And the surprises keep on coming…

My family and I went away for a week long beach holiday, graciously paid for by the Cancer Council. We had a wonderful and relaxing time. I needed some radiotherapy before we left, and so the first couple days I was pretty unwell, but after that things were much better. Although the cancer is there all the time, with tumours in the bones, other than tiredness I often forget I’m ill at all. My husband and children do a good job of keeping my thoughts occupied, and my writing takes me away to other worlds where there are cures for cancer and people of all abilities/ races/ genders/ sexualities are accepted.

So what are the surprises? you say. Well, there have been a few. Firstly, I was asked to speak on a podcast – details coming soon. The two presenters were amazing and really helped to make me feel comfortable (although I feel I could have done a better job of advertising my latest book).

Secondly, Somnium won another award – this time a Five Stars Readers’ Favorite award, of which I am super proud of.

Thirdly, I’ve had a short story approved for a new anthology coming out next month by an amazing publisher! It will be my first traditionally published work, and I’m extremely thrilled about it. For now, that’s all the details I can give, but I will tell you more as soon as I have the go ahead from my Publisher.

In the meantime, I’m going through one of my final edits of the first book in my latest series which I will be submitting to agents. I’m very excited about this latest book which although it’s a dystopian, it’s a little different to my past writings. There is a ton of diversity in it, and the main character is a mum with cancer (which of course I have a lot of experience with).

Stay tuned for updates, and Happy Halloween!

It’s finally here!!!!

The long-awaited sequel to Somnium is officially available for purchase in both Paperback and eBook (links below). It’s been a long time coming, but I believe it’s worth it. Anyone interested in a signed copy can join my VIR club for more information.

I hope you all enjoy the sequel, and I have a special Somnium surprise coming soon, so stay tuned…

Purchase eBook here:

Purchase Paperback here:

Take a seat – I have lots of exciting news!

Firstly, I finished the first draft of my new book. It took me a little under two months to write, with the words naturally flowing through me. I have to say, I’m pretty impressed with this new manuscript, and I can’t wait to share it with you.

Secondly, I am officially launching the sequel to Somnium, Somnium Reawakened, in eBook next month, in time for my birthday. And in celebration, I have reduced the Somnium 2nd Edition eBook to just US0.99c for the month of July! So get in quick.

Thirdly, as you may have noticed at the bottom of my home page, I now have a VIP group which you can join for special promos among other exciting things.

Lastly, Somnium merchandise including hoodies, stickers, mugs and more are now available at: https://shop.spreadshirt.com/kristy-kamin-author/

AND for the next two weeks, there is 15% off all merch!!

Where I’m at…

A couple months ago I had a dream which I just couldn’t shake. Similar to my debut novel, Somnium, I knew the universe wanted me to write it down on paper. And so, I have been working on a new Dystopian – this time for adults. It has been a bit more of a challenge for me, as I am used to reading and writing YA, but I like to run with the desire the universe puts inside of me.

After only two months, I am already up to chapter twenty-five and finding it difficult to stop writing.

I can’t wait to share it with you all, but it will be a little while yet. What I can tell you is that it is full of many very diverse characters- POC, different cultures, LGBTQ+, and different abilities. Which, as you know, is very important to me – to have diverse characters in fiction where the story is not centred on their diversity but instead on the genre.

Also, I have finally published the sequel to Somnium, which will be available for sale soon. So watch this space!

Enjoy my new short story

Copyright 2021 Kristy Kamin

Cassandra’s Desire

The sand beside my cheek is damp – not water from the ocean, but saltwater all the same. I groan as I roll on to my back, my blonde wavy hair now stuck together in straw-looking clumps. The sky above me is black, like my mood. It would make sense to find shelter before the storm hits, but I wait a little longer, thinking about her.

I never believed in love at first sight until I met Deanna. Her ocean-blue eyes, fiery auburn hair, and the way her right upper lip refused to move when she smiled. Some people may have seen the remnants of her cleft lip as a flaw – but to me, it just added to her extraordinary beauty.

Deanna and I met at a charity ball. She was in a long body-hugging aquamarine-coloured dress, me in my favourite navy suit with the red tie. Our complimenting outfits a sign we were destined to be together. Neither of us believed in small talk and instead loved to chew over climate change or inequality issues. We were both obsessive over cleanliness, almost to the point of OCD, and in bed – well, let’s just say we were seamlessly in sync. We were perfect for each other, except for one small but significant problem – I was a homebody, and she was a sailor.

Our affair, although spectacular, was incredibly brief. Only three weeks after we met, Dee was ready to move on to her next seafaring adventure. I begged her to stay, but she told me she was born for the ocean. Dee felt a part of it. When on land, she sensed a continuous pull to the sea. Once I asked her if it was more important than me, all she did was turn away, but not before I saw a tear land on her satin cobalt-coloured top, a growing spot of navy where it landed.

The following day I arrived at the front door of her unit, smoothing down my floral dress and rechecking my red lipstick in my pocket mirror. I had been up all night, and the ounces of concealer plastered under my amber eyes wasn’t doing the best job of hiding it. I closed the compact, returning it to my black clutch and raised my hand to knock, but instead almost fell forward as the door opened.

‘Cassandra?’ she had said, unsuccessfully hiding her smile.

We had stood there a beat, just staring at each other. A million thoughts, a hundred emotions, the energy bouncing between us, making my body pulsate with longing. I was still uncertain of my decision, but not uncertain of us. Deanne opened her beautiful mouth to say something, but I interrupted,

‘I’m coming with you.’

We spent many months on her sailing boat together. Being a double-hull catamaran, it was actually quite a comfortable place to live. And to share it with Deanna made it all the better. She taught me to sail, and she taught me to drink, and she taught me how to love. It was as though we were living in a dream.

But it was when my sister sent me a message saying how much she missed me, that my thoughts of my home returned.

Our parents were already in their late fifties when they adopted my sister and me. I figure they must have been too busy with their extravagant lifestyle to think about kids of their own. They must have become bored of all the parties and excess money – so they adopted my sister and me from Cambodia to spend their money on.

Father died when we were in our early teens, my sister left home to marry, and I stayed on with our mother. Sis and I were spoilt rotten, so it had only seemed fair that I took care of mother at the end. She wanted to die at home, with her Cavoodles and Sis and me. Sis stayed for the final two days, and after we buried our mother, I simply never left.

I’m not exactly sure why I have such a longing to stay in one place. Maybe it’s a safety thing? According to UNICEF, Sis and I were taken from our parents not long after our birth. Perhaps it’s the stability? After Sis and I were rescued, we were adopted by a young couple in Los Angelos, who unfortunately soon divorced and gave us up to Foster care. We were bounced from home to home until Mother and Father had finally adopted us on our thirteenth birthday.

I don’t remember much of the time before our adoption. I have always considered my thirteenth birthday as the start of my life. Anything before then is dead to me now.

Deanna knows. My story, that is. She is the only one I have completely opened up to. It is like she is my soul mate – if you believe in such a thing. I didn’t. Until I met Dee.

Seeing my sister’s message had set off that profound sense of longing again. A strong desire. A desire which outweighs even my desire for Deanna. And my desire for her is deep.

I had scanned the ocean before me; the teal water was calm with only the occasional ripple as creatures of the sea touched the surface. The warm breeze pushed some of my curls against my face, and I resisted the urge to itch my cheek. The leather chair on which I sat was so comfortable that I had fallen asleep there in times past, listening to the water lapping against the boat. I used to hate the smell of the ocean before I moved onto Dee’s catamaran, a cocktail of salt, fish, and rotting seaweed. But right then, it smelt like home. Almost.

Because the boat isn’t my home. My home is back in the three-story mansion, with the tennis court I played on in my college years and the shell-shaped heated swimming pool I did laps in every morning. The massive Ballroom which I used for parties with my friends. Hundreds of people filling the house on most weekends, sipping margaritas, munching on hors d’oeuvres and laughing. The parties would stop me from thinking. Thinking about my lack of genuine friendships and family and the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

But on her boat, I realised the problem. I was finally able to pinpoint it. Out on this expanse of the sea, there was too much room for thinking. Deanna has found her passion – sailing the waters, meeting new people, discovering new places, investing in new businesses, and finding charities where she can donate.

These past few months, I had felt so – empty. I thought Deanna could fill that hole, but nothing can… no one can – except me. So, I had set my wine glass on the table beside that leather chair and did the only thing that made sense.

I jumped out of the boat and swam for shore.

And that is how I ended up on some random island in the middle of the Caribbean. Staring at the storm building above me and reminiscing over the past few months with Deanna. A cold breeze starts up, forming goosebumps on my skin, and I sit myself up to look out from where I had come. Sure enough, I can see it – the ship on the horizon, which carries Deanna, and any chance of a future I had with her.

I wipe my eyes, sand on my wet skin scratching at my face, and push back my shoulders. A smile starts to form on my face. I have lived without Deanna before. I can do it again. But this time it will be different. I will look deep inside of myself to discover my deepest desires. There is a purpose for me on this planet. I know this now.

I rummage around the pocket of my dress, breathing a sigh of relief when I find my mobile phone is still inside. I enter the passcode while sending a silent prayer to the person who developed waterproof phones. I type a message—my last words to Dee.

‘Thank you for opening my eyes.’

Cassandra’s Desire

The sand beside my cheek is damp – not water from the ocean, but saltwater all the same. I groan as I roll on to my back, my blonde wavy hair now stuck together in straw-looking clumps. The sky above me is black, like my mood. It would make sense to find shelter before the storm hits, but I wait a little longer, thinking about her.

I never believed in love at first sight until I met Deanna. Her ocean-blue eyes, fiery auburn hair, and the way her right upper lip refused to move when she smiled. Some people may have seen the remnants of her cleft lip as a flaw – but to me, it just added to her extraordinary beauty.

Deanna and I met at a charity ball. She was in a long body-hugging aquamarine-coloured dress, me in my favourite navy suit with the red tie. Our complimenting outfits a sign we were destined to be together. Neither of us believed in small talk and instead loved to chew over climate change or inequality issues. We were both obsessive over cleanliness, almost to the point of OCD, and in bed – well, let’s just say we were seamlessly in sync. We were perfect for each other, except for one small but significant problem – I was a homebody, and she was a sailor.

Our affair, although spectacular, was incredibly brief. Only three weeks after we met, Dee was ready to move on to her next seafaring adventure. I begged her to stay, but she told me she was born for the ocean. Dee felt a part of it. When on land, she sensed a continuous pull to the sea. Once I asked her if it was more important than me, all she did was turn away, but not before I saw a tear land on her satin cobalt-coloured top, a growing spot of navy where it landed.

The following day I arrived at the front door of her unit, smoothing down my floral dress and rechecking my red lipstick in my pocket mirror. I had been up all night, and the ounces of concealer plastered under my amber eyes wasn’t doing the best job of hiding it. I closed the compact, returning it to my black clutch and raised my hand to knock, but instead almost fell forward as the door opened.

‘Cassandra?’ she had said, unsuccessfully hiding her smile.

We had stood there a beat, just staring at each other. A million thoughts, a hundred emotions, the energy bouncing between us, making my body pulsate with longing. I was still uncertain of my decision, but not uncertain of us. Deanne opened her beautiful mouth to say something, but I interrupted,

‘I’m coming with you.’

We spent many months on her sailing boat together. Being a double-hull catamaran, it was actually quite a comfortable place to live. And to share it with Deanna made it all the better. She taught me to sail, and she taught me to drink, and she taught me how to love. It was as though we were living in a dream.

But it was when my sister sent me a message saying how much she missed me, that my thoughts of my home returned.

Our parents were already in their late fifties when they adopted my sister and me. I figure they must have been too busy with their extravagant lifestyle to think about kids of their own. They must have become bored of all the parties and excess money – so they adopted my sister and me from Cambodia to spend their money on.

Father died when we were in our early teens, my sister left home to marry, and I stayed on with our mother. Sis and I were spoilt rotten, so it had only seemed fair that I took care of mother at the end. She wanted to die at home, with her Cavoodles and Sis and me. Sis stayed for the final two days, and after we buried our mother, I simply never left.

I’m not exactly sure why I have such a longing to stay in one place. Maybe it’s a safety thing? According to UNICEF, Sis and I were taken from our parents not long after our birth. Perhaps it’s the stability? After Sis and I were rescued, we were adopted by a young couple in Los Angelos, who unfortunately soon divorced and gave us up to Foster care. We were bounced from home to home until Mother and Father had finally adopted us on our thirteenth birthday.

I don’t remember much of the time before our adoption. I have always considered my thirteenth birthday as the start of my life. Anything before then is dead to me now.

Deanna knows. My story, that is. She is the only one I have completely opened up to. It is like she is my soul mate – if you believe in such a thing. I didn’t. Until I met Dee.

Seeing my sister’s message had set off that profound sense of longing again. A strong desire. A desire which outweighs even my desire for Deanna. And my desire for her is deep.

I had scanned the ocean before me; the teal water was calm with only the occasional ripple as creatures of the sea touched the surface. The warm breeze pushed some of my curls against my face, and I resisted the urge to itch my cheek. The leather chair on which I sat was so comfortable that I had fallen asleep there in times past, listening to the water lapping against the boat. I used to hate the smell of the ocean before I moved onto Dee’s catamaran, a cocktail of salt, fish, and rotting seaweed. But right then, it smelt like home. Almost.

Because the boat isn’t my home. My home is back in the three-story mansion, with the tennis court I played on in my college years and the shell-shaped heated swimming pool I did laps in every morning. The massive Ballroom which I used for parties with my friends. Hundreds of people filling the house on most weekends, sipping margaritas, munching on hors d’oeuvres and laughing. The parties would stop me from thinking. Thinking about my lack of genuine friendships and family and the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

But on her boat, I realised the problem. I was finally able to pinpoint it. Out on this expanse of the sea, there was too much room for thinking. Deanna has found her passion – sailing the waters, meeting new people, discovering new places, investing in new businesses, and finding charities where she can donate.

These past few months, I had felt so – empty. I thought Deanna could fill that hole, but nothing can… no one can – except me. So, I had set my wine glass on the table beside that leather chair and did the only thing that made sense.

I jumped out of the boat and swam for shore.

And that is how I ended up on some random island in the middle of the Caribbean. Staring at the storm building above me and reminiscing over the past few months with Deanna. A cold breeze starts up, forming goosebumps on my skin, and I sit myself up to look out from where I had come. Sure enough, I can see it – the ship on the horizon, which carries Deanna, and any chance of a future I had with her.

I wipe my eyes, sand on my wet skin scratching at my face, and push back my shoulders. A smile starts to form on my face. I have lived without Deanna before. I can do it again. But this time it will be different. I will look deep inside of myself to discover my deepest desires. There is a purpose for me on this planet. I know this now.

I rummage around the pocket of my dress, breathing a sigh of relief when I find my mobile phone is still inside. I enter the passcode while sending a silent prayer to the person who developed waterproof phones. I type a message—my last words to Dee.

‘Thank you for opening my eyes.’

Ship off Amalfi Coast by Kristy Kamin

My Award Winning Short Story

I hope you enjoy! Copyright 2020

The Butterfly Effect by Kristy Kamin

14.4521° S, 132.2715° E (Katherine, Australia)

The tears are leaving her flushed face to land on the broken wing of the fragile bird. If only she had swerved. But no, her father had always told her it was better to keep driving, ‘Your life first, dear.’ He would always say.

She should not have listened.

And now, the result of her selfishness. This beautiful creature, with its pastel greens, intense purples, and creamy yellows, on such a small body. This bird, which fit neatly into her trembling hand. She apologised to the dying bird over and over, her heartbreaking for this life she had never known before. And as the light went out of the little black eyes; she knew she would never know this life again.

14.4521° S, 132.2715° E (4000 km off the coast of West side of Mexico)

He tugs again at the line, swearing under his breath. The friggin backstay was caught up again. Blasted old shit of a boat. He itches at the mosquito bite on his arm. Why the hell was he doing this again? That’s right, his father wanted to ‘sail the world’ before he died. Well, it would have helped if he had a decent bloody boat. He would have to climb again. And he hated climbing. Hated friggin heights to be exact. Yet, here he was, mounted into the bosun chair waiting for his old dad to winch him up. He feels the first tug, and wraps his legs around the mast, grabbing hold of the lines either side. Tug, pull, tug, pull. The poopdeck looking farther and farther away. The first familiar feeling of sickness coming over him as the waves splash against the boat’s deck.

Tug, pull, tug, pull. He feels himself drop a little. His body stops, but his stomach keeps going.

‘What the frig dad!’ He yells down at his father, no bigger than a beetle on a yellowing piece of wood.

‘Wasn’t anything I did son.’ His dad replies calmly. Always calm, he is always calm.

He reaches the top just as the boat is hit by another wave – a larger one this time. He feels a little drop again, a strange feeling. He ignores it, letting go with one hand as he reaches with the other to unhook the line that has somehow managed to tangle. He tries to untangle it, but it will need two hands. He hates letting go, suspended up in the air, with only the bosun chair and the rope it’s attached too, the only things stopping him from falling to his death.

He slowly removes his other hand and starts to loosen the knot. He has just finished when a Laysan Albatross swoops toward him, a high-pitched shriek coming from its mouth like a young girl screaming. He grabs tight to the lines either side of him, ducking his head, just as another massive wave rocks the boat and the pressure on his bottom gives way.

‘Son!’ His father shouts the warning.

The bosun chair has broken, and the only thing stopping him from being a bag of broken bones on the deck is the two lines he hangs on to for dear life.

It feels like years before the wooden floor is beneath his feet again.

‘Friggin bird!’ He says through chattering teeth.

His father wraps his arms around him, his tears wet his shoulder, ‘That friggin bird just saved your life son.’

 53.8655° N, 10.6866° E (Lubeck, Germany)

‘Mama, Mama!’ The little boy was insistent. He was always insistent. Why couldn’t he hurry up and get past this nagging stage? His mother harrumph’s, continuing to ignore him as she sips on her coffee at the quaint café.

‘Mama, Mama!’

She had bought him a vanilla milkshake, which was still sitting on the table opposite her, untouched. This single mother thing was a drag. Her two older kids had already grown up and moved to the other side of the world, leaving her here alone, their father killed in a car accident a few years ago. That was when she started living again. Really living. She started going to bars, dancing and meeting new people. She was no longer “so and so’s mum” or “so and so’s wife”, she was finally her own person.

‘Mama, Mama!’

She smiled as she remembered the night he had sauntered up to her. Sauntered was one of those mushy words from a romance novel that she had always hated. But that was what he did – he sauntered. He bought her a drink, and the rest was history. One incredible night and she never heard from him again. And now the product was squatting near the flower bed lining the café, repeating ‘Mama, Mama’ over and over.

She rolls her eyes and finally gives in.

She leaves the uncomfortable stool and bends down toward her three-year-old son. He has found a dandelion puff, a weed that somehow made it to the garden. She pulls it out, handing it to her son. He beams at her, standing, bouncing with delight in his little green shoes.

She nods to him, unable to stop herself from smiling. He may be annoying, but he sure brightened up her day at times.

He blows on the puff, his cheeks rounded, filled with air, flecks of spit spray the flower’s seeds, and they float away in the breeze. 

53.8655° S, 10.6866° W (4000 km East of Argentina)

He takes another puff on his cigarette before rubbing at his eyes. Another early morning, another huge haul to bring up. He thinks of his partner, with his smile and the crinkles in the corner of his left eye.

‘Come back to me’ He had murmured, half asleep.

‘I always do.’ He had replied as he shoved his fishing gear into his overnight bag. The pay was good, and the days off even better. The actual job though sucked. But after this trip, they would be debt-free, and then he could get a normal job. A regular boring desk job where he could be out of the weather, and come home every night to the love of his life.

Yes, normal will be good. He smiled – well, almost smiled. It was too cold to bother a full one.

‘Arse into gear guys – and girls.’ Boss calls out, almost forgetting there were ladies on the ship this time around. The other men had been a little dubious having women on board. But they worked just as hard, if not harder, than the guys. And as soon as Boss called out, the ladies were first at their spots, grabbing at the hooks and starting the machines.

The seagulls floating on the water, hoping for a free feed, fly off as the engines start their screeching noise.

Same as every other time; bring in the haul, put them on ice, service the boat.

The life of a South Atlantic Commercial Fisherman.

Then it came without warning. And at the worst possible time.

He had never told Boss about his seizures. He didn’t think they would allow him on the boat. And besides, he hadn’t had one in years. Which is why he had stopped taking his meds a few weeks ago. He figured he had outgrown them. But no. At first, he stiffened, then the dancing began. That’s what his father had always called it anyway. His dickhead father. It’s the only thing he remembered about him. Sitting in the old beat up lounge chair, beer in hand, cigarette bouncing up and down in his mouth as he laughed, saying, ‘Look at the dancing bear!’

Bastard.

The water was like ice when it hit him. But by then, he was completely unaware as the seizure had hold of his brain.

He didn’t hear the others shouting out for him. He didn’t notice the splashes as people dove into the water.

He didn’t feel the fish nudging past him as the school swam past.

When he came too, it was too late.

He breathed in the last lungful of water.

Bubbles in the water floating past his eyes, looking like the seeds blown from a dandelion puff.