Tanzi Spencer is creating A fantasy Novel
3

patrons

$3
per two page
I was home educated until I was 13 when I asked to go to school so I could get my GCSE'S and then go on to college, it was on my very first day that my teachers told me I was dyslexic, it was a relief, for me dyslexia proved it was not laziness or stupidity that had caused my frustrating battle with reading and writing, in later years I found out for my older sister it had been a huge relief that it had not been her fault she could not teach me to read and write properly.
My teachers were amazing and so understanding that my dyslexia did not hold me back from learning at school, it has at times held me back since, but I am determined it will not stop me from writing now.
I have stories in my head, so many stories, but getting them on paper (so to speak) is very hard, I need a focus and that is where YOU come in, I have set my patron account to per couple of pages not per month, as I need to approach writing in manageable, none scary, bite size chunks, 2 pages at a time.
To know that even just 1 person wants to read my next page will spur me on to write and with your help I will write a novel! Scary!

My novel begins:

Life was good on earth these days, even for an orphan like Faith. History lessons tell of the time before, of a time when not a day went by without crime in every corner of the world, pollution constantly on the rise and year after year people getting sicker and sicker, a world bent on self-destruction, that was, until magic was discovered.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith had spent a year in a group home with three other girls, Selina, Jodie and Jane and a custodian, Mrs Warren, a friendly but firm woman in her late forties.
She could barely remember the other girls or their stories about how they ended up there. The shock of losing her parents had not really worn off until she was moving out at 14 and was allotted her own private pod. That was when she started to wake back up again, started to dream and to build her life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith lay, propped up by pillows, on her bed gazing out of her window at the roses, tears still drying on her cheek, her story in her hand, she had no idea why she did not just get rid of it, it was something she wrote about 6 months after her father had died, at the insistence of the councillor assigned to her group home, it was meant to be a tool to deal with her grief and say goodbye to her parents, but it had not helped and her councillor had never seemed happy with what she had written:

I was just 13 years old when my parents died, my mother first, of a brain haemorrhage, so suddenly there had been no time to even think about going to sky central to a healer, one minute brushing her shoulder length raven black hair, hands reaching up to tie it into the tight bun for work and then tumbling down, hair pins falling all around as they were knocked of the table and her hair flowing free and wild as she crashed to the floor.
And then, well then my father abandoned me.
He stopped going to work, stopped talking, stopped eating, he just sat in his chair in our pod and wasted away, the sunlight yellow walls, somehow feeling more like a deathly jaundice now, like our whole home was sick and giving up. He died less than a month after my mother, leaving me all alone and unsure if I was more sad or angry.

A sad tale of loss and recovery was what the council wanted, that was what everyone else always wrote for him but that was not how Faith felt, she felt alone and betrayed....



Rewards
Tip Jar
$1 or more per two page 3 patrons
  • A huge THANK YOU for encouraging me to write
  • Access to read my novel before anyone else
  • A chance to read all the versions as I rewrite sections, you will see pages that never make the final book
  • A chance to offer up suggestions for how the story progresses
  • A warm fuzzy feeling to know you are an extremely real part of making this dream of mine come true
Goals
$3 of $5 per two page
I could send the boys (Husband and our two sons) to the beach to eat chips while I write
1 of 2
I was home educated until I was 13 when I asked to go to school so I could get my GCSE'S and then go on to college, it was on my very first day that my teachers told me I was dyslexic, it was a relief, for me dyslexia proved it was not laziness or stupidity that had caused my frustrating battle with reading and writing, in later years I found out for my older sister it had been a huge relief that it had not been her fault she could not teach me to read and write properly.
My teachers were amazing and so understanding that my dyslexia did not hold me back from learning at school, it has at times held me back since, but I am determined it will not stop me from writing now.
I have stories in my head, so many stories, but getting them on paper (so to speak) is very hard, I need a focus and that is where YOU come in, I have set my patron account to per couple of pages not per month, as I need to approach writing in manageable, none scary, bite size chunks, 2 pages at a time.
To know that even just 1 person wants to read my next page will spur me on to write and with your help I will write a novel! Scary!

My novel begins:

Life was good on earth these days, even for an orphan like Faith. History lessons tell of the time before, of a time when not a day went by without crime in every corner of the world, pollution constantly on the rise and year after year people getting sicker and sicker, a world bent on self-destruction, that was, until magic was discovered.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith had spent a year in a group home with three other girls, Selina, Jodie and Jane and a custodian, Mrs Warren, a friendly but firm woman in her late forties.
She could barely remember the other girls or their stories about how they ended up there. The shock of losing her parents had not really worn off until she was moving out at 14 and was allotted her own private pod. That was when she started to wake back up again, started to dream and to build her life.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faith lay, propped up by pillows, on her bed gazing out of her window at the roses, tears still drying on her cheek, her story in her hand, she had no idea why she did not just get rid of it, it was something she wrote about 6 months after her father had died, at the insistence of the councillor assigned to her group home, it was meant to be a tool to deal with her grief and say goodbye to her parents, but it had not helped and her councillor had never seemed happy with what she had written:

I was just 13 years old when my parents died, my mother first, of a brain haemorrhage, so suddenly there had been no time to even think about going to sky central to a healer, one minute brushing her shoulder length raven black hair, hands reaching up to tie it into the tight bun for work and then tumbling down, hair pins falling all around as they were knocked of the table and her hair flowing free and wild as she crashed to the floor.
And then, well then my father abandoned me.
He stopped going to work, stopped talking, stopped eating, he just sat in his chair in our pod and wasted away, the sunlight yellow walls, somehow feeling more like a deathly jaundice now, like our whole home was sick and giving up. He died less than a month after my mother, leaving me all alone and unsure if I was more sad or angry.

A sad tale of loss and recovery was what the council wanted, that was what everyone else always wrote for him but that was not how Faith felt, she felt alone and betrayed....



Recent posts by Tanzi Spencer

Rewards
Tip Jar
$1 or more per two page 3 patrons
  • A huge THANK YOU for encouraging me to write
  • Access to read my novel before anyone else
  • A chance to read all the versions as I rewrite sections, you will see pages that never make the final book
  • A chance to offer up suggestions for how the story progresses
  • A warm fuzzy feeling to know you are an extremely real part of making this dream of mine come true