My law of attraction buddy and I meet up each week. It’s a wonderful way to work with goals because we’re not just setting goals and crossing our fingers. We’re creating real steps towards achieving our deepest dreams and we’re holding each other accountable.

I’ve noticed that some of the things I thought I wanted (the house with the big garden for one) were probably not what I really wanted at all, and I’ve found that sometimes deeply desired dreams are buried so deep that we forget we have them.

In meditation and journaling, I found to my shock that the ambitions for my writing revolved around freedom. I really didn’t want a big house full of things to maintain and as much as it pains me to say, the freedom to travel to write and volunteer that I deeply desire is at odds with wanting to share my life with a couple (dozen) rescue animals.

One technique for the Law of Attraction that I had never understood when The Secret first came out, is that in attracting more of what you love into your life, Gratitude is key. Gratitude really is the Swiss-army knife of personal tools; great for attracting more abundance, joy and freedom but also invaluable for helping transmute our shadow emotions like resentment and grief. I am speaking from experience. I’m using Gratitude on a daily basis to help deal with the resentment that’s coming up for me as Venus prepares for her retrograde.

For this week, my bite-sized actionable goal towards my bigger goal of worldwide publishing domination (why not?) is to attract more reviews to my work. I have been dragging the lead a little as there is more than just a little bit of fear wrapped up in self-promotion.

I wish I was fearless, but I am not, but luckily feeling dead scared doesn’t seem to stop me from potentially making a fool of myself.

So if anyone reading this would like to read my novel and write a review, let me know and I’ll send you an e-copy. It’s only 460-odd pages…

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Here’s a snippet to whet your appetite…

5th Arrondissement, Paris. April 1946

Antoinette made her way along the inky black laneway, waves of agony arcing through her body like electricity. She had always believed that pain is only a burden if it is unwelcome, but this pain meant she had taken back control of her life and body, so she welcomed it. She also knew had only hours to live. She had to get home. Her will to live was stronger than her aching body’s desire to collapse in the freezing street. Seeing the flickering candlelight ahead she quickened her step, she felt the sticky blood in her stockings. She gritted her teeth against the pain, pushing herself the last hundred feet.

A fever was already taking hold. She felt her mind slip back to the terrible night she had argued with her father, their words whispered hoarsely behind the closed door of his clinic. Her head throbbed remembering how he begged her to have the child regardless of its unfortunate beginnings, dedicated as he was to the preservation of all life. He was heartbroken that she would wish to end the life of her own child, his grandchild.

“You may not survive the procedure. You will be arrested. Or worse…end up with your head on the block like the Giraud woman,” he whispered, horror plain in his voice. “It is a capital offence to deprive France of her children.”

“Papa, this must be. I will be safe. It is my right as a woman to choose.” she said through gritted teeth.

“To end up on the guillotine?” Jean-Claude had barely been able to utter the words.

“If that is my fate. I would do that so other women may know the freedom to choose.”

Pain dragged her back into the present, sadness washing over her at the memory. She stopped for a moment, riveted to the spot as the deep, convulsing surge of pain threatened to overwhelm her. Her father, one of the most respected physicians in Paris, had refused to terminate the pregnancy but he would not refuse to help her now. She was his only remaining child; all he had now that Marie-Louise and Marcel were gone. And their beautiful mother.

Through the slightly open door, the soft flickering light from the candle could still be seen. This was a good sign that less than two hours had passed since she had left to seek out the woman who would perform the procedure. Grimacing with pain, Antoinette pushed the door open and her father’s ashen face appeared to hover in the dark room. Rushing forward to embrace her, Jean-Claude held her shoulders, checking her eyes and skin colour. He had been searching for her for an hour, upon realising what she had done. Terrified and shaking, and knowing that decades of experience healing the sick and injured meant nothing if he couldn’t save his own daughter, Jean-Claude swung into action as Antoinette collapsed on to the settee in the corner of the room.

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