Heapstown - Airmid's Cairn

The thistle calls out to me

more of a scream than a whisper

you'll never smell a sweeter blossom

you'll never feel a more painful sting

The bus took them down yet another country road, coming to a stop near a little house.  They disembarked and headed down the path toward the Cairn.  It was so unassuming, they all walked past it and had to be called back to the lesser-known path through the grass toward the cluster of trees.

Finally, the last of the wanderers joined the group at the base of the cairn.  She marvelled at how a sacred site could remain so well hidden from casual tourists and revealed only to those who sought it out.  Permission had been given by the farmer to hike through his field and to remain gathered there.  

They were told the story of Airmid, who was part of a family of healers and very knowledgeable in the ways of herbs.

It is said that, after her brother's death, Airmid collected 365 healing herbs, spreading them on her cloak.  In a fit of jealousy, her father pulled her cloak from the ground, scattering the precious herbs to the four corners of the earth.

Through Airmid, we can learn the power of herbal healing.  The Pilgrims were each charged with the task of seeking out an herb, connecting with it, and collecting it for a ritual.  Once done, they placed these herbs upon a cloak spread on the ground.  She reached into her backpack and took out one of the five stones she brought with her and placed it on the cloak as an offering.

They stood in a circle, connecting to the land and to the herbs they'd chosen.  Once complete, they came forward and together they picked the cloak up from the ground, scattering the herbs to the wind, offering them to Airmid.

"The energy of the Fae is strong in this place.", she thought to herself.  Taking the opportunity to explore her surroundings, she headed back to the path.  Once there, she turned away from the direction where they came and soon found herself staring at a tree.  It was wrapped in barbed wire and upon further examination, she realized the tree had simply grown through the fence.  You can't contain nature, nor hold it to your will.  

She heard someone calling.  "Time to go already?", she thought.  Turning, she made her way back down the path toward the bus, taking a bit of time to survey the scenery.  A tree, a flower, always something to catch her eye.  

Once back aboard the bus, the Pilgrims were shocked to learn that almost 4 hours had passed!  It didn't seem possible.  But then again, this is a magical place.

The Hill of Tara

The crows call out to me

“She is here!  She is here!  She is here!”

Not meaning me, of course, but Her.

The one.  Herself.  The Morrigan.

A relationship that I did not seek out

but found me just the same.

An energy so powerful, so ancient

that once sensed it cannot, will not be ignored.

I make my way through the gate, past the graveyard

the energy rising to greet me

Onward to the grassy path

a brief pause, and then I climb

All the while the crows call out

“She is here!  She is here!  She is here!”

I silence my ego

the part of me that will question everything

Casting doubt and throwing shade

destroying the sacred

in favor of insecurity

keeping me stuck

Connecting with the land

and all that occurred

since it all began

I wait

She does not speak,

but rather

introduces Herself

with a nod and a knowing smile

The crows are silenced

welcoming Her into the space

waiting

for Her instructions

She retreats

and

sensing this

they take to the sky

“She is here!  She is here!  She is here!”

Loughcrew Part Two - The Cairns

It was just after 6 am when she found herself standing at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Loughcrew Cairns.  She was well aware of the climb.  About 2 kilometers from the spot where she was standing to the Cairns themselves.  It was a steep ascent, but she was determined not to let it get the best of her.  There was no way that she would allow herself to remain on the bus while the others explored this ancient landscape.   

She dug through her backpack, found her headlamp and put it on.  Then, backpack secured, she started her ascent.  She moved slowly but with purpose and before she knew it, she was moving through the gate at the top of the stairs.  It was then that she saw the path and realized she had quite a way to go before she reached the top.

She continued on, pausing every so often to catch her breath and gaze out over the landscape which was slowly revealing itself as dawn approached.  She turned to see who was still behind her.  A strange voice called out, 

"Please, turn off your headlamp!"

Embarrassed, she obliged, replacing it in her pack.  It was then that she noticed she didn't really need it, as the faint light was more than enough for her to find her way.  As she continued her climb, she reflected on how far she'd come and how strong she'd become.  Would she have had the courage to attempt this even a year ago?

After what seemed like forever and yet no time at all, she arrived at her destination.  The Cairns.

"The Cairns are megalithic structures originally built about 4000 bc as burial chambers."  http://loughcrew.com/cairns/

She turned and surveyed her surroundings, marvelling at how far she climbed.  She couldn't help but feel proud, knowing that this was but the first of many tasks set before her that she was now certain she was capable of.

The Pilgrims gathered together to welcome the rising sun.  They stood side by side, listening to the Bodhran as it kept beat with their hearts and with the heart of the land.  The sun, glowing a deep orange, slowly rose.  Then, just as slowly, it immersed itself headfirst into the clouds.  The moment was not lost on them, as each silently reflected on what they had just witnessed.

After a time, they dispersed, quietly making their way around the Cairns.  Careful not to disrespect the site nor disrupt others who gathered there, they paid their respects to those who came before and the land where they last laid their heads.

Taking what would soon feel like her rightful place at the back of the pack, she made her way down the hill toward the stairs.  It felt like a journey out of another world and back into the familiar.  Thankfully, the descent was slow and she was able to acclimate herself.

As she walked the path, she passed a group of sheep grazing.  They paid her no mind.  These were not the first Pilgrims the sheep had encountered, nor would they be the last.  Then she spotted a tree.  It beckoned to her, whispering secrets.  Belief in Faeries was strong here, as was their energy.

She felt the sort of calm and piece that so often eludes us.  Normally, she would resist leaving.  But somewhere inside her she knew that the feeling would remain and the connection would deepen as they continued on their sacred journey.

Loughcrew, Part One - The House

The sun had already set by the time the bus arrived at the gates to Loughcrew House.  As she waited for her suitcase, she stood in the dark, quietly admiring her surroundings.  

Bags unloaded, the Pilgrims followed the pathway up to the house.  The sound of her suitcase rolling along the drive seemed much louder than it probably was.  She stood for a moment, marvelling at the entryway.  Passing through to the house itself, she soon made her way through a maze of rooms, each more impressive than the last.  

She half-expected someone to walk through the mirror, inviting her into a magical world.

The Pilgrims were weary and eager to get settled in their rooms.  She was directed through the main living area and found herself in a lovely library.  She imagined enjoying a cup of tea and a good book, but alas there would no time for that.  

When she opened the door to her room, she was delighted!  It was exactly as she saw on their website.  She had to remind herself they would only be spending one night here and she was determined to make the most of it.  

The Pilgrims made themselves at home in various areas of the house.  Some turned in early, others gravitated toward the kitchen, a few ventured out onto the grounds.  A fire was lit in the Great Room where she settled on one of the couches.  Soon, others gathered to enjoy the warmth, admire the house, and get to know each other a bit better.

She could have sat staring at the fire all night.  But with a sunrise ritual planned, combined with the hike up to the cairns, it was best to turn in and get as much rest as possible.  

"St Agnes Eve - ah, bitter chill it was."

My first day in Dublin was packed with visits to the National Library, National Museum, Writer's Museum, and Hugh Lane Gallery.

Dublin is known for it's brightly painted doors and this one is no exception.

Once I crossed the threshold of Hugh Lane Gallery, it took all of about three minutes before something caught my eye.  Drawing me in (like a moth to a flame) and holding me captive.

"The Eve of St Agnes" by Harry Clarke.  As mentioned in a previous post (Irish Book Haul), photos simply cannot do it justice.  Learn more about it here :  http://www.hughlane.ie/eve-of-st-agnes-by-harry-clarke2

I was not familiar with the poem by John Keats prior to this, however I am very much inspired to seek it out.  I purchased the book by Jessica O'Donnell (which as I understand it is meant for children) because I wanted to refer to the images and learn more about this piece.  The poem itself is quite long and Mr Clarke only illustrated bits and pieces of it.  I stood there for quite a while, examining each of the panels closely and marvelling at the intricate detail, down to the tiny script present in almost every one.

"The Sleeping Princess" - part of the Briar Rose series by Burne-Jones.

I was walking from room to room and as I turned the corner, my eyes were met with this painting.  Reminiscent of John William Waterhouse (whose work I am rather fond of), it took my breath away.  I approached it slowly, as though afraid that if I were to move too quickly my eagerness to be near it would somehow damage it.  I sat on a bench, facing it and took it in.  At just over 4 feet high and 7 feet across, it's quite impressive to say the least.  I felt somewhat uncomfortable taking photos of the artwork, but with regard to this painting I just couldn't help myself.

What I encountered next garnered quite a strong reaction.  I was uncomfortable at first, but allowed myself to sit with that discomfort long enough to become intrigued.

Frances Bacon's studio has been meticulously recreated.  

Frances Bacon was born in Dublin on Oct 28, 1909.  He was a rather eccentric man, claiming that he simply could not work in a tidy studio.  Now, while I am not able to work in a sterile environment by any means, this is pushing it a bit too far for my comfort.  Having said that, I am always interested in that glimpse behind the proverbial curtain, that peek inside the creative mind.  I want to know what makes other artists tick.

Prior to removing the studio and it's entire contents, the Hugh Lane team employed archaeologists to meticulously document not only each item but its placement in the room.  This was done in order to relocate and replicate it in the gallery.  So you are seeing it exactly as he left it.  570 books, 1500 photos, 100 slashed canvasses, 1300 pages torn from books, 2000 artist materials, and 70 drawings.  Other items include magazines, newspapers, and vinyl records.  

You can read more about it here:  http://www.hughlane.ie/history-of-studio-relocation

I find the entire process extremely interesting and have to say quite impressive.  Standing there, looking into what seems like utter chaos and knowing that he somehow made sense of it.  

The Hugh Lane Gallery is filled with inspiring work.  These are but three small parts that spoke to me.  It was interesting to chat with other Pilgrims and learn what drew them in.  Was it the familiar or did they discover something new?

We Saw a Vision

A hush fell over the Pilgrims as they entered the Garden of Remembrance.  A solemn but beautiful place, it was one of quiet reflection.  Her eye was immediately drawn to the large sculpture at the top of the stairs.  A nod to the Irish Legend, "The Children of Lir".   

The pool guides your eye upward toward the sculpture.

"The Children of Lir" (Clann Lir / Leani Lir), who were the victims of their stepmother's jealously and as a result, were cursed to live as swans for 900 years.

The park is a memorial to all those who fought and died in the hopes of attaining Irish Freedom.  

Inscribed on one of the walls is the poem "We Saw a Vision", written by Liam Mac Uistin in 1976.  This would not be the last time she wished she had learned Irish.

"In the darkness of despair we saw a vision,

We lit the light of hope and it was not extinguished.

In the desert of discouragement we saw a vision.

We planted the tree of valour and it blossomed.

In the winter of bondage we saw a vision

We melted the snow of lethargy and the river of resurrection flowed from it.

We sent our vision aswim like a swan on the river.  The vision became a reality.

Winter became summer.  Bondage became freedom and this we left to you as your inheritance.

O generations of freedom remember us, the generations of the vision."

Kingship and Sacrifice

The National Museum was a short walk from Merrion Square.  Knowing how much walking this trip involved, it was best to get off to a good start.

According to her research, the exhibit focused on the findings surrounding the "Bog Bodies Research Project", including the bodies themselves.  She walked through the front doors, unprepared for the magnitude of what she would find.

Although it is a reproduction, this doorway is rather impressive.  "What lies beyond?", she wondered.

The first thing that caught her eye was all of the cauldrons and other culinary items.  Some of them looked large enough to prepare food for an army, which is very likely the case.

The bog people were of great interest.  The bodies so well preserved, she could still see whiskers on one of their faces.  It didn't seem right to take photos, so she simply sat with them and tried to imagine what brought them to the time and place where the bog wrapped 'round them, protecting them from disappearing completely.

She rounded a corner and found herself face to stern with a Viking longship.  Carved from a single tree, it stretched out across the room.  She wondered how many people it could carry.  How many people were needed to carry IT?

The Ancients valued amber, using it to create jewellery and sacred items, offerings to the Gods and Goddesses.  

A breathtaking amber necklace.  

She could have stayed for hours, but had to move on if she was going to make it to Hugh Lane Gallery before she was due back at the bus.  So she bid farewell to this time and space, which still held so many secrets.  It was only the beginning of her journey.  Ireland had many, many more stories to tell and she was ready to hear them.  

"You can never be overdressed or overeducated."

My introduction to Oscar Wilde was in the form of two animated short films - "The Selfish Giant" and "The Happy Prince".  Growing up in rural Alberta, we only had three tv channels and one of them was French, which is why I am astounded that I had the opportunity to see them at all.  I can't recall when exactly, but I do know that I watched them every year around the same time.  Something tells me it was during the holiday season, but I could be mistaken.

At any rate, both films entranced me.  Although I could recite the narration by heart, I was still brought to tears every single time.  

Later, I saw an adaptation of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and once again found myself drawn in.  What is it about Oscar Wilde's work that has not only survived, but continued to thrive over 100 years later?  What is it about the man that intrigues and delights us so?

The famous Oscar Wilde Statue in Merrion Square, Dublin.  

No literary tour of Dublin would be considered complete without including Oscar Wilde.  I was giddy as a school girl (funny how he still has that effect on people, wouldn't he be thrilled?).  Not only did I see (and touch!) the statue, but I also stood in front of his residence, which is located directly across the street.

Fangirl moment!  I don't typically enjoy having my photo taken but how could I not?  I would never forgive myself.

I also had the opportunity to visit Trinity College, Dublin - where Oscar Wilde (among others) studied.  I'll tell you all about it later.  In the meantime, thanks to YouTube, you can watch "The Selfish Giant" here:  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jtLTS7T8cc

and "The Happy Prince" here: 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8Aank8bDtcE

Irish Book Haul !

I wouldn't be much of a writer if I didn't bring home a book or two from my Bardic Journey, would I?

I was completely captivated with "The Eve of St Agnes", a breathtaking stained glass masterpiece on display at Hugh Lane Gallery in Dublin.  Created by Irish artist, Harry Clarke, it was inspired by the John Keats poem of the same name and commissioned by Mr Harold Jacob for his father's home.  

I stood before the display for some time and (because the photos I took didn't nearly do it justice) was delighted to find this book in their gift shop.  You can learn more about it here :
http://www.hughlane.ie/eve-of-st-agnes-by-harry-clarke2

I had the opportunity to spend an afternoon shopping in Sligo and absolutely loved it there!  I was told to be on the lookout for this book, so naturally I scooped up a copy as soon as I saw it.  

I also found this!  If you take the time to chat with any of the residents of Sligo, they will tell you about the myths and legends centered around the area.  The Goddess is very much alive there and is kept alive, thanks to those who share these stories!  

I bought both books from Libre, a fabulous shop!  http://liber.ie/

Last, but most certainly not least...

I had the pleasure of meeting Lora O'Brien, who guided us on a tour of Rathcroghan.  We started at Rathcroghan Mound, where Medb, Queen of Connacht is said to have lived.  Then we ventured to The Morrigan's Cave (a journey not for the faint of heart I can assure you).  Both of which I will tell you more about another time.  For now, I will say that Lora is an excellent resource not only regarding the land, but the mythology associated with it.  I hope to one day buy her a pint so that we can chat about it in greater detail.  I am certain she has many great stories to tell!

I purchased my copy from Lora directly, but you can find her books (as well as her blog) on her website.  http://www.loraobrien.com/

I very much look forward to diving into these and will certainly write up a review for each once I've had a chance to do so.  Meanwhile, stay tuned for more posts and pics from my Bardic Journey to Ireland!  

The truth is not what you know, it's what you believe.

Unless you are a hard-core Colin Farrell fan, you may have never heard of the film “Ondine”.  While an admirer of his work (let’s face it, he’s easy on the eyes), I have to admit this title was a surprise to me when I stumbled upon a copy for sale in a little video rental place a couple of blocks from my office. 

“Ondine” is the story of a fisherman named Syracuse, who lives in a small Irish village.  His simple life suddenly becomes complicated when he catches a half-drowned woman in his nets.  She’s frightened and seems (for lack of a better term) like a fish out of water.  So he agrees to let her stay in his mother’s old cottage and to tell no one.

His nets suddenly fill with very little effort and it seems fortune is finally on his side.  His daughter is convinced that this beautiful stranger is a Selkie.  One of the seal-people emerging from the mists to bless their family and prove to everyone that they are not simply a myth, that wishes can come true, and that anything is possible if you believe.

But this isn’t a simple Faerie Tale.  Ondine has secrets of her own.  After falling in love with Syracuse and starting a new life, her past comes back to haunt her and threatens everything she now holds dear.

Much like the little girl in the film, I desperately wanted to believe.  The story took me on a journey I thought I was prepared for, but soon realized that it would not be anything like I expected.  I felt more than a bit betrayed, but then realized that for the first time in a long, long while I had no idea what was coming.  Not unlike Syracuse, who followed his heart only to realize it may end up broken and scattered like the sea glass that washes ashore after a storm. 

It left both Syracuse and I asking ourselves the same question.  “Are you willing to see it through, no matter what?”

Top 5 Reads For All Hallows Eve

Samhain.  All Hallows Eve.  Halloween.  A time when the veil between worlds is thin.  A time when you disguised yourself to blend in with the spirits who roamed the earth, in order to avoid being taken back with them.

For some reason, we love being scared.  We may deny it, but it's true.  Having said that, the level of fear that each of us can tolerate definitely varies and each of us has a limit.  Are you ready to test yours?

I was given this copy of "Bitten" at a booksellers event.  In an age of sparkly vampires, some will see this werewolf book and scoff, but I encourage you to give it a chance.  

It isn't easy being the only female werewolf.  But Elena has decided that it isn't going to stop her from having a "normal" life.  But when the Pack reaches out, she has to decide if she's going to embrace her true nature or turn her back on them for good.

I read this book in two sittings and immediately started recommending it to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen.  This is the first book in Kelley Armstrong's "Women of the Otherworld" series and a fantastic introduction to the world she has created.  

"Dark Inheritance" is extra frightening because it's entirely plausible.  It involves a group of scientists who are asked to conduct an experiment, raising bonobos chimps in their homes.  This story makes you think about how far people are willing to go in the name of science and whether or not we're willing (or even capable) of dealing with the consequences when the experiment moves in a direction we weren't expecting.

"The Dwelling" isn't a gore-filled, terrifying white knuckle ride.  It's worse.  Fabulously spooky, this is a ghost story in it's pure form.  The kind of tale you'd tell around a campfire.  I absolutely love this book and have re-read it five times.

While you go into the story knowing the basic premise (haunted house, people move in but they never move out, etc.) The intricate web woven by Susie Moloney soon pulls you in and refuses to let go.  Just when you think you know the whole story, you get to the last few pages and... POW!  

Next, "Comes the Blind Fury" by John Saul.  I could have easily had 5 John Saul titles on this list.  He's one of my favorite authors and a master of ghost stories.  My Mom was a member of the Doubleday Book Club when I was growing up and I still remember taking her hardcover copy of this book off the shelf and reading it in about three sittings. 

His stories are filled with beautiful old houses by the sea and characters who, while they seem quite "normal" to their neighbors, often have secrets-upon-secrets and hidden agendas.  John Saul's books kept me awake many nights, yet I can't stop myself.  Much like revisting old friends, I re-read them on a regular basis.

"Comes the Blind Fury" involves a little girl whose family moves to a big house on Paradise Point.  It seems like the ideal life, until she finds an old doll in her closet.  Then Amanda comes forward through the mists, whispering to her, promising to be her friend if she'll just do one thing for her...

The quote on the bottom of the cover says it all.  This book is REALLY scary.  Probably the scariest book in my library.  In fact, it is so scary, I haven't been able to read it a second time.  Yet, I can't bear to part with it because it's so well written.  

I could have easily made a Top 10 list, but I thought that may be a bit much.  Besides, I want to save something for next October.  So tell me, what is your favorite read for All Hallows Eve?

My Favorite Autumn Read

Autumn in Alberta is unpredictable.  You could be enjoying "sweater weather" or you could be treated to a foot of snow.  Either way, the chill tends to lead to cozy nights wrapped in a blanket with a cup of tea and a good book.  So, without further adieu, I present my Favorite Autumn Read.    

"When Autumn Leaves" by Amy S Foster.

"In the picturesque Pacific Coast town of Avening, it's hard not to believe in magic. This is a town where the shoes in the windows always fit, where you can buy a love potion at the corner shop, and where local lore seamlessly mixes with the supernatural."

The story centres around Autumn, a local shopkeeper and member of the Jaen Sisterhood.  She has received word that the time has come for her to move on.  She has been charged with the task of choosing her successor.  But who among the women of the town will be up to the task?

I read this book in three sittings and loved it so much, I immediately bought a copy for a friend.  This book is a fixture on my "re-reads" shelf and I look forward to visiting Avening again very soon.

What is your favorite Autumn read?  Do you find you re-read books at a certain time of year?  

"When the Song Dies"

Scotland is a country rich in history.  Kings were born and died there.  Battles were declared over territory - fought on the shores and in the fields.  Families were brought together and torn apart.  But that history is slowly disappearing with the passing of time and the passing of those who remember.  Whether it is because there is no one to forward the tales or simply because the younger generation has lost interest is not known.  Perhaps it is a combination of the two, but one thing is certain.  We will not truly feel the loss until it is far too late.

Storytelling, folklore, superstition and song all come together in this short film by Jamie Chambers.  Imagine having a song that was specific to your family, passed down from generation to generation.  An integral part of your culture and your history.  Now imagine that you are the very last to remember it.  Once you are gone, the song will die with you.

Tales of family members who possessed “the gift that no one wanted”.  Second sight.  Being able to fortell death (even your own) seemed commonplace.  Everyone knew at least one person with this ability.  To see the unseen.  To know the seemingly unknowable.  Was it because of their strong connection to their own history?  Or was it simply being more open to such things?

We have reached an age where the technology exists that enables me to write a story and publish it on the same day.  To reach literally millions of people at the click of a mouse.  To talk to someone on the other end of the world day or night and often on the go.  Yet, these stories and songs continue to slowly vanish into the mists.

Oh, you can pick up a book filled with tales from days of old.  But nothing compares to sitting and listening to someone tell them.  Their voice painting pictures and bringing you back in time.  The dialect, specific to not only to their homeland but to their village, remaining virtually unchanged.  In addition to the story, you get to enjoy the little stops along the way.  Little details that may be overlooked or lost in translation by outsiders who - try as they might - will never get it exactly right.

http://aeon.co/film/scottish-folklore-and-superstitions/

Open wide!

I ate a frog today.  It was huge.  It was hairy, slimy, gross, and at the same time, it was magnificent.  But I took a deep breath and ate it.  Just stuffed it down.  Much to my surprise, it wasn’t that bad.

I don’t procrastinate perse.  I get stuck.  Bogged down by details and overwhelmed by the bigger picture.  I stall out.  I freak out.  I check out.  The end result is the same.  I’m not writing and losing sleep over it.  Believe me when I tell you, the last thing I need is to lose any of what little sleep I get.  I am a very, very light sleeper (the cat meandering from room to room will wake me up).  I'm also prone to insomnia.  It’s a bi-product of a creative mind with no “off” switch.

A few months ago, a friend loaned me his iPod, which is filled with audiobooks.  (I really must get that back to him)  I tried to listen to a murder mystery but it was far too graphic.  Pair that with my amazingly active imagination and my tendency to not sleep and I decided it was best that I skip it.  I’m sure it’s a great story, for someone else.  So, I instead listened to “Eat That Frog” by Brian Tracy.  I wasn’t sure what to expect, but my friend raved about it, said it helped him tremendously.  So I was willing to give it a shot and am glad that I did.

The concept itself is quite simple.  You make a list (mental or otherwise) of what you need to accomplish and then prioritize.  Start at the top and make your way down the list.  The biggest “frog” will be waiting there for you and as you move down, you get to the frogs that aren’t a big deal and that you can accept not getting done today.  The important thing is you do the things you’ve been procrastinating, putting off, or afraid to even start because you have no friggin’ idea how you are going to get them done.  Chances are, that big ol’ frog is not that big at all.  Some frogs are actually gumdrops and quite enjoyable once you get over the fear.  I was amazed by the amount of time wasted stressing over things when I could have done them 5 times over if I just ate the ding dang frog, already.  Grab some ketchup and go, girl!

As you probably know by now (mostly because I never shut up about it), I am working on a submission for The Dark Crystal Author Quest.  It has consumed my life for the last 5 months.  I spend nearly every waking moment working on it.  I have a binder full of research material and notes that’s getting larger and more detailed every day.  I have an endless stream of ideas coming forward, images flood my mind, and I have wished almost daily that I had the talent to draw because it would certainly make this process much easier, not to mention more amazing.

I recently realized that time was going to become a serious issue.  I froze.  I became convinced that there was no possible way I would be able to finish my submission in time.  So I took a couple weeks off and did my best not to think about it at all.  I failed, of course.  But no matter what I did, whenever I sat in front of my laptop I just couldn’t make it happen.  I had plenty of material and knew exactly where the story was going.  I just couldn’t manage to get started up again.  My ego kicked in, telling me that I was insane to think I could pull this off.  I had moments when I considered just walking away and writing something else.  I even had thoughts of... brace yourself... quitting altogether.  Not writing another word.  But after realizing that it had been more than a month since I slept through the night (we’re talking waking up every 2 hours, folks), I talked myself off the proverbial ledge. 

This project is so much more important to me than my ego (which can sit down and shut up, thanks so much).  So, I woke up this morning and gave myself a pep talk. 

“You can do this.  You know you can.  You do it every day.  All you have to do is get in that kitchen and EAT THAT FRIGGIN FROG!”

OK, I’ll just get myself some breakfast and...

“NO!  No breakfast for you!  Write, monkey, WRITE!”

So I did just that.  I went into the kitchen, turned on the laptop, and started writing.  I worked for 4 hours and managed another 2 thousand words.  That big, fat, hairy, smelly, beast of a frog that I have been avoiding for weeks was taken care of in just 4 hours.  I was elated, exhausted, in a creative fog, and hungry.  So to celebrate, I had an amazing grilled cheese sandwich and watched an episode of “Lost Girl”. 

Oh yeah!  I’m back baby!

Kobo Book Haul !

I am just days away from setting out on a Pilgrimage to Ireland!  A bardic tour of the Emerald Isle, complete with visits to Loughcrew Cairn, Kildare, Carrowkeel, Slieve League, Heapstown Cairn, Sligo, Rathcroagan, and the Hill of Tara as well as music nights at local pubs, at concerts, the National Library Dublin, National Museum Dublin, Writer’s Museum Dublin, and Hugh Lane Gallery.

Naturally, when I decided to join the fun my first thought was “That’s a long flight.  I am going to need something to read.”  Naturally, I purchased a “few” titles for my Kobo and naturally, I already read some.  So I purchased a few more. 

So, without further adeu, here is my Kobo Book Haul for Ireland!

“Beowulf”

Definitely relevant to my interests, this was only $1.25 - so pretty much a no-brainer. 

“Burial Rites” by Hanna Kent

I am a sucker for a good cover and this one caught my eye.  Then I read the synopsis.

“A brilliant literary debut, inspired by a true story: the final days of a young woman accused of murder in Iceland in 1829.

Set against Iceland's stark landscape, Hannah Kent brings to vivid life the story of Agnes, who, charged with the brutal murder of her former master, is sent to an isolated farm to await execution.

Horrified at the prospect of housing a convicted murderer, the family at first avoids Agnes. Only Tóti, a priest Agnes has mysteriously chosen to be her spiritual guardian, seeks to understand her. But as Agnes's death looms, the farmer's wife and their daughters learn there is another side to the sensational story they've heard.

Riveting and rich with lyricism, BURIAL RITES evokes a dramatic existence in a distant time and place, and asks the question, how can one woman hope to endure when her life depends upon the stories told by others?”

“The Darkest Part of the Forest” by Holly Black

Another gorgeous cover!  I heard about this book from various BookTubers and decided to add it to my “Previews” list. 

In the woods is a glass coffin. It rests on the ground, and in it sleeps a boy with horns on his head and ears as pointed as knives....

"Hazel and her brother, Ben, live in Fairfold, where humans and the Folk exist side by side. Tourists drive in to see the lush wonders of Faerie and, most wonderful of all, the horned boy. But visitors fail to see the danger.

Since they were children, Hazel and Ben have been telling each other stories about the boy in the glass coffin, that he is a prince and they are valiant knights, pretending their prince would be different from the other faeries, the ones who made cruel bargains, lurked in the shadows of trees, and doomed tourists. But as Hazel grows up, she puts aside those stories. Hazel knows the horned boy will never wake.

 Until one day, he does....

As the world turns upside down, Hazel has to become the knight she once pretended to be. But as she's swept up in new love, with shifting loyalties and the fresh sting of betrayal, will it be enough?”

Now in spite of my love of all things Fae, I am not one to add a book to my library simply because it’s Faerie-related.  This one piqued my interest and the reviews on Goodreads are quite strong, so I thought I’d give it a go.

“Green Heart” by Alice Hoffman

Once again, I was captivated by a beautiful cover.  “Green Heart” combines “Green Angel” and “Green Witch” into one volume.  I am not one to embark on series, mostly because I have zero patience.  I want it all and I want it now.  I proved that point by reading “Green Heart” in two sittings last weekend.

From the depths of despair to the reclaiming of herself, Green allows us to see the world through her eyes and discover its secrets as she does.  This story is beautifully written and I recommend it highly.  

“The Lightkeepers Wife” by Sarah Anne Johnson

For those who don’t already know, my Great Great Grandfather built Miscou Lighthouse and took on the role of Lightkeeper.  So needless to say, this title leapt out at me.

“On 19th century Cape Cod, Hannah Snow shouldn't even be in the water. Her husband, John, would be furious--it's his job to tend to Dangerfield Light. It's certainly not women's work, and his quick trips out of town don't give her permission to rush toward the tattered ships. But she does, and though she can't save everyone, William "Billy" Pike, is someone she can. He's recuperating in her care when John's horse is found abandoned. Hannah invites Billy to stay as a hired hand--but soon discovers that he is not at all whom she thought he was. When everything holding her together falls apart, can Hannah learn how to save herself?”

Last summer, I read “The Light Between Oceans” by ML Stedman in one weekend.  So it’s been torture saving this story for the trip, but I am sure that it will be worth the wait.

“The Owl Service” by Alan Garner

Loosely based on Blodeuwedd’s story from “The Mabiogion”, this book came highly recommended. 

“Something is scratching around in the attic above Alison's room. Yet the only thing up there is a stack of grimy old plates. Alison and her stepbrother, Roger, discover that the flowery patterns on the plates, when traced onto paper, can be fitted together to create owls-owls that disappear when no one is watching. With each vanished owl, strange events begin to happen around Alison, Roger, and the caretaker's son, Gwyn. As the kids uncover the mystery of the owl service, they become trapped within a local legend, playing out roles in a tragic love story that has repeated itself for generations... a love story that has always ended in disaster.”

“Parnassus on Wheels and The Haunted Bookshop” by Christopher Morley

These two books were featured on three BookTuber channels, so I decided to make note of them.  I found both on Kobo for $1.03!  SCORE! 

Parnassus on Wheels

Parnassus on Wheels is Morley's first novel, about a fictional traveling book-selling business. The original owner of the business, Roger Mifflin, sells it to 39-year-old Helen McGill, who is tired of taking care of her older brother, Andrew. Andrew is a former businessman turned farmer, turned author. As an author, he begins using the farm as his Muse rather than a livelihood. When Mifflin shows up with his traveling bookstore, Helen buys it—partly to prevent Andrew from buying it—and partly to treat herself to a long-overdue adventure of her own.

The Haunted Bookshop

It begins with a young advertising man, Aubrey Gilbert, stopping by a bookstore named "The Haunted Bookshop" in the hopes of finding a new client. Gilbert meets the proprietor, Roger Mifflin. Gilbert does not succeed in selling advertising copy, but is intrigued by Mifflin and his conviction concerning the value books and booksellers have to the world.

To be honest, I’m not completely sure about these.  The cover is horrid,  but the price was right and they’re books about books, so it’s definitely worth giving them a chance.  

“Practical Magic” by Alice Hoffman

No sense in beating ‘round the bush.  I read this one already. 

I adore the film, so the book was on my TBR list.  I found that, because the story isn’t linear, it was a bit jarring to jump back and forth.  I wish I had read the book before seeing the film, to be honest.  But overall, I enjoyed it and recommend it. 

“Queen Victoria’s Book of Spells – an anthology of Gaslamp Fantasy”

According to the synopsis, “Gaslamp Fantasy” is historical fantasy set in a magical version of the 19th century.  The cover caught my eye and I found it rather intriguing, so I decided to try it.

I have to admit that I already started reading it and have read four stories thus far.  I don’t dislike it but at the same time, am not sure it’s my thing.  But I am interested to find out if I discover an author that I connect with who has more work that I can discover.

"The Winter Witch” by Paula Brackston

Last fall, I saw a preview for “The Silver Witch” and the cover was beyond beautiful!  I loved the book.  So much so that I intend to do a blog post about it later. 

When I discovered Paula Brackston had 4 more witchy titles (with a 5th on the way), I added them to my TBR list.  I decided that “The Winter Witch” would be next and that I would “save it for the trip, no matter what”.  Then I sat and laughed for about 5 minutes, turned on my Kobo and started reading.  Did I mention I am not a very patient woman?

“In her small early nineteenth century Welsh town, there is no one quite like Morgana, who has not spoken since she was a young girl. Her silence is a mystery, as well as her magic. Concerned for her safety, her mother is anxious to see her married, and Cai Jenkins, a widower from the far hills, seems the best choice.

After her wedding, Morgana is heartbroken at leaving her mother, and wary of this man, whom she does not know, and who will take her away to begin a new life. But she soon falls in love with Cai’s farm and the wild mountains that surround it. Cai works to understand the beautiful, half-tamed creature he has chosen for a bride, and slowly, he begins to win Morgana’s affections. It’s not long, however, before her strangeness begins to be remarked upon in her new village. A dark force is at work there—a person who will stop at nothing to turn the townspeople against Morgana. Forced to defend her home, her man, and herself, Morgana must learn to harness her power, or she will lose everything.”

I am already almost halfway through and expect to finish it long before I arrive at the airport. 

Do you read while on holiday?  What’s on your TBR list? Have you read any of the books I’ve mentioned (no spoilers, please)?

Join the fun on Goodreads! 

https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7793753.K_S_Thompson

Writing this post cost me a spoon.

I am not a stupid person.  As a matter of fact, I possess above average intellect.  Which is why "fibro fog" is so damn frustrating.  It affects my memory in odd ways, such as thinking “elephant”, while saying “Edmonton” (true story).  I know that the word I am saying is wrong, but my mind won’t release it so that the right word will come.  As I said, I am not stupid.  But I have challenges that (at times) may make it seem as though I am.  I sometimes have a hard time remembering names of people and places.  For example, although I have a list and have been researching my trip to Ireland, if asked I may not remembered the names of all the places I am going.  If I have an appointment, I make note of it in no less than two different calendars and will often call to confirm the day before.  Social situations are extremely stressful for me because I often find myself overwhelmed and my brain seems to just shut down to the point that I can barely follow a conversation.  I am not really certain why I am affected this way, nor why it seems to be so bloody random, but have learned to accept it.  One thing I have noticed is that if I feel pressured (people interrupting me, trying to finish my sentences, talking over me, rushing me, becoming impatient or getting annoyed) then the fog just get worse and I usually cut the conversation short.

I get cranky if I am interrupted and my initial reaction to change is not always positive, so I work very hard to ensure that I am not bringing negative energy into whatever space I happen to be occupying.  I have to budget my energy (or “spoons”) carefully in order to ensure that I don’t wear myself out, causing a flareup which can keep me bedridden for days or forcing me to push through it because I don’t have any choice.  “The Spoon Theory” by Christine Miserandino explains it well and while she is discussing her challenges with Lupus, the theory applies to anyone dealing with chronic illness. 

http://www.butyoudontlooksick.com/articles/written-by-christine/the-spoon-theory/

Photo by thomas-bethge/iStock / Getty Images

I only get so many "spoons" a day...

One of the reasons fibro is so hard to diagnose is because symptoms are random and no two people are affected in the same way.  This is also why there is no “treatment” and no cure.  For some, coffee is the only way they can manage.  For me, caffeine is a trigger, causing unbearable agony.  Some people are very “physical” or very vocal.  To someone with fibro, a playful punch in the arm feels like being slammed with a 2x4 and being exposed to someone’s excited screaming/squealing is absolute torture because it actually causes physical pain.   Odd as that may sound, my skin feels like someone is rubbing a cheese grater on it when people around me are screaming/yelling/squealing.  It’s not that I don’t share your excitement; I just can’t express emotion in the same way you do and continue to function like a somewhat “normal” human being.  This is why many people with fibro tend to be homebodies and prefer quiet activities.  Most things others consider “fun” are simply far too overwhelming and (quite frankly) would cost more “spoons” than I have to spare.

Interestingly enough, I rarely lose anything, multitask like a mo-fo, can tell you the contents of almost every shelf/drawer of my home, remember song lyrics, and quotes from films/books (may not always remember the name of the film or the actor’s names, though).  I also seem to be a walking encyclopedia for random facts that even I can’t remember how I came by.  I am a voracious reader.  I am always writing something (either work related or personal), can tell you if I wrote a commercial just by listening to it (because I can usually remember the day I wrote it, down to what I was wearing), and currently have three books in various stages of development, although lately I haven’t had the energy to sit down and work on them.  I often wonder what I would be capable of if I wasn’t affected by fibro, because I am pretty ding dang fabulous in spite of it!  BAM!!!

My health has improved dramatically since I was finally diagnosed 6 years ago and I am determined to continue to heal.  So if you see me struggling, it isn’t due to lack of intellect because I am far from stupid.  But I am not going to let it defeat me.  I am also not seeking sympathy or pity, simply trying to spread awareness and understanding.  Thanks for taking the time to read my post.  Feel free to share it, if you think it will help someone else.  

You do not determine my worth

I just read a post on another author's Facebook page.  Apparently someone has been stealing her blog posts and passing them off as his own for some time now.  Someone responded by saying that "on the bright side", this action should be viewed as a compliment.  I couldn't disagree more. 

For far too long, artists have been led to believe that having their work taken and used without their permission and without being paid is some sort of warped honor.  It isn’t.  Regardless of how simple you may think it is, a tremendous amount of hard work goes into creating something.  To do all that and then have the courage to put it out there, only to have it stolen and used for purposes other than what you intended isn’t just heartbreaking.  It’s a crime.  The copyright laws are in place for a reason and yet we seem to feel we’re not even worthy of standing up for ourselves.

If you value my work enough to use it, then pay me for it.  Oh, and I will determine the value thank you very much.  Just because you offer to pay me 1/3 of my fee doesn’t mean I should fall to the floor and thank you profusely.  If you can’t afford my rates, then don’t hire me.  After all, you don’t go into a car dealership and offer them “exposure” in exchange for that 25 thousand dollar SUV you’ve had your eye on.  Pretty simple concept.

If, for some reason that only you could possibly justify, you feel that you shouldn’t have to pay me then at the very least credit the source (a link to my website is a good start) so that I may possibly derive some freelance work out of it.  Visual arts, films, music, poetry, blog posts – all of it is protected by copyright and NO, it’s not OK if you use it without permission or licensing because “everyone else does it”. 

The YouTube video I posted below features Harlan Ellison http://harlanellison.com/home.htm and he uses some colorful language, so you’ve been warned.  Some may think he is overreacting, however I not only understand his point, I agree with it.  If we do not value what we bring to the proverbial table, two things will happen. 

1.  We will cease to be invited to the table.
2. Our work will never be valued by anyone, including ourselves.

For far too long, writers have been lead to believe that they should feel lucky that anyone is paying any mind to anything they have to say.  That we are fortunate anyone will even deign to hire us.  Until our attitudes change, nothing else will. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mj5IV23g-fE

The "D" word

That word strikes fear in the hearts of writers everywhere.  Well, most writers.  I write commercials and work with deadlines every day.  I am very lucky.  I set most of those deadlines.  So if I look at my “to do” list and notice that a particular date is looking rather popular among my clients, then I adjust the deadlines.  That way, I can be sure that the actual deadline (the one the production/traffic teams care about) is met.

I think I speak for most writers when I say that procrastination is a constant struggle and can be deadly.  So, we often set deadlines for ourselves to keep us on track.  With regard to my own writing, I don’t micromanage myself.  I don't bother with daily or even weekly deadlines.  I like to keep the process as organic as possible.  But I do believe in setting a reasonable deadline to keep me on track.  Otherwise I think I’d stay in “daydream mode” and never get anything actually written down.

I had a pretty firm idea as to when I wanted my next book to be released.  Again, being an Indie author, I can set my own schedule.  But this year got off to a rather unfortunate start and I found myself unable to write for a while.  So that original schedule has been amended a bit.  To be honest, I was quite worried for a while and am just happy to be able to write at all.

Another snag in the process has been that I am actually researching and working on the story outlines for not one… not two… but three projects.  At once.  That’s not a horrible problem to have, admittedly.  But it really makes it difficult to focus and commit.  To choose just one story seems to me like I am abandoning the others.  Thankfully, they’re patient.  For the most part.

When the characters start to show up unannounced, that’s when I know that I am on to something.

I spent the better part of two days trying to coax a villain out of the shadows.  He doesn’t have a name but I do know a bit more about him, which is usually how it goes.  A character appears and introduces themselves in their own way.  I silently observe to determine if I should push for more information or let them divulge whatever they feel comfortable revealing.  Then I dive into my pile of reference material and try to find a name that suits them.  It’s a process that I really enjoy.

How do you deal with deadlines?  Are you comfortable or do they simply serve to stress you out?  Do you procrastinate?  Looking forward to your thoughts.

There's a lot of great stuff waiting beyond the fear...

I was asked to write an autobiography in 250 words or less.  That's a frightening thing to ask someone who prefers to concentrate on her characters.  But I pushed past the fear and am quite pleased with how it turned out.

It was a day just like any other.  Except it was completely different.  You see, The Writer hadn’t yet discovered that she was indeed a writer.  Her father read her bedtime stories every evening and on this day, she asked him the question that would change everything. 

“Where do stories come from?”

“The come from people.”, her father replied.

“Magic people?”

“No, regular people, like you and I.”

At that very moment, a tiny spark formed inside her heart.  Over the years, The Writer continued to read every single day and the spark grew.  Then, stories of her own came forward through the mists and were kept warm by that spark.  The Writer was sought out by others who had stories to tell but weren’t sure how.  So she helped them.  Sometimes the stories were only 10 seconds long, but she didn’t mind.  She wrote about all sorts of things.  Sometimes she didn’t know much about what she was asked to write, but she didn’t mind.  She loved doing research and learning new things.  All that mattered to The Writer was that she was writing and that the spark in her heart would always be there.

The day I completely geeked out and cried in front of Peter S Beagle.

My sister sent me a message on Facebook that amounted to a lot of SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE and OMG! OMG! OMG!

As it turns out, Peter S Beagle is doing a HUGE tour for the new 2K digital print of "The Last Unicorn"!  I have no idea how my sister and I missed seeing this when it was released because I know we would have lost our collective noodles over it.  So this was the first opportunity we've had to see it in the theatre.

So needless to say, it took me all of 30 seconds to decide that we were going.  I called my Mom on the off chance she might like to join us and soon the Thompson girls were planning a day on the town.  The show was on Saturday, so I went down to the theatre on Tuesday to get our tickets.  Big mistake.  Tuesday is date night and the lineups were HUGE.  So I came back on Wednesday.  Unfortunately, there was a lot of confusion on behalf of the nice lady who was helping me.  First of all, she didn't know about the event.  Second, she said that Mr. Beagle wouldn't be in attendance because our city was too small.  I was disappointed but that wasn't going to stop me.

The following Saturday, we arrived at the theatre, turned the corner and THERE HE WAS!  Signing autographs and chatting with excited fans.  We perused the table, spoke to his manager and found out that he always stays until everyone has had an opportunity to meet him.  On one occasion in particular, he stayed until 2 am!  So we decided to purchase our books and chat with him after the show was over.

He had a fantastic Q&A before the show.  My hand shot up in the air.  I was focused and determined to find out how "The Last Unicorn" was born.  Where was he when inspiration struck?  What was the first thing he wrote?  Where did the characters come from?  My turn came and I proudly told him I was also a writer, that his work inspired me, and then I started crying like a total dork (and like a true Canadian, I apologized).  Thankfully, when he found out I was a writer he eagerly asked me to come see him after the show so we could chat.

During the Q&A we found out that Mr. Beagle and George RR Martin (author of the Game of Thrones series) teamed up to raise funds for theatres that were upgrading their technology.  Artwork depicting King Haggard on the Iron Throne, autographed by both authors was available for purchase.

They held doorprize draws and I geeked out again when my number was called.  I won a copy of "We Never Talk About My Brother", which I am really looking forward to reading.  A friend who found out about the event was the lucky winner of one of the autographed prints of King Haggard and gave it to me, which I promptly geeked out over.  I was geeking out left, right, and center.  I slept most of the next day in order to recover.  Not kidding.

 My treasures!

Seeing "The Last Unicorn" in the theatre was amazing!  The colours were so vivid!  I noticed things that, even after watching it countless times, I never saw before (although I did miss the one thing that we were told to look for - I won't spoil it for you).  After the credits rolled, we all filed out to the lobby and stood in line at the table.  I re-introduced myself to Mr. Beagle and we spoke for quite a while.  He's so kind, humble, and genuine, taking the time to chat with everyone for as long as they are interested.  He is not shy about admitting his surprise that "The Last Unicorn" has withstood the test of time, gaining more and more fans as the years go on.

I finally asked THE QUESTION.  "Where did the story come from?"  He told me that it all started with one line.

"The Unicorn lived in a lilac wood and she lived all alone."

He was staying at a friend's cabin in 1962.  His friend was a landscape artist and went out every day to paint.  Peter felt he couldn't very well just sit around, so he decided he'd write a book.  He wanted to give up many times, but the sense of competition with his friend drove him onward.  Little did he know, his friend felt the same and kept painting long after he wanted to stop.  So the two of them completed what they set out to do and here we are, 52 years later and still enjoying "The Last Unicorn".

At the end of our conversation, my Mother asked if we could have our photo taken and I am very glad she did because I quite frankly didn't have the presence of mind to do so.  I looked Mr. Beagle in the eye with tears in my own and said, "I will remember this day for the rest of my life."  Touched, he opened his arms and embraced me, making me promise that I would keep writing.  "I will.  I promise."

I intend to keep that promise and look forward to the stories that are to come.

My sister, mother, Peter S Beagle, and I.

For your opportunity to geek out over "The Last Unicorn" and meet Peter S Beagle, please visit http://lastunicorntour.com/.