Friday, July 31, 2020


This is the name of the ancient Celtic festival of the Harvest, observed tomorrow, August 1st. The name is derived from Lugh (pronounced 'loo'), a Celtic deity of light and wisdom.

Lughnasadh celebrates the season for gathering the fruits of one's labors. For the ancient Celts, this was the corn, oats, and grains, and the planted summer bounty. The earth was honored for giving birth to her first harvest fruits so that her children might live. For our modern world, this can also be a time for appreciating what has come to fruition to nourish and sustain you. Lughnasadh is an invitation to reflect on what we love about our lives, who we are, and who we are becoming. A very relevant contemplation for the current times.

In later centuries, the festival of Lughnasadh was Christianized as Lammas, from the Anglo-Saxon, hlaf-mas, "Loaf-Mass." At Lughnasadh, bread baked from the first harvest was eaten in thanks. Baking, sharing, and eating bread is a wonderful way to celebrate this holiday.


Here is a lovely Lughnasadh song to entertain and inspire you:


And here is a Lughnasadh poem written by the prolific author and ceremonialist, Caitlin Mathews from her ‘The Celtic Devotional: Daily Prayers and Blessings.’

The Song of Lughnasadh

I am the sovereign splendor of creation,
I am the fountain in the courts of bliss,
I am the bright surrender of the willpower,
I am the watchful guardian and the kiss.
I am the many-colored landscape,
I am the transmigration of the geese,
I am the burnished glory of the breastplate,
I am the harbor where all strivings cease.


Lughnasadh gives us an opportunity to take ancient esoteric wisdom and make it relevant for today’s world. The genre of storytelling I write, Visionary Fiction, does the same thing, in the hopes of inspiring and expanding human consciousness. You might take this day to consider what seeds of wisdom, hope, and love you may be called to protect and pass on to those who come after you. Especially as we rebuild a new world out of the Covid crises portal.

What seeds of wisdom, hope, and love would you like to bring forward?

Photo image from




Friday, July 24, 2020

The Writer's Life and my Newest Award

“You simply sit down at the typewriter, open your veins, and bleed.”
~sports columnist Walter Wellesley “Red” Smith, 1949.
"I think all writing is a disease. You can’t stop it.”
~William Carlos Williams

Words come from an author “drop by drop.”
~Reverend Sydney Smith, 1855

“All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath.”
~F. Scott Fitzgerald

“Of all that is written I love only what a man has written with his blood. Write with blood, and you will experience that blood is spirit. Whoever writes in blood and aphorisms does not want to be read but to be learned by heart.”
~Friedrich Wilhelm Nietzsche, 1880s.

“Writing is simple, Muffy,” says Jeff MacNelly’s Perfesser in the comic strip Shoe. “First, you have to make sure you have plenty of paper. . . sharp pencils. . . typewriter ribbon. Then put your belly up to your desk. . . roll a sheet of paper into the typewriter. . . and stare at it until beads of blood appear on your forehead.”


Yes, the life of a writer. We are familiar with how we sequester ourselves in our office equipped with our computer or even pen and paper. Our companions are our creativity, inspiration, dreams, visions, and our muse sitting on our shoulder. Oftentimes our cat or our dog sit at our feet (or walk across our keyboards)!
When I wrote my first novel, “The Awakening: Rebirth of Atlantis” I told my husband not to open the door to my office where I was writing unless it was a dire emergency. I had to occasionally remind him that the question, “Where do we keep the peanut butter?” doesn’t count as an emergency.
I penned that first book in 6 weeks. Revising and editing were another matter. Years, actually. My other novels also took years to write.

That is why when we, as authors, receive accolades, good reviews, or letters telling us how our novel changed someone’s life, we rejoice. So, today I rejoice. I was just notified that my latest novel, "The Hidden Abbey" is a finalist in the NIEA (Annual National Indie Excellence Awards) 2020 in the Visionary Fiction category.

A good thing for me to celebrate, especially with my novel's timely visionary message aimed at today's turbulent world: embodied love.

Excerpt from the 14th Annual National Indie Excellence Awards (NIEA) Press Release:

“Winners and Finalists are determined on the basis of superior written matter coupled with excellent presentation in every facet of the final published product. Indie Excellence proudly celebrates the talent, dedication and love authors put into the book product."

Talent, dedication and love. That’s a sure recipe for writing a novel.

What is your sure recipe for writing a novel?
Which of the quotes mentioned here, above and below, is your favorite?


“You write in order to change the world…if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way people look at reality, then you can change it.”
~James Baldwin

“Write what should not be forgotten.”
~Isabel Allende

“Because this business of becoming conscious, of being a writer, is ultimately about asking yourself, How alive am I willing to be?”
Anne Lamott

“The difference between the almost right word and the right word is … the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”
~Mark Twain

“I don’t need an alarm clock. My ideas wake me.”
~Ray Bradbury, WD

“To gain your own voice, you have to forget about having it heard.”
~ Allen Ginsburg

“I would advise anyone who aspires to a writing career that before developing his talent he would be wise to develop a thick hide.”
—Harper Lee, WD

“Life is like a recycling center, where all the concerns and dramas of humankind get recycled back and forth across the universe. But what you have to offer is your own sensibility, maybe your own sense of humor or insider pathos or meaning. All of us can sing the same song, and there will still be four billion different renditions.”
~ Anne Lamott

Friday, July 17, 2020

The Celtic Imram

The ancient Celts told epic stories of voyages across the seven seas in a boat. The destination—to travel uncharted waters, to go beyond the ninth wave, to the golden lands of the Otherworld. The travelers embarked on what they called an Imram. The Imram is an allegory for a soul quest, a spiritual journey, a vision quest.

One famous Imram tale is the heroic legend of Bran the Blessed of Welsh mythology. Bran means Raven in Welsh, and his story is one of regeneration. He is known as the Guardian of Britain.  

image credit: Diana Morningstar digital arts

Another Imram can be found in my novel, Carry on the Flame: Destiny's Call. Sharay has been committed to a psychiatric hospital by her Aunt Phoebe who wants Sharay's fortune and her magical powers. In this scene, a mysterious elder mento, Dillon Emrys, describes the Imram for Sharay.  


Sharay hiccupped again, wiped her wet cheek on her sleeve.

“What am I to do, Dillon?”

“About the hiccups?” The smile in Dillon’s twinkling eyes reached his lips, his mouth curving into a wide grin.

Sharay rolled her eyes. “No, silly. What am I to do about this?” she said, spreading her arms wide open to indicate the room, the psychiatric hospital.

“Simple. You’re to go on an Imram.”

“On a what?” She leaned back on her legs, and sat on the floor, her spine against the side of Dillon’s bed for support. She was exhausted, and Dillon was talking in riddles.

“On an Imram. It’s an important journey. A physical journey navigated by your soul.”

“My soul will navigate a journey?”

“Yes—it will be both an inner and an outer journey. The Imram is the outward form of an inner mystical journey. It’s much like a vision quest. You’ll travel the land, and as you do, you’ll visit the Inner Realms of your dreams and visions.”

“But the doctors call my dreams and visions hallucinations.”

“They know nothing.” 

Sharay stared, wide-eyed. “I’m not hallucinating?”

“Of course not.”

Sharay noticed how his dimples burrowed deep within the crevices of his cheeks.

“The Imram will be a splendid adventure. Just like it was for our ancestors, the Celts. They crossed the seas on mythic travels to foreign lands. They went on the Imram.”

Sharay imagined huge wooden boats, mermaids carved on the bow, sailing by star navigation across deep blue waters, heading far into the west. She shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m in no shape to go on a sea voyage. I don’t see how your Imram will help me.”
Dillon chuckled. “The Imram is not limited to the sea. It’s not about where you go but how you get there.”

“So, how do I get there?”

“Trust the Imram. You’re in good hands with your soul as your navigator.”

“How can I go on an Imram? I can’t even leave this hospital,” Sharay said desolately.

image credit: boat prow, ocean, guiding star: Diana Morningstar digital arts