Facebook quest among friends led me to later learn they are likely clover mites.

The whole incident reminded me how short-sighted our rushed lives are. There are amazing things happening all around us. Who knew a thing like clover mites exited, and could be observed by the casual eye?

For the next few days, including today, I tried to be more observant of my surroundings. Watching my young kids takes energy. They aren’t old enough for me to “tune out,” and the toddler certainly can’t be left alone for more than 30 seconds (with my back turned, he dumped out a bag of potato chips all over the table that had our mail on it, then dumped out a pretzel canister that was almost empty. One of my dogs ate the pile of salt from the carpet. All this while I was literally upstairs for 30 seconds getting my daughter’s water cup).

So during the hours that I must be vigilant about watching and interacting with my kids, I thought I’d look for the magic in the world.

In the process, I:

-saved a worm while filming a virtual lesson for my class (the worm was struggling to find its way off the pavement after the rain)

-observed a bird’s egg newly hatched on our lawn

-watched the way my dogs’ behavior changes from one hour to the next and detected patterns and quirks that will help make my next installment of Corgi Capers stronger

-Shared with my daughter the way bark from a chopped tree trunk peels off like pretend bacon (for playing pretend cooking) and how worm-trails, spider webs, and ants can be found on the bare wood. Such beauty in nature:

-discovered how everything seems more magical after a rain

-witnessed nature’s whimsical side, as an early-morning cloud and budding pear trees looked more like a winter landscape than a spring one. How easily the mind can switch the white buds with snow-laden branches.

-Watch the calming effect a small campfire can have on even the most rambunctious child

In some ways, these first few weeks of social distancing have made me feel like a Transcendentalist. Every time I studied the Transcendentalists with my students, I was a little jealous. I had never had, nor could I imagine having, the time and means to live the way they did, shutting themselves from society to find some sense of inner peace and connection with the universe.

And now, though the global circumstances are not pleasant, I find myself being thrust into a similar situation. I am having the time to de-clutter, to notice details, and to strive for a sense of balance.

In the words of Thoreau: “I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

Like so many, I am home/working from home in social isolation to hopefully prevent the spread of COVID19. I must admit that as an introvert, being stuck at home is sort of nice (obviously, it would be much nicer if it were a) voluntary and b) without the threat to humans across the globe and constant fear of the invisible danger.

But I realize not everyone is an introvert like me.

At first, my daughter was thrown off by being pulled out of preschool. She was disappointed and lonely (in her words) about not being able to see her teachers or friends. It even seemed she blamed herself for having to stay home (“If I promise to wash my hands, can I go to school again?”).

From time to time in our play, she would pause and frown. When I’d ask what was wrong, she’d say something like, “At school when this happens, so-and-so always tells a joke about a racoon laughing” (or some other preschool quirk). It was clear that a hole had opened in her life that had been filled with her friends.

And now what?

In the first few days, I (like most) was burdened with anxiety. There are so many unknowns about COVID19 and its impacts. Mostly, my fear of getting sick and not being able to take care of my kids. One day in particular, my corgi Yoda would not stop barking, trembling, or clinging to me. And my son, who had been sleeping through the night, woke up four times with nothing wrong except for seeming unsettled.

Their unsettled behavior was my wake-up call. Soon, I realized that it was up to me to make this a positive experience for my family. From the next morning on, I made efforts to look at the positive, to remind family members how glad I was to have so much time together with them. I even played up the fun of staying in your PJs for as long as you want (which my daughter took literally and now wears PJs all the time!).

But as the days went on, she stopped talking so much about her school and her friends. Though they come up from time to time, she echoes my outlook now, saying things out of the blue like, “I love you” and “I’m so glad we have time to play this game together” and “my brother and me are becoming good friends.” Positivity certainly is contagious.

The other night we read a book called “My First Book of Girl Power,” about some of the superheroes, like Wonder Woman, Bat Girl, Super Girl, etc. Each superhero has a power that real girls (or boys, or anyone!) can adopt, like strength, wisdom, knowledge, magic. Okay, well maybe that last one is metaphorical. But with each superhero, I talked about the strength highlighted and how my daughter could demonstrate that strength in her life.

At the end, she sat with a profound look on her face. Then she got up and wrapped me in a hug. “Mom,” she said. “Do you know who my superhero is?” There was a pause. I started to choke up, but then I realized she was probably going to say something wacky, like the joke about the laughing racoon that seems to be circulating through her class.

“Who?” I asked.

“You,” she said, wrapping me tighter.

It meant the world to me. It was needed reinforcement of a lesson we too easily forget. We are all so connected, even in isolation. It’s easy to forget how our actions or lack of actions impact others. Perhaps a benefit of the world being put on hold is the gift of time—time to think, to reach out (from a safe distance, of course!), to make connections.

Because you never know whose hero you’ll become.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt was created using a random generator. Use these five words in a writing: suntan, paint, waterfall, inflation, exposure. This week’s prompt comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kidlit mystery series.

Like so many, Val is at home in social isolation with her family during these strange times, which serves as inspiration to this prompt. She wishes the best for readers of this post, and for everyone around the globe.

Childhood

By Val Muller

She was on the way to work when she got the call. It was a strange conversation, sounding at first almost like a telemarketer, but the voice on the other end sounded determined, somber. Not the careless, detached way telemarketers often sound.

After she hung up, the words echoed in her mind. Possible COVID-19 exposure. Self-quarantinde for 14 days. The symptoms, shortness of breath, trouble breathing… those were happening now, already. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Those were symptoms of stress, too, and what was more stressful than that phone call?

She was instructed to pick up her children from school, and the man on the phone—she’d already forgotten his name. It had letters in it, she remembered that. Maybe an R? Or a B, perhaps?—was going to call her husband as well to make him aware of the situation.

Her phone buzzed again, and she pulled to the side of the road to get a handle on things. It was a text from the boss. The whole office had been exposed. They had known, hadn’t they? When Mary came in wheezing and coughing… she said it was just allergies. And they believed her, though their nerves had been set on edge.

And what were they supposed to do? Start a witch hunt against anyone who sniffled?

As instructed, she called the school. She was to have a teacher escort her children out of the building and to her car. She was not to enter the school building, or any building, until she had spent 14 days symptom-free.

The kids were thrilled. She shook her head. Boys. They asked if they could order fast food using their app. She considered this. The app allowed payment online. The food would be brought to their car. She nodded in a daze and let them order.

After lunch, they asked if they could spend the day in the basement playing video games. In her shock, she allowed it. On the phone, the school secretary disclosed rumors that schools were likely shutting down soon, anyway, so the boys wouldn’t be missing much in-class instruction. She didn’t tell the boys that, of course. Let them have this day to be carefree. They were old enough now—grades 4 and 5. This event would likely mark the end of their childhood.

And how would she spend today, the last day her boys were children? At first she panicked at the computer, ordering a delivery of groceries while fielding texts from her husband about his preparations for coming home to telework for the next two weeks. Then she cleaned out the refrigerator and freezer. They would be in this for the long haul, it seemed.

Then she headed for the entryway closet. Cleaning always calmed her. It gave her something to do, a goal. She started with the winter clothes. They were likely done for the season. Spring had come early, it seemed. She packed all the hats and gloves and scarves into the plastic sleeve and tucked the sleeve on the top shelf. Something was wedged back there, preventing the sleeve from fitting.

It was the box of paints. She’d bought it for the boys when they were younger, hoping they’d pick up her love for art. But they took instead to video games and sports. She took the paints and closed the closet door.

Outside, springtime acted like the world was not in a global panic. The birds chirped as if they had never heard of a virus. The sun warmed her skin, and she felt the suntan already bronzing her bleached winter skin as she set up the small wooden easel on the picnic table.

The neighbor’s line of pear trees were in bloom, fuzzy white against a clouded blue sky. In their rock garden, they had turned on the little waterfall that pumped a stream of water so that it trickled over a pile of rocks.

This was zen. So she picked up her paintbrush to capture the moment. Tomorrow would bring what it would, but for now her boys were living a peaceful childhood moment.

And as she dabbed at the paper with bits of white on blue, so was she.

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

 

Friday was my second day home from work after my district, like so many other schools in the nation, announced a closing that would encompass “at least” the next two weeks. The first day off, I made arrangements. Made sure we had a full fridge and freezer. (No, I didn’t buy toilet paper ?). Made sure I had activities for the kids for the coming weeks. I caught up on day-to-day chores like dishes and laundry.

The second day, I tackled what I call “summer chores,” household projects I used to do over the summers before I had kids. Putting up shelves. Rearranging and organizing. It was during my cleaning of the kitchen/entryway that I saw my lunchbox. I keep it out on the counter for most of the year, since I use it for daily lunches at work, except I put it away during the summer when I’m off, and sometimes over winter break.

Without thinking, I put the lunchbox away in the out-of-the-way cabinet I store it in over the summer. It wasn’t until later that I realized the significance of that. It was me mentally letting go of my job for at least a little while. This is not to say I dislike my job or am glad to be on an involuntary break. I do actually enjoy my work. And as a teacher, it does take effort to let go of the momentum I’ve built up over the year and worry about how (if directed) we will put content online and even begin to replace the day-to-day goings-on of the classroom and the publications I run. But I’ve read enough articles about the pandemic to know that letting go, for now, is the best course of action.

My family often spoke of my grandmother’s parents, who perished in the Spanish Flu epidemic a hundred years ago. It orphaned my grandmother and her siblings, and that changed the course of her life, and not for the better. Reading about how the current closures may prevent such a thing from repeating really got me thinking.

So while some friends and colleagues are panicking, today I found great optimism in the fact that the nation is mostly shutting down, or trying to, anyway. We are shutting down preemptively, in hopes of cutting down on the spread of the virus. In this action is great hope, not the despair of shutting down on the other end of the pandemic, when it is a last-resort. This is a shutting down when most are still healthy, to spare the most vulnerable, not a shutting down in fear that we may be next.

Putting away my lunchbox was an acknowledgment of the fact that, despite my belief in my job and its importance, there is something greater, something greater than most things, and that is considering the lives of others. It’s not blindly following the words of a leader or an expert; it’s simply thinking of fellow humans.

I waited a day to upload this post because I wanted a night to reflect on everything. We are, after all, living history right now, and it’s a bit absurd to wrap the brain around.

I forgot today is March 14, or 3.14, “Pi Day.” Normally, in my English class, I try to introduce the novel Life of Pi on or around this date. But in the disruption of the closures, I had forgotten. My family normally celebrates Pi Day by baking a pie. I didn’t want the closures to break this tradition, so I rummaged in the freezer, not wanting to head to the grocery store for something frivolous. Luckily, I had half a pie shell.

Pi day pieI searched the Internet and pieced together a chocolate pie from several recipes using elements I have on-hand while the kids ran around the house and yelled and fought. When all is said and done, the pie looks just okay but tastes great, rich chocolate sauce layered with pudding and melted marshmallow sauce (and topped with more chocolate, of course. Because can there ever really be enough?).

I have heard so many parents complain about having to be home—quarantined, essentially—with their kids without being able to leave their house/neighborhood, and as a parent I do know how hard it’s going to be. But I look at the pie I made, a hodgepodge of ingredients I scraped together, and although it might not look the best, it works.

I’m hoping it’s a metaphor for the next month or two. With grocery lines and shortages, mild panic and political criticisms being thrown left and right, things don’t look the best right now. But I think deep down, there is something sweet going on, and that says more about humanity than the panic and mudslinging. And it’s that element I hope history will remember.

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story or poem using the following words or images: memory, mist, moonlight, mosaic, mask.

This week’s story comes from Chiara De Giorgi. Chiara dreams, reads, edits texts, translates, and occasionally writes in two languages. She also has a lot of fun.

Kiss this right

by Chiara De Giorgi

There’s a memory I chase,

One which times threatens to erase.

We were kissing in the moonlight,

It was on midsummer’s night

And the wind blew soft and warm

Who could foresee the storm?

Quick the mist surrounded us,

Sudden chill clung like a mask

To our bodies and our minds.

Still today the terror finds

Its way to my poor, weak heart.

Did I think it would not hurt?

Then the memory gets shattered,

I don’t know what I remember.

It’s like an old-fashioned mosaic,

Like a page with splattered ink

And to this day I cannot say

Why the kiss did break away.

Have I dreamt or have I lived?

Was it real, or have I wished?

Once a year’s midsummer’s night

Maybe I can kiss this right.

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a story or poem using the following words or images: memory, mist, moonlight, mosaic, mask.

This week’s contribution comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s novel, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, is available from her locally or on Amazon. MISTER WOLFE, the sequel, coming soon! As well as MY BROTHER, THE WOLF, the last of the series.

***

“Mistaken” by Cathy MacKenzie

Mist masks

Memorable memories

But moonlight

Magnifies

The mosaic—

Moody,

Muddy.

Mortuarial.

 

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/