This morning I had one of those chat loop/Facebook conversations authors sometimes have, in this case with Celtic author Maeve Greyson, who is having a book release. I'll leave it to Maeve to disclose that here if she cares to (did'ja get that, Maeve-me-girl?), but in the course of the conversation it evolved that the heroine of her latest book just gives her fits. The girl gives everyone fits, apparently. It's part of her charm.
The more Maeve talked about her heroine, Ciara, the more she reminded me of my muse.
My muse, otherwise known as "The Wench," appeared when I was five year old and trying to write my first book on my mother's shopping list. Tall, slender, with a crescent moon tattoed on her forehead and a crow perched on her shoulder, she scared the daylights out of me. She looked an awful lot like the Celtic Queen, Morrigan, and I knew this how? Well, because my Nana had read Irish myths and legends to me from the time I gave any indication that I could hear, of course. "You can never start 'em too young" was her motto and so I learned that Morrigan was the Great Queen - a Mothergoddess of the Irish Celtoi - the goddess of war, death, prophecy and passionate love.
War, death, prophecy and passionate love: did Nana have any inkling she was creating a romance writer? Yeah, probably.
Eventually I got used to The Wench hanging around, whispering sweet nothings in my ear. She was the one who helped me finish my first "book," which I recall was about a Hollywood stunt horse outrunning a brush fire in California, saving the life of the handsome actor who rode him in all his films. I think that was around the time I was in love with cowboy actors. The Wench humored me. She seemed to see promise of some sort in me. Sometimes she was even kind...until the day I tried to copy her by picking up a fallen baby blackbird which I named Downy. I fed Downy hamburger and hard-boiled egg yolk on the end of an eyedropper filled with milk, which I cleverly shot down her throat in between bites. I hauled her to Girl Scout camp in a carton so she didn't die of neglect. I let her ride around on my shoulder just like Morrigan's crow, though I took the precaution of wearing a length of shower curtain beneath her. I was obsessed with her, teaching her how to pick through grass for seed in preparation for leaving me someday to make her way in the wild. My mother was convinced I was going to become a veterinarian.
The Wench was pissed. I was envisioning myself as Dr. Doolittle instead of a romance writer. She split.
That was the first time my muse left me. It wouldn't be the last.
TOMORROW: Evolution of The Muse
Friday, February 24, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
NEW RELEASE - THE KING'S DAUGHTER BY MIRIAM NEWMAN
Our little island nation of Alcinia was not rich, except for tin mines honeycombing the south. It wasn't even hospitable. Summer was a brief affair and fall was only a short time of muted colors on the northernmost coast where my father sat his throne at the ancient Keep of Landsfel. Winter was the killing time and spring was hardly better, with frosts that could last into Fifth-Month. But from the south, where men cut thatch in a pattern like the bones of fish, to the north where rock roses spilled down cliffs to the sea, it was my own.
One thinks such things will never change, yet all things do.
* * *
Thus begins the narrative memoir of Tarabenthia, born a princess in the land of Alcinia. When the idyll of her childhood ends, she will defy her father, tipping the balance in a world poised on the brink of destruction and leaving history to judge her as heroine or harlot.
In a time of war, what would you surrender in the name of love?
***
Just released, available in pdf or on Kindle, coming in print:
All digital formats and Print 2/27/12: http://rebeccajvickery.com/online-store.php
SMASHWORDS: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/132900
A multiple award winner, top ten finisher in Preditors & Editors poll for Best Romance Novel of 2008, re-releasing in print 2/27/12.
Monday, February 13, 2012
Saturday, February 4, 2012
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
HAPPY IMBOLC
Today, those wanting to honor the spirit of Brigid should spend the day housecleaning (!) and burning any leftover Christmas greenery, which is exactly what I am going to do when I finish this post. Tonight I will leave the customary ribbon on my porch for a blessing from Brigid as she passes down my road with her oxen, unseen by mortal eyes. After that, I may prepare some lamb stew and Bride's cake.
1 cup sugar
1 cup chopped walnuts
1 cup vegetable oil
1 cup raisins - some prefer golden raisins
1 cup flour
4 eggs
1 tsp. baking powder
Mix all the ingredients together, being careful not to overmix. Pour into a greased and floured 9"x9"x2" square baking pan. Bake at 350 degrees for 20-30 minutes, or until knife inserted in middle of cake comes out clean. Cool before serving.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
CELTIC ROSE WRITERS
Monday, January 23, 2012
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