Yesterday I was fortunate enough to be among the throng of enthusiasts who had braved traffic and lack of sufficient parking to view the Transit of Venus across the Sun at the Griffith Park Observatory. My husband and I spent the afternoon watching through a telescope fellow author Karen Anderson had brought with her, and helped her entertain the lines of folks who were eager to catch a glimpse of this rare phenomenon from the far reaches of the parking lot, even before they made it to the lawn and the viewing areas at the Observatory proper.
Venus, on its way from being the Evening Star to the Morning Star, usually the brightest object in the sky after the Sun and the Moon, was a tiny black dot against the white disc of the Sun, larger than the freckle-like sunspots which also showed up through the filter, but very tiny, indeed...a marvelous light eclipsing the sun, yet its own light, merely a reflection of the Sun, being eclipsed by it...only a tiny shadow, yet a piece of rock not much smaller than the size of Earth. It was enough to put many things into perspective.
It was an event we would not see again, as it occurs so rarely.
This morning I was awakened to the blare of the clock-radio blasting the news that author Ray Bradbury had died, and that too, put things into perspective.
Ray Bradbury was one of my heroes. My high school and college years were made more precious by the reading of his tales, from the cautionary "Fahrenheit 451" (through which I learned the combustion point of paper and must have saved myself from countless kitchen fires by remembering to set the oven at a point well below that if I were baking cupcakes) to the dark and well-loved "Something Wicked This Way Comes", to the much-touted "Martian Chronicles". I grew up with Bradbury, reaffirmed my own imagination by reading the products of his. It was he, as much as Robert Heinlein, who made me believe I had a story to tell and that writing was what I really wanted to do, writing in that field of speculative fiction which often transverses science fiction and fantasy and yet which leaves the reader with a feeling that there is more to the story than has been told and challenges him or her to seek out that truth.
I was not fortunate enough to have met Robert Heinlein, but Ray Bradbury spoke a few years back at a local library and I would not have missed that for the world. Speaking for a few moments with him at the end of the lecture were magical...the tangible, physical evidence for all the words on all the pages which I had consumed so avidly in my teen years and beyond.
And somehow it feels fitting he should leave us during the transit of Venus, the same way Mark Twain left this world during the return of Halley's Comet...both bright fixtures of the literary world, lights whose like we will not see again in the near future.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Once More Into The Breach...
Last night, or rather early this morning (guess it depends on the time zone, and when I am zoning, I lose all track of time) I wrote the last line of The Glastonbury Chronicles Volume VI "The Barley And The Rose". It was satisfying, yet I found myself crying through the final pages of the book as memories of all the books which had gone before came suddenly tumbling into my consciousness.
The book will be out this October.
Will this be the end of The Lads?
I won't know until they tell me, but I am certain they will at least pop in every now and then in Dubhghall's adventures, the Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe series. Volume III "The Pale Mare's Fosterling" is in final edit and will be released this June.
In the mean time, I will miss them tremendously and concentrate on some new adventures for Dubhghall, who has centuries to go to catch up with them. I will also be finishing up the Tarot of the Sword and the Rose, which is seen first in last October's release "The Rose Above The Sword".
There is also another companion series, The Glastonbury Archives in the works., which deals with back stories relating to The Glastonbury Chronicles. Volume I, "The Sword Beneath The Rose" is completed and will probably be released some time next year.
And then there is the mystery novel...well...that is another story entirely and one I will get to later..
The book will be out this October.
Will this be the end of The Lads?
I won't know until they tell me, but I am certain they will at least pop in every now and then in Dubhghall's adventures, the Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe series. Volume III "The Pale Mare's Fosterling" is in final edit and will be released this June.
In the mean time, I will miss them tremendously and concentrate on some new adventures for Dubhghall, who has centuries to go to catch up with them. I will also be finishing up the Tarot of the Sword and the Rose, which is seen first in last October's release "The Rose Above The Sword".
There is also another companion series, The Glastonbury Archives in the works., which deals with back stories relating to The Glastonbury Chronicles. Volume I, "The Sword Beneath The Rose" is completed and will probably be released some time next year.
And then there is the mystery novel...well...that is another story entirely and one I will get to later..
Thursday, November 24, 2011
LOSCON 38
For may years I was an avid attendee of Science Fiction and Fantasy conventions, from Anaheim to Pasadena...even to driving from Los Angeles to Las Vegas for one which had been advertised in a magazine and turned out to have been cancelled, I marvelled at the creativity of not just the fans, but the guests of the conventions... authors, special effects designers, directors, prop makers, budding filmmakers...all of them amazed me with their talents and their insights.
There was one year I recall when a Creation Con had called for a costume contest, and I responded by making garb for myself, my husband Jay and our friend Jim to go as three Klingons in rehearsal for Macbeth. Under the watchful eye of the judges, including Star Trek: Deep Space Nine actor Rene Aubergenois, we found ourselves the winners and shared the myriad prizes between ourselves and a talented young woman named Kelly who had made the Klingon heads for us.
Little could I have expected that after all the Equicons, Loscons and Creation Cons I would one day be asked to be a speaker at one myself.
Tomorrow, Friday, November 25, I will be doing two panels at Loscon 38, the first, at noon, on the subject of the influence of Celtic mythology on modern fantasy and science fiction, and the second, around 8:30PM, on the transformation of the Vampire from Bram Stoker's "Dracula" to the creatures envisioned by today's authors. I will also be signing all 6 of my novels during the balance of the day and most of Saturday and Sunday.
I am absolutely thrilled with this opportunity and hope to see some of my good friends there.
There was one year I recall when a Creation Con had called for a costume contest, and I responded by making garb for myself, my husband Jay and our friend Jim to go as three Klingons in rehearsal for Macbeth. Under the watchful eye of the judges, including Star Trek: Deep Space Nine actor Rene Aubergenois, we found ourselves the winners and shared the myriad prizes between ourselves and a talented young woman named Kelly who had made the Klingon heads for us.
Little could I have expected that after all the Equicons, Loscons and Creation Cons I would one day be asked to be a speaker at one myself.
Tomorrow, Friday, November 25, I will be doing two panels at Loscon 38, the first, at noon, on the subject of the influence of Celtic mythology on modern fantasy and science fiction, and the second, around 8:30PM, on the transformation of the Vampire from Bram Stoker's "Dracula" to the creatures envisioned by today's authors. I will also be signing all 6 of my novels during the balance of the day and most of Saturday and Sunday.
I am absolutely thrilled with this opportunity and hope to see some of my good friends there.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The Rose Above The Sword
I have been asked by several people to say something about my newest novel, "The Rose Above The Sword", Volume IV of The Glastonbury Chronicles. The title itself refers to many things, from the Order of the Sword and the Rose to the symbolism carried by the Order.
The rose has long been the symbol of secrecy. The phrase sub rosa which means that something should be kept secret literally translates as "under the rose" and in early days was indicated by a rose being brought into a secret meeting to warn the participants that anything said there was strictly confidential. It has been used this way through the centuries in various art forms and by such groups as the Rosicrucians, both modern and ancient.
The very fact that the rose id placed at the crosspiece of the sword is symbolic in more than one way. It signifies that the sword is to be kept secret (and hence the actions of the sword) and also is placed there as a symbol of the heart in relationship to the body of the sword.. Not only is the Order secret, but the knowledge of its true nature and the focus of its protection are also, in the long run, secret.
On a third level, the rose is the symbol of the feminine, placed over the masculine symbol of the sword. The rose was an ancient symbol of the Dark Goddess and therefore is a token of the hidden aspect of the feminine, in this case the fact that there was any female involvement in the Order.
When the outward signs of something that has been suppressed, in this case, both religion and the Monarchy (the rose and the sword once again) symbols are transmitted in even more abstract manner and both history and mythology are recorded in monuments, in the language of flowers and plants, and in the pictures on Tarot cards. Those who know what they are looking for will find them, right under the watchful but unseeing eyes of the oppressor.
The book is now out, and the first review is in:
http://www.examiner.com/books-in-los-angeles/a-new-tale-for-a-new-year
Enjoy!
The rose has long been the symbol of secrecy. The phrase sub rosa which means that something should be kept secret literally translates as "under the rose" and in early days was indicated by a rose being brought into a secret meeting to warn the participants that anything said there was strictly confidential. It has been used this way through the centuries in various art forms and by such groups as the Rosicrucians, both modern and ancient.
The very fact that the rose id placed at the crosspiece of the sword is symbolic in more than one way. It signifies that the sword is to be kept secret (and hence the actions of the sword) and also is placed there as a symbol of the heart in relationship to the body of the sword.. Not only is the Order secret, but the knowledge of its true nature and the focus of its protection are also, in the long run, secret.
On a third level, the rose is the symbol of the feminine, placed over the masculine symbol of the sword. The rose was an ancient symbol of the Dark Goddess and therefore is a token of the hidden aspect of the feminine, in this case the fact that there was any female involvement in the Order.
When the outward signs of something that has been suppressed, in this case, both religion and the Monarchy (the rose and the sword once again) symbols are transmitted in even more abstract manner and both history and mythology are recorded in monuments, in the language of flowers and plants, and in the pictures on Tarot cards. Those who know what they are looking for will find them, right under the watchful but unseeing eyes of the oppressor.
The book is now out, and the first review is in:
http://www.examiner.com/books-in-los-angeles/a-new-tale-for-a-new-year
Enjoy!
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Myth and Mystery
There is something in the psyche of mankind which needs a good mystery. I'm not referring to the Agatha Christie variety, or even the works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, both of whom had personal mysteries of their own, but mystery as in the Eleusian Mysteries...symbols and mythos which resonate within the unconscious minds of humanity and reverberate within our souls.
Mankind has existed long before the concept of monotheism, its group mind nourished by images of Demigods and Heroes, and as the late, great Joseph Campbell discussed so eloquently, the pattern of the Hero's Journey which is common to the mythology of all from Perseus and Heracles or Hercules of the Greeks and Romans to Cuchulainn of the Irish Celts. All of them had a God for a father and a mortal mother.
With the coming of Christianity, Jesus, (with God as a father and the mortal Mary as a mother) became in a monotheistic belief system, the only Hero, and the mythos attributed to him took on a very narrow, totally religious and non-secularly heroic aspect. The normal needs and wants of the psyche of the societies involved in this relatively new religion (in the scope of the history of mankind) were put on hold, replaced with the acts of apostles and the works of saints, not necessarily figures of action.
Somewhere along the way the needs of the group mind reached out and called for the Hero or Superhero once more, and Fantasy and Science Fiction became the mythos of the New Age. We had Superman, only surviving son of a lost civilisation who became the protector of humanity, Luke Skywalker, orphaned child of dubious lineage who wielded, like one of the Celtic Gods, a sword of light against evil, and all the other heroes from Aragorn to Wonder Woman who have stood up for humanity against the forces of Evil.
Somewhere in my deepest heart of heart it all resonated as well. Somewhere the concept of the Sacred King, old before ever the historical Jesus walked this Earth, before ever that Sacred King had died for the good of all, the original concept of a Sacred King who shed his life's blood so the Land might live, that archetype that came again in King Arthur with the concept that "The King and the Land are One" struck me somewhere deep within my soul. The seeds of The Glastonbury Chronicles were sown. Somewhere over the last eighteen years they have borne fruit, and continue to grow.
The mythology I write is not new. It is based on all that which has come before, brought once again into the present and the future in hopes that, as Joseph Campbell might have said, others may "find their bliss."
I know writing it has given me a chance to find mine.
Mankind has existed long before the concept of monotheism, its group mind nourished by images of Demigods and Heroes, and as the late, great Joseph Campbell discussed so eloquently, the pattern of the Hero's Journey which is common to the mythology of all from Perseus and Heracles or Hercules of the Greeks and Romans to Cuchulainn of the Irish Celts. All of them had a God for a father and a mortal mother.
With the coming of Christianity, Jesus, (with God as a father and the mortal Mary as a mother) became in a monotheistic belief system, the only Hero, and the mythos attributed to him took on a very narrow, totally religious and non-secularly heroic aspect. The normal needs and wants of the psyche of the societies involved in this relatively new religion (in the scope of the history of mankind) were put on hold, replaced with the acts of apostles and the works of saints, not necessarily figures of action.
Somewhere along the way the needs of the group mind reached out and called for the Hero or Superhero once more, and Fantasy and Science Fiction became the mythos of the New Age. We had Superman, only surviving son of a lost civilisation who became the protector of humanity, Luke Skywalker, orphaned child of dubious lineage who wielded, like one of the Celtic Gods, a sword of light against evil, and all the other heroes from Aragorn to Wonder Woman who have stood up for humanity against the forces of Evil.
Somewhere in my deepest heart of heart it all resonated as well. Somewhere the concept of the Sacred King, old before ever the historical Jesus walked this Earth, before ever that Sacred King had died for the good of all, the original concept of a Sacred King who shed his life's blood so the Land might live, that archetype that came again in King Arthur with the concept that "The King and the Land are One" struck me somewhere deep within my soul. The seeds of The Glastonbury Chronicles were sown. Somewhere over the last eighteen years they have borne fruit, and continue to grow.
The mythology I write is not new. It is based on all that which has come before, brought once again into the present and the future in hopes that, as Joseph Campbell might have said, others may "find their bliss."
I know writing it has given me a chance to find mine.
Friday, October 7, 2011
What's In A Name?
At about 4 AM today the Muse came back from whatever holiday Muses go on and informed me that I needed to get up and work on the book, A wonderful idea, I thought at the time, little realising that by 8 AM I would be sorely missing the 3 hours of sleep I had sacrificed for so noble a cause, but then that's what I write about...sacrifice, though in this case, with the day I am facing, I would have rather parted with blood.
Did the Muse dictate to me wonderful words of inspiration? No, What I got in stead was a reprimand for choosing a name for one of my characters which I had used for another character in the previous book.
"But that;s what he told me his name was," I protested sleepily as I opened the first chapter and set up the command to find and replace his name.
"You obviously were not listening well. His name is not Gavin, It is Gareth."
So Gavin became Gareth in all 31 chapters I had written to date and the whole experience set me to worrying about the fact that his lady love is named Gwyneth and the similarity of the names which might cause confusion in the reader,
"Balderdash!: said the Muse, or something to that effect, "Good Welsh name. Lots of "th" sounds in Welsh names. Now get some rest. You will be needing it."
In the background I heard the radio alarm clock going off and knew it was too late to do more ta do more than pop a handful of dark chocolate covered espresso beans into my mouth and hope for the best.
"Nine tanna leaves to give it motion," came the memory of a line from "The Mummy", unbidden into the embers of consciousness I needed to fan into a bright enough fire to get me through the day.
Nine tanna leaves and a cup of good, strong tea.
I may not be awake, but at least I am civilised.
Did the Muse dictate to me wonderful words of inspiration? No, What I got in stead was a reprimand for choosing a name for one of my characters which I had used for another character in the previous book.
"But that;s what he told me his name was," I protested sleepily as I opened the first chapter and set up the command to find and replace his name.
"You obviously were not listening well. His name is not Gavin, It is Gareth."
So Gavin became Gareth in all 31 chapters I had written to date and the whole experience set me to worrying about the fact that his lady love is named Gwyneth and the similarity of the names which might cause confusion in the reader,
"Balderdash!: said the Muse, or something to that effect, "Good Welsh name. Lots of "th" sounds in Welsh names. Now get some rest. You will be needing it."
In the background I heard the radio alarm clock going off and knew it was too late to do more ta do more than pop a handful of dark chocolate covered espresso beans into my mouth and hope for the best.
"Nine tanna leaves to give it motion," came the memory of a line from "The Mummy", unbidden into the embers of consciousness I needed to fan into a bright enough fire to get me through the day.
Nine tanna leaves and a cup of good, strong tea.
I may not be awake, but at least I am civilised.
Friday, September 23, 2011
The Word Is My Oyster
These days it seems that the business of being an author is more exhausting than the act of writing. Keeping up a blog (which I apologise for have been very lax at writing recently), dealing with the taxes and licences necessary to run a business...and oh yes...being an author is considered running a business...and all the other mundane concerns have infringed upon my precious time of actual creativity. Left brain paperwork and right brain storytelling do not necessarily go hand in hand, and even this Gemini is sometimes getting whiplash from changing hats so often.
The West Hollywood Book Fair is coming up 2 October, and I will be doing a reading in the morning and signing books till early afternoon. So far, so good. It is not, however, solely about the reading and the signing, but about all the preparations which go before the actual event. New head shots; the old one was in black and white and colour was preferred. Bookmarks...I know I didn't order enough. Even the silly little annoyance of trying to find the little adhesive-backed pieces that transform a photograph and biography sheet into a stand-up, only to discover they need to be ordered in quantities of over a hundred and even then the company won't ship unless a minimum dollar amount is met, and they won't guarantee delivery in time to meet my deadline.. Fortunately I have a creative husband who was able to make them...probably not as pretty, but hey...who's going to look behind the stand-up to see?
And now comes the worry...will the books, ordered in what should have been ample time...get here by the end of September? I can always pass out business cards, but it's not exactly the same thing. Will the weather hold? Early October in Southern California can range from triple digits to poring rain, and this event is outside.
Yes...everything will come together all right. Yes, the event will be a great success. Those wonderful people at the Greater Los Angeles Writers Society and the Chamber of Commerce of West Hollywood have a track record with this event, and I should just relax and sit back and do what I do best...write fiction. However....
I tend to write scenarios of disaster and death, of unexpected revolutions and battles of historical proportions. I tend to expect the unexpected and imagine "What if...?" in a myriad of timelines and possibilities. It is all fantasy and I can control it all with the flick of a delete key and the tapping of my fingers upon the white letters set into the blackness of my laptop computer. The word is my oyster and I can open it and pull forth a string of pearls if my imagination so dictates.
This is life, real life,
Sigh.
The West Hollywood Book Fair is coming up 2 October, and I will be doing a reading in the morning and signing books till early afternoon. So far, so good. It is not, however, solely about the reading and the signing, but about all the preparations which go before the actual event. New head shots; the old one was in black and white and colour was preferred. Bookmarks...I know I didn't order enough. Even the silly little annoyance of trying to find the little adhesive-backed pieces that transform a photograph and biography sheet into a stand-up, only to discover they need to be ordered in quantities of over a hundred and even then the company won't ship unless a minimum dollar amount is met, and they won't guarantee delivery in time to meet my deadline.. Fortunately I have a creative husband who was able to make them...probably not as pretty, but hey...who's going to look behind the stand-up to see?
And now comes the worry...will the books, ordered in what should have been ample time...get here by the end of September? I can always pass out business cards, but it's not exactly the same thing. Will the weather hold? Early October in Southern California can range from triple digits to poring rain, and this event is outside.
Yes...everything will come together all right. Yes, the event will be a great success. Those wonderful people at the Greater Los Angeles Writers Society and the Chamber of Commerce of West Hollywood have a track record with this event, and I should just relax and sit back and do what I do best...write fiction. However....
I tend to write scenarios of disaster and death, of unexpected revolutions and battles of historical proportions. I tend to expect the unexpected and imagine "What if...?" in a myriad of timelines and possibilities. It is all fantasy and I can control it all with the flick of a delete key and the tapping of my fingers upon the white letters set into the blackness of my laptop computer. The word is my oyster and I can open it and pull forth a string of pearls if my imagination so dictates.
This is life, real life,
Sigh.
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