Bunny Love.

Cazimi.

I’m rebranding.

Why? Number of reasons - but mainly because it’s time. I’ve entered the cocoon and turned into goop and reformed myself, and this is where we have landed. I figured it was time to let you all know, so when this page starts to look different or you’re redirected to another Substack you can be ‘emotionally prepared tm.’

Bunny Love.

As far as writer’s pseudonyms go, it’s about as far from where I started as I could have possibly imagined, and also at the same time not really.

Lefty Lucy served me well for a time, helping me wade through the volatile political climate as the world ripped apart at the seams all around us. She was useful until she wasn’t anymore, kind of like a bookmark or a holding platform where you waited before heading to the next level. Purgatory? I think that’s what it’s called.

Anyway, I could give you reasons why this is necessary, and in the interests of transparency here they are in no particular order:

• I am halfway through two of my first three novels. It’s time to pick a pen name.

• This version of my substack no longer sparks joy. It was shared in a group chat by a cunt at a previous workplace who then pretended that she’d had no idea of the damage it would cause, much like MAGAts now claim that they had no idea voting for Trump would destroy the fabric of the world as we know it. All of the aforementioned are liars at best and oblivious morons at worst. This is all to say - Lefty Lucy no longer feels safe. I am making a point of transforming it into something that will very much be unsafe for any lurkers from that time hanging around who think they have something on me by still being here. You know who you are. I would leave now. You specifically will not like the next version of me. It doesn’t have to see you at work every day and pretend it doesn’t want to punch you. I am not talking about the actual friends I made there - you folks give me joy.

• Much of what I have written about previously here does not serve the person I am becoming anymore. It’s all part of the wonderful tapestry that made me, sure, but if I am going to write books with any kind of meaningful impact, I can’t waste any more time bemoaning the trashfire that is the Australian Burlesque “Industry,” idiot men who once stuck their dick in me and the pretty boy who still takes up too much rental space in my head as I fumble through yet another identity crisis. These things are important and I’m sure I will revisit them someday (one of them is getting his own goddamn book series and has no business complaining, not that he would, he wants you to know - this is all conjecture).

Why Bunny?

Choosing a pen name is hard. I have toyed for literally 4 decades over what to call the book writing version of myself. For the longest time I was just going to use my actual name, but given the subject matter and content of my intended writings, and the internet and people being what they are, I’ve decided this is ill-advised. I’m not hiding, per se…I am still easily identifiable and found - but I’m not handing out roadmaps to my house on first hello either.

I had also recently toyed with making my pen name a mix of both my grandmother’s names in a tribute to them and their impact on my life. It was a lovely and sweet thought - but they’ve both passed on and can’t consent to me dragging their identities into the spaces I plan to go. I feel to do so without that consent would be unfair. Maybe one day when the rage subsides I can write them something that is a more fitting tribute.

BUT, if you’re looking for actual reasons for Bunny - here’s a few:

• Anyone who has been on the Oakleaf journey with me will get this inherently. There have been enough bunnies in that space that it needs no further explanation. Guess it was me that was Bun Bun the whole time.

• I was born at easter time and my birthday falls on Easter Sunday this year. At one stage in my childhood I had over 30 stuffed bunnies that people had given me as gifts. I didn’t even like stuffed toys or bunnies at the time…yet still the bunnies found me.

• In early 2025 I stumbled across Mona Awad’s magnificently unhinged book ‘Bunny.’ To say it changed me on a cellular level would be an understatement. I truly believe she is the voice of our millennial generation, and clearly grew up watching and reading the same dark trash I did as a child and teen. Her words and works reignited the passion for reading and writing I thought I had lost. This name is in part a thank you to her for that.

• The name is a play on Buddy Love from ‘The Nutty Professor,’ which I saw as a child in the 80s (the Jerry Lewis version). If you know, you know. Something something, Jasper Black.

• “I have a theory, it could be bunnies…” Anya - Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

• I wanted a name that would sound cool when I am a weird old lady in my 90s.

So, what are we expecting from Bunny Love?

~ feminist fantasy.

This is exactly what it sounds like. Books and stories with a feminist slant. This doesn't mean they are man-hatey (though some bits 100% will be), nor does it mean there won’t be morally-grey and/or trash male characters that idiot women fall for against their better judgement (because we’ve all been there). The difference will be that everything I write will be through a feminist lens, as intersectional as my big white ass can manage as I traverse and continually learn on this road.

~ political porn.

We are products of the world we grew up in and what is going on around us. Social justice is important to me, and the way that I serve and communicate this best is through my writing. It always has been. My books will exist as much to shake things up, to rebel, to scream and rage and to fight the fucking fascists as they will to entertain and bring solace and community to my friends and fans. If you are of the ‘keep politics out of the arts’ ilk (which basically means you’re an idiot because ALL art is inherently political), then you’d best fuck off now - I have no need of you, nor any desire to mindlessly feed you with my talents.

~ revenge smut.

We as humans are limited in what we can do in real life, and the physical impact we can have. We are not all Luigi’s, and we don’t want to go to jail. But the pen is mightier than the sword and you’d better believe that we’re going to be maiming and murdering some motherfuckers in prose. Some of this may involve actual sex and smut - some will exist for the sheer joy of preying on predators and pedos in parks. We all get off in different ways - allow me to provide you with some delicious avenues to fuck the patriarchy hard…with a chainsaw.

Works in progress.

What am I currently working on?

There are 3 novels underway (and a list of about 20 more that I am sure will reveal themselves to you when the time is right). As of this moment the manuscripts underway are:

• The Underground: Based on the live action cabaret and roleplaying game ‘The Burlesque Underground. 60% draft 1 done - book 1 of an 8 book series (not including novellas and spin-off collabs).
  Excerpt - “It is quite possible that in this era of reality TV and video-blog melodrama, the Black Family is just another social media addiction to temporarily while away the hours, drunk on the controversy that they live and breathe with every moment. But this is no mere story or passing fictional fancy…this is real life, and despite all their posturing and threats, their money and their penchant for obfuscation and deception, there is one fact that remains constant, that cannot be erased. There is so much more than meets the eye going on beneath the glitz and gothic glamour of these people. There is something dark, something rotten at the core…something very, very wrong with the Black Family.

  Perhaps the time has come to shed light on that darkness once and for all.”

• Freddie Daydream: An erotic romantasy retelling of Drop Dead Fred. Yep. For reals. 50% of draft 1 done.
  Excerpt - “Lenny suddenly found herself wondering if she could control her hallucinations, or at least manifest them willingly. She had no idea why she would even want to - surely inducing psychosis was a bad idea? But the thought nagged at her, and once she had caught its thread and started pulling at it common sense began to unravel in her hands like a badly made jumper. She wanted to try it, just to prove that she could - she wanted to see what would happen, and she wanted another look at the strange man with the petulant smirk. Licking her lips, Lenny nodded and sat up, hands clasping in her lap as she straightened her shoulders.
  “Ok,” she murmured, and waited.
  Nothing happened.

  Glancing about, she narrowed her eyes, lips parting as she drew in an annoyed breath. She waited a few moments longer, then her shoulders slumped.
  “Show yourself,” she demanded irritably, rolling her eyes.
  “AYE AYE CAPTAIN!” came the shouted reply from behind her.

  Lenny shrieked and fell off the bed.

• Blessed Be the Meek - Feminist vampire novel about a group of undead women fuelled by rage who stalk perpetrators of domestic violence and hunt predators in parks at night. 20% of draft 1 done - this one is hard, because I have to be angry to write it and I am trying desperately not to exist in that space 24/7 for my mental health.

  Excerpt -

  “I murder men and eat their hearts.

  Every night or thereabouts, I go out hunting. There’s tiny me, skipping through the shadows in the park, long past everyone’s bedtime - certainly long past the time good little girls should be in bed.

  I’m not a good little girl.

  I’m barely even a girl at all.

  Not that it matters. Being good never saved anyone.

  So out there and a’skipping I go, my red hair bound in braids, my dress just that bit shorter than good girls should wear. Men who lurk in parks after dark seem to like that sort of thing - short dresses and braids, I mean. It does things to them, or so the newspapers and the priest at Mass on Sunday says.

  Men have needs. Urges.

  I have urges too.

  My urge is to hunt them.

  I say hunt, though the truth of it is that I barely have to do anything at all. I just exist in my braids and my dress…and the prey comes to me.

  And when it does, I never give it a chance to change its mind.

  I tear its throat open and bury my hands in its chest. I chew on its heart like one of them jelly filled candies you get from the fancier lolly shops.

  It screams and it cries, it fights and it begs, and I don’t give a fuck. I slurp up its insides and fingerpaint with its blood. I smear it across my face like warpaint.

  I murder men and eat their hearts.

  And I like it.”

So Long, Farewell.

Ok, so that’s that. You will notice things slowly changing around here during the next month or so as I get my bearings. To those of you who have supported me thus far, thank you. It has been an honour to share this road with you.

For those of you sticking around, I look forward to seeing how deep the rabbit hole goes together.

Big LOVE!
Bunny ♥