Holly Faye Dixon
Ongoing Projects
Below you'll find summaries of the three main unpublished writing projects that I spend my free time on when I get the chance - if any of my projects peak your interest don't be afraid to click on the titles to get more details including updates on my progress and even short excerpts!
Born into a cruel, bigoted crime family whose blood thirsty deeds stained his childhood and fractured his adulthood, Liam Knight spent years battling the darkness in his mind and raising his son under the protection of his controlling older brother, Bryce. Trauma, gore and bloodshed was inescapable, constant. Then Liam married Jace, a confident, charming tattoo artist. Jace makes Liam feel safe. Jace has a child from another marriage. Jace isn’t afraid of Liam’s gory past.
Finally, Liam finds peace in his self-imposed exile from his parents and their life of crime. Until police find Bryce’s head separated from his body under a bridge downtown. Unprotected and living in fear of his vengeful relatives, Liam must work to solve the mystery of his brother’s execution and shield his children from the horrors of his past.
Above: Skeleton Praying found in the Cornaro Chapel, Santa Maria della Vittoria, Rome
When I drink I see skeletons.
When she met Cyrus, he was reckless, young and an addict. But when he's with her, Cyrus is sober, subdued, respectful. He is everything she wanted him to be. So why is Cyrus not happy? Why is he provoking her? Why is he letting her hurt him? And worst of all, why is he looking for an escape route? Seeing Skeletons is a short story that casts an unforgiving magnifying glass on domestic abuse towards men and provides a chilling insight into the mind of a woman who will bend reality in order to justify her actions. Seeing Skeletons asks us to scrutinise the subtle ways in which the violent and manipulative behaviour of female abusers are overlooked and bear painful witness to abused men who are mocked, belittled and silenced.
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"I would be satisfied for you to call yourself a bucket of filth and bones for all I care.”
“Excellent. You can call me Bucket. Or Filth. Or Bones. Bucket has a nice ring to it.”
Bucket doesn’t know how she exists, or why. She doesn’t remember life before Father, and nor do the many children like her who arrive every day, scared and unnamed. Suffocated by the need to manufacture her siblings’ and her own happiness, Bucket insists that being useful and faithful is the only way to find their purpose and make Father love them. But as everyday life under Father’s care seems to be getting more and more unpleasant, Bucket can no longer ignore the mounting evidence that something sinister is lying in wait.
