At the end of September, I sent the manuscript for Climbing High: Speculative Stories of Female Ambition to Flame Tree’s editorial team.
It’s the culmination of several months of work so far. The creative high point of a year in which other projects were delayed.
And it’s a collaborative project, my first time editing an anthology of stories for a publisher. Several writers have contributed short stories (and, in one case, an introduction) to the project.
Reading through the copyedits feels like looking down from the top of a hill.
View from the Pnyx in Athens. Note to self: editing an anthology called Climbing High apparently makes you more likely to climb hills…
There are further steps to go through before this book is out in the world, but I’m proud of the form the collection is taking and the work we’ve all put into it.
How do you feel when you finish something? Do you take time to recognize the effort, to let yourself breathe and your nervous system sense “this is done”?
Events I’ve Enjoyed This Month
Between my own work toward a finish line, I’ve enjoyed seeing others’ events come to fruition recently.
My friend Rachael Twumasi-Corson gave a talk at the TEDx Bromley event at the beginning of the month. The theme was Defying Expectations, and the talks covered everything from the power of rebels to the importance of patient self-advocacy to the transferable leadership skills that mothers bring to the workplace. These powerful talks will be online soon, and I’d encourage you to check them out.
I went to local author and presenter David Bramwell’s monthly event, the Catalyst Club, where speakers give engaging talks about their passions, no matter how niche. There’s also a bit of cabaret-style performance. This month’s topics included a “museum of unfinished projects” (relatable!), a birthday poem, and the stories of people who made penpal connections through old music magazines.
Some of you might remember my work on Joan: The Musical in the Brighton Fringe last year. Our lead actress’s daughter, Faradena Afifi, is one of the founders of the Noisy Women multi-disciplinary creative group. I attended their performance at the Rotunda Cafe, which was a fun, chaotic blend of music, improvisation, poetry, movement, and more. Well worth seeing, and lots of fun!
Lastly, the Coast Is Queer, the UK’s biggest LGBTQ+ literary festival, just finished up yesterday with a brilliant conversation between Sarah Waters and Julia Armfield (pictured below). I always come back from this festival’s talks with more insights, not to mention more books, than I’d expected!
I appreciate bringing projects over the finish line, and witnessing others’ work can afford the perspective needed to get them done. I’m nourished by community and inspired by what others can do.
What do you find helpful for reaching that final stretch of creative work?
“9 years ago today,” Google Photos reminded me, showing a carousel of pictures from Scotland.
It’s been almost a decade since I arrived in the UK. What a roller coaster it’s been! I wrote about my experiences moving “across the pond” in my poetry book, The Heart Decided to Move. I wrote other pieces about the experience as well—some published, some not. Among them is this little essay sharing my delight and surprise at some of the Scottish foods I encountered. In the spirit of “9 years ago today,” I’m sharing it with you now.
A Canadian’s First Impression of 10 Scottish Foods
My paternal grandfather’s family came from Scotland. He died when I was seven, but my key memories of him pre-illness involved food, like the lox and scrambled eggs he enjoyed for breakfast before smoking a pipe. When I moved to Edinburgh on a UK ancestry visa, eager to connect with my heritage, I took it for granted that culinary matters would be involved. I was familiar with shortbread and scones from family recipes, but many Scottish foods were new to my North American palate. I dove in and tried them with gusto—and mixed results. Here’s what one Canadian thought about a few distinctive Scottish and UK foods upon first encounter.
Haggis: In the Scottish capital, haggis is sold in food trucks and even as a burger topping. I approached this dish, made by cooking sheep organs and oatmeal (traditionally inside a sheep’s stomach), with a mixture of curiosity and trepidation, trying an appetizer of haggis balls at a nice restaurant. They tasted spicy and meaty, not a flavor I was used to. Over time, I became fonder of the dish, and even enjoyed it on top of the aforementioned burger. It serves a nice kick, but like Australia’s marmite, it’s not for everyone.
Scotch eggs: These boiled eggs covered in sausage meat and breadcrumbs, then deep fried, are Scottish classics available in supermarkets and weekend food markets alike. I enjoyed the savory mix of proteins and felt energized every time I ate one. Plus, they’re the perfect size to munch on. Yum!
Deep fried pizza: UK chip shops (or “chippies” as they are affectionately called) are fond of their fried foods. One in Edinburgh offered a cheese pizza that was entirely deep fried. I had a slice or two, but that was all I could handle. The pizza, doughy and sparse on the sauce, was only vaguely recognizable under the heavy grease. If you’re a fried foods fan, maybe you’d like it better than I did.
Rock cakes: While reading the Harry Potter books as a kid, I assumed that many of the foods enjoyed by Harry and his friends were invented, like Bertie Botts’ Every Flavor Beans. I mean, how could “spotted dick” be a real thing? (Now those odd jellybeans exist in real life, and I’ve discovered that spotted dick does, too.) The “rock cakes” that Hagrid served Harry and his friends always made me laugh; I pictured burnt North American-style biscuits given a goofy name. Imagine my surprise when I went to a Scottish church function and discovered a plate of rock cakes, there for the tasting. They are, in fact, scone-like baked goods stuffed with raisins. They have a light texture and don’t taste like rocks at all. I recommend rock cakes, as long as Hagrid doesn’t bake them!
Pie (not the fruity kind): A proper British pie is a savory dish, unlike the sweet Canadian ones I made with fruit at home. The first one I tried was a steak pie at a fish and chips shop in a small Scottish town. I won’t mention where, because it wasn’t very good: the miniature pie boasted a dry crust and gummy texture. My second steak pie (from a different spot) was delicious, with an ale-soaked flavor and finely cooked meat, so mileage on this dish varies widely.
Fish and chips: You may be sensing a pattern here: many of these dishes come from a chippy. Putting fish and chips on here is cheating a bit, because my home province of Prince Edward Island, and many other North American destinations, offer some version of cod with fries and tartar sauce. It’s better in the UK, fried golden with thick wedge-like chips (the skinny American-style potato side being called “fries” here too). I came to expect white fish, topping options like vinegar and “brown sauce” (the sweet-and-savory specialty reminded me of vinegar in the best way), and a heartier helping than you can eat in one go.
Cullen skink: A traditional Scottish soup with smoked fish, a can or bowl of this creamy, potato-strewn recipe goes down like a dream. The smoky flavor permeates the entire bowl. I found this soup to vary in quality, but I have yet to meet a bad one. One of these days, during lockdown, I might try making it myself.
Jaffa Cakes and Tunnock’s Teacakes: Like rock cakes, these teatime treats stretched my understanding of what could be called a “cake”. Jaffa Cakes have a sponge base, orange jam, and a layer of chocolate on top. Tunnock’s Teacakes boast a chocolate-covered meringue atop a shortbread biscuit. Both of these, prior to coming to the UK, would have fit my definition of “delicious cookies”, while here they are not quite biscuits but layer cakes’ little cousins.
Mince pie: This sweet Christmastime pie (miniature, like many British savory pies) is made of mincemeat, which isn’t actually meat but minced fruit with suet. Raisins, currants, and orange peel feature in it. I had one at a coffee shop, dusted with powdered sugar. It seemed like a fruitcake in tart form. I wasn’t sure if I liked the heavy sweet or not. I found some supermarket versions of this pie a bit bitter; nonetheless, they all tasted, somehow, like Christmas.
Tablet: It sounds like an iPad and tastes like what it is—fudge. Light in color, it’s made with sweetened condensed milk and sold in gift shops across Edinburgh. I loved it, like most types of fudge, in small doses. This treat is buttery, a little dry, and exquisitely sweet. Not all that different from my grandma’s shortbread, albeit an ocean away.
For a more personal take on my first impressions of Scotland, you can read my essay “Land, Love, and My People” on School of Shine.
I’m writing this from the Royal Court Theatre in London where, as a Writers’ Card member, I have free use of their writing space. While I don’t have a garden/yard of my own, my downstairs neighbours said yes to my request to keep potted plants in the gravel-filled space out front, and I recently had a salad of fresh lettuce I grew.
This weekend, I watched Brighton’s Pride parade, brought my books to a DJed Pride event to sell, and went to a cat cafe, where a furry little rascal named Fifi tried to steal my creamy drink.
Writing wise, I’ve been busy. I took part in two podcasts with The Good Book Life: Protecting Pride, which discussed the growing trend of removing Pride and LGBTQI+ displays from UK libraries and the importance of representation in the face of censorship, and Reading by the Swamp: Alternative Summer Reads, where we recommended unconventional favourites for the season.
I have a new story published in Mythaxis. “Rooted” features workplace burnout, a garden/forest Workaway, and an uncanny hostess. Talk about “getting back to your roots!” You can read it here, or listen to an audio version.
Illustration for my story “Rooted” in Mythaxis
I took part in Aggh! Zine’s zine-making workshop, where I made a playlist zine for my YA novel Chasing Harmony (themes: gifted kid burnout, bi angst, Canada in the 90s/00s, and lots and lots of music). You can see the zine below (so much fun to make!), and listen to the Spotify playlist for my book here.
But…
So often, there’s a “but.”
When Plans Change
Publishing is a changeable business, and it just so happens that my entire publication schedule has changed at once.
I had a book planned for release this year. My literary romance novella, the project that got me through lockdown, is now going to be out next year – fall 2027 – instead.
The anthology I’m editing has moved from a March 2027 release to a June 2027 release.
My other planned 2027 book will, most likely (hopefully), be a 2028 book.
I’m looking forward to launching these books on their revised timelines. And it feels like a big adjustment at a time when multiple changes have converged.
Other things that I was hoping for, planning for, this year didn’t end up happening at all. A theatre show didn’t happen. A festival didn’t happen. Some big personal plans, the type of thing I don’t write about in newsletters, also didn’t happen.
I’ve been sitting with my disappointment when plans fall through, and asking myself, “What can I do instead? What’s within my control?”
Often, we do our best, but outcomes are partly or wholly beyond our control.
We can’t necessarily turn a “no” into a “yes,” or a “later” into a “now.”
We can, however, to paraphrase a saying, look for a window when a door closes.
Collecting Rejections
Writers get a lot of rejections.
I first read about the idea of collecting these rejections in a Literary Hub article when it came out in 2016. Writer Kim Liao proposed the idea of collecting 100 rejections a year. If you aim to get rejected by that many magazines, fellowships, residencies, or whatever else, you’ll likely get a few acceptances along the way.
I didn’t end up actively counting rejections at the time, though I did start tracking my story submissions.
More recently, actor and content creator Gabriella Carr has gone viral for pursuing 1000 rejections. And Jia Jiang has written a book about rejection therapy (as he calls it), after challenging himself to face rejection for 100 days in a row by asking for unusual things. Beyond the literary world, rejection can be pursued as a confidence-building exercise or a way to increase personal resilience.
Since I started hearing more “nos” this year, I’ve created a spreadsheet. I list the things I’ve applied or asked for, when, and the result. Most of them are “nos.” But a few are “yeses.”
We can’t always control the answers we get, or the plans that change. But we can ask.
What have you asked for lately? What would you like to?
As the end of Pride Month rolls around, let’s remember that Pride began not as a celebration but as a protest. A fight for visibility and equality. Let’s remember that both of these are under threat in many parts of the world. And let’s celebrate the queer people and communities claiming spaces of joy and togetherness in the face of it all.
Local Queer Events
Last week, I spent an evening reading and assisting with Queer Diary, an event where queer adults read from their teenage diaries and creative writing. We sold swag, ended with a dance featuring throwback tracks, and I joined the line-up to read from a novel I wrote at age 13 (to much laughter).
And this weekend, a local dance teacher organized a Queer Regency Revel, a themed dance where attendees dressed like Jane Austen characters and learned Regency-era dances, lining up and swapping partners to the sound of a live instrumental band. Drag performances and a costume contest completed the evening. There’s so much creativity in Brighton’s queer community. Long may it continue!
Sadly, The Queery, the local bookshop, cafe and community space where I held a book launch and workshops, has closed down. A lot of us will miss it.
On a brighter note, Aggh! Zine, “a safe space to discuss subjects that are considered taboo or not mainstream,” has been awarded funding to offer 5 free creative workshops for LGBTQIA+ residents on low income or experiencing financial hardship or social isolation during the cost-of-living crisis. Three of the workshops are forthcoming, and you can find tickets and details here.
Queer Things I Wrote
In case you missed it, my YA novel Chasing Harmony was on CLMP’s Pride Month reading list last year! It’s a coming-of-age story about a bisexual musical prodigy, set on Prince Edward Island.
I used to write a book review column called Hidden Gems of Queer Lit for Autostraddle, a sapphic-focused online magazine (which now has a print magazine too!). You can find my old columns and articles for Autostraddle here – worth a look if you’re seeking something to read!
Speaking of books, a couple years ago, I wrote a review of Alice Oseman’s YA novel Loveless for Pride Month, and shared some thoughts about the importance of asexual representation. I also did a Substack review of The Phoenix Keeper, a cozy fantasy novel with a sapphic romance, a bi lead, and a magical zoo!
And I have a short story, “Forest Creatures,” featured on Lilith’s Lair, “a private space for sapphics to explore their own desire.” It’s a lovely collection of writing, much of it spicier than my little story.
Author Events and News
I have some events coming up!
I’ll be joining a discussion on The Good Book Life about Protecting Pride – fighting the removal of LGBTQI displays in libraries.
I had a poem accepted by BFS Horizons, the British Fantasy Society’s poetry and fiction publication.
And on July 25, I’ll be taking part in a British Fantasy Society reading on Power in SFFH. More details below and here. I can’t wait!
Commissioned stories have been trickling in for the anthology I’m editing for Flame Tree, Climbing High: Speculative Stories of Female Ambition. It’s an exciting time! I can’t wait to see how everyone’s work fits together, including stories from the open submission call once I get to look through the shortlist as well.
May is a busy month in Brighton, with both the Fringe and Art Open Houses going on. I’ve been to some comedy and theatre performances at the Fringe, and every weekend I’ve walked around and popped in to a few of the open houses.
My favourite Fringe performance had to be Comedy for the Curious, with Robyn Perkins. Robyn explored the topic of motivation—what it is, and what causes it—along with a psychologist and a comedian who played off each other in entertaining ways. How so? Well, the comedian found out he had ADHD onstage! “Fun fact,” said the psychologist, “most Fringe performers have ADHD. They’re out-of-the-box thinkers.” A quiz, and revelations, ensued.
With warm weather, and a recent heat wave, the Fringe’s outdoor spaces have been great. Two of the parks turn into performance spaces, with decorations, free outdoor performances, and family activities to enjoy, including circus toys that I saw some kids playing with. An artsy, creative, communal spirit shines. I watched free aerial arts, listened to an outdoor DJ, and heard someone perform his great-grandfather’s poetry.
As for the art open houses? Sometimes, seeing the display spaces and homes is just as exciting as seeing the art. Look at those beautiful details!
Some of the open houses include gardens, shed studio spaces, and cake and tea you can buy and eat in those gardens. Did I have some? Do you even have to ask?
I saw such a variety of work, everything from fabric crafts to pottery to photography to paintings to sound art. As a creative, it’s encouraging to see that there’s room for such a range, and to appreciate this variety. Someday, I hope to have a little home art studio and make time to play in it. My own illustrations feature in my poetry collection The Heart Decided to Move, which came out last year. It’s a start!
My favourite work was Frances Doherty’s giant floral ceramic sculptures. Recently, she’s made some “chimaeras” combining different plants together in unlikely, yet visibly intriguing combinations.
Finally, I saw the “soft machines” sculptures along the Hove Promenade before they were taken down. A public art installation designed by Ivan Morison, with collaborator Heather Peak, “it explores the bodies that make a city, and the plurality of love, intimacy and desire between them.” There’s more information about this Brighton Festival commission here. The sculptures reminded me of fluffy monsters.
Happy Spring! I have two pieces of news this month.
First (I finally get to announce this), I’m editing an anthology for Flame Tree’s Beyond & Within series. Those are beautiful books with shiny covers and exciting new stories. You may remember me sharing some pictures of them earlier.
Women’s ambition is not always welcomed, let alone encouraged. Speculative fiction is a context that offers other possibilities (and worlds), where writers and readers imagine what could be. Climbing High: Speculative Stories of Female Ambition will feature stories exploring contexts where female ambition is treated differently, aspiration and achievement in the face of adversity, and ambitions that extend beyond what’s possible in our contemporary world. This anthology takes an empowering stance of embracing ambition while being unafraid to explore the costs and consequences that characters may face in doing so and the impacts of ambitions pursued or fulfilled.
Stories may engage with the question of navigating disparate values and commitments (the often-asked and often-sexist question of “How do you balance x and y?”), or they may abandon all that, with characters who prioritise their desires above all else. Whether characters are reshaping the world(s), themselves, or aiming to brew the best cup of tea, their drives are the driving force of their stories. Contributors may feel free to question assumptions or norms related to women or gender while they’re at it. Authors are encouraged to explore spaces between representation and aspiration and be as bold as they like in imagining what could be.
This will be a fascinating new anthology for our Beyond & Within series. We’re looking for around four stories to join the selection curated by Melanie Bell!
Melanie Bell is a Canadian writer living in the UK. Her books include a poetry collection, The Heart Decided to Move; a YA novel, Chasing Harmony; a short story collection, Dream Signs; and a nonfiction book, The Modern Enneagram, co-authored with Kacie Berghoef. Her novella The Cliffman was included in the literary horror collection Hard for Hope to Flourish, and one of her stories is featured in the Whispers in the Earth illustrated anthology of world folklore.
Melanie and Hannah Doyle co-wrote Joan: The Musical which was performed in the Brighton Fringe in May 2025. Her short plays have appeared onstage at the Tower Theatre and Barons Court Theatre in London, on Morley College Radio, and in Liverpool’s 24 Hour Play Fest. She loves art, music, wondering and wandering.
Multiple submissions are fine but must be in separate emails.
Simultaneous submissions are fine but you must have the right to license your story in an anthology.
Stories that used AI for planning, editing, modifying or generating text will not be accepted. Please declare in your submission email if you have used AI in any way.
For accepted stories we pay Science Fiction & Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) rates of 8 cents/6 pence per word for original stories.
We will aim to read each story and confirm its status within 4 months of the submission deadline.
Payment for the chosen stories will be made within 30 days of the final advertised publication date (see our website flametreepublishing.com for details), although some may be paid earlier than that.
Submission does not imply the right to publication. Each story will be read and assessed by the selection panel.
Please only submit unpublished/original/new stories for consideration. Reprints will not be accepted for consideration through this submissions route.
We’re always looking for better ways of working so we’ve tweaked our submission process to allow us to read more stories, and spend more time assessing the balance of our books.
Submissions must use the dedicated email address.
The subject line of the email must be the story title.
The file with the story must be attached to the email (.docx, .doc or .rtf format).
The name of the file must match the name in the subject line.
If submitting more than one story, please submit one story per email.
Other useful tips for a more successful submission:
The file name of the submission must be the story name only.
Please just use spaces between words in the title (not _ or – ).
If the story name starts with A or The, please use it at the beginning of the file name.
Story length is most likely to be successful at 2000–4000 words, but we will still read stories slightly outside this range.
If submitting a story that has recently been submitted to us for consideration to another anthology, please state this in the submission email.
Deadline for submissions is 3rd May 2026.
This is what the anthologies look like!
Literary Tea Salon With Bird & Blend Tea Co.
Here’s another collab I’m excited for! Bird & Blend Tea Co. is my favourite local tea shop. Their products are high quality and delicious. If you’re based in the UK, their shops offer free tastings and are well worth a visit, and they sell online as well.
So, while sampling some tea at the shop, I suggested a literary event, and the Bird & Blend team was interested in hosting one this spring. Here are the details for our Literary Tea Salon on May 11:
Join local author Melanie Bell and Bird & Blend Tea Co. for writing exercises, an author reading, and a book-themed tea tasting.
Monday, May 11 from 6:30 pm to 8:30 pm
Literary Tea Salon
Join us for a cosy, bookish evening blending two good things – writing and tea!
Local author Melanie Bell will lead participants in some creative exercises, read from her work, and answer questions about the writing process, while the Bird & Blend team will offer a selection of their literary-themed teas to taste.
Location
Bird & Blend Tea Co.
41 Gardner Street Brighton and Hove BN1 1UN
Hosted in Bird & Blend’s flagship Brighton store, come along alone, with a loved one or in a group…all are welcome!
The store is fully accessible to customers in wheelchairs with NCP parking nearby. Please note there is no customer toilet on site but there is a wheelchair accessible toilet available in a nearby venue. We can tailor our experience to most disabilities – just let us know when booking.
Hi all! I recently spent time traveling around northern England, ending my trip in Chester for a writing retreat with the British Fantasy Society (or BFS).
Shopping in Chester’s city center
I’ve been on a couple of longer writing retreats previously, in France and Kenya. Were they an excuse to go cool places? Maybe…
This one was over a long weekend (four days total, including coming and going) and a bit closer to home. I really enjoy the BFS’s programs and was excited to be allocated a spot at the retreat this year. The organization is professional and participants are serious about their craft, while attendees at the other retreats I went to varied more in the focus of their writing endeavors.
We stayed at the Queen at Chester Hotel. Below are some photos of the staircase and garden.
Attendees had a conference room to write in. We sat around a big table, coming and going as our energy permitted, typing intently while drinking tea and coffee from the side table. Usually, we went for dinner as a group. One evening, we shared readings from completed writing or works in progress. The quality of the work was outstanding, and everyone’s stories were a joy to listen to.
There’s nothing like the synergy of working around others who are passionate about the same thing. I focused on plotting new book concepts, and came home with two outlines and a couple of chapters done.
Having a great setting to explore didn’t hurt either. We worked independently, with time to come and go as we liked. Chester has Roman walls, a Gothic cathedral, a city center full of black-and-white timber-framed revival buildings, canals, and a well-known zoo. I’d be remiss if I didn’t share some animal pictures (below). Can you spot the baby tree kangaroo?
Thanks to Shona, David, the organizers at the BFS, and all the participants for such a positive experience. I look forward to seeing you again!
Sometimes I share work here that’s gone out of print (or, as in this case, offline). Losing a parent last year has made me reflect on my earliest experience with family grief, for a sister I never knew. Below is a personal essay I wrote about her for xoJane, originally published in 2015 in their “It Happened to Me” series: “It Happened to Me: I Grew Up in the Shadow of My Dead Sister.”
Growing up, my mother liked to tell me how much she’d wanted a daughter. How happy she was when I was born. However, there was more to this seemingly cheery statement than I first realized: I was my parents’ second daughter. Their first one had died.
I found out about her from a photo album kept on a dusty shelf. At first I thought the little blanket-swaddled bundle was me, but the cheeks were too small. As a baby, I’d earned the nickname “Ziggy” for my balloon-like facial features. This kid had to be someone else.
My mother explained the facts of Heather’s existence. Two years before my birth, my parents had another daughter who lived for six hours. There were complications with her brain. Everyone knew what was going to happen — not that it made things easier.
In the picture of my parents holding Heather, their faces are grave. A tuft of hair much darker than mine is stuck to the first page of Heather’s photo album, beside her pressed pink baby hat. There are ink prints of two tiny feet on her birth certificate.
Most of the album is taken up by cards commemorating her death and birth at once, full of purple flowers and sympathy wishes. A family friend wrote a beautiful poem for her memorial service, calling her a “laughing clog-dancer.” No one had ever called me a laughing clog-dancer. It seemed like a pretty fabulous title.
My family moved from New England to Canada when I was one, and Heather came along with them. A box in the cupboard held ashes from her cremation. My mother planned to bury them in the yard someday and plant a tree over them, but she never got around to doing it. The ashes stayed put.
I missed the older sibling I’d never had a chance to know. In the first grade family albums we had to draw, I filled the sister page with a drawing of a tree over ashes and wrote “My sister is dead.”
Every Christmas, I’d look through the Sears Wish Book for gift inspiration. My parents no doubt hoped for a list of toys and games. Instead, I pointed at every female catalog model in my age range. “I want a sister!”
My two younger brothers were great people to grow up with. I loved bossing them around in complex fantasy games, being the queen or the teacher. But I couldn’t trade clothes with my brothers, and they didn’t share my attention span. I imagined that somehow, a sister would understand me.
When I grow up, I’m going to build a ladder to Heaven and go get Heather and bring her down,” I vowed one day. Heather’s absence made her all the more appealing. She filled the void of my sister fantasies. My life would be full of flowers and magic and crime-solving motifs from my favorite books, if only I could get her back.
I’m sure she filled a similar void for my mother. She wrote children’s stories, ostensibly to publish someday, but partially to keep me entertained. The character based on me was a kid who read all the time. The character based on Heather was an angel who made a heavenly newcomer feel at home.
My mother said again and again that she was lucky to have a daughter. What type of daughter did I have to be to live up to that statement? I was uncoordinated and tantrum-prone and kept my room messy. How could I compare to a sibling who’d never made mistakes?
Death creates an ideal that’s impossible to live up to. I saw this in high school when two students were killed in car crashes. Suddenly everyone was talking about them, and students who didn’t know them well acted like they’d been best buddies. Deeds that would have been frowned upon in life were either glossed over or discussed with rapture.
Dead children take on a mythical quality. Their short lives become larger than life, their futures outrageously promising because they never had a chance to happen.
Dead children are uniformly wonderful. This can be hard on surviving siblings, whose grief is mixed with all the other feelings of a close relationship, such as anger or envy.
With someone like Heather, dead without having had much chance to live, the myth is different. Not only did Heather get the best name in the family (Heather Meadow), but she also got immunity from the blunders of living. No matter what I achieved, there was always a photo album on the shelf dedicated to a daughter who could have been anything.
I looked for people whose lives were shaped by similar loss and found many. My best friend at school had a dead sister, and like me, dreamed of finding her again. My aunt had a stillborn daughter.
People came out of the woodwork and revealed themselves as members of this secret club. Some grieved grandparents. Adoptees missed birth parents and rumored siblings. I kept a list diligently in my head and drew dark comfort from being one of many. It wasn’t so strange, after all, to grieve a family member you’ve never met.
I wanted to show Heather respect by grieving her properly. At around age 10, I kept a diary where I wrote about her a lot, scribbling poems and pictures. I even composed a mournful lullaby (which, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have shared with my mom).
Whenever I achieved something picture-in-the-paper worthy or did something interesting, I thought of Heather. “She should have been the one doing this. She could have done it better.” At the same time, I tried my best to live up to her blank-slate perfection, to fashion myself into a good prospective dead person.
As time went on, I got caught up in other things, but thoughts about Heather asserted themselves whenever I met some sort of goal. In high school, I took up the alto saxophone and loved it. The sound was resonant. It took up space. In the shower one morning, a Heather thought interrupted me. “She never got the chance to play the saxophone.”
Some part of me wondered if she would have made it to Carnegie Hall, while another part of me felt sad that she’d missed out.
The truth is that Heather couldn’t have done many of the things I took pride in, even if she’d lived. I still have Heather thoughts sometimes, but they’re tempered by gratitude at being the living daughter, the one with the good fortune to try a wide array of experiences.
Happy 2026! I wrote a New Year story to share with you all, set in the world of my cozy fantasy novel (soon to be in the editing stage before submissions).
I also had a holiday story called “Forest Creatures” published online on Christmas Day. It’s not a spicy tale per se, but it shares a venue with several and I read it previously at a Kinky Storytelling event, so take that as you will when it comes to readership. “Join us for a Christmas walk through the forest in this enchanting sapphic winter tale by Melanie Bell.” Here it is!
And here’s my New Year story for you to enjoy.
New Year, New Ewe
It was New Year’s Eve. Tim wandered around Brighton alone. Through the Laines, around back alleys, walking blindly. By the time he realized that nothing around him looked familiar, he felt it was too late to get his bearings. The shops looked interesting. Might as well poke around.
Healthy Habits, read a sign over a bright blue door. A peek through the windows revealed the usual rows of vitamins and supplements, along with an odd mishmash of fitness equipment, food, and who knows what. A stupid, hopeful voice in his head piped up: Maybe something in here will help me be less of a failure. Half listening to it, he stepped inside.
An old-fashioned bell rang at his arrival. A shiny red bicycle greeted him. Maybe he’d get into cycling in the new year. Or maybe not. He eyed the dumbbells – he already had some at home, and used them intermittently. He shook his head at the green smoothies and fruit-and-nut energy balls in the fridge. He knew from experience that they tasted like grass. Kaley had loved those sorts of things. But Kaley had left him.
“New year, new you,” he mumbled under his breath. “As if anyone gets a ‘new you’.”
“What’s that, love?” An elderly woman approached him, wearing a name badge. She moved more spryly than he’d expect of someone her age – in fact, she practically floated. Adults can’t float, Tim reminded himself. Then he realized how stupid that thought was. Children couldn’t float either, even if he’d imagined he could while playing Superman.
“Nothing.” Tim’s cheeks colored. He hadn’t expected anyone to hear him.
“You wait right here,” said the grey-haired, round-cheeked woman, departing soundlessly. How? She must be into all sorts of crazy fitness things, if she ran this shop.
As Tim browsed a shelf of vitamins, undecided on whether he needed any, the woman reappeared, holding a leash attached to a large and fluffy…
Dog? That wasn’t a dog. It was round, wooly, and white mixed with dove grey. Its tail was short, its ears pointed. “Baaa,” it said.
“You have a pet sheep?!” exclaimed Tim in delight. “Or is it a shop sheep? I like the sound of that – shop sheep!”
“You said you wanted a new ewe,” the shopkeeper grinned, “and Eunice here is looking for a home.”
Or maybe it was Ewe-nice? She didn’t spell it out.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” said Tim as a chill crept down his spine. This situation was getting surreal.
“Do you have a garden?” the woman asked.
“Well… yes…” Tim had kept the house when Kaley left. He’d bought her half, leaving him with all the space and her with all the money. Now she was able to travel, like she’d always wanted. He saw her pictures on social media, of faraway cities and beaches, while he sat in the same old city by the same old beach.
“I married you because I was supposed to,” she’d told him at last. “Not because I ever wanted…”
“You never wanted to be here,” said Tim. She didn’t disagree.
“Then it’s all sorted,” the strange shopkeeper was saying in the present, and Tim had a terrifying feeling that he’d missed some important context while lost in his memories. “Here are her winter supplements.” He heaved a burlap bag at Tim, which he lifted tentatively, surprised to find it lighter than expected. Some sort of grain? He supposed she would also eat his…grass?
“And this is for her bedding.” She heaved a second sack his way.
This was madness. He didn’t want a sheep!
“Baaa,” said Eunice, her nose moving closer to the burlap bag. He pulled it out of the way.
“How much is she?” he asked.
“Forty-nine kilograms,” said the shopkeeper. “Very healthy.”
“No, I mean, how much does she cost?” That eerie feeling strengthened again. Tim’s skin was full of goosepimples. Had there been a person in front of him? Had they disappeared?
So Tim found himself walking home with two sacks over his shoulders and a sheep on a leash. Once outside the Healthy Habits shop, he recognized a nearby street and recovered his bearings. Eunice trotted obediently along after him. He supposed he would need to build her a fence so she didn’t run off. And did she need a barn or something? Well, he had some space in the garage…
As he strolled homeward, passersby approached to comment. “Is that your sheep?” “What’s her name?” “Can I pet her?” A pair of small children reached out to touch Eunice while their father watched nervously.
“So, Eunice,” said Tim once they arrived at his place, “I guess this is your new home. Why don’t I set up a place in the garage for you while I figure out if I need to build a fence in the yard or what.”
Kaley used to keep a work bench in the spot where Tim set down straw bedding. He put some grain in a bucket and filled a salad bowl with water. As Eunice ate and drank with the garage door safely closed behind her, Tim frantically searched online for information.
He called his friend Billy, who worked as a contractor, to put together the fence and shelter the internet said a sheep needed. “A shopkeeper gave you a what?” exclaimed Billy over the phone. He drove over as fast as he could. Eunice ran over to greet Billy as soon as he got out of the car, acting as if he had treats. He did.
“Hello, cutie.” Billy scratched behind Eunice’s ears. He looked up at Tim. “Are you sure you’re up for taking care of her?”
“I… suppose,” Tim grumbled.
“Well, new year, new ewe, innit?” Billy chuckled. He got to work on the fence.
Everybody loved Eunice. Tim was almost jealous.
On New Year’s Day, he did his usual video call with his parents. He thought of it as a duty, a depressing affair since Kaley’s departure without producing grandkids and his own persistent singleness, which bothered him more in the abstract sense – the feelings of failure, the hit to his status – than it did in the concrete, day-to-day sense of not having someone around.
This time, though, he had something to talk about. He turned his phone camera on the sheep.
“Isn’t she precious?” Tim’s parents explained. They were so distracted by her “fuzzy little ears” that they neglected to ask their usual probing questions.
Still, Tim let out a sigh of relief when the call was done. He turned to Eunice and patted her nose. For the first time in two years, he wasn’t alone for the new year.
That week, he had a date lined up with someone he’d matched with on an app. “I have great expectations for this one,” he proclaimed to Eunice as he filled her water bowl. “Oh, who am I kidding? I don’t.”
But when Fatima the accountant asked about his hobbies as they sat and sipped their coffee, Tim finally had something to say. He showed pictures of Eunice on his phone and got Fatima laughing when he shared the story of how she’d almost knocked him down as he brought her food. She even ordered a second coffee.
We may or may not be a fit, thought Tim at the end of the date, but she seemed happy to be there, in a way Kaley never did. Did I know how to recognize unhappiness when I saw it?
And there he was, thinking about his failure again. It had stayed out of focus for the whole date, when usually, when meeting women, that was all he could think about.
He rushed back home and checked on Eunice in her enclosure. That was his routine now, apart from work. Feed the sheep, water the sheep, check on the sheep. He had nightmares sometimes where something terrible happened to Eunice and it was his fault.
But now… had it?
She lay upside down on the grass, legs in the air. Tim hurried over. Her head was stretched out to the side. Maybe she was just sleeping? Did sheep sleep like that?
His phone told him a dire story: she may have rolled over, but sheep on their backs are stuck. They can’t get up by themselves; their stomach gets bloated, and they’ll die. How long had she been like this?
Tim had never rolled over a sheep before, nor imagined he’d have to. Nervously, he opened the fence and approached her. Eunice gave a pathetic bleat. Her belly looked puffy, her legs cartoonish.
Tim set his phone in the grass and tried to follow the diagram he’d found, placing his arms around Eunice’s shoulders and heaving her up. She was bulky and heavy. Sweat rolled down his back. But Eunice gave little resistance. After some awkward pulling and lugging, hands deep in her thick grey-white wool, he got the sheep right way up.
She wobbled at first, like a drunk. Her legs bowed. Tim worried there was something wrong with her, that he’d come home too late. But after a few staggering steps, she seemed back to normal.
Tim grabbed extra feed for her. “You could have died,” he said.
She was alright now. But what about tomorrow?
He checked on Eunice first thing in the morning and was relieved to see her standing upright. She ran toward him in greeting. “Baaa!”
“Baaa to you, too,” he said, scratching her chin. And wondering. And worrying. Had Billy been right? Was he not up to taking care of a sheep?
Did he even want to take care of a sheep?
There were so many steps he had to do that he hadn’t done yet. Registration. Veterinary care. Getting more food. Learning how to care for an animal from real live people, not his phone.
Eunice was loveable, but he hadn’t chosen her. He’d taken this sheep home in a sort of fever dream – perhaps because he was too polite to refuse.
Maybe that was how Kaley had felt about him.
But where else could Eunice go?
Every spare moment of that day, he looked for answers. He found a number of sanctuaries and rescues in the region, and began making phone calls. “I was given a sheep who needs a home,” he explained, “but I don’t think my garden is the right one for her.”
One sanctuary seemed especially welcoming and thorough. So Tim and Billy loaded Eunice in Billy’s truck and took a trip out to the countryside.
A black-and-white farmhouse sat surrounded by rolling green hills and tumbling fields where animals grazed. Horses nuzzled each other, cows chewed their cud, ducks milled about a pond, and a herd of sheep in many colors faced the road as their truck approached.
“Hello,” said a man in overalls and work boots as they approached. “I’m Michael, owner of the sanctuary.”
And he and Tim were shaking hands before Tim had realized he’d moved. Had he walked up, or had he floated?
“Let’s have a look at Eunice, shall we?”
Michael and Eunice took to each other right away, and the more Tim saw of the farm, the more he liked it. He knew the sheep would be safe and happy here, among a friendly herd.
Even if part of him would miss her.
“Do you take visitors?” he asked. “Or volunteers?”
So, to Billy’s amusement, Tim began spending every other Saturday at an animal sanctuary, tending to cows, chickens, and donkeys. He may not have had his own kids, but he looked after plenty – of the goat kind. He made new friends among the volunteers. And he always gave Eunice a fond scratch.
Then he drove home and rested, content in his own company.
My year’s end posts are often celebratory. This one is bittersweet.
I made significant professional strides in 2025, both in my writing career and in my day job. Personally, a lot of things have gone well.
I also lost my dad this year, after traveling back and forth to the U.S. a few times to see him in the hospital. And my cousin died very recently; he wasn’t much older than I am.
A New Book
My poetry collection The Heart Decided to Move came out this year with Read Furiously’s One ‘n Done series. I had a lot of fun writing and illustrating this book that tells the story of my move to the UK, travels, and moments of daily life as an immigrant.
Mikey Belcher did a lovely interview with me on his Substack that goes into detail on the book’s themes, and I gave some workshops and readings in both the UK and Canada to celebrate the book’s launch.
A Musical
This May, Joan: The Musical, which Hannah Doyle and I co-wrote, was performed in the Brighton Fringe. It told a story of an older woman, left behind by both an ex-husband and the passing of time, who travels to another world Alice in Wonderland-style and undergoes challenges to get her confidence and power back. Our first two shows had a sold-out run, so we ended up doing an encore performance.
It was amazing to see such a big production onstage. I dreamed of writing a musical and having it performed as a kid, and now I’ve done it. The show had good reviews and was an exciting, intense experience that I learned a lot from. I’m grateful to our team – director Summer and actors Geraldine, Justin, Lauren, and Dean, along with the fantastic team at The Actors – for making this show shine!
Volunteering Endeavors
I took on two big volunteer tasks this year. I was on the committee to plan Mensa’s annual European gathering in Cardiff this year, which happened in August. I helped organize activities and also gave a writing workshop.
I also acted as a juror for the British Fantasy Awards’ Best Independent Press award. I ended up reading 20 books for this, which was both exhausting and rewarding. There are so many great independent SFF presses in the UK; this work left me optimistic that the genre is in good hands.
Other Things
The Whispers in the Earth anthology came out this year, featuring my Canadian ghost ship tale along with 19 other folklore-inspired stories from around the world and beautiful linocut illustrations.
I had a short story published in the NonBinary Review’s Solarpunk issue.
I also recently got promoted to Senior Editor at Mindtools and am excited to see where that role takes me.
I have more books planned, starting with a romance novella that will be launching next year!
I’ve done my best in 2025, and I intend to do the same in 2026. I think my dad would be proud.
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