Wednesday, May 29, 2024

Mysterious Mythical May


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Weather-wise, May can be a checkered month. I often saw snow in May in my upstate NY childhood during the early 50's. The last time I had such a surprise was while living near Hartford, CT, when I boarded a commuter bus, annoyed that I had snow all over my new high heels. The entire drive to bus, along slippery country roads, I'd seen the white stuff threatening to break the blossoming branches in orchards and front yards. I'm not likely to ever see that again! 


May even feels a little a little unsteady, at least inside my seasonally-minded head. From the little we can know about early European religions, it appears many of our ancient relations felt that way too. May was a between month--between winter and summer--neither one thing nor the other. In many cultures, then as now, it was a time of clearing out of the grime left behind by winter cooking and heating, of freshening and storing away of the heaviest clothing. On the farms, young animals now frolicked in the fields; fresh milk was in. The spring cycle of plowing and planting was already underway, but, in the spiritual sense, this month was a pause.

Now, you may be thinking "Well, what about May Day and May Eve, two nights of dancing, feasting, and coupling, with or without, benefit of clergy?" All that is also true. May traditionally began with a party. We are familiar with the British tradition has the men riding out at dawn wearing sprigs of blooming Hawthorn followed by the Maypole dance. Perhaps the disconnect is a result of a lunar calendar and a year which accomodated thirteen months instead of our twelve. At any rate,



the "unlucky" time, the time of mourning and cleansing, the time of celibacy and onerous spring cleaning, began later in our May, perhaps beginning on the 13th and extending until the 9th of June.

"Ne'er cast a clout ere May be out." (Don't change your clothing) This saying was current in Britain and even into northern Spain, for the idea of an unlucky May was widespread. May was a time to abstain from sex across ancient Europe, from Greece to the west in Ireland, explaining why, traditionally, May is unlucky for marriage. In Britain, the month is associated with the Hawthorn or "Whitethorn," the tree of the Crone Goddess Cardea, who cast spells using hawthorn branches. The Greek's called her "Maia," a deity the romantic poets have led us to believe was young and fair, but Maia actually means "grandmother," a goddess whose son conducted the dead to the underworld. The Greeks propitiated the old Crone at marriages--"for the custom was hateful to the goddess," by carrying five torches of hawthorn-wood.*  

In the temples, May was month of cleansing. Altars were purified, religious images were removed and washed, not only with water, but with rituals.  Ovid, in his Fasti, says that the Priestess of Juppiter told him that his daughter should not enter into marriage until "the Ides of June, (mid-month) for until then there is no luck for brides and husbands. Until the sweepings of the temple of Vesta have been carried down to the sea by the yellow Tiber, I must myself not comb my locks which I have cut in sign of mourning, nor pare my nails, nor cohabit with my husband, though he is High Priest of Juppiter. Be not in haste. Your daughter will have better luck in marriage when Vesta's fire burns upon a cleansed hearth."

In Welsh mythology, Yspaddaden Penkawr, the Hawthorne giant, was father to the Fair Olwen (She of the White Track). No man could have her until her father received a dowry of thirteen treasures--all nearly impossible to obtain, of course. At last, a hero arrived. This man, fated to marry her, was named Kilhwych. Olwen was kept mewed up in a castle which was guarded by nine porters and nine watch dogs--note all those magical numbers! Until the unlucky power of May was broken, the Hawthorn's curse held sway.


 In Ireland, we find  many legends concerning magical wells and associated Hawthorn trees. According to E.M. Hull 's "Folklore of the British Isles," a man who destroys a hawthorn tree will suffer the loss of his children as well as the death of all his cattle.  In "Historic Thorn Trees of the British Isles," It is noted that 'St. Patrick's Thorn' at Tin'ahely in County Wicklow was still celebrated into the 19th Century. Here, celebrants paraded to the church and circled the holy well. Here, they tore bits of cloth from their old garments and left them upon the thorns of the ancient Hawthorn that grew there. Long ago, all over Europe, this practice was a sign of mourning and propitiation that must take place before the time of weddings and bringing in the first fruits of summer, which would take place in June. 

I realize that this has been a long wander into the tangles of ancient mythology. Much of this information comes to me from a controversial source: "The White Goddess" by Robert Graves, who was a poet, and, naturally, often occasionally afflicted by bee in his bonnet fits of hubris and madness. Nevertheless, he was also a man who understood many ancient languages well and who moved in scholarly academic circles. I find it interesting that many of his suppositions, arrived at through his knowledge of ancient languages, has actually anticipated many of the new DNA researches into the migrations of people into Europe, from the steppes and even from what is now Turkey and the Middle East. It amazed him, and it still amazes me, all the journeys that the ancestors made and the places in which they ended.


~~Juliet Waldron

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Tuesday, May 28, 2024

Everything's Coming Up Roses--Symbolism, Meaning, and Romance By Connie Vines #BWL Insider Author Blog, #Roses, #June Birthdays

 My favorite flower is the Rose. 

While gardening in Southern California isn't as challenging as in other climates, all rose bushes have thorns. Unfortunately, I've discovered that the most fragrant rose bushes possess thorns that hook or attack your tender flesh like shark teeth.




Connie's Garden 2024


One of the most recognizable flowers in the world, the rose is widely regarded as the best representation of love.

Fossil evidence indicates that the rose has existed for over 30 million years. Roses were used for medicinal purposes and as perfume.

Connie's Garden 2024

The symbolic meaning of Roses.

The red rose signifies enduring passion and love.

The white rose signifies innocence.

The pink rose signifies gratitude, admiration, and appreciation.

The purple rose signifies love at first sight and enchantment.

The yellow rose expresses joy and friendship.

Connie Garden 2024


In alchemy, a rose with seven petals symbolizes order, acceptance, and inclusion.

For those of us (me) who love Homer and mythology, the rose is often associated with the goddess of love, Aphrodite.

Connie's Garden 2024


Beyond this flower's symbolism, history, and beauty, roses make me happy!

Flowers trigger dopamine release, often called the "pleasure hormone."

Dopamine is associated with positive emotions like happiness, joy, and love. And it's not just their smell that makes us feel good -- it's the sight of flowers, too.

* Please post your favorite flower in the comments area. Why is it your favorite?

Happy Almost Summer, 

Connie


https://bookswelove.net/vines-connie/


https://books.apple.com/us/author/connie-vines/id624802082


Website and additional links: https://connievines-author.com/
















Monday, May 27, 2024

Researching Norse Mythology for my upcoming book - by Vijaya Schartz



Research is always a fun part of writing a story, even in science fiction. That’s where I usually find interesting details to feed the plot and define my characters.

In Angel Revenge, Book Three of the Blue Phantom series, coming out in October, my futuristic heroine is a Valkyrie. I had to brush up on my Asgardian knowledge through research. I learned much about the culture and symbolism of the ancient Viking gods.


We all know about Thor, Loki, and Odin through the Marvel universe, but Valkyries are not as well known. And I happen to like strong warrior women for my heroines.

Here are a few facts about Valkyries. They were women warriors ordained by Odin, given a magic armor where their powers resided. They could shapeshift into birds. They had many other abilities such as visions of the future. They flew into battle riding flying horses (Pegasus) or geese, or dragons. They wielded spear, bow and arrow, and dragon-fang swords.

Their function was to select the worthy fallen in battle and take them away to enjoy the Halls of Valhalla, a warrior’s paradise full of good food, beer, women, and fighting. The Valkyries were long-lived, like all Asgardians, but their armor also made them impervious to most weapons.


However, they had one weakness. I won’t tell you what it is, so as not to spoil the story.

In Angel Revenge, my heroine is Valka. She survived Ragnarök and finds herself on her own. She still fulfills her destiny and rescues worthy warriors fallen in battle… but for a different purpose. She rides a genetically engineered flying tiger and carries many blades and blasters. I'm considering either of these tigers for the cover:

 

Here is the tag line: An unruly Valkyrie on a possessive flying tiger, a strict angel in love with the rules, and evil pounding at the gate… What could go wrong?

The book comes out in October and will be the last of the Blue Phantom series. In the meantime, you can read the first two books:

amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author
Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, cats
http://www.vijayaschartz.com
amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo FB


Sunday, May 26, 2024

This writer’s mind: Tricia McGill

Find all my books here on my BWL page


Perhaps it’s strange how the minds of author’s work. Over the years I have been through numerous phases. The Vikings held my attention for a short time and thus Maddie and the Norseman was created and later on Powerful Destiny. I learnt so many facts about these warriors while researching for these books—finding that a lot of the facts previously known to me were at times myths. While writing I often feel closer to some of my heroes than others. My fascination with the Highlanders brought Travis of my Wild Heather series into my life. I have to say that of the many I have created he still remains perhaps a favourite. At certain times my stories were contemporary romances set in modern times but it wasn’t long before I was delving into the past again with my Australian Settlers series. Early on in my career I was advised to find one genre and stick to it if it works. This somehow didn’t sit well for me, for I like to change as I see fit at any particular time. Luckily it has worked for me.

In Book 1 of my Wild Heather Series we met Travis, The Laird of his clan. I couldn’t leave his story where it finished in that book, so it was a foregone conclusion that I had to let everyone know what happened to him after he was left behind in Scotland 1050 by Liz and Andrew, who would never have found a way back to their rightful home in the future if not for him. Also, Time-Travels like Historicals, as you can imagine demand reams of research about the people, their habits, and their day-to day lives so it is seldom you see a stand-alone Time-Travel or Historical. It would be foolish not to dally in that time period a while longer. I would love to own a time machine, but to be honest would ensure I could return to my nice cosy house with all its modern amenities.

In Book 2 Beth Anderson travels from Australia to the dilapidated castle in Scotland that is being refurbished by her friend Liz, who is now married to Andrew. Beth shares Liz’s passion for all things Celtic and like Liz is fluent in the ancient language. Her visit is potentially to help Liz and Andrew to renovate the castle. But, after Liz lets her in on their secret of how they travelled back in time and met Travis, the likeable rogue and Laird of his clan, Beth unwittingly stumbles on their method of time travel and finds herself back in the Scotland of 1051. The Travis she meets is a changed man, now set on revenge. His aim is to annihilate his enemies and he has no time in his world of bloodshed and violence to contend with another woman from the future. Find how Beth works her way beneath his veneer of anger and vengeance and finds a way to his heart.

“This is a wonderful book.  Tricia McGill is a wonderful writer. The heroine, Beth, is such a sweet character who is fully embraceable and the hero, also wonderfully written, is a man of honour all the way.  If you enjoy suspense, action and a great romance this is a must read.” Lisa at Romance Junkies

My next book is set in Australia’s past again, so it’s back to the researching. 

Saturday, May 25, 2024

Dog Walking and Google by Joan Havelange

 


Click here for details and purchase information on Joan Havelange books https://bwlpublishing.ca/havelange-joan/

 

My son walks his dog every morning. And almost every morning, my son and his dog Luna stop for a chat. Luna, I suspect, stops for a doggie treat.

One morning, I was telling my son I didn’t sleep well because I was planning a murder. My son completely understands his wacky author mother. Not many mothers tell their sons that the reason they didn’t sleep was because of a murder. And this got me thinking about Google.

Google’s algorithms want to suggest feeds that are attuned to our wants or needs. I do think that authors must confuse AI, as we ask Google what type of guns were used in the Great War. Then, we ask for the recipe for ‘peach cobbler,’ how fast a Learjet goes, and the easiest way to clean oven racks. Or if a car crashes, does it go up in flames like the movies? And how much cyanide it would take to kill a person, and how long would it take. Google is a good way to do research. They say to write what you know. But who knows how to break a man’s neck with a karate kick? Not many. And if they do, I hope they don’t live near me. Anyway, we authors have a story to tell. And though I write fiction, I have to make it as real as possible.



For instance, in the historical murder mystery, ‘The Séance Murders,’ it was important to get the background right. Yes, the characters are fictional. But you need to know the lifestyle they led. The attitudes and social customs of the day. How they dressed. What was the city like in the period your story is set in? To be honest, I did mess up. I wrote a fabulous scene set in a streetcar. But thanks to the Regina Historical Club. I found out there were no motorized street cars in Regina in 1908. So, I had to delete a whole scene. Yes, Google is good, but always do a fact-check with the information that is there. Just like going to a doctor, a second opinion is important. But don’t get me wrong. I do Google.

But writing what you know for me has been valuable. For my mystery ‘Death and Denial,’ I could have googled information regarding Egypt. But I was there. And the idea for my mystery came about when I boarded the riverboat. Riverboats are rafted together. And you walk through some really old boats before you get to the riverboat you are going to sail down the Nile in. And Google might tell you what you can see. But it can’t give you the sounds and the smells of Egypt. Nor can it give you a feel of what the people are like.

I hope you enjoy the snippet from ‘Death and Denial,’ my Egyptian travel mystery.

 

Chapter One

Mabel Havelock felt a hot moist breath in her ear. She woke with a start. “What the hell?” A strange man’s head rested on her shoulder. His mouth hung open, and his stale breath smelled of garlic. Mabel wiggled her shoulders, he groaned but didn’t move. She wriggled again with more force. The portly man snorted, and his chubby red cheeks puffed out, blowing more foul breath into her face. Wrinkling her nose, and using her fingertips, she pushed on the side of his forehead. The man snorted and turned his head. Mabel sighed as she looked around the darkened airplane, everyone appeared to be asleep but her. She squirmed in her seat, the armrest digging into her side. She looked enviously at her best friend Violet Ficher, sleeping in the seat by the window. How her six-foot-tall friend could sleep in the pocket-size closet the airline provided for their passengers was beyond her? Mabel barely five-feet-tall, jammed in the middle seat, felt cramped. Mabel and Violet, two retired nurses, were on an overnight flight to Frankfurt. There, they would change planes and continue their journey to Egypt. Being Mabel’s first flight out of the country, she was nervous, tired, and uncomfortable. She shifted in the seat, her back ached, and her legs were numb. Seven hours on the plane was way too long in her opinion. Unless you flew first-class, and they certainly weren’t. The big burly man in the aisle seat snorted, his head slumped onto her shoulder. She grimaced and jiggled her shoulders, and the man’s head slid back. He snored, sounding like a demented wild hog. A baby’s cry mingled with the man’s snoring. Mabel twisted and reached for the skinny little airplane pillow. It had slipped down wedged between her and the large man. She yanked on the pillow. It popped out, and the man turned to face her. She screwed up her nose and threw the thin airline blanket over her head. Mabel sat under the blanket and sighed, her seat was hard, and now the darn armrest dug into her other side. The drone of the plane did nothing to drown out the snoring and coughing of her fellow passengers. Good Lord, she fumed silently. How on earth do these people sleep with all this 5 racket? Wide awake, she threw off her blanket, deciding she needed to use the washroom. The thought of the tiny washroom with its supersonic flush made her grimace. But at least there would be no lineup, somehow everyone else was sleeping. Her next obstacle was to negotiate past the big sleeping man. Half sitting and half standing, she put one short leg over the man’s crossed ankles. Grabbing the back of the seat in front of her, she pushed herself over the man. Her hand slipped, and she landed on his lap. “Hey, what the hell,” grunted the red-faced man. Embarrassed, Mabel quickly regained her seat. “Oh, I’m so sorry I didn’t want to wake you,” she apologized. “Well, you did,” the man snarled. He grabbed Mabel’s pillow and tucked it under his head and turned his back toward her. “I’m on my way to the washroom,” Mabel whispered, it surprised her Violet hadn’t woken up. “Whatever,” the man grumbled. Mabel pulled the pillow from under the man’s head. “I still want to go to the washroom.” The man’s head fell back against the seat. “What the hell?” “That’s my pillow.” “Humph,” the man mumbled, covering his shoulder with his blanket. Mabel tapped on his arm. The man snorted then glared at Mabel. “What the hell now?” “Sir, I said I still need to use the washroom. If you don’t want me to sit on your lap again, I suggest you get up and let me by.” The man lumbered himself out of his seat. “I suppose you’re going to wake me up again when you come back,” he complained. “Unless I parachute out of this tin box, I suppose I will.” Mabel pursed her lips, what a rude man. She crept down the darkened aisle, guided by the tiny lights on either side of the carpet, past the sleeping passengers. Were the first-class washrooms bigger than the broom closets in the economy section? She had seen the pod-like seats in first-class when they boarded. It was dark, and everyone was sleeping, she grinned to herself and turned around in the aisle. She would use the washroom in first-class. What could they do, take away her birthday? 6 Mabel quietly approached the first-class section and poked her head through the curtain that separated first-class from economy. Everyone appeared to be asleep. She stepped through the curtain, but her first step was her last. She stepped on a discarded paper cup and fell with a thump, sliding halfway under the curtain. Embarrassed, Mabel lay perfectly still, then she crawled crab-like back to economy. Rubbing her bruised bottom, she regained her feet, listening, did anyone in first-class see or hear her? She heard a voice on the other side of the divider. “Did you hear that? What was that?” Mabel bit her lip. She’d been spotted. “Don’t worry, it was nothing. Something fell in economy,” whispered a gravelly voice. “Anyway, I’ve thought about it, and you’re right. Egypt is the perfect place to kill her. The Egyptian police are not as smart as we are, our plan is perfect.” “Shut up, you idiot, someone could be listening,” another voice whispered harshly. “Everyone is asleep, don’t worry.” “What about that noise? I’m sure I heard someone.” “No, it wasn’t anybody. I told you something fell behind us in economy.” “You better hope that’s all it was.” Mabel stood stock still. She had just overheard a murder plot. A hand grabbed her shoulder, she jumped.

https://books2read.com/Death-and-Denial

 

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