Julia Barrett's World

Anny is an author of erotic fantasy.  She just contracted for Book Six of her Mystic Valley Series, Blue Paradise.  We recently had the most interesting discussion…

Let’s talk fantasy.

What attracts you to the genre?

I believe the thing that attracts me the most about the genre is the ability to create something totally new–the ability to create a mythos, a culture, a belief system, a new world (including flora and fauna). Think about how entranced people are with the new world created for Avatar. I am the “creator” every single day.

How do your characters pop into your head and evolve?

My characters evolve over a very long time. I’ve spent thirty years with my characters for the Mystic Valley series. Though I only began writing the stories four years ago, I’ve spent my life getting to know them. They are nothing like they were in the beginning. There were many compromises necessary before I could write their stories. And there will be more. Some of those compromises were necessary due to publishers guidelines. Others were simply changes the characters went through as they matured and evolved. “New” characters are usually pretty “old” for me. I’ve walked around with a huge cast populating my head for many, many years…just waiting for their turns in the spotlight.

How do you build your world…do you plan it out or does it just come to you?

I would estimate I spend about six to eight months planning a new world. I usually start by drawing a very basic map of the shape of the landmasses. Then I add mountains, lakes and rivers. And only then can I decide where the towns and villages would be placed logically. With the first version more or less complete, I start working on the overall culture. Are the people hunter/gatherers or farmers? What type of commerce do they have? What type of government, monetary system, and religion? What is their belief system? If there’s more than one, how do they differ? What type of oaths do they swear? What type of healing system/science and technology do they have? How is the flora and fauna of the world connected? Finally, I start developing the individual villages, deciding on building style, transportation, personal technology (how do they cook? what type of sanitary arrangements do they have? how do their markets work?) In that process I decide who lives in each village, what they look like, what skills they have, what their history is, and what type of clothing they wear. At each stage, I have forms I fill in so that I have them for reference. All of them go in my “bible” for that book (or series). When the initial stages are complete, I usually start thinking about story ideas. As I allow the story idea to gel in my head, I also let the world settle around me for a little while. Often I will put everything aside while I work on another project. When I get back to this new world, they may be changes or…additions. During the second round I will refine the world and it’s rules. This is a critical stage because once you’ve decided the rules for your world, your story’s characters must conform to the rules. Careful thought must go into deciding what gifts, talents, and limitations the characters will deal with. Finally, I start to write. I may not settle into the story until three or four trial chapters. I may have to begin all over at the beginning. But by the time I’ve reached this point, I pretty much know my world. Does all of this information make it into the book? Of course not. But if you write a contemporary novel, consider how much of the extraneous information you are aware of regarding our world will actually make it into your novel.

Do you like…hear your characters speak to you?

In some fashion. Some more than others. Some are very pushy. Others are shy and difficult to understand. Sad to say some I allowed to hide behind a superficial mask. For those, I did not do my best. I believe some were not ready to tell me their story. As I’ve developed as a writer, I’ve learned how to listen more carefully.

Do your stories head off in directions you never imagined?

Absolutely. The WORLD is planned meticulously. The story…well, I’m a consummate pantster. Occasionally, my characters careen off the road and we never get back on track. Chrysanthemum is a primary example of a story zooming off into the wilderness. It bounced off track at the second paragraph and never, ever made it back. By the second page I knew it never would. But there is a certain freedom in letting the characters do what they will while you as the writer stand on the sidelines alternately wringing your hands in dismay and wildly cheering their audacity.

Anny’s books can be found here: http://www.annycook.com/

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For the first time in my entire life, I have a room of my own.  No, not this room, although a few years ago I did rent a flat for a week that had this exact view.  In fact, this picture is taken from a window in my flat!  Yes!

But that’s beside the point.  I went from my father’s house where I shared a room with my sister to college where I shared rooms with dorm mates to my first husband’s house to my father’s house where I shared a room with my infant son to my second husband’s house which we filled with kids and their friends.  Although my husband has an office of sorts, my office had been the kitchen table or the dining room table or the back of the couch or a chair.

After packing up my daughter’s room and injuring my back schlepping boxes and boxes and more boxes, today hubby and I put together my desk and matching desk chair, a totally cool leather armchair with matching ottoman, and a mega-amazing daybed/sofa.  OMG!  We sat up there, each sipping a Kir Royale – yay Mia – enjoying the fruits of our labors!  I have my own room with a glorious view of our backyard and its huge redwood trees and gigantic maple.  Sigh!  I’m an adult at last!  (Not really.)

Now I can slip away to my writer’s retreat and write like a real writer.  You think?

This week – still the major re-write.  Anny Cook will be guest blogging here and I think I’ve been assigned a blog meme. Gotta check it out!

Oh yeah…email me at Julia@JuliaRachelBarrett.net if you want a signed hard copy of Captured.  Just checking to see if you’re paying attention.  No really, a signed copy.  love, julia

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Last American Cowboy, Monday Nights, Animal Planet.

http://animal.discovery.com/tv/last-american-cowboy/

You gotta watch this show!  Seriously good TV.  From Animal Planet:

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Homunculus, Latin for “little human”, plural: “homunculi”; from the diminutive of homo) is a term used, generally, in various fields of study to refer to any representation of a human being. Historically it referred specifically to the concept of a miniature though fully-formed human body, for example, in the studies of alchemy and preformationism. Currently, in scientific fields, a homunculus may refer to any scale model of the human body that, in some way, illustrates physiological, psychological, or other abstract human characteristics or functions.

Here is my homunculus!  I met him last night…in my garage!

I could not sleep, so at 2:15 a.m., after tossing and turning for an hour, I rose from my bed and went downstairs to do…oh, anything other than obsess about how much I wanted to be sleeping soundly in my comfy bed.

Two cats slept upstairs.  One cat slept downstairs on his cat tower.  Yet…what was that?  That noise in the garage?  I opened the door from the laundry room, flipped on the light, and there stood a raccoon, standing tall on his hind legs like a little homunculus, staring right at me.  I could see his brain working despite the mask he wore.

His first thought?  “Busted!”

His second thought?  “I ain’t afeared ‘o you, lady!”

I backed up and closed the door, sealing the cat door from the inside just in case he decided that the cat food in the kitchen smelled more appetizing than the cat food in the garage.

No, I don’t plan to shoot him.  There’s a bobcat that patrols our neighborhood, taking at least a raccoon a week.  She dragged one out of our backyard just a couple nights ago.  Hey, it’s California.  We live with nature.  I’ve had coyotes in my yard, bobcats on my roof, hawks in my trees and a mountain lion in my driveway.  My cats are smart enough to stay indoors at night.

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From Everyman, circa 1500.

Well, maybe tyde and tyme won’t wait, but edits will and I have family matters to attend to.  Family comes before all.

I’ll post again tomorrow.  love, julia

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Our Treasure Trove.

Mia and I spent three hours on Rodeo Beach, picking through tiny pebbles, searching for semi-precious stones.  We found, among other things, jade, carnelian, shark teeth, polished beach glass…I don’t know the identity of most of the stones.  Some are quartz.  She took a bag home with her as souvenirs.

Rodeo Beach is my favorite beach in the area, not because it’s all warm and sunny and you can swim.  This is not Los Angeles.  The water is icy, the waves rough, the currents, rip tides and undertow make swimming or surfing dangerous at best.  Besides, the waters off Rodeo Beach are part of the Great White Triangle.  Scary!

Nah, we just had fun, sifting through mounds of pebbles, waiting for that one bright and shining little tiny translucent treasure to pop up out of the blue.

So…why do I enjoy reading Mia’s m/m romances?  The reading experience is a little like finding that one round rose-red carnelian.  Her stories give me the same little jolt of excitement

I’m not an m/m of reader, yet the men in Mia’s romances appeal to me.  They tug at my heart in the same way Ennis Del Mar did in Brokeback Mountain.  I want them for myself.

Mia’s men are not the only treasure.  Mia, herself, is precious.  She’s a joy to be with – read her books!  In fact, read more books in general.  Books are good for you!

News:  Over the next week, I’ll be slaving over edits – because you all want books three and four of Daughters of Persephone to be released on September 8 and believe me, so do I!  I’ll post as often as I can.

I’m still over at Book Lovers Inc. – head on over!  You can win a copy of Daughters of Persephone!

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Here’s Josie, all that’s missing is me!

Hi all, I’m back from ten days of heaven…I mean Montana – big sky, rugged mountains, cute cowboys, good food, harsh weather, heavenly horses!  I spent yesterday afternoon stuck in that dang Seattle airport again – but that All Romance E-book award-winning author, Mia Watts, and I spent two hours texting each other – until the battery on my phone died.

We stayed a couple days at my daughter’s boyfriend’s cattle ranch.  Eat more grass-fed beef!  This coming from a vegetarian who has been desensitizing herself to meat in recent weeks after ages of avoiding it, because I’ve witnessed firsthand the kind  way this family cares for their cattle and their responsible stewardship of the land.  I figure if they come to Napa, they drink our wines…if they host me, I’ll taste their beef.   These are real cowboys who cry if they lose a calf or a horse or a working dog.  Seriously.

Then we moved on to the cattle ranch that was our initial introduction into this wild corner of Montana a number of years ago, Sweetgrass Ranch – heaven on a hoof!  For three days, I rode my standby, Trinket, a blue roan.  She’s great, transitions smoothly from the trot to the lope to the gallop, she’s sure-footed on the steep, rocky trails, but she doesn’t like cattle and after three days, she began coughing.  I got to ride Garrett – a brilliant little horse – stole him from Janice, my Scottish friend!  As she says, he explodes, but he’s so kind, he takes you with him!  She’s right.  Have you ever watched a cat rev his hind-quarters up and then spring forward as he’s stalking something?  That’s Garrett.  You can practically feel him revving his little hindquarters up just before he explodes across a meadow.  Riding him is like blasting off on a rocket!  He’s smooth as silk and so dang cute!  But, Janet, damn her…wanted him back, so my daughter, head wrangler that she is, switched me to Josie, saying, you’ll love her, she’s very forward.

OMG!  There are no words to describe the feel of Josie beneath me!  Sigh and double sigh.  Triple sigh.  She’s tall, powerful and fast.  She did everything I asked of her. While her trot is a bit high, when she lopes and gallops, you might as well be floating on a living cloud.  If someone had been able to take a picture of me, you would have seen a big, shit-eating grin on my face – but of course that would have been impossible as I was past everyone in a flash, gone in a cloud of dust!

Josie and Garrett, Janice and I, became partners in crime, getting into trouble, racing across meadows of wildflowers, leaving the rest of the group far behind.

Me to my daughter:  “I haven’t had this much fun on a horse since I was a kid!”

My daughter to me:  “Yeah, I noticed!  You’re acting like a little kid!”

Me to my daughter:  “Aw, c’mon, can’t I lope some more???  Pleeeeeeease?”

My daughter (rolling  eyes) to me:  “I’m regretting my decision to give you Josie.”

Nah, at the end of the day, my daughter whispered in my ear…”I knew you would love her.  She’s perfect for you.  She’s just like the horse you lost.”

Perfect ending to a perfect week.

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Something happens every time I fly through Seattle to get to Bozeman.

I’ve got the transfer timed perfectly because I don’t want to wait long in the Seattle airport – you know, no more than 40-60 minutes between flights.  I make it to my gate after a potty stop – which is a story in itself – hang on, I may have to seque…I headed into the crowded bathroom, waited for a stall, finally one opened up, LOL.  Went in, set down my computer bag, set my purse on top of my computer bag, as there was no hook on the door, sat down, etc. etc. (because flying always makes me have to pee a bunch.  TMI?)  As I was indisposed, it came to my attention that anytime anyone else opened or closed their stall door, my door popped open, lock or no lock.  So I had to reach forward in order to hold it closed, at which point, my entire toilet seat flew off the toilet with me on it. Good times!

After much ado, I arrive at the new gate – yes, I already know I’ll be flying in a small prop plane, but it’s all good because they serve free beer!

Announcement:   Passengers waiting for flight blah.blah.blah please remain in the boarding area.  There’s an eensy-weensy mechanical problem with your plane so we’re going to get it checked out by our mechanics, but we should be boarding soon.

How eensy-weensy???  Like, is there a check engine light on?  Not reassuring when the plane is about the size of a box of Triscuits.

Thirty minutes later, Announcement:  We’ve had the mechanics check things out and it looks like you’ll be getting a new plane.  As soon as we tow this plane away from the gate and tow your new plane over from maintenance, we’ll get the crew on board to look ‘er over and hopefully you’ll be boarding soon.

Wait?  Trading one plane already in maintenance for another going into maintenance?  Why was the first plane in maintenance?  Did they have time to get it fixed before it was recalled to active duty?

An hour later, we board.  Hubby and I are sitting in the front row and I hear the pilots talking.  They’re discussing the above-mentioned eensy-weensy mechanical issue.  First one says:  I hope we don’t have to deal with something like that again.  The other:  The day is still young…and the flight attendant closes the door to the cockpit.

Can I have my beer now?

Well, as you can see, knock wood, we made it, although the flight attendants had to remain seated for most of the flight due to extreme turbulence and thunderstorms.  They got up long enough to hand us our beer with the words, drink it fast, before diving back to their seats.

I chugged mine and then chugged my husband’s.

The pilots didn’t so much land the plane as dive onto the runway at the very last minute in between gusts of gale force winds.  Seat belts or no seat belts, when they hit the brakes I flew forward into the bulkhead, along with all the carry-on luggage stowed beneath the seats.

But, nice Jewish girl genuflecting, we made it to the ranch, rounded up and doctored a sick cow – nasty bugger nearly killed my husband – and now I’m taking a nap!

Ooh, saw two young movies stars and their entourage as we waited for our plane to be fixed…you will never guess who.

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Norman McClean was many things, a fisherman, logger, firefighter, teacher and late in life, an author.

He wrote one book that was published in his lifetime, a collection of short stories released in 1976, entitled A River Runs Through It and Other Stories.

This is one of my favorite books.  Mr. McClean’s style is clean and spare, clear and concise, and above all, ethereal.  Reading A River Runs Through It is like reading a spiritual treatise on the nature of the soul, without the treatise part.

So since I’m leaving for ten days on vacation in Montana, no internet – here’s a long and very worthwhile passage for you to mull over, with love:

A river, though, has so many things to say that it is hard to know what it says to each of us.  As we were packing our tackle and fish in the car, Paul repeated, “Just give me three more years.”  At the time, I was surprised at the repetition, but later I realized that the river somewhere, sometime, must have told me, too, that he would receive no such gift.  For, when the police sergeant early next May wakened me before daybreak, I rose and asked no questions.  Together we drove across the Continental Divide and down the length of the Big Blackfoot River over forest floors yellow and sometimes white with glacier lillies to tell my father and mother that my brother had been beaten to death by the butt of a revolver and his body dumped in an alley.

My mother turned and went to her bedroom alone where, in a house full of men and rods and rifles, she had faced most of her problems alone.  She was never to ask me a question about the man she loved most and understood least.  Perhaps she knew enough to know that for her it was enough to have loved him.  He was probably the only man in the world who had held her in his arms and leaned back and laughed.

When I finished talking to my father, he asked, “Is there anything else you can tell me?”

Finally, I said, “Nearly all the bones in his hand were broken.”

He almost reached the door and then turned back for reassurance.  “Are you sure that the bones in his hand were broken?” he asked.  I repeated, “Nearly all the bones in his hand were broken.”  “In which hand?” he asked.  “In his right hand,” I answered.

After my brother’s death, my father never walked very well again.  He had to struggle to lift his feet, and, when he did get them up, they came down slightly out of control.  From time to time Paul’s right hand had to be reaffirmed: then my father would shuffle away again.  He could not shuffle in a straight line from trying to lift his feet.  Like many Scottish ministers before him, he had to derive what comfort he could from the faith that his son had died fighting.

For some time, though, he struggled for more to hold on to.  “Are you sure you have told me everything you know about his death? he asked.  I said, “Everything.”  “It’s not much, is it?”  “No,” I replied, “but you can love completely without complete understanding.”  “That I have known and preached,” my father said.

“Once my father came back with another question.  “Do you think I could have helped him?” he asked.  Even if I had thought longer, I would have made the same answer.  “Do you think I could have helped him?” I answered.  We stood waiting in deference to each other.  How can a question be answered that asks a lifetime of questions?

After a long time, he came up with something he must have wanted to ask from the first.  “Do you think it was just a stick-up and foolishly he tried to fight his way out?  You know what I mean – that it wasn’t connected with anything in his past.”

“The police don’t know,” I said.

“But do you?” he asked, and I felt the implication.

“I’ve said I’ve told you all I know.  If you push me far enough, all I really know is that he was a fine fisherman.”

“You know more than that,” my father said.  “He was beautiful.”

“Yes,” I said, “He was beautiful.  He should have been – you taught him.”

My father looked at me for a long time – he just looked at me.  So this was the last he and I ever said to each other about Paul’s death.

Indirectly, though, he was present in many of our conversations.  Once, for instance, my father asked me a series of questions that suddenly made me wonder whether I understood even my father whom I felt closer to than any man I have ever known.  “You like to tell true stories, don’t you?” he asked, and I answered, “Yes, I like to tell stories that are true.”

Then he asked, “After you have finished your true stories sometime, why don’t you make up a story and the people to go with it?”

“Only then will you understand what happened and why.”

“It is those we live with and love and should know who elude us.”

Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.

Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and now of course I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn’t.  Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening.  Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.  Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.

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Like most days, today…or yesterday…was a mix of good and bad.  I had fun over at author Stacey Espino’s place and I was humbled by Katalina Leon’s praise for Captured – still want to hear that para sailing story again.  A close cousin who lives in the Midwest showed up for one night and we laughed into the wee hours of the morning, just like when we were kids – and I was feeling pretty okay today.  Then the vet’s office called and said they had Louie’s ashes for me to pick up and I lost it all over again.  I’m still not dealing with my grief very well.

Yeah, got the tattoo on my right wrist – LOUIE – in very cool letters and I’ll post a pic up here soon.  Chopped off my long hair today.  Just didn’t want to deal with it anymore.  I planned to go chin length, but Deanna, my stylist, accidentally whacked off a big chunk with the razor so I said, shit…just cut it off.  My hair is now about, oh, I don’t know, maybe an inch and a half long.  It’s okay, no biggie.  I can just style it with my fingers and I’m done.  I canceled a coffee date with my plastic surgery addicted friend because I just couldn’t face her critical eye…you know – wow, you look tired…or you trying to lose weight?…or…you cut your hair???  Or…my doctor could do something with those bags under your eyes…or the old…you need to detox…maybe a colonic.

Never!

So my cousin and I were reminiscing about the time we all, by we all I mean my cousin, her friend, Murray, my two sisters and I rafted down the Colorado River and deliberately jumped into a class III rapids sans raft.  We hiked upriver with our guide and he said, “Okay now, climb out to the edge of this big rock and jump in.   Swim to to middle of the current as fast as you can and point your feet downriver so if you hit an underwater rock or snag, your feet will hit it instead of your head.  When you reach flat water, swim like hell to the right side.  Somebody will pull you out.  Oh, and remember to breathe between waves.”

My loony sister, of course, only heard, “Okay now…” before she leaped off the rock and disappeared into the churning white water.  My other sister and I jumped in together, swam as hard as we could to the middle of the river and then tried to survive for the next four or five harrowing, adrenaline filled, ice water minutes, both terrified and exhilarated.  We reached flat water and managed to make it to a rock near the shore, where we clung, along with Murray, for dear life, exhausted and unable to pull ourselves to safety.  My cousin floated by and in a weak voice, cried…”Help me…”  She vanished around the bend.  My other sister was no where to be seen.  The second rafting guide headed downriver to pick up my cousin.  My loony sister, of course, nearly drowned before they found her.  Those were the days!  Really, sounds bad I know, but it wasn’t.   The experience was great, one of the highlights of my life.  That’s the nice thing about families, shared adventures.  One day my kids will get together and talk about all the crazy insane wonderful things that happened on our camping trips, our backpacking trips, our nutty ski trips.

It’s kind of the way I feel right now…holding on for dear life, exhausted, but eventually I’ll have amazing memories to look back on.

So…stepping forward…I’m entering two of my new paranormal works in a contest.  Wish me luck!

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1.  He was the best pass rusher in history – no quarterback could withstand the onslaught of Louie!

2.  He played basketball on his hindlegs and caught the ball with his front legs.  He was guilty of numerous over-the-back fouls.

3.  He never met a soccer ball he couldn’t pop.

4.  He was the official ball shagger for my daughter’s softball team.  He loved Sissy’s games!

5.  He understood more English words than most people I know.

6.  Having been born into a German speaking household, he could always pick out German speaking tourists.

7.  He knew that hot air balloon tours were good for a snack of salami half-way through our early morning hikes.

8.  He never forgot a friend or a family member.

9.  He defended the yard and his own cats from all intruders.

10.  He believed in rules to live by and he had a code of honor.

11.  He loved playing RPGs with my son and his friends.  He’d wear any costume they put on him or play any role they asked of him.  He was just one of the guys.

12.  He feared nothing but the Santa Anna winds.

13.  He was kind to all babies and animals smaller and weaker than himself.  He even tried to avoid stepping on baby toads when they covered the hiking trail.  He once managed to sneak up on a squirrel and sniff its tail.

14.  He was an awful swimmer until he got his lifejacket and then he became the little tugboat that could.

15.  He liked nothing more than to go for coffee at Peets, where he could bask in the attention of his many admirers.  He got a scone.

16.  I have to stop now, but I’ll say this:  The sad part of life is death.  The sad part of loving an animal (other than a parrot) is that they have a short lifespan.  As heartbreaking as Louie’s death is, I wouldn’t have missed a single minute of his life.

I’ll be better next week.  I’m off now to a book signing up in Oregon.  Kiss your kids and and your significant others and cherish your pets.

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The most perfect angel to ever wear a dog suit.

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I don’t know how you do it – write when someone you love is sick.

Regina, my heart goes out to you.  I don’t know how you find the strength.  I can’t concentrate.  My dog is sick and I don’t have a lot of hope that he’ll survive this sudden, unexplained illness.  I feel like I have a hole in my chest.  Canceled the head shots.

Yeah, I have stuff, writing-related stuff I should be working on, but Louie is my boy and I don’t know what I’ll do without him if the worst comes to pass.  My mom has always claimed I like animals better than people.  She’s right, except for a few people, I do.  With animals there is no pretense.  Well, my cats have been known to hide birds they’ve caught beneath their furry little bodies because they know I’ll take the birds away, but other than that, when it comes to my animal friends, what you see is what you get.

Louie has been the best dog ever in the history of my world and I’m not ready to lose him.

My friend Mia Watts managed to bring a smile to one side of my mouth by sending me to this site, Sex.  Love.  And Everything In Between:  http://www.emandlo.com/2010/06/the-top-10-signs-you%E2%80%99re-reading-bad-erotica/

Gotta go because my tears are blinding me.

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I wrote this sweet full-length romance suspense several years ago and it kicked around a bit.  The story revolves about a frightened runaway and the young man who saves her life.  Siren picked up the story and it will be released, after a re-write, in August.  I love the book because it’s the first romance I wrote.  I mention a real life location in the story – The Sawtooths in Idaho.

The Sawtooth Mountains near Stanley, Idaho, may be one of my very favorite places on this planet.  At one point in my life, I spent a solid two months backpacking throughout the range.  I descended into the tiny town of Stanley exactly twice, both times to do three things: take a hot shower, wash some clothes and pick up supplies.  In the two months I spent in that wilderness, aside from my traveling companion, I encountered a total of three people, the ranger we checked in with from time to time, and two riders heading up into the mountains on horseback.  Otherwise it was just the animals and us.  After a while, I never wanted to come out.  But then the snows arrived early and our cached supplies dwindled and we moved on to the the High Uintas in Utah for another month before settling into jobs in Ogden.

I’m remembering the Sawtooths, not just because of Anytime Darlin’, but because the June issue of Sunset Magazine has a feature on The Hidden Rockies, the Idaho Sawtooths.

http://www.sunset.com/travel/rockies/things-to-do-sawtooth-mountains-00418000067836/

Enjoy the article and if you ever get the opportunity, make a visit.  The Sawtooths are way prettier and much more rugged than they appear in the magazine photos.

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If I had another daughter, I’d name her Artemis, for the Greek goddess of the hunt.

Of course, she’d hate me because then people would call her either Artie or Missy.  No, really, Artemis is my favorite Greek goddess.  She’s a woman of action, she kicks butt – look at her the wrong way and she’ll change you into a man who stares at his reflection day and night!  Aphrodite ain’t so bad, but her Roman counterpart, Venus, is such a loser!  And Athena, popping fully-formed out of Zeus’ forehead!  How do you like those apples???

In truth, I’m quite fond of the Greek gods and their oh-so-human foibles, petty jealousies and internecine feuds on Mount Olympus.  I have a four-part work of futuristic science fiction romance coming out in July and August, Daughters of Persephone – which is loosely based on my favorite story of the lovely Persephone, her kidnapper, Hades, God of the Underworld, and her mother Demeter, Goddess of Nature.

Persephone was, herself, a Goddess of the Natural World.  One day, she was out innocently picking flowers when the God of the Underworld, Hades, spied her.  He burst through a cleft in the earth and carried her off to the underworld.  As a result, without Persephone, the earth lay barren.  Her devastated mother searched for her and finally, the sun told her what had happened.  Her father, Zeus, hearing the cries of his hungry people and hearkening to the pleas of the other gods, forced Hades to return Persephone, however, things did not go according to plan.  The Fates had decreed that anyone who ate or drank anything in the Underworld would have to remain there for all eternity.  Hades knew this rule and he tricked Persephone into eating six…count ‘em…six pomegranate seeds.  Therefore, six months out of the year, Persephone must return to the Underworld – and we have autumn and winter, the season of death and dying.  When she rises to our world, we have spring and summer, the season of rebirth and growth.  Great story!

When I was just a kid, I read a remarkable book – The Children of Odin.  I loved the stories within so much that I begged the librarian to give me the old, musty, repaired copy containing incredible illustrations, in exchange for a brand new copy!  She did!  I cherish the book even now.  The Children of Odin contains stories of Norse mythology.  If you can find, beg, borrow, buy a copy, maybe upload a copy from somewhere, read it.  There is nothing more compelling than the vision of the father of the gods, Odin, hanging upside down from the Tree of All Knowledge, the world ash, Yggdrasil.  In other words, he allowed himself to be crucified upside down.  He was even pierced by a spear – all in order to gain ultimate wisdom.

I know that I hung on a windy tree

nine long nights,

wounded with a spear, dedicated to Odin,

myself to myself,

on that tree of which no man knows

from where its roots run.

Anyway, check it out.  Norse mythology has influenced everything from comic books to Richard Wagner (who I should hate, but I love his music), to video games.

Are you fond of mythology?  What’s your favorite?

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