Changes Are Afoot!

Starting Feb. 1, this blog and the Samhain paranormal authors will be joining forces into one fabulous paranormal- and fantasy-oriented blog. So if you come here to visit after Feb. 1 and are wondering where everyone is, we're Beyond The Veil. :)

New Release: Beaudry's Ghost

My paranormal romance Beaudry's Ghost is now available FOR SALE! (Oh, sorry, did I just scream that out loud?)

You may ask, "Why is she so excited about this book?" I'll tell you. (Yes, I'm channeling Tevye.)

Beaudry is the book of my heart. "The One" for which I became a writer. It combines everything I love - romance, history, legends, ghost stories, North Carolina, and the sea. Did I mention romance? Writing it was like an out-of-body experience. I remember staying up until the wee hours writing, then re-reading my work the next day and wondering "My god, who wrote that?" (In a good way!)

Back in its original incarnation as a Dreams Unlimited then an LTDBooks release, the book won some pretty nice awards and garnered a 4-star review and Reviewers Choice nomination from Romantic Times. Still, when Samhain picked it up, I leaped at the chance to revisit the story, revise and expand it, make it an even better book based on the skills I've gained over the years.

For me, words are fluid things that can almost always be improved upon. I'm an editor in real life, but that doesn't mean I don't depend on my Samhain editor Lindsey McGurk when it comes to my stories! I freely acknowledge I'm my own worst editor. LOL

I'm normally pretty calm when a book comes out, but Lindsey can attest I was a near basket case at one point during the editing process. Like I said, this is the book of my heart, and I felt acutely that this is my last chance to get it right and do these amazing characters justice.

Their voices in my head aren't keeping me up at night any more, so I hope that means I accomplished my goal! :)

Beaudry's Ghost was born of my deep North Carolina heritage. I mean, who couldn't grow up hearing stories on your grandmother's darkened front porch, immersed in the history, legends and lore of of a place, and not have something come out of it later in life? It either messes with your head, or you become a writer. LOL

I'm off to get pre-surgery bloodwork. Nothing big, just fixing up my left foot a bit. Great timing, eh? Release a book, have surgery! But I figured if I didn't do it now, I won't be in any kind of shape for RT Pittsburgh in April. I saw my friend Rosemary Laurey once navigate an RT on crutches, and it wasn't fun! On the other hand, I could just set up camp in the bar and let everyone come to ME for a change!

Popping the champagne,
Carolan
www.carolanivey.com

No Unibrows, Please!

"Hogmanay" is a Scots word which means "the last day of the year." The date is actually Dec. 31, but the celebration carries through the night to Jan. 1, also known as "Ne'erday." And if you're going to be in Scotland, you might as well keep partying, because Jan. 2 is a bank holiday!

There are many traditions associated with Hogmanay, not the least of which is "first footing." This is the first person to set foot across your threshhold after the stroke of midnight, often bearing gifts and best wishes for the new year. From Scotsman.com:

On the stroke of midnight it is still common for houses to be "first footed" by a tall, handsome stranger bearing gifts. Although the first-footer is seldom a stranger, it is preferable that he is dark. This harks back to days of Viking invaders when a fair-haired man knocking at your door was more likely to inspire terror than pleasure.

Until quite recently the first-footer was subject to a rather rigorous code of looks. Out-of-date now, there was a time when a first-footer should not be flat-footed, cross-eyed or have their eyebrows meeting (thought to denote the evil eye).

I'll be offline for a few days, visiting family. So Happy Hogmanay, and may your first-footer be tall, dark, handsome, and two-browed!



Slan,
Carolan

Father Winter's Solstice Tale

Many thanks to my friend Nancie Baden for giving me permission to share this lovely poem with you. Happy holidays, everyone!

Father Winter's Solstice Tale

'Tis the eve before Solstice in the evergreen woods
Not a creature is stirring, not even the Druids
Mistletoe has been sickled from the great holy tree.
Magic sprigs hung o'er doors to ward off folk wee.

Fearsome Goddess Cailleach has transformed every bower
This crone of cold stark Wintertime has stolen every flower
The villagers in fear and awe are as hidden as the light
But lo the hour is drawing close to have their Solstice Night

As day breaks on the mountaintop of frozen land so dire
Druid priests and priestesses are readying for fire
Great logs of ash are dressed in finest thistle, bay and sage.
Carried to the fields below, as bonfires they shall rage.

Children venture out of doors with wreaths of pine and ivy
And hazelnuts and fruit with cloves and singing carols lively.
Fragrances do waft on high of wassail, meat, and spice cake.
The vigilant can now rejoice as sacred King Sun does wake.

Seasons' wheel has slowly moved, the longest night does fade
The warmth returns and life renews at every hill and glade.
At Yule as icy hearts now thaw in flames of holy rebirth
Father wishes us a Good Sabbat and peace to all on our Earth

Copyright 2006-2007 Nancie Baden, All Rights Reserved. Posted with permission.

Happy Solstice!

From Newgrange.com:

For the first time ever, the 2007 Winter Solstice illumination of the passage and chamber at Newgrange will be streamed live on the internet.

The webcast and an exhibition at the Brú na Bóinne Visitor Centre celebrates the 40th Anniversary of the re-discovery of the Winter Solstice Phenomenon at Newgrange by Professor O’Kelly in 1967.

The Winter Solstice event from inside the chamber at Newgrange will be broadcast on the mornings of Friday 21st and Saturday 22nd December 2007. If conditions are good the rising sun will illuminate the passage and chamber between 8:58am and 9:15am GMT (Greenwich Mean Time).

To view the webcast click on the Heritage Ireland website.

Edit: I watched the webcast and it is wonderful! They had perfect weather. The entire show is about an hour long, and sunrise occurs about 20 minutes in.

Thirteen Random Birthday Thoughts About Writing…

…and life in general. It’s my birthday. I’m allowed! :)

1. There’s no great mystery to being a writer. A writer applies the seat of her pants to the seat of her chair, and writes.

2. First drafts are not the time to be careful. First drafts are designed to let you glop it all out, get the voices out of your head, unleash whatever beast that’s hounding you to get the story down on paper. It’s meant to be messy. Roll in it! Get your hands dirty!

3. Write every day. Even if all you can write is “I don’t know what to write,” do it. Over and over again. Fill pages with it. Eventually your brain will get bored and want to write something else.

4. Waiting for your muse to inspire you, IMHO, is just nuts. You want to be a writer? Siddown and get started. Your muse will just have to eat dust until it catches up with you.

5. Read. Widely and often. Never stop learning.

6. Observe.

7. Listen.

8. Don’t be afraid to try out any story idea. 100 pages that don’t pan out are still 100 pages of learning experience you never would have had if you hadn’t tried.

8a. Don’t be afraid. Period. I mean it. Just stop it right now. :)

9. All reviews are good. Really. So what if a reviewer hated your book. Did they spell your name right? Then it’s a good review.

10. On the other hand, learn to put aside your emotional attachment to your manuscript, and listen to constructive criticism. Your editor is on your side!

11. You’ll never make story perfect. There will always be a typo, a flaw, something accidentally left hanging. It’s possible to revise the life out of a story. Learn to let it go. (This is one I’m still working on—note the claw marks on my manuscripts where my editor had to tear them out of my hands!)

12. You will never please everyone. Write for yourself first, the markets second. Make the market follow YOU.

13. Learn to love your Shadow Self. She is the part of you that makes you—and your stories—fully human.

~Carolan
www.carolanivey.com
Now available: Wildish Things

More Thursday Thirteens!

How far would your hero go?

I've been graced with my first (probably of many) upper respiratory crud of the winter season. *sigh* So as my decongestant wears off and before I take another one and zone out, I figgered I'd better post while I'm semi-coherent. [grin]

"Red Haired Girl From The Bog" by Patricia Monaghan is a book I keep going back to whenever I just want to disappear from this world and retreat into her engrossing search for the Goddess.

The section of the book that fell open today yielded a little nugget of legend that "spoke" to me, meaning it will probably become my next erotic novella.

The tale tells of the god of metalworkers, Goibniu, who was so busy at his forge he had no time to keep track of the sacred cow Glas as she ranged the countryside freely giving her bounty to the people. He found a herdsman named Fin and set the young man the task. The caveat - Fin had to track the never-resting cow 24/7, never any time to sleep. Well, you can imagine what eventually happens! Fin stopped for a little shut-eye, and a greedy man, Balor, stole the Glas for himself.

Under threat of death, Fin set out to retrieve the Glas for his master. On his search he came across a tall tower containing a lovely maiden. (What, don't all towers contain lovey maidens?) The maiden, Eithne, was imprisoned there because the Druids had predicted that she would someday kill her own father. The father? Yep, Balor.

So, as any lonely, red-blooded son of Ireland on a quest would do, he killed two birds with one stone. Dressing as a woman, he disguised himself as one of Eithne's handmaidens and gained access to the tower. He seduced Eithne and lived as her handmaiden until she bore his child, getting himself both a lover and getting the Glas back for his master.

So what's that old saying about "why pay for the cow when you can get the milk for free"? :) Looks to me like Fin willingly paid dearly for both!

Have a good week,
Carolan
www.carolanivey.com

Wildish Things

I had nearly finished my novella for the Love & Lore anthology before I came up with a title. I mean, it had one, but it didn't feel right. But titles have a way of plopping into your lap when you least expect it.

For this one, it was a rainy afternoon where I had carved out a bit of time to catch up on some non-fiction books I was partway through. In this case it was Patricia Monaghan's "Red Haired Girl from the Bog." I was reading along about her experiences as an American on an extended stay in Ireland, and I ran across a phrase where she was saying that in the past, a woman like her would have been referred to as a "wildish thing."

Plop.

I'll treat you with the prologue to Wildish Things, now available in eBook and in print from Samhain Publishing. Enjoy!

---

The Hag turned over onto her pendulous belly in order to warm her craggy back under the near-midsummer sun.

Earlier in the day a pesky bulldozer had approached one of her favorite wells, but she had taken care of that problem with no more effort than it took to sneeze. One well-aimed glob of snot had glommed up the machine’s engine and sent its muttering human driver in search of a tow truck. Her work was done for the day.

Yet she found she could not relax and soak up the Irish sun in peace. Her breasts were turgid with unspent sexual energy, her legs restless and rubbing against unsatisfying stone. It had been too long since she’d had a man. Centuries. Of old, few were strong enough to withstand her appetite for more than a few minutes. These days, even the few who remembered her name spoke it timidly.

Bollixless creatures, these new men were.

She heard a noise overhead. Head turned to the side, pillowed on a mountain, she opened an eye to peer at one of the silver-winged beasts and its snow-white vapor trail. These days, few people scratched her back with their traveling feet, muttering prayers for safe passage in hopes the Hag would let them pass unharmed. Oh no, it was all smooth wheels and shiny wings. People with things plugged into their ears so they couldn’t hear themselves think, much less hear the cry of a bird, the splash of a salmon in the river, or the very heartbeat of the land as the seasons turned.

Her sounds.

Something about the silver object flying overhead tickled the Hag’s attention. She rolled to her back, cracked open the other eye, watery gaze following its path. She expanded her nostrils and took a sniff. Overhead, the silver bird hit what the pilots thought was a random air pocket. Below, the Hag closed her eyes and sorted through the scents in her nose.

Ah. She smiled and stretched. A woman rode that bird, one who was ready. A wildish thing. She may not yet know it, but soon she would understand. Like the Hag, all she needed was a man. One strong enough to fulfill her every desire without cracking under the onslaught of a woman’s true power.

The Hag shook her mossy hair out of her rheumy eyes, opened her full lips, and called.

Satisfied that events would now unfold as they should, the Hag spread her bare arms and legs wide to the sun.

And awaited her pleasure.

Copyright 2007 Carolan Ivey, All Rights Reserved
www.carolanivey.com

Love & Lore Anthology has been released!

The Love & Lore Celtic anthology is now available for sale from SamhainPublishing.com!

Blurb:
Journey to the heart of Celtic legend.

Samhain is pleased to celebrate its second anniversary with three novellas that will lure you into the labyrinth of Celtic myth and legend.

In WILDISH THINGS, Carolan Ivey brings together an artist who is wounded in both body and spirit, and a sexy Irish bad boy on a Harley. Their whirlwind fling across Ireland takes a dangerous turn when their sexual chemistry awakens the deadly lust of an ancient goddess.

Gia Dawn’s offering of A FAIRY SPECIAL GIFT has it all: A woman who can see fairies and wishes she couldn’t, and a man who promises to help her with her “problem”-for the price of a kiss. Stir in the Celtic god Lugh who wants the woman for himself, rowdy flock of untamed pixies, and a pining Banshee in need of a makeover, and let’s just say there aren’t enough fairy traps in the world to control the chaos.

The HEART OF THE SEA beckons in Sela Carsen’s take on the Selkie legend. When a woman accidentally falls into the sea and turns into a seal, the man she loves believes her drowned. Seven years later, she rescues him from a shipwreck and for one blissful night, she returns to her human form. But only for a night. Can true love overcome the Selkie curse?

Warning: This book contains graphic language, explicit sex, mild bondage, wildly unpredictable gods and goddesses, unruly fairies, wet Selkies, and loads of fun.

Each novella is also available separately as an eBook.

www.carolanivey.com
www.giadawn.com
www.selacarsen.com

The Thinning Veil

I adore shows like Ghosthunters. It's got its cheesy moments, but I can't seem to get enough of it.

But I've discovered that I can't watch it when I'm alone in the house late at night! Now, my people are from North Carolina, a species that lives comfortably cheek by jowl with some of the the scariest legends and folklore on earth, so it's hard for me to admit that certain things about Ghosthunters (which is like cotton candy compared to some of stories I grew up with) still gives me the heebies.

It's not the sightings, it's not the dark rooms. It's the EVP recordings - Electronic Voice Phenomena. Voices that live far below the range of human hearing, but when played back on a special machine, you hear what sounds like spirits trying to communicate with the living.

I'm not sure if these things are staged or not, but it's still creepy creepy creepy to hear a whisper, a sigh, a cry. I have to turn on all the lights in the house, and only turn them off as I retreat to my bedroom for the night.

I'm even afraid to glance in a mirror!

This time of year it seems to be worse, this sense that the veil is thin and anything could pop out at me when I least expect it. The dogs bark more when they're outside at night. The sound of a squirrel skittering around in my attic brings me bolt up right in bed. I leave the radio on so I won't hear the tree branches tapping the upstairs windows in the wind.

I make up stories in my head to distract me. This year I'm lucky to have an outlet for these stories - the Halloween round robin story on my other group blog, Beyond the Veil! We'll be giving away a collection of free short stories on Halloween.

I've also been immersed in final edits for - of all things - a ghost romance coming Jan. 4, 2008 from Samhain Publishing, "Beaudry's Ghost".

AND ramping up for the Nov. 1 release of Wildish Things, part of the Love & Lore anthology from Samhain Publishing. Gia Dawn, Sela Carsen and I will be list moms on Nov. 1 at the Samhain Cafe. Much fun will be had, a full day of excerpts, contests and general mayhem. Faeries be afoot, so you never know what's going to pop out at you! Hope to see you there!

(Image from http://shisa.ukzn.ac.za/)

Mirror, Mirror On The Wall...

October. The temperature is dropping, along with the leaves, the hemlines of pants, and the humidity. Thank god, the humidity. I am, after all, a fragile flower and I melt in heat and humidity.

But the falling humidity means my skin starts to look like the Wicked Witch of the Northwest (Ohio). Which means it's time to dip into my arsenal of cold weather skin care products - oils, body butters, the white cotton gloves. Yes friends, I am turning into my grandmother. Hand cream and gloves - an over-40s gal's best friends. But did you ever read the label on one of those tubs? Can you pronounce half the names? Not me.

So here lately I've gone in search of my inner Kitchen Witch, looking for ways to incorporate more organic foods and other products into my life. And that includes skin care I can whip up in my home cauldron. Er, mixing bowl.

Here's a recipe for an organic pumpkin mask I've found that purportedly eases dry skin, shrinks your pores, and leaves skin soft. And at my age I'm not above throwing in a spell or two to make me look a few years younger!

Organic Pumpkin Mask
About 1 cup diced organic pumpkin, peeled (use the leftover pieces from carving your jack-o-lantern)
1/2 medium organic apple, peeled and cored
1 Tb. honey
1 or 2 Tb. organic goat's milk
2 drops lemon essential oil

Place all ingredients in a food processor or blender. Blend until thick and smooth, adding more pumpkin if the consistency is too thin. Spread a generous layer on freshly cleansed face, avoiding eye area. Fend off the cat, dog and/or your significant other from licking your face for 15 minutes. Rinse off with warm water and apply your favorite moisturizer. Repeat once or twice a week. Store leftover mask in refrigerator for up to one week.

Source: Caroline Bourke, beautysecretsworld.com

Wildish Things, available Nov. 1 from samhainpublishing.com.

Ogham Reading

Hey folks,

Sorry I missed my post yesterday! I was off playing with my friends at the annual Central Ohio Fiction Writers conference, and didn't have web access until today.

I'm also working on a final sweep of a manuscript before sending it off the line editor, and being the obsessive-compulsive writer that I am, I'm determined to make it as clean as possible before emailing it.

This is sort of like tidying up your house before the cleaning lady gets there. Unnecessary, but you just can't help it.

So after reading Gia's excellent Friday post, I remembered there's also a free Celtic Ogham reading site out there called Voice of the Woods. It's pretty similar to Gia's link, but you type in your question.

Enjoy the rest of your weekend!

"Love & Lore" Celtic Anthology Book Trailer

Enjoy!



Click here for a closeup of my gorgeous cover.

Creature Feature: Arkan Sonney

Heeeere piggy piggy!

Today's Creature Feature is the Manx arkan sonney ("lucky piggy" in English), a magical, long-haired pig or hedgehog-like creature that's white with red ears.

(If you read enough legends and lore of northern Europe, you'll find many magical creatures are described as white with red ears - cows, pigs, dogs, etc. Why that is, I'm not sure, but I'll look into it.)

The arkan sonney can shapeshift - sort of. It can change its size but not its shape. If you can catch it - which is almost impossible - it is said it will bring you good luck. Well, heck, if you had everyone chasing after you in hopes of gaining fame and fortune, wouldn't you become a master escape artist, too? :)

In The Gloaming - Pre-Order on Amazon

My trade paperback anthology, IN THE GLOAMING, is now available for pre-order on Amazon.com! This anthology contains the print version of my novella, ABHAINN'S KISS, along with two other stories by J.C Wilder and Isabo Kelly.

Blurb:

Her peaceful world shattered, she has only days to fulfill her destiny. She must defy a curse that dooms her to hide from the sun, and take her rightful place in the Great Circle on the Isle of Avalon. Only Abhainn can restore the balance of Dark and Light, and heal the rift between humans and Fae. That’s a tall order for a one fragile Faery.

Michael Craig is on a quest of his own, one grounded in cold, hard reality. Fairy tales? They’re for children and dreamers. But when he rescues Abhainn from certain death with an accidental kiss, he finds himself thrown into a very different reality. One he’s reluctant to accept, even as it unfolds before his eyes. Only one thing holds him there—Abhainn will die without him.

Abhainn’s life depends on Michael’s kiss, his sword arm…and his ability to believe.

Excerpt:

He grabbed his shirt and pulled it on without buttoning it. He was halfway to the caravan door before he realized the taste on his tongue wasn’t just part of the dream. She must have kissed him in his sleep before slipping out. Still, she had no business being out there alone, no matter how many friendly Fae surrounded them.

The familiar tinkle of her laughter drifted in through the caravan’s half open door. He stepped quietly outside and settled on the driver’s seat to watch the scene before him. The horse, unhitched, grazed nearby; Eoth lay draped across its back, sound asleep. Michael’s gaze swept the stone-littered meadow, and at last he found her.

She sat on a boulder, legs folded beneath her, arms thrown wide. Unabashedly naked as the day she’d been born. His groin tightened as, unobserved, he let his gaze pass over her body. Tiny as she was, there was no doubt that Abby was a full-grown woman, all slender curves and high, firm breasts. The morning light glowed on her pale skin, so fair as to be translucent, traced with river-maps of blue veins, flawless from the tips of her toes to the delicate points of her ears.

All around her flitted a cloud of tiny, winged Fae, who tended to her as if she were a queen in waiting. Which, he realized suddenly, she was. As the last of her kind, she by default was the Queen of the Asrai.

Humming like a swarm of honeybees, the Faeries combed and braided her white-gold hair, washed a smudge of dirt from her nose, handed her damp handfuls of moss with which she cleaned herself, rubbing it over her skin—all her skin—in slow, sensual delight.

More Faeries brought her sips of water and a sticky substance that looked like nectar, cupped in spring flowers. She tipped her head back and accepted their offerings on her tongue, smiling and licking her lips after each taste, catching stray droplets on her fingers and licking them, too.

The ache in his groin hardened into a painful knot. Blood pounded in his ears so hard that for a second he couldn’t trust himself to move. Despite the lust that roared through his veins, he remained conscious of the delicacy of her small, fragile body. She’s like porcelain. Like one wrong touch could break her.

Yet for that second, he understood what had driven Blaen of CraighMhor to risk everything for one night with a Fae.

And he lost it all, Michael reminded himself.

As if she sensed his eyes upon her, she turned her head and looked at him. She blinked once, slowly, and the smile on her face grew brighter. She held out her hand.

Abruptly, the attending Faeries screeched and scattered. Only one stayed, hovering above and just behind her golden head. Its buzzing grew into a snarl, and before Michael’s eyes it changed from a thimble-sized thing to a fox. It bared its fangs and bunched its muscles to spring at Abby’s unprotected back.

With a sickening lurch that took him back to his combat days in the Marines, time slowed to a crawl. Every detail of the scene sprang into sharp relief. Before Michael could do more than shout a warning, Abby’s face went blank.

Then, as the fox sprang, she changed into a statue of clear, hard ice.

The fox yowled in frustration as it clawed and bit at the back of her neck, but managing no more than a few superficial scratches.

Michael took advantage of the time she had given him by lunging into the caravan to retrieve the rusted sword. He lay hands on his rucksack and threw himself out of the caravan, pulling the sword out and dropping the bag on the ground as he ran, spilling the contents.

He sprinted the few yards that separated him from Abby, a hoarse cry in his throat and the sword raised to strike. The fox saw him coming, issued a series of short, harsh barks, then shapeshifted again.

Michael found himself looking up into the face of what could only be described as a vampire-like woman, complete with glistening fangs and black wings sprouting from her shoulders. With a hiss she flew at him, driving him back. He let her come, knowing it would draw the creature away from Abby.

“Come on, come on, bitch! What ya got? Come on!” he growled, goading her with the sword.

The vampiress closed in, and with moves too quick to see, she knocked the sword away then hit him square in the center of the chest with the leading edge of a black, leathery wing. Michael caught his heels on the rucksack and landed on his back, flinging his arms wide to break the fall.

His hand fell on his grandmother’s precious stone, which must have rolled out of the rucksack when he’d dropped it.

Wrapping his fingers around it, he waited, heart speeding to dangerous levels as the vampiress closed within striking distance. Waited, sweating, until her hot breath blistered his face, until he could count the veins in her bulging eyes. Then he swung at her head.

Instead of spurting blood, the broken skin on the side of the creature’s face erupted with huge horseflies the size of golf balls. In moments, the thing had completely dissolved into a cloud of the droning black bugs. Abby’s attending Faeries chased them all away, leaving the morning eerily quiet, as if nothing amiss had happened at all.

Panting, Michael hauled himself to his feet.

“Well done.”

He spun and found a tall, Tolkienesque elf lounging against the side of the caravan, idly examining his fingernails, longbow thrown casually over one shoulder.

Michael relaxed and straightened. “Thanks for the help,” he said dryly.

The elf raised an eyebrow, as if he were actually offended. “You did well enough on your own. Had you needed it, I would have intervened. The Lady chose well.” With that, the elf sauntered away into the trees.

“I will never get used to these people,” he muttered, turning toward Abby as thunder rolled overhead.

Abhainn still hadn’t changed back from the block of ice. It was a perfect replica, captured just as she had been sitting on the rock.

He crouched by the rock, afraid to touch her. “Abhainn. Abby, can you hear me?”
Huge, fat raindrops began to splat the ground.

Maybe she can’t change back.

His mind kicked into gear, looking for a way to keep her from melting and running in rivulets down the side of the rock. But as the first drops of rain struck her head, she shifted back into normal form and fell, shivering and blue with cold, into his arms.

“Jesus, you scared me, woman,” he said, gathering her closer, rubbing her arms. The bare skin under his hands felt like the ice from which she’d just shifted. He quickly lifted her hair to examine the back of her neck. Relief flooded through him. Her skin remained unbroken.

“I…I…knew not…I c-c-could do that,” she managed through clattering teeth. “I-I-I sensed the Mei was behind me and-d-d it j-just happened!” Then, incredibly, she began to laugh. “I wonder…w-w-what else I can do?”

Before he could stop it, anger flared white hot in his chest. How could she laugh? She had come within a hair’s breadth of death, and yet she laughed!

Shaking, not trusting himself to speak, he scooped her up in his arms and strode toward the caravan.

“Mícheál?” she gasped between giggles and shudders of cold. “W-what is it?”

“The fate of your people depends on you,” he gritted out. “And you sit there laughing when your quest almost came to nothing.”

She leaned back in his arms, her laughter fading to a gentle smile. “But it did not,” she said simply. “I have you to protect me. All is well. And I have found that I have powers I knew not I had. Why not enjoy the moment?”

He stopped dead in his tacks, light rain tapping on his head. He had no answer for her.

“Mícheál,” she said gently.

He shook his head, surprised at his inability to speak, jaw clenched tight. She could have died. She could have…

“Mícheál.” This time her lips touched his ear.

At the touch of her breath on his skin, he drew her to him tighter still, buried his face in her hair, inhaling the fresh-rain scent of her. He could find no words to say other than her name.

The skies let loose with a torrent of rain.

~~~
Pre-order on Amazon.com.

Thursday Thirteen: 13 Mythical Dogs

I go this idea from another TT about Mystical Cats! :) Enjoy!

1. Coyote - the Trickster in Native American lore

2. Cerberus - Greek/Roman three-headed guadian of the entrance to the underworld

3. Gram - Norse mythology

4. Eqyptians, Aztecs believed dogs guided souls to the afterlife

5. Fighting dogs of Hecate

6. Black Dog - Appears in many mythological canons including England, Scotland, Ireland, across Europe and elsewhere. In general, it is a large creature with a long black shaggy coat and bright fiery eyes; a harbinger of death.

7. Ce Sith/Cir Seth - A fairy hound found in the western Scottish Isles. It was the size of a two-year-old cow, and green in color. The cir sith had a long tail which was usually coiled on its back, sometimes braided like the straw rug of a pack-saddle. It was kept as watchdog in the fairy knowe, but did occasionally run loose. It moved swiftly, making a noise like a galloping horse, leaving huge footprints. It trailed travelers, barked three times, and at the third it overtook its prey and pulled him down. http://www.skell.org/explore/mythad.htm

8. Devil's Dandy Dogs - A pack of fire-breathing black hounds found in Cornwall. They had bright fiery eyes, and followed the devil over lonely moors on stormy nights. If they captured humans they tore them apart limb by limb. The only know way to deter these monsters was for a man to pray sincerely. http://www.skell.org/explore/mythad.htm

9. Gabriel Hounds - A spirit hound which hunted high in the air. It could be heard yelping overhead during violent storms. To hear these yelps was a presage of death.

10. Qiqirn - in Inuit mythology, a large, bald dog spirit. It is a frightening beast, but also skittish and foolish. Men and dogs run from it, and it runs from men and dogs. It has hair on its feet, ear, mouth and the tip of its tail. When people approach it, they suffer fits. One way to scare it away is to shout its name.

11. Bran - Fionn Mac Cumhail's hound

12. Laelaps - Greek mythological dog who never failed to catch what he hunted.

13. Fenris - wolf offspring of Loki and Angrboda in Norse mythology

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Creature Feature: The Glaistig

The Glaistig is a Faery creature from Scottish folklore, and an interesting one at that (to me, anyway!) because of her complexity.

She can be either benevolent or malevolent, depending on her mood. On one hand, she is known to be a protectress of domestic animals, like horses and cattle. She even watches over children while mothers milk the cows and fathers tend the herds.

In gratitude - and to keep her content - the local townsfolk would pour out an offering of milk into a hollowed-out stone for her to drink. She's not big on practical jokes, however; one legend tells of a local teenage boy who poured boiling milk into the stone, burning the Glaistig. Needless to say, she moved on to antoher village.

Other legends depict the Glaistig as a mortal woman who became a Faery after begging the Fae to make her one. She dedicated herself to watching over her village's cattle, until a farmer greatly offended her. At which time she took to using her beauty and beguiling voice to throw travellers off the path, or lure men into dark caves where she would drink their blood.

It just goes to show, hell hath no fury like a Glaistig scorned! :)

Have a great weekend!

Souce: Wikipedia

EEEEK!

In the middle of chapter 4 of "HP and the Deathly Hallows", my laptop beeped at me.

It was a reminder that I was supposed to blog today! Uh... [glancing regretfully at the book, which already holds the imprints of my clutching fingers on the cover]

Christine Norris has a lovely post over on the Beyond the Veil blog today, and expresses my feelings about the books much better than I could.

How dorky is my family about these books? Um, well, I, my daughter and my husband each have our own copies. In the past we bought one copy and passed it around. Not this time!

Last night was kind of bittersweet. As we stood in line at Meijer's (a big grocery/discount store chain) with three carts of groceries worth $30 each - we got a dicount on the book if we bought groceries - it was a lot less fun than past HP releases. Although the store had a party, a cake, a costume contest, etc., it wasn't the same.

In the little town where we used to live, we had an independent bookstore on the quaint town square that threw a big party with every release. It would close early that day in anticipation of re-opening at midnight. I, my daughter, and her three closest friends (I call them my auxiliary daughters) always set up camp at some ungodly early hour, like 7 p.m., right outside the front door.

For three straight HP releases, we were first in line. We spent our time cautiously sampling Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (actually, soap isn't half bad), handing out samples of warm butterbeer to other people who showed up (I found a recipe - disgusting), waving at truck drivers who honked, dancing, playing HP board games, listening to the HP movie soundtrack on my van's stereo, watching the movies on someone's laptop, and running across the street to get coffee and hot chocolate.

We would press our noses against the bookstore's decorated front window, dark except for a single candle which illuminated the waiting stack of books. So close, so far away!

This is the miracle of JK Rowling's books. For any other book release, would multiple generations of families have come together to party and celebrate like this? Does any other book series in recent memory have the ability to provide a common ground for families to come together. Who can watch a mother and her normally-sullen teenage children discuss the books with equal excitement, and not realize what miracle this is?

OK, enough of this. I really must get back to reading now... my daughter is already a hundred pages ahead of me!

13 Scottish Myths and Legends

Thirteen Scottish Myths and Legends 1. Black Donald - the devil - who cannot disguise his cloven feet. 2. Boobrie - water-bird of the Scottish Highlands. 3. Brownie - good-natured, invisible brown elves or household goblins. The younger version of the "Girl Guides" in Britain at least, are called "Brownies" for that very reason! 4. Clootie - another Scottish name for the Devil. The name comes from cloot, meaning one division of a cleft hoof. 5. Fachan - one leg, one arm and one eye. 6. Fionn - Scottish/Pictish magician, warrior and poet. 7. Ghillie Dhu - a solitary Scottish elf. 8. Kelpie - a water devil. 9. Lothian - Lothian traditionally takes its name from King Lot and father of Mordred. 10. Monster of Loch Ness - mythical? Surely not.... First seen by St Columba in 565 a.d. 11. Red Cap - lives on the Scottish Border in ancient ruins of castles. 12. Scotia - a goddess but frequently portrayed as an old hag! 13. Selkie - a marine creature in the shape of a seal. 14. Shellycoat - a Scottish bogeyman who haunts the rivers and streams. He is covered with shells, which rattle when he moves. 15. Sidhe the Gaelic name for fairies in both Ireland and the Highlands of Scotland. Okay, so there's 15. Sue me. :) Rampant Scotalnd

Summer Solstice Creature Feature

Blessings of Alban Hefin, Midsummer, Litha, Summer Solstice, to Everyone in the Northern Hemisphere!

Blessings of Alban Arthan, Midwinter, Yule, Winter Solstice, to Everyone in the Southern Hemisphere!

As we bask in the warm sunlight of the longest day of the year, amid the green and growing things of summer, it's almost a shock to realize that after today the light will begin dying. The Oak King has reached the height of his strength, but even now the Holly King is stirring, beginning to stalk the Oak King in his quest to rule over the long dark winter. The endless cycle of birth and death continues.

The Holly King and Oak King are the twin faces of the Horned God, each ruling over the dark and light halves of the year. They are in a perpetual duel for the favor of the Goddess, and each ritually dies at the end of his season. But neither one is truly dead, he merely withdraws for six months, some say to Caer Arianrhod, the Castle of the ever-turning Silver Wheel. This is the enchanted realm of the Goddess Arianrhod where the god must wait and learn before being born again.

Source: Earth Witchery

Summer Solstice Recipe

ORANGE HONEY BUTTER

2 Tablespoons Grated Orange Rind
3 Tablespoons Powdered Sugar
1/2 cup Unsalted Butter, at room temperature
1 Tablespoon honey

Combine the orange rind, powdered sugar, butter and honey in a small bowl and blend until well mixed. Chill slightly and serve with scones or biscuits. Recipe courtesy Red Deer & Elenya.