Pagans, Saints, and Potatoes

Read This! Vision By Beth Elisa Harris

sheilarlamb — Mon, 20 Feb 2012 22:13:31 +0000

Vison by Beth Elisa Harris has all of my favorite things. It’s historical, set in Scotland, and is full of paranormal elements. And it’s a trilogy. I love trilogies.

Here’s a little summary of Vision, along with excerpts from the novel:

The “Vision” trilogy spans centuries, a Scottish tragedy beginning in 1731 where two lovers, Sarah and Jonathan are brutally murdered by a rival clan leader. Sarah had predicted her death and wrote down her vision in a letter to her descendant, Layla Stone who will be born in 1994. But that isn’t all she predicts.

Layla begins an exciting study program in Cambridge and meets Stuart, who seems to have of his own. Layla finds herself caught up in the mystery of her psychic ancestor, Sarah, and discovers her own inherited gifts of Vision.

PROLOGUE

Colonsay, Scotland

July 1731

Sarah and Jonathan MacPhie collapse on the goose down mattress, a wedding gift from Jonathan’s father seven years ago. Sweat beads gather on her upper lip as she traces random patterns on Jonathan’s chest, her mouth smiling, her eyes full of woe.

She lay tucked in his arm, not shifting her head to meet his dark eyes, but she knows they are closed.

She knows this is their last night together on earth. Jonathan does not know this as he laid peacefully stroking Sarah’s long amber curls, smiling over his good fortune. Her thoughts are blocked.

When Jonathan surrenders to deep slumber, she softly slides out of bed, slipping a gown over her moist body. Sitting at the small table in the kitchen, the vision channels through a letter, her last words left for anyone to read. She walks over by the fireplace where her mother’s marble urn sat in the corner – its contents emptied earlier that day.

Carefully rolling up the letter and tying the circumference with string, she slips it inside the empty urn. Outside by the peach tree she buries the urn with the letter in a shallow hole, knowing it will be found in time and read by the intended recipient. This vision is the clearest of all.

In the distance the men gather to plan her death.

Further away a woman wails with grief.

There is nothing to do but wait.

TEN

excerpt

We return to the coffee house, not exactly private but empty for the moment. Words like ‘clairvoyant’ and ‘psychic’ hover in the air. I detest the limited vernacular available to explain myself – it sounds fake and ostentatious. Stuart just smiles, as if expecting the confession. This all knowing, all seeing trait of his is slightly annoying. Sienna, on the other hand, won’t stay low key enough for my comfort. “This is by far the coolest thing ever!” A light bulb flickers in her eyes. “Oh! The day we met, you said, ‘who’s Stuart’ just after I thought about him. You heard me.

“What about me?” He teases.

Sienna doesn’t miss a beat. “I was thinking how you would drool over Layla, and right when I did, she said, ‘who’s Stuart?’ I freaked and she pretended like she didn’t say it but

I’ve noticed all sorts of things since then. You’re super observant, like you whip your head around when we pass people, and the dreams…”

I shrug. “Sounds right.”

“Drooling is messy,” Stuart continues to play and we ignore him, mostly. I can’t help glancing over while nudging his shoe under the table.

There is relief found from confiding in my friends, cathartic really, and I don’t feel alone. Sienna’s observation about how I appear to others is eye opening. Having visions for so long I forget how I must look, and my behavior must seem a little odd sometimes. That would explain my stellar popularity in high school – not.

I explain what happened the night Andre may have read me, and why the note is concerning. “And sorry for not sharing sooner. This isn’t the type of thing you blurt out to people you just meet, and I was worried you both would freak and run. No one else knows of my strangeness by the way, so no babbling.”

“No one?” Sienna is surprised.

“No one, not even my parents. Like I said, it’s a big deal being the only two who know, so keep it close. If anyone else finds out, I’ll know the source. By the way, I don’t, you know, intrude on either of your, you know, thoughts, not usually anyway.” I laugh. “I can’t seem to read Mr. Fairchild at all.”

He’s not listening; instead he stares out the window holding his cup, miles away.

TWENTY-TWO

excerpt

Jasper stands over my bed, his stealth presence waking me with violent energy and a sour, copper smell. He controls his heartbeats, the unmistakable image of Andre in twenty-five years. The man from the island now points a gun at my head.

Our eyes meet, his gleaming with evil deeds and plans for my future. He is blocked solid, making him colder than ever, without a soul. And my Guardian is missing, although I suspected he will pick up on the nemesis in my room any moment.

If not, this will be the end.

His sinister grin speaks volumes of chaos and doom. This I know without reading a thought in his head.

Having a gun pointed at you, knowing in a fraction of a second your life could end is nothing like the movies. The best actors can’t act well enough to convey what happens to you inside, the paralysis, the terror, the transformative view of life.

“Layla. Nice to see you.” The aristocratic Shakespearean theatrical inflexions drip with subtle sarcasm in every syllable. “Sorry about the close-call on the island. No harm, no foul?” He isn’t waiting for a response, just pausing for drama’s sake. “I promise I only want to chat. Misunderstandings can be so inconvenient.”

In order to stop my voice from trembling, I push words out as forcefully as possible, hissing through my teeth. “Get out now.” I jump to my feet, determined to assume a defensive posture before the slaughter. The promise of war in his eyes advises me to stay calm. My toes grip the hardwood floor to hold steady. The gun stays casually aimed at my skull.

“Layla, I’m not here to play games. If I wanted you dead, I would have killed you on Colonsay.” His eyebrows rise to a diabolical arch. “On the contrary, it was there I determined you would be a dynamic asset to our organization and no one

will be harmed if you obey my instructions. Now, telegraph something sweet to him so doesn’t return because if he does I’ll kill him.” He waves the gun to remind me he’s armed. Totally

unnecessary.

Mom was right. They wanted to use me. I wonder if she’s picking up on this.

Find Vision on Amazon worldwide!

Vision can also be found at BarnesandNoble.com.

Visit Beth Elisa Harris! Web site, Blog , Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads

Follow her weekly blog www.worldliterarycafe.com

Pagans, Saints, and Groundhogs

sheilarlamb — Tue, 31 Jan 2012 11:00:18 +0000

February. Those who celebrate the early days of this month will either be in church or in the fields, both celebrating Brigid, in two of her aspects. Imbolc, St. Brigid’s day, Candlemas (Feb. 2) or – as most of us know it – Groundhog Day. Myth and legends of Brigid, both goddess and saint, overlap and I’m still trying to figure out how the groundhog is involved.

February 1st falls in between the Winter Solstice and the Summer Equinox. Celebrated by druids and pagans as Imbolc, Brigid is praised as the goddess of light, the goddess of fire, and the goddess of the lactating ewes. All that really means is…spring is coming. As spring approaches, the days lengthen and animals begin to produce more milk. Thus, Brigid is also named the Fiery Arrow, bringer of light to the land.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Saint_Brigid’s_cross.jpg

In the Christian tradition, St. Brigid was raised by druids and she later converted to Christianity. As a child, Brigid was said to have been bathed in cow’s milk. As Abbess of Kildare, she is said to have miraculously increased the milk production of their cows. She performs many miracles, such as curing lepers, or hang up her famous blue cloak on a sunbeam.

Irish Podcast has a great post and podcast about the blurred transition from paganism to Christianity in Ireland. Check it out.

http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Saint_Brigid_by_Patrick_Joseph_Tuohy.jpg

The tradition of the sacred flame began at Kildare (Cill Dara), the Church of the Oak. Legend has it that the flame was originally used by Celts to invoke the ancient Goddess Brigid. When Saint Brigid, possibly a contemporary of St. Patrick, began her nunnery, she continued the tradition of the flame. The flame survived until the 16th century, when the Catholic faith was suppressed by Protestant rule. In 1993, the flame was re-lit at Kildare, now tended by the Brigidine Sisters in Kildare.

About the groundhog…it looks to be a Pennsylvania German tradition, first celebrated in Pennsylvania in 1841 (you can look it up here on Wikipedia.) If you find a Brigid connection, let me know. So far, I’m not seeing one.

Whether Christian, pagan, or simply an observer of groundhogs, the first week of February celebrations means that light will soon shine.

Little House on the Prairie and Christmas Candy Survival

sheilarlamb — Sat, 24 Dec 2011 13:46:48 +0000

Every Christmas, since the second grade, it has been my tradition to read the entire Little House on the Prairie series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I believe that was the year my collection was complete, and I clearly remember reading On The Banks of Plum Creek in one day.

Each Christmas was an adventure for the Ingalls family. While in Plum Creek, Pa was lost in a blizzard a few days before the holiday, and survived underneath the banks of the creek, in a sort of den, with a can of oysters and the children’s Christmas candy. (Note recurring symbols in LHOTP: blizzards, candy, cans of oysters) Pa did, as the hero, ate the candy and saved the oysters.

This year I pulled out my favorite from the set, The Long Winter. I’m not sure why reading about an entire town near-starvation in a blizzard filled winter (and longing for cans of oysters) gives me holiday cheer. Partly, it’s about being transported into a different time period. It’s the mark of a good writer who can effectively take a reader to that time and place. Partly, I love that the family (at least in the fictional retellings) always had hope.

But the biggest draw for me is the story of Survival. Each book in the Little House series puts the family to the test, yet they seem to take it in stride. They had to survive because they must. The Long Winter is the bleakest, most difficult story because for the first time, these pioneers became dependent on technology, the railroad, a technology that fell through, that failed when they needed it most. Their fault was waiting on the train to bring coal and food during seven months of paralyzing blizzards.

Survival. Look at us now. Most of us go into some sort of withdrawal if our smartphones break, if we can’t get internet access, and God forbid we are unable to tweet our way through the holidays. (I’m not talking about socioeconomics, rich and poor, the digital divide — that is a relevant topic for another post). I mean, the majority of us would be completely lost if we were back in 1880 DeSmet. Can you imagine grinding grains of wheat in your coffee grinder? (Keurig bread loaves anyone?) Eating bread and potatoes every single day for months, and then only bread? For a full day, for a full winter, could you twist hay into sticks so your family didn’t freeze to death?

Well, I must get back to my reading. Pa has discovered the thick walls of the muskrat house and it’s his first clue that they’re in for some trouble. He must get to the general store before the shelves are emptied by starving townsfolk. Because, as always, Pa will save the day with Christmas candy and a can of oysters.

Thank you!

sheilarlamb — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 01:58:25 +0000

Just a quick thank you to Wendy Young for hosting a short excerpt of Once A Goddess. She’s a fellow author and Twitter friend and we’re part of a hashtag group called #Teaser Train. We meet up each Thursday to say hello and to share excerpts of each other’s work.

It’s been crazy busy here lately. I started a new job – you know, a real one, 40 hours a week AND health insurance. It’s been a while. And I’m smack in the middle of my MFA program, so I’ve got a few more stories to write and chapters to read.

So this is the first chance I’ve had to say thanks to the writers and bloggers that are part of #TeaserTrain. I believe the whole shebang was spearheaded by Kelli and Carrie, so double kudos to them!

Check out these writers:

Read This! Come The Shadows by Wendy Young

sheilarlamb — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 08:00:54 +0000

I’d love to introduce everyone to author Wendy Young, and her newest book, Come The Shadows. Officer Will Harmon has a murder to solve, a task he hasn’t had to deal with for seventeen years. Witty dialogue between Will and his wife, Laura, add lightheartedness to the mysteries surrounding fictional Campbell Creek, North Carolina.

Supersonic #TeaserTrain Event, BUY 3 – GET 1 FREE, Thursday, Feb 2nd – Friday, Feb 3rd, 2012

CLICK HERE http://www.womensliterarycafe.com/content/books/supersonic-teaser-train

Read the teaser while you wait for the next book in the Campbell Creek series!

Come The Shadows

“I need help,” Jessa said.

Miller scoffed. “Do I look like a boy scout, helping little old ladies across the street? Or someone who’d walk you home or to your car, and make sure you’re safe?”

“No, you don’t. But that is precisely why I asked you. You look like the only guy in the bar not here to pick up a girl.”

“I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“Does it matter?” She stared into his eyes, determined not to show fear. “I need something done…” She paused again, this time genuinely unsure how to continue.

“Go on, lady.”

“My husband – I need him gone. He’s having an affair and if we divorce he’ll take my money and try to take the kids.”

“I don’t care about your life story.” He narrowed his eyes. “Why you askin’ me?”

Jessa’s natural personality took over and her voice began to rise. “Are you deaf? I just told you why I asked you. Are you interested or should I go, and find someone else?”

Miller chuckled. “You rich ladies are unbelievable. What if I was a cop?”

“Are you?”

“No,” Miller said. “But I ought to turn you in for laughs and teach you a lesson.” He sounded tired but serious.

“That’s the last thing I need in my position, mister. If you aren’t interested I’ll just leave.” She started to scoot out of the booth. Her short skirt and the steamy bar meant her legs were sticking to the seat.

Miller’s hand shot across the table and latched onto hers. “Don’t go.”
She was struck by how quickly he moved. His appearance was deceptive.

“Don’t go,” he repeated.
She settled back into the middle of the booth.

I can help. I know a guy.”

“You know a guy?” The incredulity in her voice was real. “You know a guy? Now I really am wondering if you’re a cop.” She hoped he bought it, and made as if she would leave again.

“Hold on now.” He didn’t touch her this time but he held his hand up, palm out, to stop her. “I said I can help, didn’t I?”

“Look, I don’t want to deal with your cousin’s brother’s sister, or whoever.”

“He’s a pro. He’s good, and good at what he does. He just popped a reporter over in Raleigh. In and out and no one the wiser.”

Jessa jumped in surprise, not expecting that information.

Miller must have mistaken her surprise. “Impressive, huh?”

“Um, yeah.” She recovered quickly and latched onto this new piece of information. “That doesn’t sound like a marital issue.”

“Oh, it’s not. Lady pissed off the wrong people. She was about to––” He clamped his mouth shut abruptly. “But that don’t matter. He don’t care about histories any more than I do. It’s a business deal – in, out, done.” The right corner of his mouth curled upwards. “You in?”

Jessa looked down at her glass. In the dark bar the ice seemed to absorb light instead of reflect it. She had some great information here but did not have what she came for. She was not about to give Will the satisfaction of saying she had failed.
Straightening her back she replied. “No. I did not realize I was dealing with a middle man. I pegged you as my guy.” For a third time, she made to leave. “I guess I was wrong.”

This time he let her go with a shrug and a quick, “Good luck, lady.” So she headed to the bar to pay, moving through the crowd on unsteady legs. Will would not be happy but she did her best.

The cool night air coming off the ocean was a welcome relief from the stifling air in the bar. Her car was just a short walk away in a paid lot and her long legs covered the distance quickly as the adrenaline rush from the ruse faded. Kevin had no clue where she was.

Just as she reached the lot she heard footsteps behind her and quickened her pace. Heart pounding, she fumbled for her keys as she went. When she reached the car she lost her grip and they disappeared in the darkness at her feet. With her heart in her throat, she bent, groping around the pavement.

To read more of Come the Shadows, the first book in The Campbell Creek Mysteries trilogy, and purchase a copy please visit Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or any site where eBooks are sold.

Visit Wendy on her blog or on Twitter! BUY 3 – GET 1 FREE SuperSonic #TeaserTrain: Thurs Feb 2 – Fri Feb 3 at www.WoMensLiteraryCafe.com #Mystery #Paranormal #Romance RT!

Reviews and Interviews

sheilarlamb — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 23:35:47 +0000

Reviews of Once A Goddess…

Once A Goddess reviews on…

Amazon.com. …
“Unique, fascinating and magical story that kept me turning the pages…”

Historical Novel Review
…”It is an emotionally provocative and compelling story…”

History and Women
…”Unrequited love, passionate liaisons, lies and deception, treachery and betrayal line this novels pages…”

Unusual Historicals

Hazel the Witch
…”The story itself follows the myth of Túatha dé Danann, but the author managed to turn it into a captivating, strong, and powerful story…”

Curse of the Bibliophile
…”Once A Goddess was a profoundly magical story…”

Simplistik Halloz Books
…”I’m looking forward to the rest of the series when the time comes…”

Canterbury Books, UK

Please contact me if you’d like a review copy of Once A Goddess. I’d be glad to send a paperback or email an e-book.

History, Fantasy, and Myth

sheilarlamb — Tue, 08 Nov 2011 01:17:45 +0000

This past weekend, I had an interesting discussion about history and mythology. One of the guests at a book signing event asked what Once A Goddess was about. I usually describe the book as historical fiction or historical fantasy, but this time, I veered from my usual answer. The novel is not either historical or fantasy. It’s mythology. I’ve taken the myths about the Túatha de Danann, and Brigid specifically, and crafted them into a novel. Myths, not history. Myths, not fantasy. What’s the difference?

History is a “chronological record of significant events” (Miriam Webster) – the key focus on the word “records.” Events are recorded in writing, through primary or secondary sources, all studied and analyzed by historians. An era of time before the invention of writing is called “pre-history,” defined by the absence of written records. Historians give way to archaeologists, who uncover amazing artifacts, man made objects, or petroglyphs, rock carvings and rock art.

Dinosaur National Monument

Even so, the job of the historian and the archealogist is to verify the historical record. Facts.

So where does that leave myth? Mythical legends and stories are part of an oral tradition, spoken stories, often told to explain a group’s beginnings. Usually there are religious connotations or beliefs woven in. It is believed that myths developed in order to explain a tribe’s origins or a reason for natural phenomena, such as storms or floods. Mythical characters throughout the world possess qualities of nature, either through allegory or personification.

Eiru, in Danann mythology, had the ability to turn to mist. Lugh is known as the Sun god. In myths throughout the world, the gods and goddesses connected with nature. In Greek legends, Apollo is the Sun god, and Demeter, the goddess of the earth. The Egyptian Anquet is a water goddess. Enil, in the Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh, is god of air, water, and earth. These are just a few examples of countless mythical heroes whose characteristics are intertwined with nature.

The natural powers given to our mythical heroes, in turn, makes the story fantasy.Powers granted from the sun, earth, water or air, must be fantastical in nature, because they couldn’t possibly be real. Whenever there is an old story which contains a bit of magic or mention of a druid, books suddenly appear on the fantasy shelf. Myths, stories told for as long as humanity can remember, fall beyond the realm of history, beyond the realm of prehistory, and therefore, beyond the realm of factual or even fictional.

I Signed Some Books. And They Were Real.

sheilarlamb — Sun, 23 Oct 2011 16:03:44 +0000

This is the thing about writers. For the most part, We are, by and large, an introverted group. I mean, we preferrably spend most of our time alone, writing things that we make up in our heads. We create pages of dialogue and people and places that don’t exist. We spend most of our time in that made up world.

So, if we’re lucky, the time will come where we venture out into the world that is real (well, depending on who you ask, I suppose) and read about our made up world to a crowd of other people. We chat to people who have bought our books or read our stories. We talk to strangers who want to know more, more, more about the character or the place or the next book in the series. It’s quite disconcerting when we’ve spent the previous months in relative silence, except for the imaginary clamor in our brains.

I spent a couple of hours yesterday at my first-ever book signing. I was a little nervous at first, but then, I was in my hometown coffee shop. Start local. I uncapped the pen and autographed away. The good news is, I sold all but two of the books I brought with me. Even better, I sold some of them to people I did not know.

It was fun talking about Brigid’s story, the connections to history and myth, and the plans for the next book in the trilogy, Fiery Arrow. For many years, Brigid’s story has been a product of my imagination, co-mingled a good amount of historical research and I’m simply glad that others find her story just as fascinating. So writers, it’s good to get out there, talk about your passion (obsession, whatever) because our job is to get people as into our stories as we are. Make them hear the voices too.

Events

sheilarlamb — Sun, 02 Oct 2011 12:16:16 +0000

Sunday, December 4, 2011 Four Seasons Books, 1:30 pm – 3:30pm, Shepherdstown, West Virginia. Start your holiday shopping in the best town in West Virginia and join us at Four Seasons Books on German Street!

New RESCHEDULED date: November 12, 2011 La Grange Winery, Haymarket, Virginia. As part of Write by the Rails, I’ll be at La Grange’s craft festival with Once A Goddess and other local authors. Come out and join us!

October 22, 2011 Simply Sweet on Main, Manassas, VA…Once A Goddess Reading and Book Signing! I’ll be reading from and signing copies of Once A Goddess, at Simply Sweet on Main, 9360 Main Street, Manassas, VA on Saturday, October 22 from 1pm – 3pm. Books will be for sale at Simply Sweet. It’s a local coffee house thing. If you’re in town, stop by and say hello!

November 5, 2011 A private event hosted by Southwind Shores Homeowners Association in Lake Anna VA…Once A Goddess Reading and Book Signing. An invite-only Irish themed cocktail hour. Contact me at sheilarlamb AT gmail DOT com if you plan on being in the Lake Anna area and would like to join us for a pint o’ Guinness or a splash of Bailey’s

As Maudlin As It Gets

sheilarlamb — Thu, 01 Sep 2011 22:52:00 +0000

Ok, so it’s time for the maudlin blog post. Sort of. Maudlin is not my area of expertise. I mean, I flinch at the sappy cards in the Hallmark aisle. Leave the hearts and lace for someone else. I like the arty things with the blank inside. Or the crusty old Shoebox lady. Better yet, make it yourself. Or use the four bucks to buy me chocolate. Because whatever maudlin, saccharin card I get will most likely end up in my next collage.

collage by me.

So, right now, I’m anxiously awaiting Once A Goddess in paperback form. It’s the proof. I’m supposed to check it carefully to make sure the format is correct, no glaring typos, and basically it looks like a book is supposed to look.

This is something I’ve worked on for years. Years. It began as one book and now has expanded to three. I spent a lot of that time researching the three aspects of Brigid. I read various myths and legends of the Tuatha de Danann. I spent a lot of time developing characters who – I hope- have depth and complexity. Then I spent close to a year not writing at all.

When I picked the manuscript for Goddess up again, somewhere in 2009, I skimmed through it and realized it needed a few revisions. Quite a few. In the meantime, some very dear friends provided terrific line edits for Fiery Arrow (Goddess’s sequel) and advice to divide it again (hence, a trilogy is born). And then I sent to many of you pieces of chapters, rough drafts, blog post excerpts, asking,”Are you hooked? Would you keep reading?”

Thank you for all of your help (especially the Historical Fiction critique group!) Thank you for all of your feedback. Most of all, thank you for your encouragement and not allowing me to give up.

Anyway. Once A Goddess is complete. She’s done. She’s here.