Friday, August 28, 2020

Jacqui Murray's "Against All Odds" ~ The Final Book in Her Crossroads Trilogy


Last November I read a fascinating book
with a most unlikely heroine:  Xhosa.


Her name should be your first clue
that this is no ordinary heroine.  

I love a fierce story
with a strong female protagonist,
and Jacqui Murray delivered
an unforgettable one in Xhosa
in Survival of the Fittest.

Not only was this novel a great read,
it filled my geological and paleontological heart.
It was the first book in Jacqui Murray's Crossroads trilogy,
a series set 850,000 years ago during a time in prehistory
when man populated most of Eurasia.

I loved that Xhosa was a female Homo erectus.
Homo erectus is considered the most long-lived of all the hominid species 
and lived throughout most of the Pleistocene Epoch,
appearing about 2 million years ago and lasting until 50,000 to 100,000 years ago.

Right now I am anxiously waiting for the doorbell to ring
and a thud on the doorstep as the last two books in Jacqui's trilogy arrive:
Volume 2:  Quest for Home, and
Volume 3:  Against All Odds.


The final volume, Against All Odds, was just released,
and when these two books arrive,
I am going to have one fabulous prehistoric binge
reading all three volumes back to back.

I know this will be a great adventure, because Survival of the Fittest was excellent:
a great story, unforgettable characters, and a wonderfully recreated Pleistocene world,
grounded in careful research and scientific fact. 

Courtesy of Jacqui Murray

A lot of readers might not be so concerned with
Jacqui's careful research and the scientific foundation for her books,
but one of the passions in my life has been paleontology,
and I have long been fascinated with the history of humankind.
I am extra critical of prehistoric books and movies,
because too many of them are ridiculous.
Jacqui's prehistoric writing delights me and definitely meets my smell test!

Working on a Duck-Billed Dinosaur (Edmontosaurus) 
Me Volunteering, Fossil Lab, Denver Museum of Nature & Science
Denver, Colorado, USA
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

Summary of Against All Odds:
A million years of evolution made Xhosa tough but was it enough? She and her People finally reach their destination—a glorious land of tall grasses, few predators, and an abundance that seems limitless, but an enemy greater than any they have met so far threatens to end their dreams. If Xhosa can’t stop this one, she and her People must again flee.

The Crossroads trilogy is set 850,000 years ago, a time in prehistory when man populated most of Eurasia. He was a violent species, fully capable of addressing the many hardships that threatened his survival except for one: future man, a smarter version of himself, one destined to obliterate all those who came before.

From prehistoric fiction author Jacqui Murray comes the unforgettable saga of a courageous woman who questions assumptions, searches for truth, and does what she must despite daunting opposition. Read the final chapter of her search for freedom, safety, and a new home.

A perfect book for fans of Jean Auel and the Gears!

Courtesy of Jacqui Murray

One thing that I particularly appreciated about Xhosa and the other characters
was how authentic they felt, like like they were truly H. erectus
and not more modern people fitted into a Prehistoric mold.
The way Murray has her characters functioning in this long ago time,
their rudimentary culture, their communication, 
their ability to adapt and survive in a violent and treacherous world, 
was a marvelous construction of how alike and unlike they are from modern H. sapiens.
I thought Murray's use of smell as a form of communication was brilliant!

A Model of the Face of an Adult Female Homo erectus
Hall of Human Origins in the Smithsonian Museum of Natural History in Washington, D.C.
Reconstruction by John Gurche; photographed by Tim Evanson

Jacqui answered some questions
about her latest release and the Crossroads trilogy:

What is the meaning of the term “People” (and why is it capitalized)?
The label “People” applies to a collection of individuals with shared common experiences, culture, and beliefs. Why is it capitalized? Because it is the proper noun for the community, like “Americans” or “Englishmen”. In general, capital letters denote Xhosa’s respect for the species and belief that they are equal to her. You’ll see this with many animal names, also.

How do you know these People are as smart as they seem?
Just to be clear, because these predecessors to man lived long before recorded history, scientists have no definitive evidence of their intelligence. We do get hints of its excellence, though, from their toolmaking. The complex thought required to create their stone tools (called Acheulean), the variety of tool types (cutters, choppers, handaxes, cleavers, flakes, scrapers, and more), and their aesthetically pleasing and functional forms make many paleoanthropologists believe Homo erectus was cerebrally smart. A 2017 study mapped the brains of students as they recreated these same tools and it showed that the work required higher-level motor skills and the ability to ‘hold in mind’ information—much as you do to plan and complete complex tasks (the study compared it to playing Chopin on the piano but I have no idea about that).

A Cordiform Biface as Commonly Found in the Acheulean (replica) 
 Didier Descouens ~ 2010

You used “said” in the books.
In this trilogy, “said” is generic for communicating. It could be verbal but is more likely to be gestures, body language, or facial expressions. I also often use “motioned” and “gestured” to indicate hand signals that communicate their words.

Their speech is surprisingly erudite.
As a species, Homo erectus lasted far longer than any other Homo species for a reason: They were not only highly intelligent for the day but made use of rich communication skills. Their sophisticated tools, especially the symmetry of the hand-axe, suggests to many scientists that they could use sophisticated communication. Because the capacity to “speak” with voices remains a hotly-debated topic, with opinions divided on whether the “speech” part of their brain—that allowed them to speak—was evolved enough for verbal words, I present communication often as body language with limited speech.

A persuasive argument of why early man didn’t want to talk with his voice is that these sounds are noisy and unnatural. That attracts unwanted attention from would-be predators. For these primordial humans, far from the alpha in the food chain, being noticed wasn’t good.

Homo erectus, Sterkfontein Caves exhibition
Flickr ~ Photo by Flowcomm ~ Licence

During this Time of Covid I am delighted to help 
my IWSG buddy spread the news about her new book.
Jacqui is one of those people who blows me away with her accomplishments.

She is the editor author, and co-author
of over 100 books, including
the popular Building a Midshipman,
the story of her daughter’s journey
from high school
to United States Naval Academy,
the Rowe-Delamagente thrillers,
and the Man vs. Nature saga. 

She is also adjunct professor of technology in education,
blog webmaster, an Amazon Vine Voice,  a columnist for NEA Today,
and a freelance journalist on tech ed topics.

Look for her next prehistoric fiction, Laws of Nature, Book 2 in the Dawn of Humanity trilogy, Winter 2021.


So, if you're looking for a great read, I definitely
recommend all of the Crossroad trilogy from beginning to end!
Happy reading!  

Additional Information about Jacqui Murray
and her Crossroads trilogy:

For Map Lovers Like Me:

An epic journey as Xhosa travels from Africa, through the Levant, 
across Europe, over the Pyrenees, to Spain

Book information:
Title and author: Against All Odds by Jacqui Murray
Series: Book 3 in the Crossroads series
Genre: Prehistoric fiction
Publisher Structured Learning LLC, 2020
ISBN 1942101449, 9781942101444
Length 314 pages
Subjects Fiction › Historical › General
Available digitally (print soon) at: Kindle US   Kindle UK   Kindle CA   Kindle AU

Jacqui's Social Media contacts:
Amazon Author Page:

Book Trailer:

Chapter 1

The foothills of the Pyrenees

They came out of the mountains, hair frozen in sparkling strands, hands and feet wrapped in shredded pelts, ribs etched against their skin under ragged hides white with snow, faces haggard with fatigue. Blood crusted scrapes and gashes, many recent, others almost healed, reminders of the violent struggles endured on their journey.

Though their steps flagged, not one of these upright creatures exhibited a hint of defeat. All males and a few females carried at least one spear, some two, many with warclubs strapped to their backs. Despite the anxiety and fear of entering this foreign land, hope energized them today, that their migration might be at an end.

All of them—Xhosa and her tribe, Pan-do and his, Wind, Zvi, and Seeker—had been chased from their homes by enemies. In their flight, they found each other. It took time to work through their differences but now they traveled side by side, respected ideas not theirs, and called themselves the People.

Their charismatic Leaders—Xhosa, Wind, and Pan-do—were known as reliable friends to those who earned their trust and dangerous enemies to those who opposed them. Two wolves—Spirit and Black Wolf—journeyed with them. Though the People lacked the animals’ sharp claws, dense fur, and piercing teeth, each considered the other “pack” and would defend them to death.

The exhausted group straggled down the gently sloping flank, feet shuffling carefully over the slippery scree. The ground changed from talus to stunted tufts of grass, sparse and brown which made walking easier. Optimism shone from their faces even as their tired eyes flicked side to side in search of unexpected movement, ears strained for out-of-place noises, and noses sniffed.

Rather than continue across the meadow, Xhosa led the People into the shade of the edging forest.

“Do you smell it, Wind?” Anticipation filled her gestures.

She and Wind, pairmates as well as Co-Leaders, stood quietly, absorbing their surroundings. Light filtered lazily through the canopy, the shadowed ground dappled with patches of warmth. She sniffed in the essence of wet earth and rotting leaves, the mustiness of moss, and something else much more enticing.

“It’s there.” She pointed and strode forward, lengthening her stride.

An icy gust whipped down the hillside through the shadows and raised bumps on her arms but she ignored it. The forest gave way to open sky and searing heat. It was too hot for her thin pelt but she didn’t stop to remove it. Green stalks swayed as far as she could see, edged on one side by more mountains and the other by some sort of leaves and branches. Sunlight glinted off the rippled surface of a distant river as it curled over the terrain.

“Dung!” The scent overpowered every other odor.

Wind huffed to her side. “It’s been a long time since we smelled dung that wasn’t frozen.”

“We did it, Wind.” Her eyes glistened with relief.

For most of a Moon, dread gnawed at her courage and left her wondering if following the guidance of Seeker—a boy barely a man—was a mistake. But Seeker assured her in his ebullient way that once out of the hills, their new homebase would welcome them. Xhosa wanted to believe him because she wasn’t sure what else to do. Nor did she know what to do if it didn’t work.

Wind motioned, arms inclusive, “It’s beautiful, Xhosa.”

Siri, Pan-do, Ngili, the wolves Spirit and Black Wolf, and the rest of the People gathered around Xhosa and Wind, eyes locked on what lay in front of them.

Pan-do whispered, “We made it.” His eyes were moist, mouth open.

Ngili, the People’s Lead Hunter, motioned, hands close to his body. “With all this grass, Gazelle or Mammoth must be nearby.”

Dust, the Lead Scout, trotted up, coming from a tall cliff far ahead on their forward path. “I think there are caves there.”

The People hadn’t slept in a cave since leaving Viper and the Mountain Dwellers. It would be a treat if true.

Xhosa looked behind. Shadows already stretched as far from the bottom of the rocky slopes as sunlight to the top. Daylight would soon end.

“We don’t have much time. Let’s rest and then see if those are caves.”

Ngili, the People’s Lead Hunter, motioned, fingers spaced out, palms up, “I’ll go with Dust to check.” He added a swift spread-fingered swipe with first one hand and then the other, followed by a quick bob of his head and a puff.

Xhosa brushed both hands down her sides. Go.

The People spoke with a complex combination of hand motions, facial expressions, body movements, and sounds augmented with chirrups, snaps, hisses, and whistles. By the time Ngili finished talking, Xhosa knew how many would join him, where they would go, and how long they’d be away. The People’s communication was sophisticated but quiet, a precaution especially in unfamiliar areas. Unusual sounds—voices, for example—stood out. All animals made noises but few as varied as the People’s. Why alert Others who lived here to their presence? Xhosa would do that in her own time, in her own way.

Dust, Ngili, and two scouts soon receded into the landscape, the only evidence of their passage a slight disturbance in the slender waving stalks. Despite the dung scents, the abundant plant food, and the glisten of a faraway river, Xhosa crossed her arms over her chest and paced.

Something is wrong.

She searched the forests and the rippling field that had swallowed up Dust and Ngili . Xhosa possessed the ability to see great distances in sufficient detail to find trails, footprints, movement, or the glitter of sun off eyes.

She saw none of those and that made her more uncomfortable.

With this wealth of food and water, Others should be here.

Wind motioned, palms flattened against his chest, “The mountains we crossed touched Sun. They’re cold and barren. Few can do what we did to get here, Xhosa. We are safe.”

Xhosa could hear in his voice, see in his gestures, that despite his bravado, Wind too felt uneasy about what they didn’t see and hear.

But she grinned. “I don’t know how I survived without someone being able to read my thoughts.”

She trotted over to a stream that fed into the river she had noticed. She stretched out on her belly, flat on the soft grass at the water’s edge, and took a long, satisfying drink of the sweet liquid. Thirst quenched, she collected handfuls of the tender shoots of new plants growing along the shore, ate what she wanted and tossed the rest into a communal food pile that would be shared with all the People. It was already filling up with fat fish speared from the slow-moving pools beside the river, tasty reeds and cattails, and even a handful of eggs plucked from nests not hidden well enough along the shore and in the roots of trees. The wolves snapped birds from the air and swallowed them almost whole, coughing up feathers.

Xhosa leaned back on her hands, sniffing the unique fragrance of each groupmember. Zvi was sweaty from wrestling with Spirit. Siri smelled sourly of hunger but she wouldn’t eat until Honey’s bleeding foot was wrapped in mulch and leaves. The females with new babies exuded the pleasant aroma of milk. Some scents jumbled together making them impossible to identify. When Xhosa became Leader of the People, before it merged with Pan-do’s and Hawk’s, the People had been small enough that she could recognize everyone by their odor. Now, she kept track of her tribe while Pan-do did the same with his. Wind helped everyone.

Done eating, the People sprawled on the warm ground, soaking up Sun’s remaining rays, chatting contentedly with gestures and the occasional sigh. Water dripped from their thawing bodies, soaking into the thirsty ground, as the remaining ice and snow on their pelts and in their hair melted away.

Xhosa and Wind sat apart from the others, on a log long ago softened by rot. She uprooted handfuls of grass and wiped the sweat from Wind’s body, as he did hers. The soft scratch felt good and the earthy fragrance reminded her of times long gone. When he finished, she harvested chunks of green moss from the log’s decaying bark and stuffed them into her neck sack. All the People wore one of these around their necks. Even the wolves did when they were migrating.

Finished, she leaned against Wind and closed her eyes. In a group of Others, her pairmate stood out. A Big Head, the People’s traditional enemy, the ones who drove Xhosa and her tribe from their long-established home, Wind had earned Xhosa’s trust by saving her life more than once and then, as a member of her People, sharing Big Head spear tricks and warrior skills with her Leads. Before long, each of them individually told her that thanks to Wind they could now defeat an attack which they couldn’t have done in the past. Whatever distrust her People harbored toward him faded away.

“Xhosa!” Dust panted up to her. “I found a cave. And we found trace of a herd. Ngili is tracking it.”

By the time Sun settled into its night nest, the People were ensconced in the cave Dust found. They had to squeeze together to fit but all were thrilled to sleep without waking to frozen toes and numb fingers. Stone and Zvi—the burliest of the People—lugged rocks in and Siri built a fire that quickly warmed the interior. The subadults gathered kindling to feed it and arranged who would be responsible throughout the night for keeping it lit.

Usually, the wolves slept scattered among the People but with Black Wolf close to delivering her pups, she dug out an opening in the back and claimed it as her den. Then she settled to her belly, one leg forward, the other bent back, eyebrows twitching.

Xhosa strode toward the nest she would share with Wind but stopped at the sight of Seeker, weight on his bottom, legs crossed in front of his body in the uncomfortable position he preferred. His pairmate Lyta curled next to him with their best friend, Zvi.

Xhosa approached Seeker. “You are not outside.”

Every night as long as Xhosa could remember, the enigmatic male lay on his back, gaze fixed steadily on the star-dotted sky, spouting what to Xhosa sounded like gibberish to whoever listened. Intermittently, he leapt to his feet and spun dizzying circles or bounced from one foot to the other, huffing and chirping. Lyta and Zvi would either join him or watch. He once explained to Xhosa that this was how he studied the changes in the night sky—the appearance and disappearance of particular stars or their movement in relation to each other—so he could guide the People accurately. This nightly process was how they had moved from the distant start of Endless Pond to this cave where Endless Pond seemed to end.

He didn’t respond to her statement, didn’t even acknowledge her. That worried Xhosa. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that danger lurked around them, somewhere. Seeker’s anxious look didn’t help.

She squatted at his side and added a question to her declaration. “The stars aren’t talking to you?”

To the side, Lyta wriggled, not comfortable in the seated position Seeker preferred but determined to try because Seeker liked it so much. Zvi crouched on the balls of her feet, the more traditional pose. She’d tried to sit on her bottom, legs crossed in front, but kept falling backward. Besides, it took her too long to rise from that position which meant if Lyta needed help, she couldn’t respond quickly. Squatting, for her, made more sense. Seeker didn’t care. He expected all to do what worked for them. Both his best friend and his future pairmate were long accustomed to his eccentricities.

Finally, Seeker offered Xhosa only a confused frown.

That’s not a “Yes they are,” and that raised the hair on her neck. Before she could ask more, Ngili scrambled through the thistle barrier the youngsters had placed around the cave’s mouth to prevent the entrance of intruders and hurried toward Xhosa.

He motioned, “I lost the herd’s trace in the dark. I’ll try again tomorrow,” and then raced toward where the hunters had gathered. They were all tired. Some would mate before sleeping but not Ngili. He hadn’t given up hope that his pairmate, Hecate, would come back.

After a final glance at Seeker, Xhosa joined Wind in their nest. She squatted behind him and teased the dirt and debris from his long head hair, occasionally focusing on a difficult tangle until her fingers could move easily through his hair. When she finished, he did the same for her.

As he groomed, he said, “I’ll join Ngili tomorrow. If there are herds, we will find them.”

“Pan-do and I will continue with the People.”

They said nothing more, both enjoying the calming feel of nails scratching on their skin and the intimacy of someone they trusted implicitly. Done, both fell asleep.

The first rays of daylight filtered into the cave. Black Wolf was already outside, padding back and forth restlessly, huffing uncomfortably. Wind left with Ngili and a handful of scouts, knowing Xhosa would leave a trail to wherever they settled when Sun’s light ran out. Though Spirit usually went with the hunters, today he stayed with Black Wolf.

Xhosa and Pan-do led. Dust copied their pace and direction but a distance away. With Ngili and Wind searching for meat, Xhosa focused on finding a cave large enough for the People. They strode onward, gaze sweeping the landscape, everyone grazing on berries, roots, and worms as they walked. Sporadically, Xhosa heard a faraway squawk or glimpsed a covey of birds as they exploded into flight, fleeing an unknown threat. It was the direction Ngili and Wind had gone, and told her how far they’d gotten.

The People rested by a waterhole. They searched its shoreline for prints but found none. Wherever the herds lived, they didn’t drink here so the People moved on, through copses of young saplings and around a bed of haphazardly-strewn boulders. The air tasted of flowers, warm earth, and the mild tang of salt, but the dung they found was hard and old.

Xhosa touched Pan-do’s hand and both stopped, eyes forward. “Do you smell that? It reminds me of Endless Pond.”

He pointed to his strong side and the direction they were walking. “From there and there. How can it be on two sides?”

Xhosa tingled. One of her People—Rainbow—had abandoned them long ago, taking many males and females with him. Others she and her People ran into while migrating here told her Rainbow traveled the same route she did but along the opposite shore of Endless Pond. For him, as for her, this was as far as he could go without folding back on himself.

If they got this far. If any survived.

She pushed aside those thoughts. Before searching for whatever remnants remained of Rainbow’s group, the People must find a homebase. All they suffered to get here—the interminable walking, the loss of Hawk, the death of groupmembers, Nightshade’s treachery—was for naught if they didn’t establish a home.

Spirit bumped her leg. Black Wolf panted at her mate’s side, her belly almost touching the ground.

Xhosa motioned, “Your mate’s pups won’t wait much longer. We will find a den for her.”

Spirit took off, his movements graceful and fluid with Black Wolf lumbering after him.

Not much later, Pan-do squinted ahead. “I think Spirit found a cave.”

Xhosa leaned forward, narrowing her gaze, and finally saw where Spirit stopped. He sat on his haunches at the base of a cliff, facing her, nose twitching, tail swishing the dirt behind him.

It took the rest of the day to cross over the craggy scrubland, up and down the deep ravines, and around the occasional spot of slippery ice. The cave proved too small for the People but not for Black Wolf’s needs. With much scuffling and panting, she created a nest for her pups and disappeared into the cool dark hole. The People settled outside, under an overhang that would protect them from rain and predators, and far enough away to not bother the new mother. As soon as Ngili and Wind arrived, shaking their heads that they hadn’t found a herd, they left again to search for signs of a trail left by former inhabitants of this cave.

Xhosa’s chest squeezed and her stomach knotted. Spirit padded up to her side, hackles puffed, nostrils flaring. He agreed. Something about this area made her tingle but for now, until Black Wolf finished, they must stay.

Friday, August 14, 2020

Too Many Sparks of joy

I wish I had never binged on Marie Kondo on Netflix.
I've been on a tossing out, organizing binge.

"Start with clothing," she said.
"Hold each one and see if it sparks joy.
If it doesn't, thank it, and discard it."

Done.  Easy Peasy.
Clothes aren't my thing.

"Next books," she said.
"Hold each one and see if it sparks joy.
If it doesn't, thank it, and discard it."

Terry found me crying downstairs today, surrounded by piles and piles of books.
What do you do if every book you hold sets off a sparkler of joy?

"I can't do this," I sobbed.  "I love my books.  They're my friends.
They're down to an irreducible minimum."

Understand that I have been thinning out my books for years.
I have literally donated thousands and thousands of books in recent years.

"You don't have to give away your books, honey," Terry said.
"We'll find room."

But I do.  I'm determined to winnow more out.
Marie said that when you eliminate things that don't spark joy,
you make space for the life you want to live.

Since I doubt I'll ever have that vast dream library with mahogany shelves
from floor to ceiling crammed with books and sliding ladders to move to and fro,
I'll be back at it tomorrow, trying to find the books with the smallest sparks of joy.

Meanwhile I've been cheering myself up with a few book funnies!

I'm afraid my eyeballs look just like those of Buddy above.
Time to call it a night.

Take care!  Be Safe!  Have a great weekend!

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

On the Bay of Fundy
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Friday, August 7, 2020

Congratulations to Chrys Fey and Her New Book!

My awesome blogging buddies know I am a big fan
of the Insecure Writer's Support Group (IWSG).

In the spirit of giving back to the IWSG,
today I am congratulating fellow member Chrys Fey on the release of her latest book:
Keep Writing with Fey: Sparks to Defeat Writer's Block, Depression, and Burnout.

Not only is Chrys the author of great fiction and non-fiction books,
she is an editor at Dancing Lemur Press which publishes the IWSG anthologies, 
and she is a moderator for the Insecure Writer's Support Group on Goodreads.
She does so much for IWSG members, so I'm happy to cheer her on!

As I write this post, I've read about half of Chrys's book.
It arrived a couple of days ago when my husband brought in the mail.  

"Oh, look who's bought another book!"
Terry said, as he waved the Amazon package at me and shot me The Look.

Ignoring The Look, I quickly tore open the package and began reading.
I was not disappointed.

Catching the first spark, I said to Terry, This is a good book."
Three or four sparks in I added, "This is a really good book." 
Then I jumped to Spark Seventy-two and exclaimed, "I love this book!"

Writing Sparks and Creative Fire
August 8, 2015
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved

And I do! 
By now I have carefully read about fifty-five of Chry's eighty-one sparks
and skimmed through others, and I can't wait to read the entire book thoroughly!

 Image Provided by Dancing Lemur Press

Chrys has a clear, compassionate, and sometimes funny voice,
and I felt like she was speaking directly to me.
She is someone who has slashed her way through the thorny thickets
of writer's block, depression, and burnout and come through.

As someone who has hacked through those same thickets,
it was refreshing and hopeful to read her words.  Hopeful,
because the thing about those thorny thickets is that they keep springing back.
You think you have them firmly tamped down, you turn around,
and there they are, sprouting rapidly again.
Chrys gives you effective tools to combat and control those nasty thickets.

I love the structure of the book, with its eighty-seven sparks
to inspire, motivate, and help the you.
The sparks contain excellent writing and creative exercises
that will help you improve and grow as a writer,
even if you're not dealing with writer's block, depression, or burnout.
Each spark can be read in a few minutes,
but the reader will linger on its content much longer.

In one part of her book, Chrys offers doses of Bactine
to mitigate the pain of writer's block and writer's burnout. 
For example, the first dose,  Bactine #1, soothes with its application:
"If you are afraid that you're facing writer's burnout or if you have writer's block,
or even if you're not sure...share your struggle with others." 

I'm grateful for Chrys doing exactly that.
To me, her book is like a book of daily devotions.
I can open it to any Spark at any time and read
something informative, healing, or encouraging.

When I began reading Sparks, I knew that it would have
a prominent spot on my writing references book shelf.
But I've changed my mind.  I'm keeping it on my nightstand.

I hope you read Chrys's book.  I'm betting you'll want to keep it
on your nightstand instead of your writing craft reference bookshelf!

Till next time ~
Fundy Blue

On the Bay of Fundy
© M. Louise (MacBeath) Barbour/Fundy Blue
All Rights Reserved


Here is information on Chrys Fey's book:

Catch the sparks you need to conquer writer’s block, depression, and burnout!

When Chrys Fey shared her story about depression and burnout, it struck a chord with other writers. That put into perspective for her how desperate writers are to hear they aren’t alone. Many creative types experience these challenges, battling to recover. Let Keep Writing with Fey: Sparks to Defeat Writer's Block, Depression, and Burnout guide you through:

•        Writer's block
•        Depression
•        Writer's burnout
•        What a writer doesn’t need to succeed
•        Finding creativity boosts

With these sparks, you can begin your journey of rediscovering your creativity and get back to what you love - writing.

Book Links

Amazon / Nook / iTunes / Kobo / Goodreads

Author's Note:  
When I shared my story about depression and writer’s burnout, I received many emails, comments, and Facebook messages from other writers thanking me for my bravery and telling me about their own trials.  That really put into perspective for me how many people suffer from depression and/or burnout in silence. I had no idea those individuals were impacted by these things, just as they hadn’t known that I was, because my outward presence to others was always happy and smiley and bright. After the supportive response and upon realizing how many writers in my online circles were struggling, too, I wanted to do something to help. I was candid with my experiences and blogged about the things that assisted me through the rough times in the hope that it would aid others. 

During this time, I recognized the need for writers to receive support, guidance, tips, reminders, and encouragement during their writer’s block, depression, and burnout. That’s how I got the idea for this book. A book not just about depression or only about writer’s block, but both, and much more. Since you have picked up this book, that means you may need assistance with one or all of these areas, and I sincerely hope you find what you need here...that tiny spark to get you through whatever you are going through.

As always, keep writing.

Keep believing.

Keep dreaming.

Chrys Fey

Chrys Fey is the author of Write with Fey:  10 Sparks to Guide You from Idea to Publication and the Disaster Crimes  series. She is an editor for Dancing Lemur Press. She started her blog, Write with Fey, to offer aspiring writers inspiration, advice, and hope. Visit her blog for more tips on how to reverse writer's burnout. At the age of twelve, she started writing her first novel, and since then she has been a dedicated citizen in the writing world.

“Gracious, there are so many tips and lessons in this book that I dare anyone to pick it up and not be writing furiously by the last chapter.” - C. Hope Clark, author and founder of

“Her no-nonsense approach feels like advice from a good friend, doled out in easily digestible bite-sized pieces.” – Janice Hardy, author and founder of Fiction University

“This is one book every writer should have in their arsenal.” - Best-selling cozy mystery writer Elizabeth Spann Craig 

Where to Order Chrys Fey's Book:
Keep Writing with Fey:  Sparks to Defeat Writer's Block Depression and Burnout

Released – July 14, 2020
$17.95, 6x9 trade paperback, 256 pages
Print ISBN 9781939844729 / EBook ISBN 9781939844736
Writing / Self-Help: Depression – Stress Management

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