So, I'm Getting Published

“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.”

The scales of life

“Everything flows out and in; everything has its tides; all things rise and fall; the pendulum-swing manifests in everything; the measure of the swing to the right,
is the measure of the swing to the left; rhythm compensates”
― Three Initiates, Kybalion: A Study of the Hermetic Philosophy of Ancient Egypt and Greece

1. Mirari Press acquires Bloodbird

“A haunting tale of grief, transformation, and the poetry of survival.”

When I’d received the acquisition proposal in my inbox, I was sitting at the kitchen counter of a self-catering flatlet in Ladysmith, completely speechless. March had seen its fair share of waterworks already, and I had my suspicions that I alone could’ve filled the entirety of Steenbras Dam with tears. I battled to come to terms with having my life’s aspiration come to fruition, and simultaneously losing one of the three women that configure my holy trinity. My most beloved Ouma had died two days before. I thought of The Kybalion, a book that explains the seven laws that govern life in accordance with Hermetic Theology (IYKYK). Still, you would agree, it’s impossible to celebrate ones biggest achievement while fighting to stand upright. It wasn’t until a friend of mine offered a few words of comfort; “Your granny would be so happy for you.” Yes, she would. Thank you, Gigi. These words motivated a letter to my past self, which ultimately triggered the closure of one chapter to start of another.

2. The letter

Dear Liefkind,

You’re 29 and you’ve just registered with UNISA for a BA degree in English, with specialisation in creative writing, nogal. Way to go you! Theory of Literature? Yes please. Advanced poetry modules? Bring it on. You won’t complete this degree. You’ll soon find, after your boyfriend of four years unceremoniously breaks up with you, that you’ll have to move away, and figure things out on your own. You won’t have money for fancy things like degrees. This will be pretty disappointing because you’ll be doing so well, and just before your studies comes to a premature end, you will have received 94% for your creative writing practical. Don’t lose heart, Liefkind. Your studies may end but your want for writing will not. In fact, it will only grow exponentially and take you to places where, quite often, people with writing degrees won’t get to go to.

You’ll recover from your breakup, Liefkind. You’ll quickly remember who you were before you were tamed. You’ll meet a man who adores the parts of you the other guy couldn’t live with. Years later, in your forties, when you’ve acclimated to motherhood, your poetry will find the pages of prestigious literary journals. You’ll be shortlisted for a national poetry prize. You’ll use that breakup as a cautionary tale and write a fun book about it. And one day, shortly after you turn 45, after a decade of on and off grinding, rewriting, renaming, and reimagining - rejection after rejection - your book will find the inbox of someone who will request the full manuscript - imagine that! - and they will see you, and say yes, come: there’s a place for you here, in this life, as a novelist after all.

But know this, Liefkind, when these best of days come, it will coincide with the worst of days. By the time you see the acquisition proposal in your mail box, your Ouma’s body will be two days cold. Yes, the one who calls you Liefkind. The one who forms part of your very first memory on this earth. The one who smells like home. The one who lives far away. The one who’s been bedridden and lonely and heartbroken over the death of her son for so many years. The one who will, nearing her end, hang on, writhing with pain, and then let go when you’ve come to say goodbye.

This should be a time of celebration but instead you will be consumed by guilt and grief and the suffering will be unbearable. You will cry until your insides cramp. Noises that you’ve never made before will escape your mouth, and only then will you know what pure mourning sounds like. Your eyes will be raw and swollen during these days and your child will look at you and say, sighing, ‘oh, mom, not again.’ Your husband will hold you tight - surely to keep you upright - and he will cry nearly as much with you.

When you get there, remember, that her grandest dream was to be with her son. Your father is her Polaris. And even if there’s nothing to come after here, all her suffering and longing will be done. And you know, that if she were to have one last wish, it would be for her Liefkind to be happy.

So, Liefkind. Be happy.

3. The way forward

The Crow’s Nest newsletter will drop on the first weekday of every month, Those who are pursuing traditional publishing in particular will benefit from these letters. For the rest, enjoy the ride. Dreams do come true.

Next up: Why I wrote Bloodbird - a story about heartbreak, unlikely friendship, and the traumatic consequences of delayed trauma. A coming-of-rage tale inspired by a breakup and a song. Can you guess which song? Comment with your best guess.

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