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What's in a Title?

Sun, 08 Mar 2026 14:19:43 GMT

From Working Title to Printed Title

Titles. They are the doorway into the story. Unlike non-fiction, which basically says what it is on the tin, fantasy book titles must capture the reader’s imagination without being obvious. It is the lure to draw the reader's hand to the bookshelf. Where they run a finger along the spine, painting pictures in their mind before they’ve even seen the cover.

The Edge of Oblivion speaks of adventure (The Edge) with a hint of danger (Oblivion).
The Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin conjures power, kings, queens (Thrones) and intrigue (The Game).
Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson promises mystery, adventure (Mist), unknown origins (born) with a hint of magic – because it’s Sanderson.

When I was writing Book 1, I started with The Edge of Oblivion and never wavered from that title. The Lesitha Veil Tales came later. Once I realised it was a series and had created the veils between the worlds, it made sense to use that connection as the series title.

Book 2 has taken a slightly different track in the titling. I started out with Piercing the Veil, then it became just Pierce the Veil. And finally, when I finished the first draft, I realised that Pierce the Veil is the title for Book 3 and Book 2’s title is now Dark Side of the Veil.

The titles also outline the progression of the story:

The Edge of Oblivion – the start of the adventure by going over the edge into the unknown
Dark Side of the Veil – the adventure continues and becomes more serious and dangerous
Pierce the Veil – fighting back, standing up for what you believe in and destroying the façade

One of the things about self-publishing is that I get to choose the title for my books. When I learned that traditional publishers almost always change the title of books they commission, I just couldn’t accept that. I know it’s not a good habit as a writer to be precious about the title of your book, but I like the titles I’ve chosen. They just fit. They give a taste of what to expect, and together they show the path of the adventure.

Some of my favourite titles are:

Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts – exotic, adventure, mystique – all of which it delivers and it’s one of my favourite books

Aurora Rising; Aurora Burning; Aurora’s End series by Jay Kristoff and Amy Kaufman – Well, really anything by Jay Kristoff, but I liked the progression of the titles. They indicate the storyline of finding your power, facing your demons, and the ultimate sacrifice.

Titles of books can be difficult to create. Sometimes the title doesn’t come until the very end. I’ve read posts from authors who agonise over what to call their book. They just can’t sum up everything in their story in a few words that convey the emotions they’ve poured into their work. Others start with the title crystal clear in their minds and then build the story around it.

I tend to come somewhere in the middle. And once I’ve got my title down, I don’t want to change it.

What are some of your favourite titles? Have you ever read a book and wondered how the author came up with that title?

Love & Laughter

Sun, 04 May 2025 11:54:22 GMT

Sometimes dreams come true

Walking up the pathway, I could see the early buds sprouting on the branches of the overhanging tree. The blue sky held promises of the warmth to come, and the cool breeze blew warnings of wishful thinking. The snowdrops had all but vanished as the daffodils pushed forth and crowded the edge of the walkway with their jostling sunny smiles.

I knocked on the door of the house and waited. My breath was shallow and rapid. My pulse jumping and there was a little bead of sweat creeping out from my hairline slowly making its way down my temple.

“ Why am I so anxious ?” I thought to myself. I’ve been to a gazillion mediums. But this time it felt different. This time it felt heavy. I had intentions and purpose flooding through my mind. Expectations.

What if there is no message? What if everything I’ve believed is fake?

What if there is a message and I don’t want to hear it?

So many thoughts racing through my head as I stood, waiting, breathing, heart thumping, sweating.

The door opened and a small-framed woman with kind eyes surrounded by starbursts of wrinkles greeted me. Her face lit up as she smiled up at me and the starburst eyes exploded into rays of sunshine. She was crowned in a halo of silver-gray curls and wore a light pink frock that hung just below her knees. Her white sweater wrapped around her shoulders, gently hugging her in its snowy embrace.

We exchanged pleasantries as she led me into her room. It was dimly lit and there was a delicate scent of flowers drifting in the air. I settled myself into a comfortable chair that sat across from her. A table filled the space between us with the requisite stack of cards, crystals, and adornments.

“I feel a heaviness about you,” she started as she settled into her high-backed red leather chair. Then she sighed and smiled. Reaching across the table, she took my hands in hers. “Will you do me a favor and close your eyes and take three long, deep breaths? I can feel your heart pounding from over here.”

I did as she instructed, inhaling the intoxicating scent of the flowers. With my eyes closed, I took several long, deep inhales and exhales. She sat across from me, and I could feel her smiling at me through my closed eyes.

“There is someone here who is very eager to speak with you,” she began. “Did you lose someone you love recently?”

The tears erupted. Even though I told myself I wouldn’t cry. No matter what she said.

“Yes,” I choked. “A few months ago.”

“Ok, that explains the strong connection. He’s a very forceful person.”

I smiled as I imagined him pushing his way through all the other spirits. He’d be wearing his favorite light blue work shirt with his dark blue trousers and his leprechaun smile from ear to ear.

“He tells me that you’ve had a bit of a rough patch lately and he’s worried about you. He’s sorry he can’t be here for you and he’s soooo proud of you. Oh, he has such a lovely smile. Did he have rather large sideburns?

I cried and laughed as I spluttered, “Yes, he always wore thick 50's style sideburns. Nothing too crazy. And he had a wonderful smile.”

“He feels like a father figure. Is that accurate?”

“Yes,” I whispered, desperately trying to compose myself as the tears streamed down my face.

“Well, he says that you need more love and laughter in your life. He thinks you’re being too serious and taking on too much. He wants to see you happy again.”

I don’t remember much after that. I sobbed and listened as she moved on to reading my cards. The rest of the visit was much like many others I’d had. I’ve passed through some tough times. I’m surrounded by so many people who love and support me. Anything I want is possible.

I left the session, my eyes red and swollen, and slowly made my way home. That night, I dreamed my father visited me. He gave me a little floppy-eared bunny with a white heart on its head. He told me I had to take it with me wherever I went. So, I tucked it into my handbag as I went off to work. While I was sitting in a large meeting, I pulled the little critter out and placed it on my lap. Listening to the presentation, I stroked the soft, velvety ears and traced the white heart on its head with my fingertip. All the while wondering what the heck I was supposed to do with a floppy-eared rabbit. And why did I need to take it with me wherever I went?

I woke up and the dream’s power and energy stayed with me throughout the day. There was no coincidence that my dream had centered around my father and there was some significance in the message. But a floppy-eared bunny? Really Dad? You’re having a laugh.

Time passed, but the dream stayed with me. I kept thinking about what the floppy-eared bunny could possibly represent. I looked for ways to introduce more love and laughter into my life, but everything felt hollow, forced and contrived.

A few weeks later, my husband and I traveled up to his mother’s house to clear it out. She had recently moved into an assisted living home, so we needed to clean and fix up her house to prepare it for sale. As I washed the breakfast dishes in the sink, I heard an odd noise coming from outside the window. I stopped and listened. It was a high-pitched whimpering sound.

I stepped out onto the back porch and the whining grew louder. It was coming from the other side of the fence in the neighbor’s backyard. Not one to let a mystery pass me by, I poked my head over the top of the fence and looked around.

Crawling around in the grass was a pile of wiggling little brown and white bodies, barely able to walk.

My squeals of delight drew the attention of the neighbor, James.

‘’Ello,” he called to me from his back step. “You must be Collin’s gal.”

“Hi. And you must be James,” I called back.

“Yes. Would you like to come over and see the new pups?”

I couldn’t say ‘yes’ fast enough as I raced around the fence and through his gate. Within minutes, there were several of them rolling around at my feet with the mother sitting nearby keeping a very close eye on her babies and me.

Then, from the dark depths of her kennel, I heard another soft whimper. Slowly, crawling out of the kennel, came one last puppy. It scooched its way to my feet and looked up with its crystal blue puppy eyes. I bent down and picked her up. Cradling her in my arms, I saw the little floppy-eared bunny from my dreams.

“What have you found there,” Collin called from the other side of the fence.

I looked up with tears in my eyes. “It wasn’t a bunny, Collin. Look.”

I carried the little puppy over to him so he could see the dark brown velvet floppy ears and the little white heart shape on her head from the flashing that ran up the top of her nose. It looked exactly like the floppy-eared ‘bunny’ that my father had given me.

Collin looked at James who shrugged his shoulders and smiled as he mouthed, “Sorry, mate.”

I went back to pick her up a few weeks later when she was old enough to come home. James informed me that there were only two girls and I got the first pick. He told me she was already registered and all I had to do was to pick her official kennel name.

“You can choose from ‘Dancing Diva’ or ‘Love and Laughter,” he told me.

I smiled and snuggled my new little companion. I didn’t even cry as I whispered, “Love and laughter, of course.”

The Open Sea

Sun, 01 Dec 2024 16:42:45 GMT

Written to a writing prompt for the first line of a song...

The Open Sea

I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea. Surrounded by the endless blue-grey ocean, I was off on my adventure. No plans, just a general direction away from land. Away from people. Away from maddening stores and frantic cars, the hustle and the bustle of the city, and the ever-watchful eyes of the Czars. All my life, my friends and I dreamed of leaving our city and exploring the rest of the world. Sure, we had heard the stories of what might lie on the other side of the expanse of water. Monsters, demons, cannibals, the edge of the world. There were more stories than drops in the ocean that I was now crossing. But we didn’t care. We were young, brave, foolish enough to believe that we could make it. Our trip would differ from all those who had tried before us.

I remember the story of my mom’s aunt and uncle, who, after losing their only child to the lottery, took their chances on the open sea. They spent two years building their boat and gathering supplies. All the while, people would whisper and point and make fun of them. Saying they had lost their minds, and they should just go home and get back to their lives. They carried on until one day; the boat was gone and them with it. They didn’t even say goodbye. I think that hurt Mom the most. That there was no closure. They were there one day and gone the next. After a while, the house was reallocated, and life seemed to return to normal. But I would sometimes catch Mom standing on the shoreline gazing out to sea, searching the horizon. Her eyes squinted against the hazy sun and her mouth pulled down at the edges.

I wonder, will she stand and look for me too?

I left her a note, but I couldn't face her to say goodbye. She’ll understand. I hope. I never really fit in anyway. Always the odd one out, I was the last to be selected for any games. Never asked to the school dances. Even though I aced every exam and excelled in the sciences, the Academy didn’t even want me. They told Mom I wasn’t the right fit. Too liberal thinking, asking too many questions, and not aligned with their ways. She somehow felt like she had failed. She hadn’t raised me right or something. I never quite understood that. Just because I thought for myself and didn’t buy into all their propaganda, there was something wrong with me.

I knew from a very early age that I was different. When I was about three years old, I was outside and digging in the dirt. I directed some water through a series of channels to create a sort of waterway around the mounds of dirt. On each mound, I placed people, animals, cars, and houses and created a kind of patchwork community. I had spent hours developing the pathways and towns. My dad came home with one of his workmates. I think it might have been his boss. They saw me in the dirt, covered with mud, and happy and smiling. Proud of what I had created.

They, however, were not happy. My Dad freaked. He screamed ‘MARJORIE’ louder than I’ve ever heard another being scream. My Mom came running and then she screamed too when she saw what I had done. My Dad grabbed the hose I’d been using and first turned it on me to wash off the mud, then he turned it on my world. He sprayed it all away. Washed it down the yard and into the gutter. His boss was so unnerved that I thought he was going to pass out. After that, they watched me. They constantly observed me playing, worried I would create another monstrosity.

Now, with my face in the wind and the opaque light to guide me, I am finally making my way on my own terms. I’m sure that Frankie and Maddie will understand. They’ve both joined the Academy and are off on their own adventures. Not much left for me to do. Was I expected to just be content working at the local newsagent? Selling magazines filled with propaganda, candy to keep us soothed, and alcohol to keep us pliant? I do not know what I will find and if I get eaten by a monster, well, even that would be better than what I was facing if I stayed.

I’m sure my mom will understand. At least, I hope so. Maybe, when I get to the other side, I can send her a message. Or maybe I’ll just stand on the shoreline and look out to the horizon and wonder what she is up to. I’ll wonder what she had for breakfast. Maybe she’ll wonder about me too. Sometimes. At least for a while. Then she’ll return to her normal life, and I’ll start some new adventure. Or get eaten by a starving demon. Either way, it will at least be something.

The Magic Box

Sun, 01 Dec 2024 16:03:18 GMT

What happens when a stranger gives you a wooden box...

I sat looking at the intricate swirls that decorated the sides. My finger traced the delicate lines of an exotic flower. I picked it up and held it to the light to look at the figures that danced around the edges of the lid. The dark smoky wood had striations of light and dark lines. Much like the stripes of a tiger or zebra. I examined the lock and thought again about what the stranger had said.

“In order to realize your dreams, you must breathe life into them.”

I sat the box back down on the table and rested my head on my hands and stared at it. How is this box supposed to help me realize my dreams? He was a strange little man and I’m not even sure where he came from. I was out walking along the lane this morning, enjoying the dappled light as the sun was coming up. The fields were still shrouded in mist, and the sheep were just beginning to bleat their morning greetings.

I had stopped to admire the purple morning glories cascading over a stone wall like a floral waterfall when I felt a tug on my elbow sleeve. I turned around and found a short, square gentleman standing next to me. He was wearing a green velvet robe that had golden vines embroidered over it. His dark black hair hung down his back and had flowers and twigs woven throughout his dark locks. A floppy yellow hat sat tilted upon his head, looking as if it were about to slide off at any minute. As I looked at him, he turned his head up to look at me and there I found the face of an angel. All weathered and craggy, with soft glowing violet eyes perched above a large flat nose. His eyes shown with such a brilliance that I was almost blinded in the dim shadows of the morning. His mouth parted into a broad smile, and I immediately felt calm and at ease.

Smiling at me, he chimed in a singsong voice, “Greetings, child. Are you enjoying this beautiful morning?”

Smiling at him, I expressed how delightful my time was and how mesmerized I was by the delicate morning glory flowers with their purple petals and light blue veins.

“Ah, you see the wonder and beauty of the world in which you dwell. That is a rare gift.”

I spread out my arms and twirled around, smelling the damp earth from the night’s mists. I inhaled deeply and sighed with my face turned to the soft light now peaking over the hillside to the east.

“Everything is magical and beautiful at this time of day,” I sighed.

He stood watching me, his hands tucked into the opposite sleeve across his front.

“I rarely find folks of your kind who appreciate the natural world. They are so caught up in all the hustle and bustle and forget to stop and admire the beauty that surrounds them.”

“Oh, I savor these mornings for their quietude and beauty. This time helps me get through my day. I am energized and humbled by my morning rambles. It helps me stay grounded so I can face any challenges that come my way.”

I turned back to him and saw that he now smiled at me with a knowing look and nodding his head as if he’d decided about something. Then he pulled his hands out of his sleeves and produced a small wooden box. Holding it cupped in his hands, he held it out to me.

“For one who appreciates the beauty and sees the world with wonder in her eyes, I have a gift for you.”

My hand stretched out for it out before I realized, reaching for the intricately carved box he held out to me. I stopped and looked at him.

“What have I done to deserve such a beautiful gift?” I asked.

“You see the natural world. I’ve heard your singing upon occasion and listened while you whispered your wishes into the sunrises. So, I give you this gift for you to explore your dreams. To realize your dreams, you must breathe life into them.”

He sat the box in my outstretched hand, curling my fingers around its edges. I held it up and looked more closely at it and when I turned to thank him; he was gone.

So here I sit, looking at this amazing box, not understanding how to open it. I sighed deeply and let my breath drift out of my mouth and nostrils. As my air spread across the box sitting in front of me, the fine lines of the vines and flowers glowed. Then the figures began to writhe and dance. One of the beautiful goddesses reached over the edge of the lid and pressed several spots next to the lock and I heard a soft ‘snick’. The lid lifted slightly, and I could see a soft golden light emanating from under the lid.

With my eyes wide, I reached out with both my hands and gently tilted the lid back on its hinges. The warm golden light grew until it fully engulfed the entire room, me included. A warm feeling of love enveloped me. I heard music playing in the distance and when I turned to look for it; I caught sight of a cliff wall with a shimmering waterfall flowing down its face. There were birds flying through the purple sky and a deer bent its head to drink from the pool of water at the base of the falls. I found myself transported to a world so full of beauty and wonder that I started giggling and hugged my arms around my body.

This is the world I dream of when I walk along the lanes in the quiet mornings.