I'm sure you're tired of me beating this dead horse (of saying how much I'm working on my bunny book), but I've been knee-deep and ran against the clock of publishing my said bunny book, and if I were on a schedule with a vast publication, I would have failed in the olympic degree. The answer in short, no I did not finish the illustrations. I know when I am efforting therefore I felt procrastination bubble up allowing for the emotion in consequence I listened to my Mermaid Inner Being. Let us crack on, shall we? Thank goodness I am a sovereign lady. The ability to dictate my career has its advantages, as I focus on my vibrational output, wherein everything I undertake, I settle upon all determinations. At this juncture, I will feel accomplished if I reach book production by 2023. At this phase, I'm living on strong tea and vile victorian sarcasm. It's a real skettle of fish round' these parts, my dear hearts.

In these, my "Carters Chronicles" or "Not So Penny Dreadful Tales" (utilising whichever of the two you so choose. Actually would you mind telling me what you like better) are mere prattle at best. I set you right to acquire the taste for my silly larks. Understandably one day, I'm quite the profound bright spark, whilst the next, I am a thorough church lady of blitherings—a true testament to a Pisces way of life. 

There is a beautiful (one of the many) Victorian museums in the UK where I saw the sign for staff which I loved, and inspiration knocked, so I made my version of the poster. Do you like it? If you enjoy the bit o' wit, you are welcome to print it off for your enjoyment. 

Jeffrey Shawn skived off work yesterday, and having him around brought out my anticipatory thoughts of when I shall retire him. Solely knowing his presence is somewhere in the vicinity is all the tonic I require to feel immersed in comfort. He's here at the cottage, albeit he may be in the adjoining chamber playing the guitar or scrutinising a repeat broadcast of Yellowstone; I comprehend the art of appreciation, do you? I fully understand Jack or Jill, who may feel a bit of plight in reminding themselves to appreciate the granted beauty in those general moods and daily pursuits. Daily quests and amusements can be mundane, and having lost a child; I dare ne'r take bestowed moments for granted. 

As of late, I have run about like a chicken with my head cut off. But, oblivious to the carnage of the world and its wreaked havoc, I consciously choose to live in a spirit of friendly surroundings. It best suits me, and I have quite the fun in "Taking Joy" daily. During the days leading up to Christmas, I slipped on my wellies and went about the woods, collecting a bit of spruce and holly branches. Then I dug through some old receptacles in my dad's smithy (welding shoppe), which guided me to an old confederate jasmine vine, which I turned into an advent wreath. It was in the exhilaration of representing dear old-fashioned lifestyle icon Tasha Tudor of which I possess an affliction. Subsequently, I spent a little time wrapping Christmas gifts for my mum to give to her nieces and a few for family members. I used natural paper jute twine, fresh holly branches and evergreen sealed in red wax. The labels are from the office supply store. I tea-dyed them (sink of hot water and boiled tea bags of about ten large Lipton. They must be the Lipton brand; otherwise, you will have an unfortunate case of orange paper unsuitable for anything other than the rubbage bin.) Set them in the oven to dry. I placed them on a cookie sheet and fixed the temperature to 200 degrees for approximately ten minutes.

I've been working regularly on my next episode for Patreon. I found an old bedraggled Victorian lampshade at the charity shoppe in which I'm positioning my particular style with a twist of mermaid enticement. Stay tuned for an excellent outcome. This picture appeals to beguiling you into signing up for my Patreon series. You'll appreciate the others if you enjoy videos like those I've shared openly on YouTube. 

Here is the first and second layer of the stitching on the victorian lamp shade.

I placed on hold of the olive green wrap prairie dress (1850) for a few days running as I collected some green silk to line my velvet cape. Today I commenced, and I am back at stitching. I find such pleasure in hand sewing, not so much in machine sewing. My cape adorned and enveloped me when the days of nippy temperatures arrived. I am now plotting to collect a black or navy velvet to make a cape that would better suffice me for average days. A lightweight, it will look nice for spring. I also received wool for the Victorian swimsuit I will make for summer at the seaside. I have a few other irons in the fire, and for now, I will close. May today bring about all the happiness you deserve. My fondness for you abounds. 

Oh, and before I skedaddle offline, I wanted to share my new design for my pop-up email list. Isn't it charming? 

Take Joy! 

"Books and desk are essentials, "meat and drink," and wherever most convenient for use, would be best."—Anonymous, 1883. "Queries," Table Talk, November 1883, p. 390. 

Most affably yours til my next swim Lady Raquelxxx

Painting Whilst There's Nothing Between Me And The World But An Old Creaking Screen Door

I'm writing this blog post stolen from the wee hours of half past three in the morning. 

Once upon a time, in my little one-horse town of Brooksville, you'd be capable of walking anywhere a house dwelt; walk right up to a porch, and there would be nothing but an unlocked old screen door keeping you from your neighbours. There were no detained doors or ceiled shut windows with heavily draped window treatments. So you knew ole' Ms Sady was frying chicken, or you'd smell freshly baked apple pie scents from the window sill following the dirt road. 

It also reminds me that I began pondering on Tasha Tudor and her artistry workspace as early as two weeks ago. She vowed by a large wooden table in front of a window in her kitchen which she said tale it reminded her of a tiny chipmunk's nest. As I was grappling with a 'feel' I was desperate to gain whilst painting illustrations for my little storybooks (most especially The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies), I felt such a lack of reasonable provocation. So I had to think of a solution. I began moving about tables and furnishings from one corner to the next in my folk's cottage, where I once had my artistry materials. I then moved things back and forth from Scarlette Rose to the main house, and in the midst of this, my temperamental frustration began to build. For an artist, environmental surroundings are of utmost significance. Then one day, I had the idea from my girlhood to pack a basket of my particulars and go outside and sit on the garden lawn to paint. That notion inspired me to place my painting desk right in front of the open double doors of Scarlette Rose cottage. I've never been more inspired to paint since that day, so I plod onward. Each morning the first thing in my diary is to see my beloved husband off to work. I perform my daily tidings and domesticated achievements and then stroll out to Scarlette Rose cottage for the day. I have been saving up for a big beautiful wooden cook stove (rather than the one currently in the house), and I also have my eyes peeled for a Victorian toilet. Initially, I was plotting to turn to a modern commode and build around it to feature an outhouse; however, upon hefty thinking, I would rather keep on with the cottage's appeal of the Victorian era.

My blog has plenty going on, it's true I am opinionated, and my views pop out here, there and everywhere; I remain devoted to sharing on my blog, although most believe that blogs are a thing of the past. I suppose that is very on-brand for me, then. I, heretofore, solemnly make an oath I plan to stay sat and write for as long as you'll have me and enjoy my musings. 

Did you listen to my last video on ye olde youtube of my big announcement? 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Lady Raquelxxx

How A Landlocked Mermaid Cultivates The Virtues Of A Simpler Life, Properly Insulated From Trends And Fads

I have stayed away as my illustrations for The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies have driven me to distraction. I have been on quite a voyage of the procession in releasing the bunny book. Yet, despite the preoccupations engendered by my reluctance to self-admit book procrastination, you can boldly see I am wholly conscious of the achievement sufficiently rare to many who've come before me. My inner desires of the title authoress fill me with such pleasurable satisfaction, continuously lulling me into an illusion of confidence that I plod on regardless. Better acquainted with the vastness of such expansive desires I possess and the burden of economic weight, I am currently planning an execution to churn out a book a month. In your presence on ye olde blog, my writing is of a clear slanted hand; I use a steady drip feed of carefully selected phrases that intrigue my young and old readers. 

Now onto the matters at hand as I have a score on several much-needed conversations regarding a simple, virtuous life, but firstly, a bit about success and how to achieve it according to me. The forest of fools (the world) is relatively comfortable with using 'force and pushing' through an archaic narrative, which constitutes success and the trail to its arrival. Even though new assumptions and the acts of other successful lads and lasses have proven hard work and years of toiling away is old information, there remain degenerates who refuse more unique avenues of thinking. Although it has been until recent years, the over-ambitious could cut me down to size with a mere phrase, and I would have believed them, now I carry the thought of their unintelligence. Currently a believer in the law of assumption, a woman armoured with decades of experience and an infantry of intellectual self-confidence, I've become indifferent to those reprobates. Truth well fixed what has taken these dwellers decades to accomplish; I then come along and perform the same and achieve more success in half the time they spent; to them, I echo they are merely bitter. I'm quicker, more clever, and that is an old proverb for covetousness that has been the resulting scheme since the dawn of humanity. Quite forwardly, I have proven it and proved to be false their dusty novelty of beliefs on success. The world at large remains age-old; to become successful, one must become enslaved to long years of strenuous effort, most notably with a constant reminding us of focus on the more elite distinctive intellects and how they've accomplished such feats. We, as valiant ladies, must break their treacherous circle as many of them are disproportionately carrying forth precarious teachings attempting to plague our young. This mindset that one must work hard from the cradle to the grave is an old and outdated fallacy. I have spent nearly a decade speaking confidentially with women. I have the utmost compassion for their obvious distress and conflicting heart, advising them those olden ways are no longer current. I am at the deepest part of myself, an old-fashioned woman in clothing and lifestyle but highly modern in values and intelligence. I'm painting a new definition of procrastination. I am perfectly aware that not all of us can afford to be romantic. Yet, I am an optimistic noblewoman, such as I, implementing broad variants to encourage women to become romantic. The instruction is here on ye olde diary, not hidden yet; the wise will only be the deciphers. 

Atop the painting, in addition to my hand sewing and gardening, my time has me smothered. However, I have no complaints, as homemaking and artistry are my two weaknesses.

I have often minded my tongue as I've sought to shift in hopes some folk's spirits would turn without me feeling compelled to rebuke them. I aim to be friendly and obliging and a bit colourful. I am daily toiling away at attempting to teach without being hurtful and flagrant with disgraceful measures of an acid tongue. A genuinely excellent and proficient writer can compose with intelligent language and bravely write to bring forth a straightforward message of reprove and maintain a sense of modest provocation whilst also improving schooling. I have found many writers have no long-standing thoughts about what they pen, and half is pure drivel. Yet I have suffered the loss of a child, and I am quite aware of the unsatisfactory repose. As of late, I have stood by and listened whilst folks have flagrantly prattled on not understanding when it is no longer proper to "never complain, never explain." Desperate times call for desperate measures, and if we gather hold preemptive, we can achieve much without the threat of violence. I often recite that I teach from my scars and not my wounds; this type of teaching prohibits many examples of using emotional branding rather than beautiful messages shared whilst in the state of mind to proactively teach prolific and philosophical knowledge. Yet we have speakers, professors, authors, political figures and athletes attempting to change humanity when they themselves are full of fury, influenced by their threat of financial loss, provoking them to act in deep waters of desperation. Yet, until the mass of the population begins turning their cheeks to unfavourable behaviour, it will forthwith proceed. We, as societal inhabitants, must start training our particular minds not to accept the multitudes of trends and crazes. How long will we secretly feel enraged yet remain the hearers, not the doers? How many experiences must we repeatedly witness and yet consistently and slovenly discard as that's their problems, not mine? Where is the desire for legacy, to uphold character, honour and self-sufficiency in what currently exists as a beautiful world? We as women must create a bit of delusion in our nature to spread goodness and nobility to our children. Having been born of women, we are responsible for creating a safe haven of home and womanly favour, and it must begin at the grassroots level. First, in our homes, mothers and women start today by "Taking Joy" in their life and not in the fad-oriented surfaced inclinations of inconsequential matters. Too long have modern women begun to use their brains and abilities for lackadaisical methods. Our young women and men have been dismissively shoved aside and are no longer being taught worthwhile attributes, such as respect for self, speech, and, frankly, all matters of the heart. Mothers, women and ladies have slowly lost their way from lackful love and respect for themselves. The folks in the arena of self-help or leadership are banging on as if they have all the answers and are practically new babes in swaddling blankets. Desperate times call for desperate measures, so it's no surprise to see a fully financial person attempting their fate in an entirely new industry. I will tell you why this occurs because the one thing a wealthy person often doesn't possess is fame. All of these things are perfectly fine, yet obtaining them should be done upon the golden rule. Folks believe that beyond all measures to achieve something, it must be genetic, which is precisely why we see folks becoming unglued. It's bare bones in the world of Caesar. From the cradle to the grave, one cannot go forth and never experience one's resurrection, or else this is what demonstrates itself in absolute tyranny. Tyranny doesn't signify autocracy on the outside. Tyranny can and is resulting within man's soul first and foremost. 

I speak on this with experience. I knew it was vital to take a step back and process my hurt and pain rather than keep on. I believe the deemed folks of importance in the public eye struggle with this as they do not listen to their guidance system yet keep ploughing through at the risk of madness, depression, rage, loss of monetary gain, and most of all, the notoriety of the world. The number one reason celebrities struggle is they become noteworthy and ignore endowing themselves with self-love and worth. This lack of self-love is the culprit for all self-imposed pain. This similar experience also occurs with commoners; This big blue beautiful world is in much need of teaching self-love. Believing fame will subside their inner self-loathing and insecurities, and if that doesn't work, they will buy more monetary things to attempt to quench the thirst for self-love. Yet, they keep on thinking that fame will quill their souls. The world looks upon the outside. I speak on this often, yet it bears repeating until it catches hold. 

A most beautiful gift is that of The Neville Collection. I exist to be a woman of the belief that reading is paramount to being wiser; nonetheless, many the world over (in our culture of spiritual teachers) have read much and yet remain small-minded. Most of our spiritual teachers in the industry today are merely parroting information, having not experienced particulars yet run off as experts, mainly leading beautiful souls to remain tethered to them as elected individuals. This message is of misconception and what I AM changing in the realm of spirituality. The integration of politics and religion is in no relation to spirituality, yet mainstream self-help gurus are either or; no one I've come across seems to remain on point with the balance between the many states a human being experiences. So to get people on board with their ideals and notions, they throw religion in one face like a glass of cold water. In my niche of mindset work, we as teachers should teach folks to trust themselves and be leaders in demonstrating how to return to self, for every human born of woman has the power to direct their lives most successfully. Rather than leaning on other folks to bolster them, teach them to trust themselves and the liberty they hold within—the correct principle is to exhibit how folks must return to themselves in trust. 

It's not the number of books one reads; it is the application in combination with the correct books. So be ye a doer and not a hearer only. 

If you'd like more in-depth conversations and my mindset instructions, swimming over to ye olde YouTube channel is where I discuss and examine such notions. If you're more comfortable with the solitariness of my teachings and the many personal stories I share exclusively on Patreon, sign up here. In the latest broadcast, I share an exciting and extraordinary announcement that I've been keeping quiet. 

A fun fact, I purchased a plot of land in Scotland and England, which entitled me to be an official Lady, so I shall name-sign my posts as Lady Raquel. (Smile) 

I also went to additional lengths to have my passport and driver's licence changed. (This is an excellent novelty and simple fun yet also encourages preserving Scotland and England's countryside.)

Most affably yours til my next swim, Lady Raquelxxx

Carter's Chronicles And The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies

Good morning my dear mermaid hearts,

 

At the weekend, a fortnight ago, Jeffrey Shawn and I worked in the garden. We've been planting loads of shrubs, emerald grass and boxwood at the front of Carter's cottage (see them placed strategically). Here is a picture of my parent's cottage (it was my paternal grandmother's), and my folks bought it from her also (giving her a life estate). 

The below painting is from a current dream I had and what I envision the cottage to look like at a future juncture.

I am placing the cart before the horse, yet I was caught up in the excitement and called Endureed last week to have them give me an estimate on a Somerset thatched roof for Scarlette Rose cottage along with Carter's Cottage (my folk's cottage). I've set the appointment with the strategic specialist. I will report back and let you know what I uncovered. I will collect prices on Scarlette Rose Cottage and my folk's cottage (Carter Cottage); as one day, you can rest assured I will have a flagstone thatched roof cottage. You heard it here first. Can you imagine a thatched roof covering the home in beautiful flagstone with green shutters and French casement windows all around?

And then a stone wall surrounding the perimeter, oh my! It reminds me of when Tasha Tudor (at 57, no less, and by the time she was 59, she moved into her home ) first moved to her 40 acres and began plotting Corgi Cottage. Simply knowing Tasha was up at an age when she finally landed in her forever home gives me high hopes for my own. I must confess to you why I have spent these last few years preparing to transform my folk's cottage. Their home is surrounded and shaded by several tall live oaks and a few laurel oaks. Some may find it curious why I would invest so much of my time and money into their home when we do not know what is in store for our future in a definitive way; nevertheless, I reason that their cottage is the portrayal of my two books that are to be released next month. Not only am I using my imagination of their home conjured up through pretty little visions for the books I've written and painted it is how I perceive things through my visionary lens. It's quite vital to living in the present moment of NOW. I've invariably benefitted quite well in all the homes I have ever dwelt in, and although i did not officially own them (except for two), it was never a regretful notion that I spent such efforts. The (Universe, God, Higher Consciousness, or Spirit) will always reward our actions when we are appreciative of present moments yet eager for more.

As I sketched and drank loads of tea at the weekend, I put on Tasha Tudors Take Joy DVD to play in the background to fuel my inspiration. 

I have been baking homemade bread for over thirty-one years; however, I am baking my first loaf using Tasha Tudor's cookbook today.

Look at my pretty Victorian tea box; isn't it swell? It arrived, and I am chuffed to bits. It is so beautiful. I am on the hunt for an original key to fit the lock, and I performed a bit of research to which I have also learned it had a small thin piece of brass on either side that was at some juncture yanked off, and it needs some new little knob replacements as well. So I have thought about making it a small episode for Patreon. I have many broadcast episodes planned, and I've posted my ideas on ye olde social media.  

Today I began hand-sewing a new prairie dress; I sew in the evenings whilst Jeffrey winds down after his work day. It's quite lovely and romantically quaint. 

Also, if you're interested in what I've been up to as of late, I've begun posting actively on ye olde YouTube channel again. I'd love to see you and let's have a prattle. In addition, daily, I share stories on my Instagram and post how I remain occupied.

I would love it if you were to follow me on Instagram or Facebook, where I will be keeping those up to breast on the release of my newest book, The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies.  

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

In Deep Thought With Mrs Carter And Her Pursuit for Happiness Among Skeptics

... In a time lacking in truth and certainty and filled with anguish and despair, no woman should be shamefaced in attempting to give back to the world, through her work, a portion of its lost heart. —Louise Bogan

Well, hello, my dear darling mermaid hearts, 

In the south, November brings few and far between cold days. Instead, equipped with our fair share of wet thunderstorms and early evenings. Mrs Carter dreams of fires lit with her little family drawing hearthside in the placidness of Scarlette Rose cottage. The month begins with a remembrance of those we've loved and lost on All Souls' Day and then to the festival of Martinmas on November 11. (Martinmas, a very olde European winter celebration dating back to the middle ages concerning Saint Martin of Tours.) Inspired by Martin's dream, he hears the words, "what ye have done unto the least of your brothers you have done unto me", which perfectly fits into this post. Mrs Carter is not a religious lass yet was in her youth. However, she acknowledges the Bible contains, within its pages, friendly instruction if understood accurately. In addition, the Victorians were quite religious so let us remain on point, shall we? 

Soon, it will be time to go over the hills and through the woods to the cottage for everyone to gather for Thanksgiving. It's quite the stirrup, bringing the first hints of Christmas joy. 

Mrs Carter is up to her wellies in painting illustrations, so might we skip right to the post? She will publish a pleasurable entry arriving tomorrow. Today is for another bit of instruction she intends to grapple with, beings no one else seems to lay the truth on the line, so you know my fruits, Mrs Carter will assume the charge. 

The truth is Mrs Carter has been balancing many tasks. Keeping things running smoothly with her folks, bearing up with filming, Patreon, youtube, gardening, sewing, writing, illustrating, running social media, photography, formatting her books, etc. (yes, it is quite a load to balance). Sometimes, it creates a somewhat defensiveness when someone prattles off at the brim that she's not doing this or that; one should mind their garden before informing Mrs Carter about her weeds. However, she's pretty accurately aware of her pruning responsibilities, and she thanks you very much. 

The motive for Mrs Carter's penning on thee ole' blog is that it's her one weakness in how she is fortunate enough to make sense of her life and life in general. She does not write anything about false narratives or scattering about of mistruths. Now mind you, her little storybooks, on the other hand, are entirely fictitious; the blog is ALL fixed truths. If someone questions her online diary material and validity, it tears her heartstrings and shreds her spirit, for she's poured her true heart out; sharing the truth is not easy and executing it with grace is a challenge. In knowing Mrs Carter, though, she will continue to big herself up for accomplishing it exceptionally well. She is trustworthy, and therefore those who should have the highest expectations reading her diary (blog) never dare doubt the authenticity of her writings.

If you're curious, dear hearts, why she commenced this post with audaciousness is distinct because her blog is a tiny chipmunk's nest online and where beautiful friendships form, yet she will set afoot when she feels unjustly condemned. When someone disembarks onto her blog, has bad intentions and is swift to find all the faults in the world, the universe will have its way with them. That statement sounds quite harsh, yet the world can be brutal if one views it that way or rather beautiful if one decides to view it that way too. Mrs Carter will always try to write with elegance and dignity (averaging from 13,000 to 20,000 pageviews reading her blog monthly, which might not be much for some, but it is from Mrs Carter's standing). However, she is confident some viewers drop anchor to scoff and lay judgement with their ill intentions of pinpricking. A sure sign post they've left their manners at the back gate of the vicarage. 

Whilst she lays aside those scruples, Mrs Carter wants to bring up the conversation of gossiping. Because, well, she's quite the muse in angling herself on the air of British (not born British, yet relates on the side of British in her remaining dignified yet bold way. Surely you jest.) She would much rather be polite by dragging it to Towne Square (ye olde blog) rather than take it straight to the person at hand. This feat is not a cowardess act by any means; however, these days, she'd much rather wait and allow her vexed nerves to calm themselves before putting on her queen Sansa Stark from Game of Thrones, announcing, "be off with her head!" (Smile) Mrs Carter's Victorian red-haired updo and temper have gotten her into enough trouble over the years. She minds her business on social media, yet, stumbled upon a young mummy talking about her struggling as a Christian woman and feeling remorseful for always gossiping about others. She falls prey to gossip even when she doesn't want it to happen; she states having to 'repent' and feels awful about herself. The horrible feeling isn't about her need to repent; the God within her knows she's hurting herself when she hurts another. (Hence the quote at the start of this post). Her hypocrisy knows no bounds. It flairs its beguiling head from the black lagoon, and before she realises it, she feels dreadful about herself. First, I commend her for being open and vulnerable enough to talk about it; some folks are on their high horse to admit their frailties, yet everyone sees them like a flaming torch of the olympic degree. In truth, many folks have most likely gossiped and have been rather unkind, particularly when feelings are damaged. Let us hope we also have enough self-awareness to correct our deficiencies at night by performing a Neville Goddard revision technique. Mrs Carter uses a suitable revision method and commits to love more. She also understands that falling prey to being unloving is entirely her difficulty and no one else's. Nowadays, if the conscience prompts her, a gentle confrontation with individuals (in a loving, forthright way) is her way, or she will write about it here on the blog after she's settled her spirit.

Mrs Carter's writing focuses on growing, learning and remaining compassionate, which can be tricky when some folks want to paw at others. One must refuse to be a victim and get on, knowing those with acid-rain thoughts will see their fate. That's not cold. That is the life of universal law. If one has the wherewithal to be unkind to one's fellow beings, unkindness will arrive in the same measure but tenfold. May we accept responsibility for our thoughts? Why can't folks comprehend that their in-the-dark secreted disparaging thoughts must come to light? Conceivably, perhaps they are void of common sense? Everyone will make restitution for their venom. If one doesn't believe in universal law, look at the late Wendy Williams; she spent decades viciously gossiping about celebrities and being downright despicable, and look at her karmic debt. That's just one example. If one falls into backbiting, may we acknowledge what we've done in several ways?

One is to comprehend it was not originating from a place of love, and it's invariably about what trauma is being held in which (that person activated the pain). Lastly, Mrs Carter is somewhat selfish, implying she does not want to fall prey to the consequence of the boomerang effect. The universe and the law of assumption work; she knows more abundantly and clearly that gossiping stories return tenfold. Everything we do (whether good or bad) will happen to us seventy times seventy. If one steals, another will steal from them. If we fib, we will be told an untruth with rigour, understand?

May we correct our faults and strive to improve.

My dear hearts, Mrs Carter, writes because she genuinely wants to inspire others to recognise their journeys of difficulties. So, as a community of lovely souls, we will unite to help and become a better, more improved version of ourselves. 

Now to return to the subject at hand. When a person gossips about another, the truth lies in the person's deep insecurities and lack of self-love. Mrs Carter understands more than anyone as she has spoken of her misgivings and struggles repeatedly with her once self-loathing. When coaching, she often hears that the client will exhibit self-hatred, yet quickly responds, "I do not hate me; I love me." Their first response is, and understood as Mrs Carter often stated similarly to herself too. Understandably it is our defensive self that is insulating our hearts from pain. I concur with Mrs Carter as I would also say that exact statement, and even when someone would question my ability to love myself, I would snap back at them in a vast defensive nature. How dare they speak the truth! The nerve! (smile) The truth is a large horse pill to swallow, although once we cease to a cascade of pretending beyond complications, we will all be better off. Again, being vulnerable and teachable is quite refreshing and very healing. 

The dear woman who spoke to Mrs Carter about gossip and writing this post has been another lesson taught to improve by accepting accountability and being more observant of our actions. We're pretty good at trying to think well about others, yet may we be additionally aware of our slips. I love you, and Mrs Carter loves you, dear hearts. We're all in this together. Have a Take Joy day! Toodle-Pip!

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx 

A Victorian 1885 October At Sea

Hello, dear friends, 

Good morning from lovely beautiful, and sunny Florida. Here's a sweet photo of my beach. There's a quiet little bench cradled between two stilt homes, and if one is mannerly and respectful, the homeowners will allow the resting upon to appreciate the waving sounds of bliss. The beach has always been a tonic for this ole bygone Weeki Wachee Springs mermaid. I love to beach comb also. I have collected shells for nearly all of my life. If you ever purchased one of my paintings, you'll remember I slipped a small shell wrapped up in a little brown painter's paper bundle. 

In 2015 when I ran away (back home) for a respite, I would drive my mum's little chariot and sit on the bench in the picture above. I had a broken heart, yet not shattered because I had a forlorn temperament for how love went wrong. My story isn't like many love romance stories. Actually, I was happiest I had broken out; if you want the truth. I was severe on the sex and finished with men. I was quietly tending to matters as I had plenty to occupy myself when unexpectedly, I found myself (twin flame) attracted to Jeffrey Shawn. But then again, I am getting ahead of myself. I'm writing a book all about it. I know I've written oodles here on ye olde blog, however it'll be nice to have it in chronological form. It is a love story (about my dearly beloved Jeffrey), a life story and a self-development/ mindset book. It's so many things all wrapped into one. You may have heard me speak about it from the title The Little Mermaid's Transformational Tale.

 

I plan to write and paint it, as Susan Branch did for her book The Fairy Tale Girl, yet with my snarling slice of mermaid twist. 

It may sound to some as though it's a sad tale; however, that is life, and for a book to be good and best, I think It's vital to obtain all the nitty gritty bits and bobs, don't you agree? I have no regrets about how my story has turned out thus far; it's actually a lovely story if you were to ask me. My book will most assuredly explain in the most delightful and hopeful way how a person can turn something terrible into something lovely. As young girls in love, we are starry-eyed at the start, especially in those first relationships. We're entirely naive. An exceptional illustration of naivety is Keira Knightly, starring in the movie The Duchess (2008).

Let us not fret any longer and get on with the pleasurable portions of this post by telling you what I have been up to as of late—well, mostly sketching and dreaming about all the enjoyable days of splashing in paint. I am pleased to write and paint books for your dear hearts. I've been thinking about you and where to have book signings, what to do to make them unique, and how much I can't wait to meet you all, that have supported me so lovingly. The Tale of Sawyer Lamb and The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies comes out next month (November 25, 2022), and I want to make it spectacular. I want to take questions, as when I would have little author tea parties. The children would have time to ask questions after I read my story to them. The children were so fascinated and always wanted to know all manner of details about being a real-life (Weeki Wachee Springs) mermaid. After they wrote down questions, I put them in a message bottle. I also want to order some delightful fancy candy from England as giveaways to go with Sawyers's book, chocolate and lemon drops in little sack bundles, precisely as in the story.

What else have I been up to as of late? A little nesting, cleaning, organising and purging olde items such as clothing and things that are no longer serving the new version of me, playing in the garden, sketching ways to add onto the cottage, plotting the rose garden, drinking loads of tea and filling vases up with fresh cut flowers. Oh, and one of the most fun things Jeffrey and I love is to work in the garden together. This weekend we will be planting nine boxwood (in addition to the ones we've already added and the two topiaries) and about nine Viburnum (variety is suspensum) all along to cover the air conditioner on the side of my parent's home. I'll post some pictures when they're all planted. 

I've been slowly transitioning my photos to a sepia tone or black and white on Instagram. It creates a more authentic aesthetic that I'm setting in motion with my business branding. I tend to love it; however, for those who adore colour, I also add colour photos to be admired when you slide the images. 

As always, I am Taking Joy and remaining on the sunny side of life. Here are a few pretty pictures of the peer near our home when Jeffrey and I went for a walk along the beach. 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

A Bit Of Writing Advice, The Process Of Writing And A Few Personal Stories From My Past

My dear hearts,

This post is quite nefarious, and to protect the innocent {wink} is the reason for it being behind a paid wall. I am also near completion on the victorian sofa project, and it will be published on Patreon before the month of October is over.

I've taken to the new madcap adventure of publishing two of my children's books within three fortnights and the self-imposed deadline to publish a book a month. Are ye mad, Lady Carter? Conceivably or am I a trade intellectual? Join Patreon

Darling, It's All In Your Head And My Epiphany For The Tale Of Sawyer Lamb

Firstly, dear hearts, allow me to embark and perform a bit of housekeeping by saying how appreciative I am for your friendships that I have engendered here on my blog. Of course, I am finely aware we have not met in person; however, I feel a sincere fondness and look upon you each as actual friends.

When my dear son (Sawyer) departed, and I went through my bereavement, I developed such loving friends who budded in intimacy here on this small snippet of the befangled interweb. When I had my conundrum with my British friend Tracy, I shared with a relation of my struggle of how, unfortunate; she chose to remove herself as a friend (which remains me unaware and befuddled as to why she unfriended me); they said to me, "who cares, Raquel? You don't know those folks reading your blog or on Instagram; good riddance." I beg to differ. I said, " Oh no, I feel very close to those on Instagram and who read my blog. I consider them my friends.

I have some exhilarating news. I am releasing my two books (hardbacks), The Tale of Sawyer Lamb and The Tale of the Christmas Bunnies, on November 25, 2022. I have been feverishly toiling away at illustrations for Sawyer's book; next week, I will begin painting both books of drawings. I also plan to release a book a month forthwith.

After several years of emotionally remaining on the hamster wheel, my daylight thoughts were no longer washing away my night thoughts. I felt I was losing my faculties, so I petitioned the universe to send an answer to assist me. If I were hindering my personal growth of success (pride goeth before the fall), I desired the solution. That exact intention is what I gave birth to a fortnight ago. I knew intuitively I was keeping myself from progressing, yet I did not know how to unlock it. I was not allowing for advancement, and I understood that perhaps my strategy must also pivot. This next portion of the story is about how the universe works. I've known and have loved Russ (the rap artist) for many years. (In fact, Sawyer and I loved his work. I remember Sawyer would study his strategies for success in the music industry.) However, I do not follow celebrities on my Instagram platform or spend too much time on the app. Yet, last week Instagram algorithm suggested a reel of Russ speaking about positivity and self-worth, so I clicked on his account and learned that he had in his highlight section a book he wrote. I immediately bought it because I knew it must be positive; I enjoy supporting independent artists. I read the book in less than 40 minutes (it's an easy but profound book) and then read it twice further. I highly recommend Russ's book if you want a little grit in your literary diet. It's All in Your Head by Russ, and a few lightbulb moments went off, and I instantly felt enlightened that was the answer to my earlier intention that I had sent out into the universe. I wish to share the mermaid secrets revealed, and you might benefit at some juncture down the lane.

In the last fortnight, I have been self-reflecting my view on my circumstances as an author/ artist, and why my success has not erupted to the degree, I foresee. It has not been for lack of enjoying the process or my work ethic. The work determined resilience never has nor will ever be my dilemma, so I knew it had to be something I wasn't recognising. I am endlessly in love with my craft, which will never change. However, I realised I was also aimless and reluctant to send Sawyer's book into the world. I began to notice I would feel quite vexed when I progressed to the book's completion and then would become highly fatigued. As I am known to do (ask any of my relations), I conducted internal self-concept work to uncover my hesitancy.

I then allowed the waves of spirit to guide me after making my intention with a deep desire to be a vessel for bringing forth good and healing into the world. This desire is my life purpose as an author and artist, and I know this truth deep within my core. I am kind-hearted to myself as I know I needed a soft place to land while grieving my son's death. However, I am so profoundly determined and fueled to create a legacy for my son and the world over I will not let anything prevent me from vast success to be a force for good which I desire to linger in this world long after my departure. If needs be, I will plough the door down with my success in authorship.

Jeffrey Shawn and I have benefited from living with my folks, and they, in return, also profited, although intuitively, I feel the cycle is dropping anchor to a close for Jeffrey and me. We will be on madcap adventures in the new year. It's not always best to reveal one's circumstances, yet, I am very accessible when it pertains to sharing mermaid secrets in the sand if I feel my conscious prompts me, which, let us admit, I'm one to be spurred on at frequency.

In all earnestness, I share the start, middle and (eventually the end) because not many folks discover a voyage reference in life for achieving their success. It's as though many cloak their methods in vaults which does no favour for those labouring away at their dreams. When someone does not have a reference raft to seize hold, it will require lengthier intervals. I feel it a travesty to withhold secrets to success. It's similar to many very acclaimed celebrities who possess vast platforms, and they do nothing with them to make the world a better place. I want to question their motives, as they seem to be self-serving and ultimately worthless if we're speaking long-term in leaving a footprint of expansion and progress in a positive way.

Allow me the opportunity to share a few particulars I discovered about myself after reading Russ's book for the third time. Before I got on, I felt inspired by how Russ used each chapter of his book with a song title, so in a fashionable way, as Austin Kleon would say of Steal Like an Artist; I think I will do similar but use my book titles for my self-help book coming out next year. In part two, Persistence, Pull the Trigger, Russ speaks on hesitation (move with purpose), and behind hesitancy is fear. Upon reading the line in the book, I felt somewhat gobsmacked, as I wouldn't have thought myself in possession of even an ounce of fear. After reading that text over three times, it popped off of the pages as if illumination in fluorescent light. I am transparent and truthful with myself and confidently aware when the truth is staring me square in the eyes. I then, at that moment, realised, indeed, I was fearful of releasing Sawyer's book into the world as I had such deep sentiments tethered to his beautiful book.

I want it to help multitudes of people, and if that did not happen (it's all in my head), the prospect rendered me frozen in fear, and I would be gravely disappointed. I have grief, healing, pain, happiness, joy, and hope tied into his book. Each time I thought about releasing it, I felt loss and apprehension. In my head, It was as if I were letting go of my son, and that sentiment in my craw seemed unbearable to swallow. I know you can understand my sensations if you've ever lost a child. I also realised I have the personal capability to decide what definitions I am applying to each scenario in my life. Russ often states in his book; It's All in Your (my) Head. The first was my hesitation; the second bit of profundity is the journey and bounce back in Part three. I define success as knowing that my success is renewable; it's not a matter of IF my work is successful; it is a matter of WHEN it is successful. The details of how I will give rise to success are not my concern but the universe's. Among the many feathers in my cap is that I am a mindset coach, yet frequently when one is so into their vocation, they can miss the message for themselves. Often one cannot see the forest for the trees.

I can pinpoint every individual's difficulty I've ever worked with, but it is unknown when I attempt such declarations for myself. Zoë Kennedy told me when I read The Tale of Sawyer Lamb manuscript to her, my book helped her more than anything ever had, and that makes it all worth it; I've done my bit. The witty notion is that I did know that intellectually but perhaps not profoundly believe it at the time; nonetheless, today, with a fresh perspective, I do, at my core, know it without an ounce of doubt. The truth universally fixed in manifestation is to get out of our own way. Too often (and in a few distinct areas of my life), I have enormous resistance, and I can beat myself about the head by remaining in the way of the universe. If I can not let go and allow things, I am the one keeping myself from my dreams. Most often, folks push forward by trying to hammer a round peg into a square wooden hole. 

To live in a state of urgency is something I know well. After losing Sawyer, I understood that nothing or anyone is definitive, and I do not take anything for granted. To remain untethered in how we feel things should evolve is a complicated matter for humans. One must remain faithful and know without a doubt that; what we are diligently toiling away at IS at hand. Reminding oneself it will occur today, and if not today, tomorrow. There is no weighing that course; it is a matter of time. I keep no room in my mind for maybe.

One bit of debilitation is when a person self-talks by repeating, "I am going to do so and so." The word "going to" will perpetually keep one's dreams outside of achievement. I console myself with waiting because I want so much for my book to help millions of folks. However, that won't happen if I sit on the story and do not release it. So today, I got out of my way. I can now pass on the temptations to put off and override to the quiet calm without further loss of time. 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx

A Brilliant Manifesting Story And My Love Of Laura Ingalls Wilder

I had the entirety of a post of over three thousand words written for you, my dear lovely friends, and lost the totality. When I realised there wasn't a cat's chance in hell without claws of finding it, I must admit I got the morbs for a moment. However, I now feel sufficient, so let me get on with the post.

First, allow me to share a lovely manifesting story. I have thousands; however, it is very tricky to share all of them. Yet, I think you would like to hear the one about my daughter Zoë Kennedy. Zoë Kennedy rang me a week ago and asked if I would manifest for her. As a child, I took her to The Phantom of the Opera in Orlando, Florida, and she loved it so much it created an affinity for the broadway musical, and she eternally wished to go to the one in New York City. In February of 2023, the musical will end permanently, embarking on Zoë Kennedy to see it beforehand. Unfortunately, she had no financial means of getting opera tickets, airfare or lodgings. So, I said I would manifest for her, we hung up the phone, and I performed the visual technique before state akin to sleep I use from Neville Goddard. 

The manifestation took a week to materialise. Zoë Kennedy called me last Friday and said she was gifted round-trip airline tickets to New York, two tickets front row mezzanine to Phantom of the Opera and that she and Ethan's friends that live in New York invited them to crash at their flat for free for their week's visit. She said, "Mummy, thank you so much; you're magical!" She was so excited, and I am thrilled for her in turn! I love hearing success stories when I manifest for others. It thrills me. It costs nothing and is available to everyone to create their reality. 

I was a late bloomer growing up. However, when it concerns my love of Laura Ingall's Wilder, there is no question I have an immense fondness for her. As many of you know who've remained avid readers of my blog know, I grew up with two parents in the home. My father stayed in a constant state of slosh til I was eleven (No worries we’re very good now). My devoutly religious mum was a stay-at-home mother. I have no complaints; my mother sheltered me to the degree that she kept my siblings and me in church three times a week and two solid weeks when there were revivals and church activities. (Of course, as you know, I was Pentecostal until seventeen and later became a Mormon until I left theology altogether at forty-three.) 

My mum, a stay-at-home mother, was rather keen on us children being very smart, which meant reading was essential. So when I was young, I looked forward to the book fair order forms. Do you remember them? Before the fair even happened, the excitement commenced with the order forms. I would scour over it for hours, dreaming of all the books I wished to order. I would mark them in pencil at first, then in pen. Money in our home was plentiful at times and meagre at others, depending on spending habits that month. I believe many folks come from backgrounds that were not episodes of Little House on the Prairie having fathers like Pa. Perhaps that was the appeal as a little girl.

My father was in the home during my youth; however, he wasn't an emotional role model; in truth, I developed trust and men issues that would expand considerably for decades. In many ways, I raised my children with similar functions. The female figures (mothers) I remember being raised amongst were not respected, including my mother. The men ruled the roost. Today my independence and desire to be a powerful force in the female facet of this generational society is highly due to feeling downtrodden. My standpoint on ladies' value, being adored and respected, is vital. One shan't get it contorted; I find the role of a man in society (and in the home) quite significant too, yet there is no one above or below; we are all one. Men have their place, as does woman. They both work beautifully together when on equal footing. Many parents in the seventies (when I grew up), I believe, tried their best and were well-intended; that's all I can hope for, and I will continue onward. I refuse to reference my circumstances as perpetuating grim stories of my lot unless diving to depths of understanding and presenting logic facilitates growth. Too often, that state of woe is when too much emphasis is placed on victimhood memorialising. 

To try and fill in the backstory about Laura Ingalls Wilder, I'll have to take you back to when the fixation first began. I've spoken briefly in other posts about my neighbours from childhood that lived down the lane. They lived as close to the little house on the Prairie in real life, not by their desire to live old-fashioned. I know it was their poor mindset mentality, yet I never viewed them in that manner. I loved the sentiments when I'd feed (wood they cut themselves) Kate's 19th-century stove. They didn't have indoor plumbing; instead, they had an outhouse, gardens, a stream for water sources, fruit trees, and farm animals. I didn't particularly appreciate watching the slaughtering of the pigs or killing the chickens; however, knowing how food was obtained created newfound respect for it. I know it's a part of real life; however, i am a sentimental fool and wholly sensitive. As I would make my way to my neighbours nearly every day, I would also look forward to watching Little House on the Prairie. I was not only fascinated with the storylines, but I was more intrigued by intentionally focusing on the little house and barn, how they dressed and what everything looked like as a whole. I was enamoured with it, obsessed. I checked out the entire series of books, and as soon as I read through them, I continued that strategy over and over. I then began mimicking Laura; the schoolchildren thought I was mad, though I didn't care. I've always held a disposition of heaped delusional confidence. 

I would surround myself as much as possible (mainly my clothing) by emulating that historical aspect through my junior high school days. i recall my friend Cindi (she was very modern, and the boys were quite fond of her) said to me often, "Raquel, you need a makeover. You're such a pretty girl, but you wear those old clothes so no one can see how attractive you are." 

I never cared she said that; in junior high, however, I succumbed to the peer pressure when my cousin (who was much older than me) said I needed to get with the times and going into high school, I needed a fresh new look. I surrendered. Often surrendering occurs in youth because insecure youth want to fit in; I wasn't secure enough to stave off the new school and loads of teenagers, nor did I want to be rejected. I yielded. I would teleport into Laura Ingalls's ways for decades in and out, trying to return to that feeling when a little girl but never gaining much footing. I was constantly battling my true self and what I loved and felt comfortable with for many years.

I didn't have the luxury of having a mate that supported my fondness for nostalgia, olde timey ways, antiques or history. I was ridiculed for it if you want the truth. I look back and honestly feel it was a cloaked structure of vitriol. Mistreatment can be masked for lengthy periods when physically concealed; it's the subtle behind-closed doors of continuous verbal poking. In hindsight, I justified the abuse because he wasn't outright punching me; I assumed there was no abuse. I had seen my father abuse; that was no question. However, it took on a different appearance as an adult. When I began to question such matters, I repeatedly heard I was mentally ill, crazy and needed help. My family has a history of mental illness. That truth was weaponised against me. I am very far from mad.

My apologies; this is not a victimhood post, yet I wanted to catch you up with my past life and where I came from and to make you aware I am not ashamed. The truth sets a person free, and when one remains vulnerable, there are no defences. No defences, and no one ever will possess an advantage of leverage. I live by this truth well-fixed.

I have not an ounce of animosity towards those that have been unfortunately unhealthy to me; I am Indifferent, life is, and I know the universe has a karmic vindication debt of retribution. I believe greatly in the boomerang effect. Let's end this post with the inclination that on any given day, I wouldn't fancy them an invite to tea. 

Most affably yours til my next swim, Raquelxxx