I haven't done this in a while, but in November 2018 I partook in the 
Over December 2018 I rush-edited it, determined to get it ready by January 2019, then released it into the world without a second glance!!
I second-glanced it a lot. I vary between hating myself for publishing it so soon, then being proud that I published something, to going back to hating myself because it really could use a few extra touch-ups.
@carolkean reviewed it here...@carolkean/half-past-the-moonfall-by-b-m-matthews-rave-review-from-keangaroo
From page one, I fell in love with B.M. Matthews’s voice, her characters, and the quirkiness of their lives. A fresh, original voice is hard to find in today’s fiction, where most authors write “for the market,” using formulas that have worked for others, and few dare to step out from the vanilla norm. Matthews is a risk-taker, and the pay-off is a fun, quirky, magical adventure like no other.
Part of me wants to re-write the whole dang thing and make it the masterpiece it could've been!
The other part is screaming at me to listen to the professional editor and reviewer and just leave the damned thing alone.
I could totally do a revised edition in the future. WHICH I AM SERIOUSLY CONTEMPLATING.
Feel free to grab your own FREE COPY on Smashwords and have a read for yourself. It's filled with Australian humour and vulgar language. It's crude, lewd and rude. It's a not-so-typical love story with the most god-awful sex scene you'll ever read.
It's also probably more for women than men, but eh. Expand your horizons!
GIVE IT A TRY!! 😁
Won't cost you a thing. 😉
And, if you are so inclined... feel free to leave a review on Goodreads ❤️
Ugly square-shaped buildings were painted in garish colours only a nanna could love, they were bordered by gnarled and twisted scrub-land, and it was run by spiritual wannabes who didn’t know the difference between a chakra and an aura. She wasn’t the most spiritual person in the world, hell, she often made fun of Sarah for her hippie tendencies, but even she knew more than these idiots. It had not been a good weekend… until now.
Tiny disc-shaped orbs illuminated the scrub in a glow that cast long, dark shadows across the parched, red dirt. They webbed and weaved in and out of the scraggly trees, flitting about as graceful as the gentle breeze, and Katéa edged closer to them, careful not to crunch the twigs and small rocks that lay strewn across her path.
Raising her phone, she took a deep breath, steadied her trembling hands, and pressed ‘record.’
The orbs zipped to the left and then zoomed back to the right before the camera could find them and focus. A twig snapped underfoot and its crack screamed over the incessant song of midnight crickets and sent their orchestra into silence. The lights retreated further into the bush. Hovering behind twisted branches, they taunted her from the safety of certain peril. There were snakes in there, spiders, all sorts of creepy crawlies, and dangers beyond the obvious. The legends warned against following the Min Min Lights, they would lure the unlucky passersby deep into the wilds and they would never be seen again; there was no doubt that these were the lights of legend.
Dancing from one tree to the next, the discs darted in and out of the scrub and blinked away each time the phone faced them. Damn it! If she could provide an authentic recording of the phenomenon, fame and fortune would be at her fingertips. Well, maybe not fortune, but fame and followers. No-one had ever captured the real thing before and she would have the first valid recording in a sea of hoaxes. The possibility that they could lure her away was no real bother. Legends had no place in this modern world and if worse came to worse the phone had GPS and the battery was fully charged; she wouldn’t be out here if it wasn’t.
Besides, even if she got lost or her quest proved fruitless, the heady scent of imitation sandalwood would guide her back, and no-one would ever know of her foolish adventure. Unless a snake bit her.
She grinned.
A snake… that was unlikely. She might just be a dumb city chick to these rural folk but she was smart enough to know that snakes rarely came out at night, and it was chilly! Didn’t the slippery buggers prefer the warmth? All would be fine.
A burst of wind rustled across the treetops and whistled through the tiny gaps spread between branches. The lights swayed with the sweeping breeze and flittered hypnotically from trunk to twig before retreating deeper into the scrub. It was now or never, and she chose ‘now.’
Pushing aside the thin, scraggly branches, Katéa began pursuit. Deep vibrations emanated from the lights and they sped through the trees with the grace and litheness of a flying feline —they were getting away! She tripped over a root and flew headfirst into an orbweaver’s web, narrowly avoiding the spider itself. The frantic spider ascended the remainder of its web. Giving the frightful creature a good, hard glare, she sidled past it and calmed her racing heart.
Nature’s beasts aside, this little trek would be worth it. It had to be. Her followers would be so impressed, there would be millions of YouTube views, and people would want to interview her. She’d be on the telly! Perhaps even make the National News. She aimed the phone at the lights and they zoomed away again. Bastard things.
The bush thickened and became more contorted and tangled, and the dancing lights mocked her as they whorled and writhed amidst the intertwined branches and leaves. They pirouetted into sight before retreating again and the only evidence of their passage were the illuminated shadows that scattered over the tangled undergrowth from behind knotted limbs.
Why was she doing this, again? Right. Fame and followers. Katéa groaned. As though sensing this to be a perfect opportunity for their attack, spindly twigs reached down and grasped for her, clinging to her long black hair and the soft threads of her dress. With an annoyed heave she wrenched away from their iron clutches.
Riiip.
“No!”
Her cry was strangely hollow. Warm blood oozed from where a sharp stick had sliced through her billowing sleeve and into her arm, but it wasn’t her pain or discomfort that mattered. Her dress. Her two hundred dollar dress. It was a classic white boho design adorned with faux pearls and leather laces, and it seemed appropriate attire for relaxing by the lakeside of a picturesque nature retreat.
Damn Sarah and her stupid hippie ideas! Why couldn’t they have gone to Hollon’s Day Spa for the weekend instead? There were masseurs there. Sexy masseurs who were experts in relieving tension and inducing meditative states the likes of which the wannabes here could only dream of.
“Jade Essence Nature Retreat, my arse,” she muttered, poking at the bloodied tear.
Beep-beep.
Her mouth went dry —the phone was dying. How was that even possible? It was fully charged mere minutes ago! A ball of light shot past, a bare inch from her face, and she jumped back, crying out as her ankle buckled beneath her weight and snapped her sandals in half. Fan-fucking-tastic. First her dress and now her shoes. Another orb rose up, shining as bright as the midday sun, and it hummed that bizarre vibration before it zipped into the tangled trees.
“Fuckin’ thing.”
It didn’t matter anymore. Though impulsive, she wasn’t an idiot. The phone didn’t hold enough power to both record the phenomenon and guide her back through this wretched scrub-land and, unfortunately, getting back to what amounted to civilisation in this remote place was far more important. The last thing she needed was Sarah’s gloating face aimed at her if a search party had to be formed.
Beep-beep.
The phone brightened and a cartoon face appeared on-screen. It yawned sleepily before it said, ‘goodbye,’ and powered off.
“Fuck. Okay. Not to worry. Just turn around and walk back the way you came,” she whispered, eyeing the dark shadows that closed in around her. The lights were gone and all was silent but for the whistling wind.
The cool breeze strengthened into a spiralling gust and ribboned about her body, billowing her dress around her legs and spreading goosebumps across her skin. This was not good. Hobbling forward, she tripped over her broken sandals. Maybe she should just take the damned things off and throw them away. Let the bugs eat her toes. Whatever. This night was shitty enough and couldn’t get much worse. Another twig tangled through her hair as she shivered. Of course things could get worse! Never underestimate Murphy and his bloody Law.
Sharp stones and pointed twigs hid in the darkness and pierced her soft, bare feet. It had been years since she had gone barefoot anywhere that was not carpeted, sandy, or covered with thick, lush grass. Tiny claws dug into her arm and she yelped, flinging herself away from whatever-the-fuck-it-was. It was probably a spider. Didn’t they have sharp little claws? Gross.
Katéa released her breath in a long, slow exhale. It would be okay. Her feet would survive, she would survive, the spiders wouldn’t eat her, and the tales of people never being seen again after chasing the Min Min Lights were just myth. This was the modern era! Sarah and her band of hippies would send out a search party, as embarrassing as that would be, and… good grief, what would she say when they found her? That some mythical lights were dancing in the bush and she felt compelled to chase them?
The twisted trees and their gnarled limbs rose high above, appearing as disfigured silhouettes of people as she shuffled past. Were these the previous victims of the lights?
“Shut your thoughts, idiot,” she chided herself, pushing aside another branch. Scattered moonlight broke through the rough canopy and hope flourished. Perhaps she hadn’t gone so far into the scrub after all.
Long minutes passed as she continued her trek, squealing each time she stepped on a sharp stone. Her feet would be a bloodied mess by the time she emerged. It was unthinkable! A trip to the beach was well on the cards after this nightmare of a weekend. If Sarah didn’t listen, she’d wrest control of the car and drive them there herself.
Humidity swept through the thinning growth in a viscous wave, contrasting the chilled wind, and was so thick and gloopy she could barely pass through it. What the actual fuck? Her whole life had been lived in the land of heat and humidity but this was just ridiculous.
The oppressive air pushed down on her as she slogged through it, each step more tiring than the last, when it vanished as swiftly as it had fallen and left a film of sweat gluing her dress to her body. She picked at the cloth and freed her chest and butt. If she wanted a figure-hugging dress she would’ve bloody well have worn one.
The air was crisp and carried the soft scent of burning wood. That was odd… there had been no burn-offs when she had first entered the scrub. Maybe the dancing lights had set something on fire. There was no smoke though, and every breath was as clear and fresh as…
She furrowed her brow and breathed deep, her chest swelling as the oxygen flooded her body, and almost floated away. She’d never thought of air as ‘delicious’ before, but that’s exactly what this was. The ground was softer too. If her tormented feet could breathe, they would release a relieved sigh right about now.
A giggle climbed her throat and escaped out into the night. She had been out in the bush for too long and her thoughts were getting a bit iffy. A nice relaxing wine would be very welcome when she found her way back to the hippies. Did they even have any of that stuff at an all-natural nature retreat? They bloody well should! Wine was natural. If they didn’t have any, complaints would be filed and those spiritual wannabes would never host another crystal meditation yoga session again.
Her giggling intensified and she fell to her knees. Fighting to control her laughter, she gulped more of the crystal clear air but that only increased her hysteria. Tears streamed down her cheeks and did not stop until dawn broke, when soft golden light filtered through the tall, sturdy trees and caressed her with its magical gift.
Where the hell was she? This wasn’t scrub-land! A full, thick canopy as beautiful and fiery as a picturesque autumn painting swayed overhead and not a single fallen leaf tarnished the soft soil. The leaves did not turn where she was from… and it was spring. This made no sense.
An opening beckoned. If only she had taken a few more steps, she would have found freedom hours ago.
Wobbling upright, she cast a confused glance about the trees, then closed her eyes as the sun-drenched gap embraced her.
This was different, but it would be okay. Tree farms grew all across the state and this was likely one of them. There would be people nearby and maybe they had wine. Oh, God; hopefully they had wine. After the night she had just endured, any liquor would be a blessing beyond compare. She smiled, imagining Sarah’s smug smirk. And of course, a phone would be useful too
Book cover rights are mine; divider image courtesy of Pixabay
