On my desk is a mess that could hint productivity, a fast mind, a plethora of ongoing things, and yet somehow it looks more like a mess of an ancient time when writing was done at this desk, where hours were spent daydreaming and living in a world of imagination. I felt like a visitor in my own story these past few months, like I was looking at my characters from over a fence, a forest, and a mountain somedays.
No tea swirled in my cups, no scribbles were smudged out of hastiness, no candle dripped onto the jute mat, no epic music played out of the speakers (and mind you, I have amazing epic soundtracks created!).
I could add some imaginative spiders and cobwebs to this image and perhaps one can imagine how it feels to get back to this special place after a scorching summer spent mostly downstairs, hidden in a living room turned to bedroom turned to office space, under the quince and old apple tree shade.
Despite the past summer heat and my lack of visiting this “Room of my own*”, my plants are thriving, even if they look rather forlorn somehow.
It has been a beautiful October, one that asked for road-trips and picnics on the side of road facing colorful forests with hot teas and coffees and golden pastry. It asked for soulful discussions, bookstores perusing, cardigans wearing, and writing.
Lately, I have spent more than a normal human being would in front of other people’s bookshelves, trying to see what they were reading back in the days, or… honestly, just admiring those battered spines and yellow crisp pages, while gathering my strengths. What is it about old books that makes one heart’s flutter?
Readings:
Room of Their Own– book currently on my desk
Bonus: Virginia Wolf’s Essay: A Room of Own’s Own
This evening, my mind is so immersed in my own story, that makes my heart flutter. I am happy, that with autumn, I slowly come back to the story, regardless of the madness of today’s world. I am already packed up with hot coffee, apple pie, a bunch of honeycomb candles, and some will to finish editing the third book.
Some will, yes, not my full will, however, but I am working hard on gathering it from each corner where the summer winds have scattered it.
Could this be the comeback of the century?
If all goes to plan, third volume could be online mid December. More than 300 pages are already edited, revised and I’m almost done with the plot. If not, I’m thinking spring. But I would love to have it ready by December. It feels like a stretch, with the utmost chaos that is a constant in my life nowadays.
And speaking of chaos… it seems I’ve already chosen mine for the coming year.
This past year, I wandered through a self-made labyrinth: a monthly Newsletter woven around a monthly Theme. It brought more delightful disorder than I ever intended… yet, within that chaos bloomed some of the most unexpected and soul-stirring conversations.
And now (oh dear, indeed! ) 2026 calls for even more beautiful madness. I’ll be crafting twelve short tales (think brief, whispered glimpses rather than epics), each rooted in the world of Whisper of the Graces.
These stories will breathe of myth and memory, of old crafts and forgotten customs, of the first stirrings of Creation itself; fragments my heart ached to tell while shaping the main series, yet which never found their place upon its pages. They are the echoes between the lines, the shimmer beneath the surface – threads that give depth, meaning, and a new flavour to the tapestry already begun.
Imagine: crafts and mythos, legends and folklore, the scent of old tales retold by firelight.
And if you’ve yet to step into that world, the first two volumes of The Whisper of the Graces await you, ready to whisper their secrets and invite you deeper still. Just saying!
xo,
Roxana
