Glancing Through the Glimmer: Available In Print!

Pat McDermott reporting in, delighted to announce that Glancing Through the Glimmer, my Young Adult adventure set in an Ireland that might have been and featuring Ireland's fairies, is now available in paperback. The fairies are happy, and so am I.

Find out what it's about Here.

Read an excerpt Here.

And check out the paperback on Amazon Here.

E-book lovers, never fear. Glancing Through the Glimmer is still available for your e-readers.
Links Here.

A homesick girl meets a prince in disguise, and both run afoul of the fairies...

Glancing Through the Glimmer / Pat McDermott

Greetings to everyone here at The Celtic Rose, and special thanks to Miriam for her hospitality today, the release day for Glancing Through the Glimmer. I'm Pat McDermott, author of the "Band of Roses" trilogy*, romantic action/adventure novels set in an Ireland still ruled by the heirs of High King Brian Boru.

Glancing Through the Glimmer is the young adult "prequel" to this trilogy. Don’t let the young adult label put you off! Readers of all ages will enjoy "Glimmer"—as long as they love Irish myths, adventure, romance, and a hefty wallop of fairy magic. (On Sunday, I’ll randomly choose one commenter to receive a PDF copy of the book. Please leave your email address if you’d like a chance to win.)

So where did the title come from? Glancing Through the Glimmer is a phrase from The Fairy Thorn, an old Ulster poem by Sir Samuel Ferguson that begins innocently enough:

Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel;

For your father's on the hill, and your mother is asleep;

Come up above the crags, and we'll dance a highland-reel

Around the fairy thorn on the steep.

Don’t listen, Anna! Everyone knows if you dance around a fairy thorn, the fairies will steal you away. Especially in County Galway, the home of Finvarra, King of the Connaught Fairies. Finvarra loves to dance, as American teenager Janet Gleason learns to her dismay.

The Blurb:

In the modern Kingdom of Ireland, few mortals believe in the fairy folk. Without that belief, the fairies are dying. Finvarra, the King of the Fairies, would rather dance than worry—but he must have a mortal dancing partner.

When Janet Gleason’s grandfather becomes the new U.S. Ambassador to Ireland, the sixteen-year-old orphan must leave Boston and her friends behind. Janet is lonely in Dublin and unused to her grandparents’ stuffy social life. An invitation to a royal ball terrifies her. She can’t even waltz and dreads embarrassment. Finvarra’s fairy witch overhears her fervent wish to learn to dance.

Seventeen-year-old Prince Liam Boru loathes the idea of escorting another spoiled American girl to a ball. In fact, he detests most of his royal duties. He dresses down to move through Dublin unnoticed and finds himself on his royal backside when Janet crashes into him. Intrigued, he asks to see her again, and she willingly agrees. Unaware of each other’s identities, they arrange to meet. When they do, the fairies steal Janet away. Liam’s attempts to find her trigger a series of frustrating misadventures. Can he and Janet outwit a treacherous fairy king who’s been hoodwinking mortals for centuries?

The Excerpt - The stunning Cliffs of Howth provide the setting for Janet and Liam’s memorable first date:

The first time Liam slipped and fell, he cursed the rain-damp grass. He blamed his second tumble on his haste to catch up with Janet. What on earth had possessed the girl to run off like that? She couldn’t possibly want to find music that badly.

Music only she could hear.

The third time he lost his balance, he’d swear someone had pushed him, but no one was there. He landed on his hands and knees and cursed again. He might not be a muscleman, but he was far from a clumsy dolt. A lifetime of sports and outdoor treks had surely left him fit enough to climb a scrubby little hillside.

Something strange was afoot.

I’m being ridiculous.

The breeze must have kept him from hearing the music she heard. She’d likely gone after the owner of whatever was playing the tune to learn its name.

Yet the Nose of Howth seemed deserted. How odd for a sunny Sunday morning. Even if Janet had gone off seeking the source of the music, no amount of rationalizing could explain why she’d left so abruptly. The chilling sense that she was in danger had Liam’s heart thumping high in his throat.

Should he call his cousin? If Kevin was still on the pier, it would take him a while to get here. And practical Kevin would surely think Liam astray in the head.

Maybe he was, but something told him he had to find Janet, and fast. Keeping close to the ground as if he were dodging radar, he clambered monkey-like up the hill. This time he reached the top of the rise. Lumps in the landscape surrounded him, clumps of rock and rolling masses of heather and gorse that encircled the level spot where he stood. He knew the place well. Except for the curious lack of weekend hill walkers, nothing seemed amiss.

"Janet!"

He listened hard. A seagull cried in the distance. Otherwise, all was silent. No, wait! Music drifted toward him, a plucky harp tune he might have enjoyed under different circumstances.

Was that what Janet had heard?

Where was it? He turned in a circle, squinting in the sunlight, scanning, straining to hear. When he returned to the spot where he’d started, a jolt of fear set his pulse racing.

A round stone hut had appeared on the highest part of the clearing. Its low thatched roof rose to a ridiculously high point. It resembled a roundhouse, the sort of dwelling that belonged in a prehistoric ring fort.

Or a fairy fort.

Liam swallowed hard. He’d seen replicas of such huts in Ireland’s folk parks. He’d also viewed ruins of the original ring forts, all that remained of the structures built by the mysterious peoples who’d lived and died in Ireland thousands of years ago.

Where had this one come from? Why was it on the Nose of Howth? Liam had never seen it before, nor had he heard of any gimmicky tourism plans for the cliff walk. Of course, he didn’t know everything. Convincing himself that he’d failed to see the hut at first because the sun had blinded him, he ventured toward the structure.

He spotted a doorway and relaxed. Janet was there, speaking to a woman wearing a period costume, medieval or older. That’s what it was, he thought: tourism come to tarnish Howth. How could Uncle Peadar have allowed such nonsense?

Liam called Janet’s name again, but neither she nor the woman showed any sign that they’d heard him. The wind must have carried his voice away. He stalked toward the roundhouse. As he approached, the costumed woman placed a necklace over Janet’s head.

The roundhouse flickered, faded, and reappeared. Alarmed, Liam stopped. This was no tourist gimmick. As his thoughts scrambled for an explanation, the woman grabbed Janet’s arm and pulled her into the hut.

"Janet, no!" His ferocious roar proved useless. Unbelievably, the roundhouse began to dissolve. No longer doubting his horrified senses, he dove at the hut and charged through the disappearing door.

The world around him melted away.

* * * *

A Little About Me:

I’m a Massachusetts native from a Boston Irish family whose music and myths have crept into my writing. One of my short stories earned an Honorable Mention for children’s fiction in the 74th Writer’s Digest Annual Writing competition. ‘Twas a big boost for my confidence! I'm a member of the New Hampshire Writers' Project, the Seacoast Writers' Association, Romance Writers of America, and Celtic Hearts Romance Writers. My favorite non-writing activities include hiking, reading, cooking (check out my cooking blog, below), and traveling, especially to Ireland. I’d love to live there some day, but for now, I call the New Hampshire seacoast home. Currently, I'm working on reuniting Janet and Liam in Autumn Glimmer, the Samhain sequel to Glancing Through the Glimmer.

A Little More:

My Web site:　www.patmcdermott.net

Put the Kettle On (My Writing/Travel Blog):  http://pat-mcdermott.blogspot.com/

My Facebook page: http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/pat.mcdermott1

Facebook page for Glancing Through the Glimmer (feel free to "Like" it!):
http://www.facebook.com/home.php?#!/www.patmcdermott.net


MuseItUp Publishing Bookstore Page to purchase Glancing Through the Glimmer:
https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=224&category_id=69&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1

Kitchen Excursions (My Cooking Blog):  http://kitchenexcursions.blogspot.com/

* * * *

*The Band of Roses Trilogy is currently unavailable. MuseItUp Publishing will publish A Band of Roses (May, 2012) and Fiery Roses (August, 2012) as re-releases. Salty Roses will make its piratical debut in November, 2012.

Enya the Bride

(An Old Tale Retold by Pat McDermott)

As everyone knows, the beauty of mortal women attracts the fairies. Finvarra, the King of the Connacht Fairies, enlisted his minions to find and abduct the prettiest ladies in Ireland. The fairies bewitched the loveliest women and brought them to Finvarra’s crystal palace beneath Knock Ma in Galway. The women heard only fairy music, which lulled them into a trance. They remained enchanted, forgetting about mortal life and living as if in a dream.

Long ago, in that part of the country, a great lord had a comely wife called Enya. He held feasts in her honor and filled his castle from dawn till dusk with music. Lords and ladies danced with great pleasure in Enya’s honor.

At the merriest part of the feast one evening, Enya entered the dance. She wore silver gossamer bound with jewels that outshone the stars in heaven. Suddenly, she released the hand of her partner and fell to the floor in a swoon.

The servants carried her to her chamber, where she lay insensible all night. At dawn, she awoke and told them she’d spent the night in a beautiful palace. "Oh, how I long to go back to sleep and return there in my dreams!"

The servants watched her all day, and she fared well enough, but when evening fell, they heard music at her window. She fell again into a trance from which no one could rouse her.

The young lord set Enya’s old nurse to sit with her, but the silence enticed the woman to sleep until dawn. When she looked at the bed, she saw to her horror that Enya had vanished.

The household searched the castle and gardens but found no trace of Enya. The young lord sent riders into the wind, but no one had seen her. He saddled his chestnut steed and galloped away to Knock Ma to speak to Finvarra, the King of the Fairies, for he and Finvarra were friends. Many a keg of good wine did the young lord leave outside his castle to quench the thirst of the fairies. Finvarra would surely have tidings of Enya.
But little did the young lord know that Finvarra himself was the traitor.

When the young lord stopped by the fairy rath, he heard voices in the air: "Finvarra is happy now, for in his palace he has the bride who will never more see her husband’s face."

"Aye," spoke another. "Finvarra is more powerful than any mortal man, though if the husband dug down through the hill, he would find his bride."

The young lord swore that devil nor fairy nor even Finvarra himself would stand between him and his bride. He sent word to every able-bodied man in the county to come with their spades and pickaxes, and they dug to find the fairy palace.

They made a deep trench, and at sunset they quit for the night. But the very next morning they found that the clay was back in the trench, as if the hill had never been dug.

The brave young lord asked the men to continue their digging, and they dug the trench again. For three days they dug with the same result: the clay was put back each night, and they were no nearer to Finvarra’s palace.

The young lord prepared to die of grief, then he heard a whisper in the air: "Sprinkle the soil you have dug with salt, and the salt will preserve your work."

He scoured the countryside for salt. That night, his men salted the soil they had dug that day. At dawn, they awakened to find the trench safe and the earth untouched around it.
The young lord knew he had beaten Finvarra. He bade the men dig, and by the next day, they’d cut a glen right through the hill. When they put their ears to the ground, they heard fairy music, and voices floated on the air.

"Now," said one, "Finvarra is sad, for if those men strike a blow on his palace, it will crumble and fade away."

"Then let him surrender the bride," said another, "and we shall all be safe."

Then Finvarra himself spoke clear as a silver bugle: "Stop!" he said. "Lay down your spades, mortal men, and at sunset the bride shall return to her husband. I, Finvarra, have spoken."

The young lord commanded his men to stop digging. At sunset he mounted his chestnut steed and rode to the top of the glen, and just as the sun turned the sky blood-red, Enya appeared on the path. He lifted her to the saddle, and they rode to the castle like storm wind.

But Enya spoke not a word. Days passed, then months, and she lay on her bed in a trance.

Sorrow fell over the castle. The young lord and his people feared the enchantment could not be broken. But late one night, when he rode in the dark, he heard voices in the air.

"It is now a year and a day since the young lord reclaimed his bride, but she is no use to him. Though her form is beside him, her spirit is still with the fairies."

Another said, "She will be so until he breaks the spell. He must loosen the pin from the girdle she wears at her waist, and then he must burn the girdle. He must throw the ashes before the door and bury the pin in the earth. Only then will she speak and know true life."

The young lord spurred his horse and hastened to Enya’s chamber, where she lay like a lovely wax figure. He loosened her girdle and found the pin in its folds. He burned the girdle and scattered the ashes before the door, and he buried the pin in the earth, beneath a fairy thorn, that no hand would disturb it.

When he returned to his young wife, she looked up at him smiling and held out her hand.

Joyfully he raised her to him and kissed her, and she stood as if no time had passed between them, as if the year she had spent with the fairies was only a dream.

The cut in the hill remains to this day and is called "The Fairy’s Glen."