Dear 2026,

I’ve been waiting for you.

Hey there, Reader. Welcome back. I hope your December was lovely and that you’re healthy and happy. Are you ready for 2026? I don’t know about you, and this might sound a bit dramatic (I must confess, I am a bit extra), but I was born ready for this one. In October my book baby will grow wings and caw its way into a bookshop near you.

Year of the Bloodbird

I’m not that fond of red. Red is the colour of violence and rage. Too much red makes me snappy. Imagine my confusion when, after perusing PNA’s 2026 diaries shelf the other day, I picked the red one. It was the strangest thing. I always pick green. Or black. Never red. I left the shop with the diary clutched under my arm, wondering what the hell just happened. I couldn’t explain it. As I crossed the parking lot in search of my car, a Pied Crow swooped down overhead and glanced my way. Perhaps the vibrant colour had caught its eye. Or maybe it knew before I did. Then it hit me: red is the colour of blood. This is the year of the Bloodbird.

So, what is this book about again?

Bloodbird is a work of magical realsim interlaced with elements of autofiction.

In autofiction, an author may decide to recount their life in the third person, to modify significant details and characters, use invented subplots and imagined scenarios with real-life characters in the service of a search for self. - Wikipedia

When it came out, the song Born to Die by Lana del Rey, took me back to a scary time in my early thirties. I’d been dumped by a guy who I thought was the quintessential perfect man. I was in denial for quite some time. I suffered some afflictions: spontaneous nosebleeds, sleep paralysis, migraines, and a crippling sense of dread. I wrote a lot of poetry grieving this loss. The poet and writer, Naomi Sutton, was born from the memory of that chapter. Only poor Naomi accidentally ends up cursing herself, unaware of her supernatural heritage, when she writes a Haiku during a moment of unbearable grief. Then Naomi meets a troubled young woman, as had I. Not quite as problematic as my protagonist’s sidekick, Ava Louw, but tattooed and unpredictable no less. Together this unlikely pair of friends Thelma and Louise themselves into a sticky situation. And the Bloodbird is always watching. The story takes place in the quaint coastal village of Gordon’s Bay, where I live in the company of the Southeaster, and an unholy number of Pied Crows.

Ultimately, Bloodbird is the result of a therapeutic literary endeavour, with a hint of the supernatural and a pinch of my soul.

Read more on the Mirari Press website here.

Infused with razor-sharp symbolism, dark humour, and aching beauty, Bloodbird is a poetic exploration of trauma, desire, and transformation.

“Livingston’s voice is one-of-a-kind—mythic, earthy, and intimate,” says Marius du Plessis, CEO and Publisher. “Bloodbird reads like a fever dream, with teeth.”

Let’s connect

I respond to all subscriber DMs via Substack. Go ahead, ask me anything.

In the meantime, you can listen to my Bloodbird playlist here.

See you soon.

Bye for now.

Don’t aspire to be a writer. Be writing.