Magick for the Elemental Witch is a book that is broken down into five sections: Magick for the Earth Witch, Magick for the Sea Witch, Magick for the Air Witch, Magick for the Fire Witch and Magick for the Spiritist Witch (Spirit). Each section goes includes in-depth detail of each of the elements, the creation stories (if applicable), the various Gods and Goddess associated with each element from an array of cultures or belief systems, the spells and divination that involve that particular element as the main “ingredient” or sometimes as the only ingredient. As always I include a little bit of folklore and superstition regarding the elements, and I also explain where the concept for these elements came from. They are not a new concept to Paganism but rather go back to ancient Greek times with the great philosophers who tried to break down the universe into four basic elements, or ‘archia’ as they were known then.

How has marketing been going for you?

Marketing, I am finding out, is a full-time job. My publisher is a traditional press (as opposed to my being a self-published author) but they are a small company as of yet and even though they do some marketing, they rely heavily on the authors to market and self-promote. I learned early on where to post and where not to post, its so easy to end up spamming a group or forum with just being over-excited about being a published author. But, the internet is the best resource for marketing in today’s world because of the word of mouth and places like Witch Vox, My Space or Facebook where an author can create a page specifically for their book.

What’s it like to market a book that is Pagan-oriented or not “general audience”?

In my home town I am having a bit of a struggle. We live in “Baptist country” and it has been difficult to get the local newspaper to acknowledge me as a writer. They did a wonderful article on me three years ago when I received a runner-up award for a children’s story contest put on by Woman’s Day Magazine and Scholastic, Inc. So I figured they would do something now that I am a published author. However, my press releases went ignored. Yet I would see articles on other authors, some of them self-published, and nothing for me.

The only thing I could get was my book signing events on the online calendar at the newspapers website. I even wrote a letter-to-the-editor regarding the fact that they ignore me as an author and “certainly its not for the book’s content, I’d hate to think the paper is narrow-minded.” I even complained that my book signing events never make it into the Around the Town column for local events (and other authors have). But, after submitting my upcoming book signing events a co-worker told me that she saw my name in the paper. I finally made it into the Around the Town column! It’s a step, so now we’ll see what they do with my press release for my new book.

What is the most difficult thing you have faced when it comes to writing a Pagan book, as opposed to marketing it?

Worrying about the non-pagans. And, I don’t mean to make that sound narrow-minded but it can give one a queasy feeling worrying if I am going to get “the sermon” from someone who isn’t open-minded. So far though, my book signings have been great and when my co-workers (who don’t know I am pagan) find out I have a book they are more upset that I didn’t tell them about the book rather than being upset over its content.

After having this book published, do you worry about how it will be received?

I am bothered by bad reviews; I know they will come at some point but I don’t like reading negative things online about myself or my books. I also worry about being called a “fluffy-bunny” or someone trying to discredit my 3rd degree status (I am a 3rd degree with a local coven). My books are mainly of the low-magick/folk magick variety which doesn’t make them “fluffy-bunny” or any less valid as magick, but I have come across some people that think if you don’t do a large and formal ceremony all the time or if you don’t use bones, blood, or hair in a spell than you’re not a real pagan.

We spoke with you in March for a featured author interview. How has your writing been progressing since then?

Well, aside from completing Magick for the Elemental Witch and seeing its release this September, I have also written a book review on V3: A Compendium Novel (of the Vampire Vignette series) by G.L. Giles. I met Giles at a book signing, she is another local author, and we have reviewed eachother’s books. My review of hers was in the Lammas issue of The Witches’ Digest.

I am also working on Magick for the Nature Witch. Unlike other garden, hedge or nature witch books I want to go into detail on magick that pagans can do while camping, or magick for homesteaders. Nature is more than just your backyard or gardening and yet I rarely see books that go into doing spells or magick while camping and most books I have read that talk about animal associations deal with the typical animals of magick. I want to go into detail on animals a person would have on a farm such as goats, horses, chickens, and also a little for the crops typically seen on a farm or homesteaders land. It is also going to include eco-paganism and earth-friendly or eco-friendly magick. Not that most magick isn’t earth friendly, but its a topic that deserves attention.

Books were my first love, I think. They were portals to other worlds. Between the pages of a book I could be fearless and agile, not awkward and shy. Nowhere in the world was too far away to travel on such wings.

As soon as I was old enough I discovered the library. I don’t know when that was, but I remember seeing a library card with a 1964 expiration date, so I was not yet five. In 1983 an arsonist destroyed the library in which I’d done so much growing up. The crime has never been solved.

I did not write seriously until the mid-1990s. I still needed a reliable source of income, so instead of finishing my books, I put them aside and turned my attention to the study of income tax. After putting in five years with the big chain, I opened my own office. Now I have a well-established income tax business, and it seems time to share these stories with the world. Let me know if you like them.

I currently live in Sacramento, California with my husband Walt, our dog Sassy, and our cats Big Boy, Tortie and Calico.

Please give our readers a brief synopsis of The Serpent and the Stag.

Sarah is sixteen and has been raised by her Fundamentalist mother who all but worships a corrupt television preacher. They live in one of the desert towns east of Los Angeles. As the story opens, her mother is dying of cancer. To the best of her knowledge, her father is long dead. She learns differently upon receiving a letter from him, which clearly indicates that he loves her and wants to see her. She is far from ready to believe it.

The story follows Sarah on her bus trip north through Los Angeles, up the Central Valley, through San Francisco, all the way to the little community of Fort Bragg. From there, she locates the Pagan commune where her father lives. Newspapers warn her of a serial killer—somewhere.

Sarah is introduced to the commune where her father lives on the rare occasions that he is at home. She quickly concludes that they are devil-worshipers (after all, everyone who’s not a Christian is a devil-worshiper, according to the television preacher), and tries to leave. A new acquaintance, Buck, won’t let her, and she becomes even more fearful after she witnesses what she believes is a human sacrifice. She finds safety at the farm down the road. Then Buck brings her back, this time to meet her father. Eventually, she follows Buck when he leaves at night, and together they uncover a horror too gruesome to imagine.

How long have you been working on this novel?

I wrote nearly all of it in 1994-95. I had a back injury which put me out of commission for some months. So, with a stack of wire-bound notebooks and a handful of pencils, I wrote one nearly-complete novel and outlined two more. We bought an old Apple computer to transcribe my text and finish the two incomplete novels, of which this was the second. I can’t say how long I worked on Serpent then, but it was about a year and a half devoted to the three of them.

What were your first plans for The Serpent and the Stag?

Originally I intended it for conventional publication. I had my husband Walt help with editing, and his hand is still rather evident in the finished book. He’s a writer as well as an artist, and he’s sold a few short stories. He contributed substantially to a couple of the characters, and punched up the violence and menace—he’s better with the dark side than I am.

I sent it in to a publisher, and got back a rejection letter. I’d read of famous authors getting tons of rejections, but when I got my first one, I realized I didn’t have the stomach for it. I slipped into depression and couldn’t make myself keep sending it out. So it went into a drawer, and from there into a box, and there it stayed for about fifteen years.

I understand that you are a self-published author. What was your process when it came to preparing the book for publication?

When I took it out of the box and reread it, I decided that I could not just throw it away, but should do something with it. I scanned it into the computer and edited it again. And again. The scanning process had introduced a lot of errors. When I read about Smashwords, I found my outlet. I studied their style guide and edited the book to match it. I had Walt read it again. I read it for errors another couple of times. Thinking it was as perfect as I could get it, I uploaded it to Smashwords in time for their annual “Read an E-book week.”

What aspect of the writing and publishing process did you find most difficult?

Finding all the scanning errors. It seems that neither I nor my scanner can tell a comma from a period. And I used to work as a proofreader!

How did you overcome that difficulty?

A friend was encouraging me to record it as an audio-book, so I did the recordings. Reading it out loud helped a lot in spotting typos.

Have you been writing all of your life?

Yes, but not seriously. I started to write a novel in high school. I can’t even remember how far along I got. Before then, there were short stories. But not until 1995 did I even come close to finishing one.

What was the main inspiration behind this novel?

To some extent, it comes right out of the newspapers. In the early 80s, I became acquainted with Otter Zell—he’s since changed his name to Oberon—so when his name popped up in relation to the Leonard Lake case that was all over the news in the mid-80’s, it caught my attention. He was quoted in the papers, and I think I’ve read his version since, but what struck me was the thought: How would it feel to find out that your next-door neighbor, someone you knew, and maybe even liked and trusted, was a serial killer?

And then there were the preachers…Jim Bakker and Jimmy Swaggart abusing the trust of innocent believers. It’s all about our assumptions about people. We think if people are like us, they must be good. And so we can be deceived.

The setting is my own home town, and the countryside surrounding it. I grew up on the Mendocino Coast, and more than thirty years in Sacramento has not dimmed my love for the woods, the ocean and the fog. And if you go there at just the right time, the rhododendrons will bloom for you, too.

Who is your target audience?

I did not have a target audience when I wrote this book, but I think I can say now that it’s for Pagan women.

Why do you think people should read your book?

Why should anyone read any work of fiction? It’s not educational, in the usual sense of that word. Although some people may learn something from it. Mainly one reads fiction to experience someone else’s mind, to feel what they feel, and to have experiences one would not wish to experience for oneself.

I can’t say that Sarah is “everygirl”….she’s much too much like me for that. But through her, perhaps one can see how the exposure to a foreign belief system might be traumatic, as it certainly was for me when I was eighteen and discovering Paganism for the first time.

Could you tell us why you decided to self-publish?

That decision was sort of made by default. I figured if every rejection letter meant another 15 years in the drawer, it might not get published in my lifetime at all. In 1995, self-publishing was off the table because it was so expensive. But now it can be done with little or no expense, thanks to POD and web publishing.

I am in a difficult financial position, and if I can make a modest profit from it without gambling a lot of money, I should do so. I would not have self-published at the time I wrote the book. I had been involved in someone else’s self-publishing venture in 1979-80, and I saw how the financial outlay quickly became unreasonable and ate up many times the potential profits before the book was even real. I wouldn’t have taken that risk. But now, when e-books and pod publishing mean that the expense is fairly minor, and only a few books will have to sell to make back the investment, it’s a very reasonable thing. I have less than $100 invested in The Serpent and the Stag before printing, and the book is printed only when it is ordered. I can’t really lose.

Why was it important to you to become a published author?

I’m not sure it was that important to become a published author, but I felt it was important to share this book with the world. Over the years that I’ve been dealing with this book, I’ve come to love the characters (I already loved the setting) and I want to share it with others who might like them, too. I believe that, in some way, we are obliged to share our talents with the world. That is, what the Gods have given us, we must not squander. We need to develop our gifts until we have something worth sharing. As I mentioned in my bio, books were probably my first love. To have my own book out there is like joining the priesthood of a Deity to whom I have long been devoted.

My late aunt Marjorie (my father’s stepsister) desperately wanted to be a published author. When I was ten, she was sending me copies of Writer magazine. She went to college for some thirty years, studying creative writing. She couldn’t write a coherent sentence to save her life. Her modifiers dangled comically, her sentences lacked verbs, and it doesn’t surprise me in the least that she was never paid to write. But she sent me encouraging letters. She wanted me to write, and I loved her for it. So to some extent, I guess I’m doing this for Aunt Marjie.

There is something I would like to touch on, as it is an interesting subject within the publishing field. I came close to self-publishing a book, myself, but I have met many people in the past who look down on self-publishing as a whole. What do you think of this? (Defend it.)

I can understand that. At one time, self-publishing was only done by people who could not get their book printed any other way. They poured in thousands of their own dollars and were, more often than not, ripped off in the process. Their books were rejected by publishers, mostly because they weren’t good enough for publication. In many cases, they couldn’t write well enough to be published without extensive editing, and a publisher does not want to invest that much effort into a book that isn’t a likely bestseller. All very good reasons to doubt a self-published book. Hence the term “vanity publishing.”

On the other hand, as I mentioned above, I’d been involved with a self-published book before, and it actually became somewhat of a classic in the Pagan community, although it’s very rare now. (Book of the Goddess, an anthology edited by Ann Forfreedom and Julie Ann.) I was listed as co-editor, though I was only 20 and had very little editorial control. I already knew that quality can appear in unconventional guises.

I’ve read a fair number of self-published books now, and some unpublished material by published authors, and I can see the value of professional editing. A lot of books with potential will not realize that potential unless someone fixes them. On the other hand, if one can ignore the occasional typo, some really good stuff is being self-published now. And I’m seeing that publishers are picking up self-published books, where those would have been poison only a few years ago. I’m also seeing that published authors are now self-publishing, and making more money out of it than they were getting paid by publishers.

I doubt I would have tried to self-publish if I didn’t know that, for the most part, I can edit myself. I’ve been absorbed in books for so long that I think I have good intuition for things like grammar and spelling. I worked as a proofreader at a community newspaper for a few years, back when it was done with hot wax.

Do you have any advice for other writers who may want to self-publish?

Make sure your material is good to start with. If research is needed, do it. I’ve read a self-published book set in (what should have been) Elizabethan England but referred to an unnamed King. Shame… it could have been a good book.

If you don’t read a lot, don’t imagine you can write without editing. I was a bookworm from the beginning, and my work still received a lot of editing. Proofread it again. And again. And again. About three more times than you think you can stand. When you think it’s clean, read it aloud to a tape recorder. Only then can you dare think that it won’t have a noticeable number of typos and grammatical eccentricities.

If I could advise my aunt Marjie today, I would have told her to quit all her classes, go to the library and read, read, read. Read until the structure of a sentence comes intuitively, and dangling modifiers look silly. Read until you know good writing by the way it makes you feel. Read the genre you’re trying to write in until you know all the clichés, and can use them, or not, by choice and not accident. Then, and only then, go back and see what it was you were trying to write.

Click here to purchase your copy of Julie’s book, The Serpent and the Stag!

Photos of the author and her book were provided by the author, with her permission.

What, to you, is dark paganism?

I like the term ‘dark paganism’ because it implies that a practitioner identifies with darker and more obscured (or “occult”) forces. At the same time, it’s easy for people to misconstrue the term, even within modern paganism and Witchcraft. ‘Dark’ doesn’t have to imply that a person solely focuses on the darkness, because such a view lacks balance. For me, there is nothing more important than balance in all aspects of life. For me, darkness is a necessary element in Neopaganism, and implies a person’s willingness and ability to shamanically explore their own shadow to reveal inner light — think of The Hermit card of the Tarot here — and assist others in doing the same. In many ways, this sort of work with darkness is, in actuality, the work of harnessing the light of self-awareness and self-empowerment!

What initially drew you to dark paganism?

I suppose my natural attractions to all things dark and spooky (but not violent or destructive) inspired me to begin exploring darker aspects of magick. By this, I don’t refer to demonic or chaotically-destructive or manipulative energies; instead, I refer to the exploration of darkness that inspires a person to heal and become more conscious. Shadow and Light are in an eternal dance, and I feel it’s necessary to explore both in order for a more full perspective of life and spirituality to emerge.

What served as the inspiration for your first book, Goth Craft? It seems to be a combination of an introduction to the tools and principles of dark paganism, but also a tool for understanding a subculture.

My first book was inspired by a vision. The vision told me that it was time for me to begin writing, and that I should write about the two topics I was most interested in at the time: Magickal spirituality and the Gothic subculture. These two spheres are completely distinct and separate entities, but they do go hand-in-hand for some people. One is subculture (music-based) and one is magick (spirituality-based), but the two lifestyles do have the possibility complementing one another. So, that is what I explore. My second book, Shadow Magick Compendium, explores only “dark” magickal-spiritual aspects, however, doing away with any sort of subcultural focus.

What are you planning for your next book?

I’ve recently released Planetary Spells & Rituals, and am eventually planning a follow-up entitled Zodiacal Spells & Rituals. However, I am taking a wee break from writing at the moment, and am planning on releasing a book about Empathy and magick in 2012… I am very excited to work on that particular project; its contents are coming to me quickly!

If there was one thing about you or your work that you’d want people to understand better, what would it be?

I suppose I would wish for people to read the work before judging it. While I do have quite a fantastic, solid readership base (I love each and every one of my readers!), other people tend to think one of two things: either that my work is extremely fluffy and marketable-for-the-sake-of-marketing (otherwise, that my work is insubstantial or empty), while the other group of people (even within the magickal arts) see my writing and my path as a “rejection of the light,” which is both insulting and inaccurate! If those casting the judgments actually read the material, I think their views would be instantly challenged. I am by no means perfect, but I am devoted to helping people and conveying accurate information through writing. However, I absolutely love constructive criticism!

What would you recommend for people interested in paganism?

I always say “read, read, read.” To clarify: I feel that a person should read reputable introductory books on Witchcraft and Neopaganism, and should also read informative texts about other religions, such as Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism, Judaism, mystical Christianity, and so on — one can never read too much, and studying the world is the only way to truly actualize ourselves as modern spiritual beings. Limiting oneself to only one religion, one culture or one society is incredibly limiting, and the path of magickal-spirituality is not one focused on limitation! Additionally, one should practice meditation and simple rituals when getting their feet wet in metaphysics.

In your newest book, what did you write about that you haven’t written about before?

Because my first two books included only a handful of “practical” workings (meditations, mainly), a number of readers were anxious for me to explore spellcraft and how-to rituals. So, after much thought and a butt-load of research (or is it “boat-load?”), I decided to pen Planetary Spells & Rituals, which explores various types of spells, rituals, meditations and magickal workings, as aligned to the planets of modern astrology. The feedback so far has been great. Many peoples’ favorite thing about the book is that I encourage readers to not not not practice the rituals “by the book,” and should instead personalize their magick!

What do you hope to accomplish in works yet to come?

Awareness, empowerment, connection, healing, consciousness, realization, love.

Any parting words for studying pagans?

Sure: we modern pagans have a very important role to play in the world. We are the people who inspire a renewed connection to Nature, to God, and to our deeper Selves. Our paths influence many people. Strive for excellence, both in study, practice and daily ethics. There is little more important than being a truly good, humble person. Forgive yourself for regrets and build your future with joy. Life is short; make the most of it! Love is the Law.

What is it about writing mystery/suspense that you enjoy writing the most?

I like mysteries because they are fun, but for me, it’s more about the issues within the story, the lives of the characters, and how they deal with their problems to become better people. My stories are mixed-genre, but publishers don’t generally like to hear that. Hence the “paranormal mystery” classification of Taking 1960. The great thing about a mystery, however, is that it can be anything. Life is full of mysteries. So there is a lot of room for flexibility, and that’s the best thing about it.

When did you first start writing?

I don’t remember. I started writing at a very young age. Ever since I was very little, I would tell my mother that I wanted to be a “famous author.” When I was in second grade, my mother had to attend a parent/teacher meeting at Salford Hills. “If it were up to her,” my mother told them, “she would stay in bed and write all day.” And since then, I have spent a lot of time staying in bed and writing….

What was the initial inspiration for Taking 1960? Was it based on real events?

Taking 1960 was initially inspired by the old house that sits across the creek from my mother’s house in Pennsylvania. My mother and grandmother told me the history of the place, and all about the strange people that used to live there. Some of the characters in the book are based very loosely on some of my family members. However, the story is entirely fictional. The issues that Taking 1960 deals with are the most important aspects of the story itself.

Could you expand on that?

When the main character, Katherine, discovers that her mother lied to her in order to keep her from seeing her grandparents, she realizes that her family has always hidden things from her. Her family’s secrets include child abuse and domestic abuse. The plot line becomes a quest for Katherine to protect an innocent, while simultaneously searching for the murderer of several young men in the late 1950s.

What can you tell us about your forthcoming book?

As already mentioned, it is a paranormal mystery, blending suspense and who-done-it with the ghostly apparition of someone who is very close to Katherine. Katherine’s mother believed that the grandparents were a bad influence, so she lied and told Katherine that they had already died. However, she learns differently when her grandmother really does die and Katherine inherits the family farmhouse. Her father’s side of the family is hiding a lot of dark secrets, and in order to clear the name of an innocent man, Katherine must find a killer.

What would it mean to you if you became a famous author?

I used to aspire to that. Things have worked out almost exactly the way I wanted them to. When I was sixteen, I said “I’m going to be published when I’m twenty.” I meant that I wanted a book published, but instead I had a story published in Wild River Review. Discouragement followed, because I started to think that I hadn’t been specific enough with my intentions. (After all, everything is about intent, and intent is magick.)

I used to imagine myself sitting at a table at Barnes and Noble, signing copies of my book for hundreds of eager visitors. In my mind, I was happy, glad to oblige them. I saved Taking 1960 for a traditional publisher; I knew that it would eventually be published, even if I had to wait an entire lifetime. After everything was settled, I booked a signing… My very first. This Friday, on the thirteenth, I will do something I have never done before. When I think about my previous fantasies, I realize that I never factored in the terror that I feel when I think about explaining my story to strangers. I may not be famous, but I certainly underestimated the pressure and the stress that comes with my very first “exposure” to the public.

If I became famous, it wouldn’t mean as much as I once thought it would. It would be nice, but it wouldn’t be everything. I just want to make enough to pay the rent, to be comfortable, and to be happy.

When would you consider yourself successful?

I already am successful. I have achieved my goal. If just one person reads my story, loves it, and appreciates the underlying topics that I touch on, I will have achieved what I set out to do. That simply, everything comes full circle.

What can we anticipate from you in the future?

If Taking 1960 does well, I hope to publish my next novel, Check-Out Time, which is a murder mystery based in a grocery store. (Incidentally, it is dedicated to the night crew that I worked with at store #333 in Quakertown, PA. Shout out to Patton!) Next up, I anticipate publishing my Dead series, beginning with A Siren for the Dead. So far, the series includes three books and is a mixture of science fiction and mystery.

Any parting words for newly published writers, or writers hoping to become published?

Whatever you do, do not give up! We all get rejection letters. I read somewhere that the average aspiring author receives at least eight rejection letters before being accepted for any type of publication. I have had at least that, if not more. I think that the major mistake that many writers make is saying something self-defeating, like “I’m not really a writer. I’m not that good.” The first step to being something is saying that you are something.

A memory from my teenage years comes to mind. My mother’s ex boyfriend once said to me, “So I hear you want to be a writer.” I replied, “I am a writer. I want to be an author.” You are a writer, if that’s what you do. You don’t need training, you don’t need classes, you don’t even need college to follow your dream. You just need the knowledge that you are what you are, and you need the courage to follow through with your convictions. It’s cliched, but don’t ever give up. You can do it!

Main Street takes you through the middle of the town, past Suki’s Ice Cream Parlor, where an old man often sits for long hours. Alice Crier and her husband, Bill, own the laundromat. There’s a little bookstore, a novelty shop and a general store on the same street.

If you turn left, you’ll be on Clipper Avenue. That’s where I live. The house was built recently, but I was told that there isn’t much information on the people that used to live there.

“They bought it and one day, they just ran off,” the old man told me, knocking his cane on the ground. “You ain’t gonna run off, are ya?”

I told him I wouldn’t.

The Pine Creek Park is a place that I would have liked to take my children, if I ever had any. There are two swing sets, a slide and monkey bars. When I went there for the first time, it was a warm day in May. The smell of rain was on the air. A dog barked and children played.

“Are you Susan?”

I turned. There was a middle-aged blond woman standing behind me. “Yes,” I said. “How’d you know?”

“Word spreads fast around here.” We shook hands. “I’m Lucy.”

“I’m Susan Palahan. Mark and I love it here. It’s a wonderful place to have a family. Do you have children?”

“No. I was born here and never left.” There was a long pause. “What do you do?” she asked me.

“I’m a writer. My husband’s a carpenter.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful! My brother’s an architect. He built a lot of the houses here in Pine Creek. I bet Dustin and Mark would get along well!”

“We should get together sometime.”

“Yes, let’s! Actually, we always have welcoming parties for new arrivals. I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. The block parties are always supposed to be a surprise,” Lucy said. “Just don’t tell anyone I told you.”

The party took place in our back yard. The mayor, Townsend Koehler, supplied refreshments. There were games for the children. A local man and his country band played familiar songs. Mark and I got paper plates and filled up on the potluck dishes that the neighbors brought.

I remember Mark asking me if I was all right.

“I researched some more about Pine Creek,” I told him.

“I thought there wasn’t much about this place online?”

“I found something. Apparently, there’s been zero population growth for five years. The kids that are here were recent move-ins from out-of-state. And they’re all relatives of someone in this town,” I whispered. Maryann Woxlie stepped past me to get some cole slaw. “Doesn’t that seem a little odd?”

“Not really. It happens.”

We got our forks and went to sit down on the back porch.

The guests raised their wine glasses into the air.

“A toast!” Lucy had a bright smile. “To Susan and Mark.” The other guests repeated the phrase. Everyone sat down. Mark and I thanked them for being so inviting. Maryann leaned over and put her hand on mine.

“Wait ‘til you see what we’ve got planned. Mark knows about it. But he’s not telling, is he?” She looked over at him, grinning.

“Gee, I can’t wait,” I said.

“We small town folks always have these ceremonies. It’s a blessing for the house.”

“What’s it like?”

Maryann shrugged. “Lovely candles and incense. It’s a tribute to your home. After all, you’ll be there for good, right?”

They wrapped a blindfold around my eyes and led me in through the back door. Someone spilled a drink on my arm.

“I’m sorry!” they exclaimed. I told whoever it was that it was all right; I could wipe it off. I felt linoleum under my feet. We were in the kitchen. Someone accidentally pulled my hair, and then apologized as they removed the blindfold. When I opened my eyes, there was a gaping hole in front of me.

“Why is there a hole in my kitchen wall?” I think I was yelling. Everyone seemed very upset, especially Mark. I looked at him and shook my head. “What is going on here?”

“Susan, honey, I told you this was where I wanted to spend the rest of our life together. This is what I meant. You should have realized that.”

“You didn’t tell me they were going to break a hole in the wall! And why? What the hell is the point?” I could smell rose incense. Pieces of plaster and cobwebs hung from the top of the oval-shaped hole.

“The ceremony is something we call the Joining.” Lucy lit a red candle. “It gives the house a soul. Your husband will be happy here, Susan. You should be happy that you spent your last days pleasing him.”

“What do you mean?” I was stuttering. Someone pushed me. I fell back.

“Move into your place, Susan Palahan. Pine Creek is where you belong.” With another violent shove, I fell into the hole. I tried to fight back, but the strongest men of the group kept me where I was. Children looked on in rapt interest. I was injected with something. I fell asleep.

It is my understanding that I am now the soul of the house. They bricked up the wall with me inside. They left me here. I am standing in the dark, barely able to move, with a red candle by my feet. The wax keeps dripping faster. Soon, there won’t be any light left. They gave me a piece of paper and a pen before they sealed the wall. They told me to write my last testament.

I don’t think that I was the only Pine Creek sacrifice. Put a woman in the wall of a house and she becomes the building’s soul. On the sign outside the village, it says, ‘Pine Creek—Where Everyone Smiles and Nobody Frowns.’

They left me here to starve to death. I think the house has been closed off temporarily. I think they’re waiting until I die. My pen is running out of ink.

The candle is almost—

Carrying a picnic basket and an over-shirt, just in case it should rain, Kat went off in search of a good spot to have her picnic.  She knew that the wooded area behind their house didn’t extend very far, but she was hoping that she would be able to find a nice little clearing.  There was a rug packed in her basket that she was planning to lay out on the grass or moss, whatever the case may be.  Jake waved to her from one of the second floor windows and then Kat stepped into the tangle of trees.

Some of the maples seemed rather old, their thick trunks extending to warped finger-like branches that reached out over the deer paths, their leaves giving Katherine shelter from the sun.  She was glad that she had found the narrow passageway; it made it easier to traverse the thick forest area.  She spent most of the time watching the ground in order to dodge roots and other such obstacles.  After about fifteen minutes had passed, Kat stopped and looked up.  She saw trees ahead of her, standing tall, their leaves rustling in the breeze, but she didn’t hear the sounds of children playing, which she had expected once she knew she was getting closer to the development beyond the property.

Having found not a single clearing, she sat down on a thick tree root and put her basket before her.  She assumed that she had veered off to the right in her travels, which might have taken her to another section of the woods, one that gave birth to an even larger area farther down the path.  Kat leaned up against the tree and closed her eyes.

She must have drifted off for a moment or so, because she was jolted to full wakefulness when a crack of thunder surged through her eardrums, making her jump.  Trees creaked above her.  Wind tore through the canopies of leaves and broke twigs, tossing them to the ground.  Kat got to her feet, her heart pounding.  She glanced around her, realizing that she had misplaced her basket.  Fat drops of rainwater began to hit the ground.  Kat grabbed her long-sleeved over-shirt and put it on, wrapping it around her body and buttoning it to the top.  Then she picked up her flowing skirt and bounded past the tree, back toward the house.

Lightning snapped across the sky as she ran with her skirt hiked up to give her legs room.  Her sandals pounded against the sprigs of grass and tiny flowers that were bowing to the rain and kissing the ground.  She kept running, the same fear flitting through her panicked mind; what if lightning strikes a tree and the whole thing falls on me?

Kat ran until her foot caught in a root and she fell face down on the sodden earth.  Groaning, she put her hands beneath her and pushed up, gaining purchase and standing once more.  Thunder shook everything around her and she stumbled over rocks and sticks until she finally reached the edge of the wood.

She wondered how long she’d been gone.  Hopefully, Jake hadn’t tried to look for her; otherwise he might run into the trouble that had somehow missed Katherine.  He would be glad to see her again and would certainly embrace her happily, regardless of the fact that she was soaked through and through.  The rain was coming down much harder than it had before and Kat was so relieved to see the house again that she nearly sprinted there without hesitation.

If it hadn’t been for the figure in the kitchen window, she would have been to the back door by now.  Kat stood still in the torrent of rain, water dripping madly down her face and chilling her to the core of her body.  Her first thought was that Jake must have invited a friend over, but this person didn’t look at all familiar.  For one thing, his eyes had no distinguishing features and appeared sunken amidst his pale skin; was he blind? He was wearing a button-down shirt and suspenders and groping in a drawer for something, his head cocked toward the ceiling as he searched.

There were curtains on the windows—Kat had never put up curtains, she had always considered them pointless and Jake had never argued.  These were lacey and sort of moth-bitten, as though they’d been in the family for centuries.  But what family was that?

Kat felt her heart pounding vigorously in her chest.  It wasn’t shock or fright; it was an absolute panic.  She had never seen this place before.  Aside from the basic appearance of the house she recognized almost nothing.  The shade garden that she had begun planting directly behind the house wasn’t there.  The Virginia creeping vine that had clung to the walls and surrounded her bedroom window was just beginning to poke up from the soil and had obviously been cropped.  The house had a look about it that suggested almost constant loving care; all the problems that Kat and Jake had experienced with it since they’d first moved in were no longer evident.

Where was the broken gutter and the peeling paint? Where were the rot spots on the wood siding and the broken windows that had been carelessly covered in dirty, translucent plastic?

Kat’s flesh tingled with rising fear.  The nape of her neck felt cold as terror wracked her body.  She could feel everything with a kind of awareness she had never before experienced.  The rain pounding against her unmoving frame became all the more frigid against her skin, as though her spirit had merged with the falling water.  A sudden chilly wind enveloped her as though it meant to taunt her.

She wasn’t at home.  She wasn’t in the right place.  She was trying to convince herself that she had taken a wrong turn in the woods.  This wasn’t the right house.  Maybe if she turned around and backtracked, maybe then she would find her way home.  The woods must have been deeper than she’d first imagined; they had to be.

As she repeated these reassurances in her mind, trying her best to convince herself that turning around and stumbling through the woods again would eventually bring her back to Jake, she heard footsteps squishing through the soaked earth.  Turning abruptly on her heel, Kat came face to face with a strange man.

He was staring at her with an awkward, curious look on his tanned countenance.  His eyes were sky blue and his hair was the color of ripe wheat.  He had kind of an odd-shaped body, if you noted his potbelly, thick arms and strong neck.  He was wearing an aged pair of coveralls and a button-up shirt.  Old, dirt coated boots were on his feet, only halfway laced, as though he had been in a big hurry only moments before.  He was just as soaked as Kat, but it seemed that he was too busy staring at her to care much.  There was a bucket in his right hand and the rain hitting the metal sang like stones against tin.

“Who’re you, Miss?” he asked gruffly.  Kat could tell that he was trying to be polite, but she could also see that he didn’t know quite how to respond to a bedraggled young lady standing in his yard.

“I—I, uh,” Kat stammered.  “I’m—I’m Katherine.”

“And what exactly are you doing in my yard?”

“I—I’m sorry—Sir,” she added nervously.  “I was walking in the woods before the storm and I got lost.”

The man started to walk toward the house.  He turned his head and beckoned for her to come along, even though he obviously didn’t want her there.

“You may as well come in ‘til the rain stops.”

What’s your latest book about?

My latest book, Son of Air and Darkness, is about Dubhghall, the forgotten son of Ireland’s greatest hero, Cuchulainn. At his birth to a dying mother, his grandmother Scathach dedicates him to the Celtic Goddess of Death, Battle, Magic and Mysticism, the Morrigan. Years later during a total eclipse of the sun she claims him and confers immortality upon him, with the proviso he must live on human blood.

It recounts his adventures in learning to cope with death as well as life, and his alliance with Boudicca as she rallies the Celtic tribes to battle against the Roman forces of Suetonius Paulinus in first century Britain. Along the way he has another mission: to deliver Lucius, the Sacred King of an all but extinct Celtic tribe, his blind mother Cait, and and his closest friend, Marcellinus to the place where Lucius is destined to be sacrificed by Marcellinus to buy victory for the Celts.

Where did you get the idea for it?

The dedication tells of my inspiration for the story: at a Renaissance Faire one bright afternoon I saw a pale young man with blue eyes and dark hair wearing a white ruffled shirt and a Stewart tartan kilt. When he smiled at me I saw he had fangs. There had to be a story there! Dubhghall was born of that image and the fact that Celtic mythology relates that Scathach, Cuchulainn’s teacher, had given him her daughter Uathach as a wife. That is the last time she is mentioned. My motto has always been “What if?”, and the two ideas were parents to this novel, the first, I hope, of several “Tales of the Dearg-Sidhe”, a companion series to my “Glastonbury Chronicles” series. Though they take place in different eras, the characters weave in and out of each other in several places as past or future incarnations of each other.

This sounds fascinating. Did you have to do a lot of research for this story?

There was a lot of research on this one, and I was fortunate to be able to visit most of the sites used in “Son of Air and Darkness”, spending time on the Isle of Skye at the ruins of what was supposed to have been Dun Skaith, areas around Hadrians’s Wall and many of the Roman ruins in England and Wales, and was able to spend considerable time in museums over there. Aside from that, I now have a vast library on the ancient Celts, Celtic mythology and Roman Britain, and have become close friends with several people whose knowledge of those subjects is quite broad.

Beyond what you have already mentioned, is there a lot more history integrated into the storyline?

The story is a mixture of the mythology of the Ulster Cycle (the mythology of Cuchulainn) and the history of Roman Britain. None of it actually takes place in Ireland except snippets of news from there. The history in this one is predominantly of the incidents which led up to the revolt of the Celts under the Iceni Queen Boudicca against the Roman forces which had conquered Britain.

Have you spent any time in Ireland?

I have never been to Ireland, but plan to go to research another book in this series.

Has your book already been released? If so, where can readers get their copy?

“Son of Air and Darkness” was released on 21 June 2010 by Pendraig Publishing and is available from Amazon.com and can also be ordered through Barnes and Noble and most book stores, as well as on the publisher’s website.

Is there something special you would like readers to keep in mind while reading your book?

The readers should keep in mind that Dubhghall is not a traditional vampire. He doesn’t have fangs, but his teeth are sharp. He is the grandson of a Celtic solar Deity, Lugh on one side, and the eponymic Goddess of the Isle of Skye, Scathach, on the other. He is a Scots-Irish demigod. His liaison with the Morrigan puts him over the edge to immortality; his father Cuchulainn could have had it but did not yield to her amorous advances as Dubhghall does. He is a young man when transformed and must come to his own terms with both life and death and his role in both. He has an eternity of growth ahead of him.

“Don’t waste it Dubhghall,” her whisper commanded. “I am strong. I will know when to pull away.”

I felt like a kitten as I lapped the blood from her arm, then pressed my lips to its source. She stroked my hair, comforting me as I drank.

“I have not shed moon blood in more than a year. I used to bleed much when it was my time, so I know I have enough to spare.”

It was hot, salty, and sweet in my mouth and I fought with all my will the urge to suck it from her faster than the pulse brought it to my lips. It was life to both of us; I knew that, and I knew how careful I must be not to weaken her to the state in which I had been. I took it slowly, rationing each precious drop as it filled me with energy. There was no way I could pay her for this gift, other than by devotion to the duty I owed her and the Lady we both served.

It seemed too soon that it ended. She withdrew her wrist and bound it with the soft leather from the bottom of her girdle, keeping pressure on it so that it would bleed no more. I cut off the piece of leather for her as she asked, wondering what more I could do for her.

“There. You see? We are both still alive. You have had a taste of me, and I have had a taste of how you kill, and I still hold you to taking the rest of me when my part in all this is over. It seems right that my life should pass through you to Her. Promise me that?”

There was something in the way she asked which made it impossible to deny her, as if the Morrigan called to her in a voice I could not hear and whispered to her soul that I would be its liberator.

“You are a great lady, Cait. I will honour your wish and be honoured by it. I have given death to others when I saw it was what they truly wanted, but you are the first mortal who has asked for it in words.”

She smiled, almost the same smile I had seen on Lucius when he spoke of death and dying.

“When my son is gone there will be no more of our tribe left but me. I think it would be fitting to end the whole thing without ritual or ceremony. What better way to die than in the strong arms of a handsome young man? I know you are handsome, Dubhghall. I’ve seen you with the Great Queen’s eyes and find you as pleasing as She does. I have felt your strength. You may be immortal, but you are still a young man in form.”

We whispered as lovers in the night and I held her close to me until the dawn, surprised at my control over the bloodlust. She was a great lady, indeed, with a graceful spirit which transcended age and blindness. I was grateful to feel her closeness. For those hours I was not alone, but content.

She did not sleep right away, but asked me in those same secret whispers all manner of questions about what I did and how I did it, how it felt to me, the different tastes of people, questions more intimate than those usually asked by lovers. She asked me about my transformation and the love I had known with the Great Queen, and I found there was nothing I could not tell her, and nothing she did not wish to know. My spirit was unburdened and free. At last I had found someone who truly understood.a

Reprinted with permission from the author.

Last time we talked, I asked how you got into writing. Now I’m curious about an even more difficult road: How did you get into the publishing business?

Wow, that one isn’t an easy answer. But the aspects of my career are varied. As an author, a dear friend of mine introduced me to the wonderful world of non-traditional publishing, so my first novel was published through a subsidy press. My first traditionally published novel came about as another friend was reading along and she owned her own publishing company. She wanted Wager and I said sure. Now, as a publishing “professional,” that was a bit more difficult.

That friend of mine with the publishing company also hired me on as an Acquisitions Editor/Copy Editor later on, working for the book side of the company as well as the magazine side. I also joined a few writers groups, to meet other authors and one of them posted that ANOTHER publisher needed copy editors. One job led to another and that’s basically how I got into that mix. Sometime within the next year, I’ll be starting up my own publishing company, using all of my experience to make a go at the biz for myself. We’ll see what happens.

Was it something you had to work very hard at, or did you have—for lack of a better word—“connections”?

Well, let’s just say, I didn’t simply fall into the land of milk and honey–I had to work for it. But if you take the time to learn your stuff, one job well done can lead to another. Most of the publishers I’ve worked for–in my capacity as an editor–wanted me to prove that I knew what I was talking about. So, yes, I had to work at it. Connections can help you ease in, but if you don’t have that knowledge base, you won’t be in it for long.

What do you think is the best route for writers who wish to publish a novel?

You know, that really depends on what you want as an artist. All routes are equally satisfying, depending on how much work you want to put into the project and what your focus is.

Should they first try traditional publishing and then non- traditional if the initial attempt doesn’t work?

I recommend that everyone try traditional publishing. Just to see what the process is. But again, it depends on your focus and how much work you want to pour into your project. With small indie publishers, you’re going to be doing the bulk of the promotion and marketing anyway. The only difference between trad and non-trad is how much control you have over the work. If you want to be the one choosing the cover, the layout, the back cover blurb, the edits, the marketing tools–go non-trad all the way.

When did you first decide that you wanted to try to get your first book published?

The moment I started writing it. But that’s not why I wrote it. I wrote it because I had a story I wanted to tell. For me, part of that telling/sharing, was the writing and the rest was putting it out there in the world to see who would read along.

What was the most important message that you wanted to convey to your readers with your first book?

The Savior was a bit of an exploration of my beliefs, my chosen path of religion, and I just wanted a story that portrayed Paganism in a realistic way. Not that I don’t like stuff like Charmed or other such novels that use Wicca/Paganism as a part of the story, but come on. We do believe in the laws of physics and we don’t go demon hunting on a daily basis. I wish I could light candles off my fingertips. That would be so cool. Doesn’t happen.

I remember some years ago, I thought I knew which one of my books would get published first, but it turned out to be a different one. Did this happen to you? Is there a project sitting on your shelf that you always thought would be published by now?

No, not really. At this point, everything I’ve written has been published–either traditionally or through a non-traditional method. The only thing sitting on my shelf right now is the latest novel, Wilde Mountain Time. I’m sending out the queries to see what happens. My first choice is traditional means–I want the help certain aspects of the marketing and sales side of what I do. But, truth is, if it doesn’t happen, I have other means to get my story out there. And I’m learning more and more of what I can do to market myself and my work, so I can do it through non-traditional methods.

Which one of your books was the most fun to work on and why?

Most fun. Hmmm. Probably Illusions & Reality. I love the short story concept and I had a back log of shorts that I wanted to do something with. Plus, there were a lot of really fun stories written for that book. At the time, Wager hadn’t been released and I was invited to a book signing, so I needed something that would also act as advanced PR. Hence Illusions & Reality.

What is your favorite story from Illusions and Reality?

It’s a toss up between a story called “A Kiss on the Hand” and the novella “Salt of the Earth”. Both of them take a macabre concept and find the humor in them. “Kiss” was based on an NPR story about using someone’s ashes and making an underwater fish “home.” I thought, what a great idea. And the story grew from there, about a guy named Josh who’s given an ultimatum by his new wife–lose the back yard crypt of ancestors or find a new wife. And how he has to scramble to do just that.

“Salt” was the result of walking past a cemetery one afternoon and noticing how those things are laid out like small villages or towns. And the idea of how this poor schmuck named Rip is shot and killed in a burglary attempt and ends up in the local cemetery. Everything turned into a Monty Python-esque play on all those phrases and concepts we have of death. I loved writing both of those.

Where can readers purchase your books?

Online, mostly. But you can take the ISBNs in and special order them through any brick and mortar book store. But Amazon is your best bet. For now.


Dave’s sigh was deep and heartfelt. “What is it about chicks, man? Always got a problem with your mom, like . . . well, I don’t know. What is it, jealousy? Scared about that pot roast recipe not measuring up? What?”

Josh wanted to hug the man, but swallowed that fast. He simply shrugged and sipped his coffee.

Dave nodded. “Well, it is kinda . . . I mean, I can kinda see what she means.”

“You think it’s sick too?”

“Oh hell no,” Dave assured. “But she’s right, man. You’re still living, dig?”

“I guess,” Josh begrudgingly agreed.

“So, what are you gonna do?”

Josh shrugged. “Find some nice mausoleum that’s gonna take about twenty urns and hope I have the money to put them in the same freaking section.”

Dave put his hands through a mass of dark brown curls, linking the fingers together behind his head. He leaned the chair back until it was standing on two legs, then propped one booted foot on the edge of Josh’s desk. “Well, you could, I guess. But . . . you know . . . there’s other options out there, my man.”

Josh raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Oh yeah, a lot of ‘em.”

“Such as?”

“See, there’s this company in California, ok?” Dave got a smile on his face, the brown eyes sparkling.  “They take the ashes and make stuff out of ‘em.”

Josh was horrified. “Excuse me?”

“Yeah. Like, they mix the ashes with concrete and make these sorta fake coral reefs. Then, they take the things out to the middle of the ocean and put it with the other reefs and it’s supposed to, you know, build up the natural structure until the coral can make new and give the fishes a place to live. It’s all real environmental, dig?”

Josh moved beyond horrified. “You . . . you . . . you’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Oh hell no, man.”

“Oh my God.” Josh bolted out of his chair and began to pace. “No . . . no!”

“What?”

“Dave . . . that’s . . . no.”

“Oh come on, man,” Dave cajoled. “We spend too much of our earth dumping carcasses in the ground. All that embalming and shit? We spend more money to preserve a corpse than feed the living. I mean, think about it.”

Dave started clicking off the options on his fingers. “First, they drain the blood, then pump the corpse with chemicals and shit. Then, the body gets dumped in a box made of pressure treated wood and paint, padded  to boot. That gets dropped into a concrete lined hole in the ground, with another slab dropped on the top—so the wood won’t rot from the water in the ground, ok?” Dave clucked his tongue, shaking the mass of curls. “Now, with the natural order of things, you tell me that ain’t sick. Come on, ain’t no one in that shell anymore. Why do you wanna keep it preserved like a freaking pickle? Huh?”

Josh stared at his boss. “And she said I was nuts.”

“Man, all I’m saying is, that’s a lot o’ money to keep a hunk o’ decaying meat and bones safe from the way things are supposed to be, ok? It ain’t natural. And I don’t think any God in any pantheon, Judeo-Christian or Pagan, meant it to be that way.” Dave leaned forward, a finger pointing at Josh. “If God
meant for our bodies to remain on permanent loan to some karmic museum, we’d have been born with formaldehyde instead of blood, ok?”

“Ok,” Josh agreed. “ There’s a twisted logic in that. I still say . . . uh . . . ok, so?”

“Soooo,” Dave continued, “your family’s been going about it the right way, man. Cremation is the best way. I mean, we can’t have dead bodies just laying around stinking up the place either. That ain’t an answer. This ain’t the middle ages, ok?”

“Uh huh.”

“But shit, man, some marble chest o’ drawers ain’t it either. And neither is the Inna-gadda-da-vida you got going on in the back yard.”

“And you think turning my family into a giant coral reef is?”

“Sure, man. Come on, think about it. They can’t be fish food, but they can provide housing.” Dave’s smile was a satisfied one. “That’s kinda cosmic, you dig? I like that. Urban development for fishes!  That’s really cool.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Come on!”

“No, David, that’s seriously screwed up.” Josh sat back down and drained the coffee cup.

“Yeah, but you’re thinking about it,” Dave answered with a chuckle.

“Yes, I am,” Josh said. “I think that makes me screwed up too.”

“No, you ain’t screwed up,” Dave consoled. “You’re just stuck between Scylla and Charybdis, man.”

“Huh?”

Dave chuckled. “The rock and the hard place, man. Lose your old lady or lose your roots. That’s a toughie.”

“Yeah,” Josh agreed with a sigh.

“Well, I got your rescue right here, man,” Dave said. He jumped up and crossed to his desk. “I got this in the junk mail about a week ago; almost tossed this in the garbage, dig? But something said, no, man,
hang on to this. So I did.”

He fished something out of his desk and brought it back, handing it to Josh. “Here, man. This’ll fix everything.”

“What is . . . oh my God.”

“That, my friend, is a catalogue of all the stuff you can do with cremation ashes,” Dave bragged. “It’s really cool. See? You can do those reefs and other things.”

Josh felt his eyes almost burst from his head. “It’s . . . it’s . . . a bird bath!”

“Yeah, wicked shit, ain’t it?”

“A bird bath?”

“Think about it,” Dave said. “A nice place for the little birdies to come and revel in the sun.” He sat down again in the chair, picked up his cup and winked at Josh. “And, it keeps the family in the back yard, man.”

“But I . . . .” Josh snapped his mouth shut, his teeth coming together in a loud click.

“See? You get to keep the family ashes in the garden—keep the memorial—and your old lady don’t know shit.”

It was like the light suddenly dawned on the marble head.

Reprinted with permission from the author, J.W. Coffey

To read the entire story, you can purchase your copy of Illusions and Reality from Amazon.com.