Sharon K. Reamer

Welcome to 2018, the Year of Life, Dancing!

2018-01-01T16:38:00.001+01:00

I've not posted in a while because there were a lot of things going on, not the least of which is I'm making the transition from senior scientist to full-time writer and it's taken me a while to get my feet back in the sidesaddle of the writing business again. By necessity and choice, I won't be writing sidesaddle any more, although my goal is to make that horse dance and prance to its best ability. The blog posts went by the wayside during all this as I didn't want to just post a fluff piece. I hate it when others do that so I don't want to do that either.

2017 was a tumultuous year. Ending my career as a scientist at the University of Cologne, some serious health issues, and lots of travel were pointy sticks in my brain and distracted me from my passion, which is writing and publishing. I succeeded in none of my publishing goals. On the other hand, I did do a lot of writing, it just didn't get to the finished stage that I had hoped before 2017 flounced right on out the door. My goal is to do better in 2018 Much much better. But to also enjoy life while doing it (hence, this year's name).

I also decided to change up my website (the new site will be at terraemotusbooks.com) and the basic design should be finished sometime soon. I'll be moving to WordPress and if everything goes well, all my posts from Blogger will go with me. Once I get it populated with my books and things, In the meantime, January will be a whirlwind month with several writing projects to finish and organize.

As soon as I have a more definite announcement about new releases and the website, I'll post it here.

Quick update: after writing this post, I saw that one of my short stories, A Gift from Fibonacci, is featured on The Wild Musette this week. So hop on over and read it and also some of the other wonderful stories published by the journal.

Here's hoping everyone will have plenty of room on the dance floor and lots of energy for the coming year. I'm calling it the Year of Life, Dancing. So let's put on our best dancing shoes and let loose.

photo credits:

Rusty Russ Electrifying Experience via photopin (license)

Dancing dolls, Klaus-G. Hinzen

The Truth Is Out There

2017-07-02T14:06:00.000+02:00

This is one of my longer articles. I'm trying to do a few of them to break up the photo montages of archeoseismology travelogues and cute kitty and garden pictures. :-)

According to Wikipedia, the title of this article is a tagline (The X-Files) or an episode title (from the series Charmed and NCIS). The phrase is now so embedded in our consciousness that it might even qualify for a cultural meme.

But what is truth? Is it the same as fact? If it’s really ‘out there’, can we define it? How can we separate truth from truthiness, and why is this so important, both in the real world where we live and in the fictional world, where writers make a living telling lies and showing others how to do it (Telling Lies for Fun and Profit, by Lawrence Block, for example)?

At the Eurocon in Barcelona in November 2016, I participated in a panel about world-building. It was delightfully diverse in its make-up and in the opinions of the panelists about what constituted world-building. Without naming names, I’ll just summarize by saying that the ideas offered included making sure the cultural details included enough authority to be believable and draw the reader in, to constructing a fictional landscape that would be encountered in the scenes being written, to not having any care for world-building at all – i.e., the only thing that matters is story.

I can relate to the last sentiment. I live for story. But story (as in, A happens, then B happens, and so on) is not necessarily my first concern when I’m reading. To this (avid) reader, in the very beginning of a piece of fiction – or creative non-fiction – there are a couple of things
that always ensure I will keep reading. Character, yes. Setting, yes. What about Plot? Not so much, or at all, not at first. Action; please, no. I don’t need to be thrown down in media res. Oh, hell no. Ground me in the world. Make me care about someone. Anyone. And then you can lead me to action and plot all over the place.

My take on world-building as it pertains to a novel or even a piece of shorter fiction – in particular, the beginning – is that the world has to be presented to me, the reader, through the eyes of a character (or possibly a narrator who is not necessarily a character – think Lemony Snicket). I don’t care what kind of kick-ass Sensawunder setting is going on unless I am shown how the character thinks and feels about where she is. How does it smell? How does it taste? Is she happy here? Is this her home or is she far away? That kind of thing.

To me, this has everything to do with world-building and relates to what the participants on the world-building panel were trying to say: culture, scenery, story. All these elements are valid interpretations of world-building, but by themselves, not enough.

Not to spare myself criticism, as a fellow panelist, I stammered through a short speech to give my take on world-building. I was imagining something similar to what I’ve begun to illustrate so far – but instead, I resorted to waving my hands (literally) and not making much sense. I resorted to using the word paradigm.

World-building is all about paradigm because paradigm is the basis for how we, as conscious beings, are able to create our selves as separate from the world around us. It is, essentially, on a personal or cultural basis, a model of the world. All people have a paradigm. I would go so far as to say that even non-people, members of the animal kingdom without a primate frontal lobe, also have a paradigm (see, for example, Are We Smart Enough to Know How Smart Animals Are? by Frans de Waal)
So, everyone has a different way of looking at the world. Big surprise (said in a Julia Roberts voice).

But I’m still hand-waving. We’re not getting much closer to defining what a paradigm is and what it has to do with world-building and what that has to do with truth (and truthiness).

According to the OED, the simplest interpretation, based on the Greek (and Latin) origins of the word, a paradigm is a pattern or a model. The OED also lists a (philosophical) definition: a mode of viewing the world which underlies the theories and methodology of science in a particular period of history. This definition is one that I particularly identify with because I’m a scientist. My personal paradigm is shaped, is defined, by my scientific background as a geoscientist. It doesn’t mean that my paradigm is any more valid (true) than a non-scientist’s worldview. But there are important differences.

What separates the general population from those with a scientific upbringing is not only their respective paradigms (because each branch of the sciences – hard and soft – has its own, sometimes complementary, paradigm), but how they process their data. Data are collected bits (and I’m using that term here descriptively rather than quantitatively) of information. I’ll even further quantify: Data are values measuring or reporting information about each individual in a group, including details of how the values go together and what they report. Values have units, depending on how the data were measured or collected (adapted from the excellent textbook Data Analysis with Excel: An Introduction for Physical Scientists by Les Kirkup). Another way to say it in laymen’s terms: data have to be about something, and that something is information.

Thanks to the polymath and pioneer Claude Shannon, often hailed as the ‘father of information theory’, the term information is now firmly embedded in the global human consciousness. Although defined by Shannon over three hundred years later, information, like many other terms (matter, force, motion) quantized in the Clockwork Universe phase near the start of the Scientific Revolution, Shannon reduced information to its basic unit, the bit. Because data is a collection of information, that implies that data, too, can be reduced to basic units. But that would be too simple a way to view such a complicated concept and to go further in that direction is not really necessary for the purposes of this article.

So how does data relate to paradigm? Data by itself – consisting of facts, measurements and other types of information – does not constitute knowledge. Knowledge (or wisdom) is the next step and a concept even more nebulous than data. By analyzing patterns in the data (and here we are getting closer to paradigm – remember the Greek origins of the word), knowledge can be gained, interpreted and passed on to others. Does knowledge imply truth? Open question.

Regardless of whether knowledge=truth, an interpretation of the data at hand based on analysis of the patterns (commonly achieved through classical statistical analysis, exploratory data analysis or some other kind of deterministic modeling) does reveal a version of truth consistent within a particular (scientific) paradigm.

Or not.

If the investigator (human or computer) reveals through their analysis a result that contradicts the prevailing paradigm, then a scientific revolution a lá Thomas Kuhn may be instigated (or propagated), and the paradigm may (eventually) be usurped or modified to include the new results (usually after repeated instances of such results – a clear argument in favor of the continuance of peer review, but that’s another discussion). This is the way Kuhn believes science works, and as far as it goes, it’s not a bad way to look at the idea of paradigms through the lens of scientific traditions and methodology.

On the surface, cultural or personal paradigms are not too different, but instead of being driven by data analysis and/or models, they’re driven by social norms. As summarized by anthropologists Frederick Errington and Deborah Gewertz in their essay, Excusing the Haves and Blaming the Have-Nots (in Questioning Collapse: Human Resilience, Ecological Vulnerability, and the Aftermath of Empire, edited by Patricia A. McAnany and Norman Yoffee), “…what people want…is formed in the context of narratives: stories they are told and tell about the way the world works or might work, stories about what human beings might plausibly hope for.”

So social norms also represent a sort of collective knowledge or truth, based on cultural and/or religious traditions. Can a paradigmatic shift occur when we change the kinds of stories we tell? Are statements such as “Make (insert ‘your favorite nation’ here) Great Again” (implying that ‘your favorite nation’ is no longer great) or “Immigration is Bad for Us Because (‘reasons’)” or “Climate Change is a Hoax” examples of changing the story? Do they represent a revolution in the making? Or are these examples of mere truthiness?

Stephen Colbert (in his 2005 initial episode of The Wørd) lays claim to originating the word truthiness, defining it to be “a quality characterizing a ‘truth’ that a person making an argument or assertion claims to know intuitively ‘from the gut’ or because it ‘feels right’ without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination or facts.” In his well-reasoned and interesting book, Truth or Truthiness: Distinguishing Fact from Fiction by Learning to Think Like a Data Scientist, Howard Wainer discusses fracking, teacher tenure, and student testing by posing the question: what’s the evidence?

For the claims given above, we as writers can also ask the question, what’s the evidence supporting the statements? Wainer suggests that non-scientists can also benefit from using the methods of science and don’t need detailed technical knowledge to move from truthiness to truth in such claims. He lists three essential parts to investigating a claim: 1) some carefully gathered data combined with, 2) clear thinking, and 3) graphical displays (can be simple and hand-drawn) to illustrate the results of 1) and 2).

Think like a scientist! It’s a worthy challenge for all of us, especially at this time in history, when everything suddenly seems complicated, when political factions are more opposed than ever, and sometimes there simply seems to be too much information. But how does this apply to us as writers, especially speculative fiction writers engaging in world-building?

World-building relies on writers supplying the reader with stories containing truth rather than truthiness. Readers know the difference.

1) The data that has to be gathered is either already within us or can be had with the click of a mouse or flipping through the pages (physically or electronically) of books or gained first-hand by traveling to the desired location (even if fictional, there may be a similar earth-based location that can be visited).

2) Clear thinking involves the use of character to reveal the truth of the world as seen through the character’s (or characters’) paradigm – culturally as well as scientific (if applicable).
While exposition may be necessary in parts, to be effective, it will need to be made through the opinion and experiences of character. This seems to me to be one of the best ways to execute world-building, whether the world is pre-designed with careful planning or grows organically by, as Dean Wesley Smith terms it in his book of the same name, Writing in the Dark.

3) Make the graphical displays of the world with words and/or pictures (I can't draw worth a darn, so I use mental pictures and sometimes, lately, if I really need some external help, I collect pictures into a category on ,Pinterest), using all senses where possible as often as possible. This helps me, helps my brain to reveal the truth of what the characters want, the stories they tell themselves. Their truths are out there.

The creative process involves a hefty portion of visualization. It’s one of the major muscles that needs to be developed when learning the craft of writing, and training that muscle never ends. As Ed Catmull, one of the founders of Pixar Studios, advises (in Creativity, Inc.: Overcoming the Unseen Forces That Stand in the Way of True Inspiration), “Measure what you can, evaluate what you measure, and appreciate that you cannot measure the vast majority of what you do. And at least every once in a while, make time to take a step back and think about what you are doing.”

Practicing world-building is an excellent training method. And if a story develops out of it, so much the better. Maybe it will even be one that participates in changing or advancing our human paradigm.

photo credits:

Jens Rost TP150 "Fingers crossed" via photopin (license)

tantek IMG_0247.JPG via photopin (license)

Howdy, I'm H. Michael Karshis If you were looking for a sign this is it. via photopin (license)

Cowgirl111 Too Cute - kitten challenge via photopin (license)

Eurocon 2017 Dortmund

2017-06-16T11:02:00.001+02:00

I'll be in attendance at the Eurocon starting some time later today.

My official schedule:

Panel: Refugees

Friday, June 16, 18:00-19:00

Short Fiction Reading: Some Don't Like It Quite So Hot featuring Schattenreich characters Caitie and Hagen von der Lahn in one of a new series of time travel mysteries

Saturday, June 17, 14:00-15:00

Hope to see you there!

My 100 Favorite Novels, the May 2017 version

2017-05-24T21:36:00.000+02:00

Greetings from sunny Sicily, to be more precise, Selinunte, where battles were fought and lost and earthquakes ravaged buildings. Maybe.

Thanks to Nathan Bransford for the challenge to create a top 100 novel list. He said it was hard. He was right. I have no doubt I've forgotten many that should be on this list - which is why I gave it a dated version. This is a little like forgetting to acknowledge people, which is why I have a slight feeling of anxiety for forgetting a novel I really loved. But, hey, I've read a crapload of books and not all of them have floated to the surface in trying to create this list.

There are also a lot of novels that I probably *should* have read but haven't yet and so aren't on the list or novels that others thought are in the 'best' category but didn't rank as my favorites.

I've only included novels in this list - no short story collections, no poetry, no plays, no anything but novels. The list is, for...reasons ('cause it's what I like to read most), top heavy with SFF and I don't think there are many non-genre favorites in there.

I listed novels that are a part of series separately, because sometimes there were only one or the other novel in a series that made it into the favorites list. In some cases (hello, Zelazny) this was not the case. I did include a few contemporary novels, but most of them are ones that made a strong impression on me during my impressionable years (ahem, Ayn Rand - that's why she made the list, and no, I'm not embarrassed about it).

I would have loved to include a couple by Dr. Seuss, but they don't fall under the category of novel. Another list, then, sometime, for Favorite Children's Books.

I have no links - maybe I'll add them later when I'm not so tired after a full day in the field or full of Sicilian wine and dust and ...

Alphabetical order. Hopefully, I haven't gotten that too far wrong.

1.    The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
2.    Restaurant at the End of the Universe, Douglas Adams
3.    I, Robot, Isaac Asimov
4.    The Robots of Dawn, Isaac Asimov
5.    Foundation, Isaac Asimov
6.    Foundation and Empire, Isaac Asimov
7.    Second Foundation, Isaac Asimov
8.    The Naked Sun, Isaac Asimov
9.    The Caves of Steel, Isaac Asimov
10.    Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
11.    Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
12.    Something Wicked This Way Comes, Ray Bradbury
13.    Dandelion Wine, Ray Bradbury
14.    Sundiver, David Brin
15.    The Postman, David Brin
16.    Jane Eyre, Charlotte Bronte
17.    Storm Front, Jim Butcher
18.    Stella Luna, Janell Cannon
19.    Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
20.    Alice Through the Looking Glass, Lewis Carroll
21.    The Hunt for Red October, Tom Clancy
22.    Midnight at the Well of Souls, Jack Chalker
23.    2001, Arthur C. Clarke
24.    The Andromeda Strain, Michael Crichton
25.    David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
26.    A Study in Scarlet, Arthur Conan Doyle
27.    The Sign of Four, Arthur Conan Doyle
28.    Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
29.    The Game of Kings, Dorothy Dunnett
30.    Queen's Play, Dorothy Dunnett
31.    Disorderly Knights, Dorothy Dunnett
32.    Checkmate, Dorothy Dunnett
33.    Gardens of the Moon, Steven Erikson
34.    Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
35.    Eye of the Needle, Ken Follett
36.    The Eyre Affair, Jasper Fforde
37.    The Day of the Jackal, Frederick Forsyth
38.    Cold Mountain, David Frazier
39.    Tintenherz (Inkheart), Cornelia Funke
40.    Outlander, Diana Gabaldon
41.    Neverwhere, Neil Gaiman
42.    Sherwood, Parke Godwin
43.    Beloved Exile, Parke Godwin
44.    Firelord, Parke Godwin
45.    The Last Rainbow, Parke Godwin
46.    I, Claudius, Robert Graves
47.    Something from the Nightside, Simon Green
48.    The Anodyne Necklace, Martha Grimes
49.    The Old Contemptibles, Martha Grimes
50.    Help the Poor Struggler, Martha Grimes
51.    Pompeii, Robert Harris
52.    Enigma, Robert Harris
53.    Dune, Frank Herbert
54.    These Old Shades, Georgette Heyer
55.    The Corinthian, Georgette Heyer
56.    The World According to Garp, John Irving
57.    The Children of Men, P. D. James
58.    The Shining, Stephen King
59.    The Dead Zone, Stephen King
60.    Christine, Stephen King
61.    The Lathe of Heaven, Ursula K. LeGuin
62.    The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, C. S. Lewis
63.    The Call of the Wild, Jack London
64.    The Lies of Locke Lamora, Scotta Lynch
65.    The Crystal Singer, Anne McCaffrey
66.    China Mountain Zhang, Maureen F. McHugh
67.    Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
68.    Altered Carbon, Richard K. Morgan
69.    The Night Circus, Erin Morgenstern
70.    Sabriel, Garth Nix
71.    Crocodile on the Sandbank, Elizabeth Peters
72.    Gateway, Frederik Pohl
73.    The Cabinet of Curiosities, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child
74.    The Fountainhead, Ayn Rand
75.    The Disappeared, Kristin Kathryn Rusch
76.    Strong Poison, Dorothy Sayers
77.    Clouds of Witness, Dorothy Sayers
78.    Have His Carcase, Dorothy Sayers
79.    Gorky Park, Martin Cruz Smith
80.    Cryptonomicon, Neal Stephenson
81.    Snowcrash, Neal Stephenson
82.    The Crystal Cave, Mary Stewart
83.    The Hollow Hills, Mary Stewart
84.    The Last Enchantment, Mary Stewart
85.    The Fellowship of the Ring, J. R. R. Tolkien
86.    The Two Towers, J. R. R. Tolkien
87.    The Return of the King, J. R. R: Tolkien
88.    Presumed Innocent, Scott Turow
89.    The Sirens of Titan, Kurt Vonnegut
90.    The Time Machine, H. G. Wells
91.    The Once and Future King, T. H. White
92.    The Sword in the Stone, T. H. White
93.    Shadow and Claw, Gene Wolfe
94.    Nine Princes in Amber, Roger Zelazny
95.    The Guns of Avalon, Roger Zelazny
96.    Sign of the Unicorn, Roger Zelazny
97.    The Hand of Oberon, Roger Zelazny
98.    The Courts of Chaos, Roger Zelazny
99.    Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
100. A Night in the Lonesome October, Roger Zelazny

The Looooooong Break

2017-05-04T15:55:00.002+02:00

I'm back!

Sorry about the break, but I needed time to write, to read, to travel and time to think.

I know that's no excuse. I could have just popped in here and written something - what I'm writing, reading, thinking, etc.

But it was my alone time.

Everyone needs that. I am convinced I need a lot of it.

It's probably a delusion on my part, but spending time with myself has always been a big part of my life. When I was a kid it involved lugging tons of books home from the library and long bike rides and lone exploratory walks. As a teenager, it involved my record player and my bedroom and even more books from the library. I also took long walks. I wrote a lot of nonsense back then during those many hours in my room. But it was a good part of my life. Creative and positive as most things that include music and books tend to be. Those stolen bits of life were so good that now when I feel stressed or anxious or too many things from the outside world impinge on the inner world, I retreat to alone-space for a while.

Living with others means that alone-space has to be carved out of each day. But it's doable. I have headphones. And nighttime. And cats to share it with.

So now just a few pictures of our latest trip to one of the most breathtakingly beautiful landscapes on the planet - the American Southwest. America is still there in all her glory. But sometimes you have to look for her.

Our first night in Denver (just prior to the SSA 2017 meeting) included a tradition I almost never break when visiting the U.S. I need a real American-style burger. And, if possible, a margarita. Mission accomplished.

Here was the view of the Rockies from our hotel room in the Denver Downtown Sheraton. I've seen much much worse.

We walked from downtown through a quaint Denver suburb to the Denver Botanical Gardens. There's not much blooming in April (tulips!), but that's not the point. It's an immersion in plants and gardening styles. In arrangement of form and function, a welcome immersion in a gardening climate, or microclimate, not too different from my garden in far western Germany - between U.S. zone 5 and 6 - but considerably drier. But I was surprised at how many plants we had in common, the botanical garden and me in mine. Iceland poppies, violets, calla lillies and many more.

On the many paths through the garden, we discovered this artificial waterfall and our next garden project (even if ours might not be quite so grand and I doubt we will have koi - koi and tuxedo cats would not be good friends).

More margaritas after the meeting started. Of course there were.

At the 2017 Seismological Society of America Meeting, I was gratified and encouraged to learn that the spirit of science and the fight against science-deniers is very much alive in the U.S.A. from Colorado Governor John Hickenlooper's speech and very moving speeches from Frank Press Public Service Award Winner Professor Michael E. Wysession and Professor Gail Atkinson.

After the meeting, we followed Simon and Garfunkel's advice to Look for America and drove down to Mexican Hat, Utah for a quick two days to soak up the beauty and revel in that kind of alone-time that only comes with experiencing nature. We did it as best we could - by driving and that's not ideal - but it was what we could with the time we had.

We first picked up our rental car in Denver and headed down to Moab, our first overnight stop. We celebrated our 23rd wedding anniversary at the same place we celebrated our 20th - at Miguel's Mexican Baja Grill on Main Street, a small but lovely Mexican restaurant in the middle of Moab. Reserve early or be prepared to wait for a table. We decided to eat early to beat the crowd.

Next we left Moab and headed down to Mexican Hat

We made photo shoot stops on the way at the Mexican Hat formation (left), Navajo Twins (right), and Gooseneck Canyon (bottom left).

Here at right we met one of the permanent residents of Gooseneck Canyon. He was only interested in our tortilla chips but was willing to pose for his lunch.

After a peaceful night in our hotel, The Hat Rock Inn (a very comfortable stay AND the view of the sandstone formations just above the San Juan River from the pool and hot tub is worth the price alone), we made the short drive down to the Utah-Arizona border, the Navajo Nation and Monument Valley.

These few photos cannot begin to capture its beauty that we, of course, shared with the many other motorists and tour vehicles. But it was April. I'd hate to see the traffic jams come June through August. I'd say April is a fantastic time to visit.

Our trip was complete on our last night in Mexican Hat when we treated ourselves to a Texas-style steak dinner eaten outside and cooked on a wood-burning swing grill. Perfect.

On the return drive, we elected to drive through the Colorado National Monument - an area of geological transitions from Basin and Range to uplift and the Rocky Mountains. It's the land of free range cattle and other wildlife. We discovered that not only the mythology but the reality of the Marlboro Man (and Woman!) is still alive. We found a tiny slice of America here, intact and wonderful. No cell phones, no Walmarts, no distractions.

Our return to Denver consisted of a quick stop at Idaho Springs, with a restored gold mine (which we did not, unfortunately have time to visit) as a tourist attraction, before leaving the Rockies the next morning and heading to the Denver International Airport and home to Germany.

Photos: K.-G. Hinzen

January Sale and it's a tag team!

2017-01-09T14:38:00.000+01:00

The first three books in the Schattenreich series will be FREE on KOBO (only on KOBO!) for part of January and extending into mid-February. The sales will be staggered and will also overlap, so note the dates. They are part of scheduled KOBO promotions and therefore the spread. So grab them when they go free (as of today, Primary Fault is already free). I've never done a sale like this before...and may not again for some time.

SO....

Primary Fault, Book 1 of the Schattenreich:
free on KOBO from January 9 - February 9, 2017

Shaky Ground, Book 2 of the Schattenreich:

free on KOBO from January 16 - February 16, 2017

Double Couple, Book 3 of the Schattenreich:

free on KOBO from January 23 - February 23, 2017

Ring in the New!

2016-12-31T14:58:00.003+01:00

Wishing everyone lots of new books to read and health and happiness for 2017!

On a less than happy note: The sharonreamer.com website is ~~down for a couple of days~~ back up (currently - still haven't identified the problem) after encountering a problem with the server update. I apologize for the inconvenience, even though it's currently a static site. Just in case, I've posted universal links to my books below, you know, just in case you were looking for something to read. In the meantime.

Just in case. And even better with blep.

Primary Fault (The Schattenreich #1)

Shaky Ground (The Schattenreich #2)

Double Couple (The Schattenreich #3)

Shadow Zone (The Schattenreich #4)

Triple Junction (The Schattenreich #5)

Wings of the Guardian (Immortal Guardian #1)

Eye of the Sphinx (Immortal Guardian #2)

Die Schwingen des Wächters (Ewige Wächter #1)

Das Auge der Sphinx (Ewige Wächter #2)

photo credit:
mmariomm MMB_5496 via photopin (license)

Tambako the Jaguar Cute and happy Rialda lying in the grass via photopin (license)

My Ten Favorite Books of 2016

2016-12-14T14:26:00.000+01:00

I have read over 100 books this year -- currently at 109 -- (my Goodreads goal was 100 and I finished that just after Thanksgiving - woohoo!). Only a few of those books were published in 2016. The rest were older and many of them were ebooks I checked out of my 'local' (U.S. library).

I enjoyed doing the Goodreads Reading Challenge (my second year - last year I committed to and finished 80 books, plus a few more) because it gives me a reference frame for viewing my addiction to books and also is - to me - interesting to see my reading journey over the course of a year. I'll definitely be doing another one next year. I may have missed cataloging a couple of books I read -- especially non-fiction since I don't always read those books linearly and extra especially don't for the ones I use for my novel researches. I also don't list the dnfs - the did-not-finish books -- for the obvious reason that I did not manage to finish them.

The books range from fiction to biographies, memoirs, writing craft, and fantasy to Regency romance (a recent but enduring addiction - I'd like to find more of these that are to my taste, i.e., clean -- I'm eager also to find some good gay Regencies -- recommendations are welcome), mystery, quantum physics and science fiction to self-help, U.S. history to Celto-Germanic history (gee, I wonder why I read that? hmmm....) and many historical novels (a recently rediscovered addiction).

This was the first year since 2012 that I personally did not publish a book. More about that -- no, I don't really want to dwell on it -- but the six-word, happy-for-now-ending short story is: I was sick. Now I'm better.

Barring any major life catastrophes, the lack of publishing will change in 2017. So, yes, I have plans to publish stuff next year.

Here are my top ten favorites of 2016, not necessarily in order, but who cares? It was hard enough just to pick ten, thank you very much. The links goes to the Goodreads page for the books because I don't want to influence your buying power. Some of these may also be available through your local library - I obtained many of them through mine.

More information

Bertha's Thanksgiving Tale: A Triple Junction Excerpt

2016-11-24T14:48:00.001+01:00

This Triple Junction excerpt contains a Thanksgiving tale from Bertha von der Lahn, the Burg Lahn storyteller, par excellence. It is a reworking of one of the Breton tales collected and retold by Anatole Le Braz and contained in the collection Celtic Legends of the Beyond: A Celtic Book of the Dead; this version has an introduction by Derek Bryce. It's available used in print and there might also be an older version downloadable from Gutenberg. As you might guess, Ankou, the Breton harvester of the dead appears more than once in these tales.

Bertha's tale focuses on the 99 inns along The Paths of the Dead and one of its travelers.

***

Gus and I leaned forward in anticipation. Bertha's eyes gleamed dark iron and cloudy nights. Her face lost the skepticism and impatience one usually saw when looking at my aunt. Instead, Bertha radiated wisdom and subtlety. She seemed to hold all of the secrets of the past and the future in her palms, pressed together in front of her.

She began her tale.

The man who used to be Haerviu trudged behind the others. The way was long, he heard the man before him say. But Haerviu didn't remember starting out on this path. He also didn't know why he was here, following behind a line of trudging people. It was dark, the way lit by a wan moon, not the harvest moon he remembered seeing last.

He stumbled as he tried to recall what he had last done before embarking on this journey. He remembered telling his wife he had to bring in the rest of the grain. He smelled rain. His wife Gael had begged him not to go out. It was already dark, and the dray horse was prone to be skittish at night.

He remembered hitching his horse to the wagon and setting out along the rows. And then… he only remembered hearing his horse whinny in fright.

And then he was here. Haerviu tugged on the tattered shirt of a man in front of him. "Do you know where we are going? Has his lordship called us to the castle?"

The man shook off his hand. Haerviu started to reach out again, thinking the man hadn't understood him, when a voice next to him, timid and gray said, "The Paths of the Dead, my good man. That's what we're traveling. The Ankou has collected us this very night."

Another spoke on his other side, "Here, it is always night."

Haerviu wanted to stop his beating heart. But he didn't feel his heart beating in his chest. He felt empty. And sad. He thought about his horse and his wife and his children. To be fair, he may not have thought of them in that particular order.

Gael had borne him ten children. Two of them he had buried before they reached their first year. Of the others, six remained to him. If it was true what the man had said, if he had died out there on his lonely field, then he only hoped his children would care for Gael. And for his horse. If she had spooked, then it was only her nature and not her fault. It was Haerviu's fault for not listening to his wife.

These thoughts kept him occupied for a time. Then he began to wonder just how long the Paths of the Dead were. He was already dead, so he couldn't die of boredom. But he would have liked to have a rest, to be able to come to terms with his lack of life. It seemed so unfair.

Could Ankou be bargained with? He'd return to give Death his due as soon as he made sure his wife was taken care of. That she had enough to get her through the winter. No reason she should suffer because of his foolishness.

The lights caught his attention. Before long, they came by a building. It looked like a traveler's inn, a

place where a man could put his feet up for a while and slake his thirst. Haerviu didn't think the Ankou would mind if he took a few minutes to do that on his way to whatever lay at the end of the Paths of the Dead.

He turned to go through the double doors leading into the wooden shack that, despite its shabbiness, looked inviting. A tug on his arm accompanied the gray voice, pleading, "Don't go in there, my good
man."

Haerviu could see no one. Then he looked down. A small man, a true dwarf, strode beside him.

"Why shouldn't I go in there?" he asked. "You could come with me. We could share a pint and talk about things. I have so many questions. And then I want to find the way back. There must be a way."

"Aye, 'tis said there is one," said the dwarf. "But this is not the place to while away your time. Answers ye may have, but they will not bring ye any joy." The man spoke with a northern accent, brisk and colorful and no longer timid.

"Well, then, maybe we'll see each other farther down the road," Haerviu said.

"Look for me in the halfway house," the man said.

Haerviu nodded his farewells and went in.

The tavern was full, and there didn't seem to be any place for him to sit. A shout from the back drew his attention. He saw a chair that was free and sat at a table with a half a dozen people. Three of them played musical spoons on the wooden planked table. The thump of the metal on the wood was deafening. Two others nursed their mugs of cider.

Haerviu felt a sudden deep thirst and called for the barkeep. Soon he had his own mug of cider. Before he took a drink, he chanced a look at the man sitting next to him. His skin was pale and thinner than Gael's Sunday crepes. The man had eyes the color of a storm-laden sky, but they were as lifeless as the man looked.

The man laid a bony hand on Haerviu's arm. "It's a little early on the journey to be drinking," he said.

Haerviu shrugged him off. Hopelessness settled over him. It seeped from all the corners of the room, weighing them all down like anchor stones. Like gravestones. "What's it to you. We're all dead. Whether we come to the end of the path sooner or later doesn't matter anymore." Tired and sore, the feeling permeated his ghostly body like a day and a night pulling his horse Soizig through the mud.

He couldn't accept the way things had turned out, and it made him just want to drown his sorrows.

"Stay your hand and go further," the man said. He rose. "I'll come with you so you won't be alone. The way is dusty and long, I'll not lie to you about that. But with two of us it will go quicker. At least let's make it to the halfway house together. Then we can have a drink. If you don't do that, you'll never end your journey."

"And what about you? Why are you sitting here still, a'takin' your ease?"

It seemed to Haerviu that a light flickered in the back of those cavernous eyes. "I've been waiting for someone like you. Someone with the strength to seek the path of return."

Haerviu put down his mug, and the two of them left the place. They rejoined the Path, but now there were no other dead ones. Just the two of them. The man pointed ahead. "Ninety nine inns line the way. At the halfway house, there we may talk."

"Why not here? It will ease the time."

The man shook his head. "Not here. Not now. The Paths of the Dead are long and untrustworthy. Think hard on the ones you left behind, on the things you left behind. Then, when we've got there, I'll tell you a story."

So Haerviu did what the man told him, his hopelessness shed as soon as they left the first tavern. He realized it was the place itself that had worn him down. He drew pictures in his mind of his life and his family and let that be his candle, brighter than the pale moon that tracked them. Haerviu counted the inns and lodges they passed, each one different; each one looked better than the last. A deep urge threatened each time: unshoulder his load and go in. Just one drink…

"One sip of cider can't hurt a man, can it? Not when our cares are behind us?"

"Listen to you, now. You're speaking from the desperateness of the dead."

"Aye," Haerviu said.

***

Haerviu and his gray companion reached the halfway house. Haerviu had lost count a ways back and had no concept of how long it had taken them. He didn't know they were there until his traveling companion pointed to it.

"That's it," he said. "Now we can go in."

"How do you know it?" Haerviu asked.

"I've been here before," the man said, but said no more.

This place was twice as big as the first tavern, furnished with wide benches, and an upper level - maybe more than one. Haerviu couldn't see past the gloom of the first couple of rickety steps. He didn't feel the need to go upstairs.

Many people about the place. Haerviu thought they look faded, as if they might not be there at all - just shadows that clung to the walls. The two men sat with their backs to the wall and faced the front door.

"Keep your eye on the door," the man said. "It's better that way."

"If you say so," Haerviu said. Mugs of mead appeared in front of them.

This time, the man raised his to Haerviu. "Drink, my friend, and let me tell you of the great forest, the forest of ancient priests. The one that marks the entrance to the Lands Beyond, to the Ankou's domain. And no man who passes within can return, lest he is one of Ankou's chosen."

The barley mead tasted heavy, good after the long trudge, and Haerviu felt that he could listen to this man's tale, maybe forever. It did his heart good -- the heart that no longer beat within his breast.
Haerviu nodded to the man to continue.

"Somewhere deep in the Lands Beyond, though, there is a way back. It has been traveled before, but not by any man among the living. It's said that there are demons and dragons and trials that no man whose heart is heavy with wrongdoing can surpass. It is said that the great Mirdan is imprisoned there."

Haerviu finished his mug and called out for another. It appeared in front of him before he had finished shouting for it. "Mirdan and Nyneve?" Haerviu snorted. "An old folk's tale for the superstitious ones. Them that still believe in korrigans and banshees. Mirdan ran off with one of the Fae, he did. That's what they tell. She imprisoned him on an island where a man may never return."

The gray man seemed to grow less substantial with each draught from his stone mug. His skin showed patches of bone and his face became more sunken and drawn. His voice took on a rattle. "There is an island. On that island is a cave. It is the cave that leads back to life. I know because I've seen it."

Haerviu put down his mug. "Then why didn't you go back? Why are you here? And how did you travel backwards on the Paths of the Dead?"

The gray man nodded at each of Haerviu's questions, as if he'd been expecting them. "My name is Bran. I was one of the Ankou's chosen. I followed him once to the Lands Beyond. But I am not dead. At least not in the waking world. Here, I might as well be dead. But until I am dead, Ankou will not put me in his great forest. That is my punishment. One of my punishments and the least one."

"Bran? From the tales?"

The man shook his head. "Not that Bran. I am human. At least I was. I don't know what I am now. Cursed, I'd say." He lifted his mug with a weary arm. It shook with the effort. A new mug appeared in front of him, filled to the brim. Bran took a sip and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Only the dead may pass through the cave. Since I am not dead, I cannot pass." He opened a malevolent eye at Haerviu. "And I should by rights be trapped there forever. But I escaped to return here." He shook his head. "'Tis not a better place to wait out eternity. But at least it isn't as dry." He tipped his mug again.

"And what would you have of me? Will you take me to this place and show me how to get through?"

Bran shook his head. "I may not."

"But I may." The timid voice of the dwarf spoke up from the side of the table. "I can take him to the island. For I'm not a man."

Bran looked at the tiny man. He laughed, and the effort split the skin next to his mouth, showing a bit of the skull that lay just beneath. "So you may. But will you?"
The man nodded. "Try my luck. 'Tis my death."

"Right you have it," Bran said. And he began to tell them the way of things and how they were to get through Ankou's Forest and navigate the Lands Beyond. But what became of them, no one knows, for when you traverse the Lands Beyond, if you manage to come back to the waking world, you are sworn never to tell anyone, for good or for ill. And it's a pact made in blood with a curse that goes beyond death, as Bran will tell you. Because he's been there.

***

Bertha paused and seemed to come back from a long way off. She cleared her throat. Sebastian refilled her Armagnac. She nodded to him and drank down a portion of it. "Sorry, Basti. I didn't mean to pick such a long one. It just came out that way."

I poured myself more coffee and gestured with the cafetiére to Hagen. He nodded, and took a cup for himself. Heinrich had been so rapt with Bertha's story, he had to shake himself to bring himself back to the present.

When Sebastian came back to us, he poured Heinrich an Armagnac and one for himself. "Where did you get that tale, Berti?"

Bertha shook her head. "Just a minute." She put a hand on the piano, her eyes faraway again. Then she finished her Armagnac and walked to us, setting her glass on the table.

"Do you want to sit?" I asked.

She shook her head. "No, Schätzchen. I need to stand awhile. Otherwise, the tale don't settle right. Down here." She smiled at me and put her hand on her stomach. And then bent her head for a few moments, her palms together.

We waited, each of us wrapped in our thoughts. Heinrich's song about Mirdan had obviously inspired Bertha to tell this tale. I wondered if she had made it up on the spot. But it sounded too real for her to have invented it.

"I've seen the other side of that cave," I said.

***

photo credits

PeterThoeny Leaving the circus behind, a new path opens up via photopin (license)

Wayne Stadler Photography Never is a Promise via photopin (license)

Big Grey Mare Happy Thanksgiving To All via photopin (license)

Back from Eurocon!

2016-11-08T13:49:00.003+01:00

Returning from a pleasant 19 degrees C in Barcelona to, oh, about 3 degrees in Cologne, I am finally adjusting. I brought a mild head cold back, lots of memories, and some books (see below). Thanks to everyone who came to my panels and to my co-panelists - who were awesome and fun to listen to.

I particularly enjoyed talking about world-building with Aliette de Bodard, Charles Stross, Andrzej Sapkowski ('the defense rests'), Concha Perea and successfully moderated by Haralambi Markov. I thought of all kinds of things I could have (and should have) said after the panel. This happens to me every time. Even after nearly 20 years teaching at the University of Cologne, I sometimes get tongue-tied on panels and my brain freezes up. I'm sure this never happens to anyone else. So I would love to do a blog post or article on this one.

The mythology panel was also informative since Kjartan Yngvi Bjórnsson and Snæbjörn Brynjarsson (who will hereafter always be known as The Iceland Guys) helpfully informed me that the Vikings will be returning to Cologne next year. So if you live here, make sure you've got your fire extinguishers and smoke alarms up-to-date by then. But if the Vikings show up around Karneval time, there's a very good chance no one will notice anything unusual (except perhaps the burning buildings).

The panel was beautifully moderated by Juliane Honisch whose insights into her work with Alpine folk tales were enlightening and makes me want to rush out and buy all her books.

Regina Kanyu Wang had some interesting and unexpected things to say about Chinese mythology and folk tales, the awareness of the Chinese people of foreign mythologies, and the differences between how people view mythological creatures and deities, East versus West.

It was lovely to meet so many people from so many countries and have so many tapas (with so much wine to wash them down with) in so short a time.

I was forced to change my suitcase packing ritual at the last minute due to the Gigamesh bookstore's dealers room sale on the last day (2 books for 1 euro), but I did restrain myself and only bought eight books. Shame on Gigamesh. I also snagged a copy of fellow Albedo One co-conspirator Dave Murphy's recently published Walking on Ripples, also available from the publisher, Liffey Press.

But I didn't exceed the weight limit and I got them all home. I'm now fighting with Finn MacCool over who gets to read what first. He wants the Tooth Fairy. Hmm. We shall see.

Finn has his paw on One-Eyed Jack but I know he's waiting to steal The Tooth Fairy and take it back to his kitty lair.

Heading Off to Eurocon 2016 in Barcelona

2016-11-02T16:10:00.000+01:00

If you are attending, I'll be around most of the time and would love to chat.

I don't have any definite plans but will likely tag along with any happy group of people heading in the direction of nearby pubs and bars. Or a coffee shop if there's a good one near the Con.

I'm on two panels: Friday afternoon (How to Build a Fantasy World) and Sunday afternoon (Mythology into Fantasy) and hope to see you there.

Triple Junction excerpt: The Dance of the Dead

2016-10-22T15:34:00.000+02:00

Just in time for Halloween, Samhain, or Kala Goañv in the Breton language, an excerpt* from Chapter 6 in book 5, the final book of The Schattenreich, Triple Junction

The meandering trail through gentle hills led us into a bowl-shaped dale. A single-file of forlorn souls marched downwards from the hills opposite us. Hagen called a halt when we reached a jumble of moss-covered boulders to the right of the path.

“Just find a place to sit comfortably. We won’t have long to wait,” Hagen said.

Heinrich slung his binioú kozh in preparation for playing, and Sebastian sat next to me, taking my hand in his.

“Who are they, Tadig?”

“Those who’ve departed but have not yet found peace.”

“What are they doing here?”

“Celebrating. And remembering. Like us. Look. A few of the Tud join us.” My father pointed behind us, to the path we had just taken.

A line of about a dozen Tud, one of several races of beings who inhabited Ande-dubnos, came our way. These were the tall ones with fair skin and long silvery hair. They stood near a group of boulders to the left of the path. A couple of them nodded to us, and they watched Heinrich expectantly.

Then I saw Ankou. He stood where the path opened out to the grassy dale, where the dead had just passed. He wore his black cloak and wielded his iron-tipped staff, his legs spread. His hair blew behind him, his skin an unearthly white. He waited until the last of the dead passed by. When they were all gathered in the middle of the downs, Ankou rapped his staff on the ground three times.

The dead began to sing. Ankou rapped his staff three more times. Some danced, but mostly they
moved amongst each other in a grim Irish wheel, touching one other as they passed, many of them turning, gazing as if searching for someone or something, the short cropped grasses not even marked by their passing. Hagen gazed in the same way. He tapped Heinrich on the shoulder.

Out in the middle of the dale, Hagen and Heinrich’s mother Isabel glided past the other souls. Her face had none of the life and hope so visible in the pictures Heinrich had shown me in Dinard, but she was beautiful, with a kissed-by-moonlight paleness contrasting her long dark hair and slender form.

Beautiful and dead. So near but so far away.

Heinrich played a few notes on his bagpipe, then stopped to sing to her in Brezhoneg, not a funeral dirge, but a song that sounded both happy and sad. Heinrich’s clear voice conveyed respect and longing.

Isabel glanced once our way and then continued her search. Was she looking for Hagen’s father Theodor? One of the dead men took her hand and led her in a slow dance. She didn’t resist. The others joined them, swaying and turning to Heinrich’s song.

Ankou kept a close watch on his flock. When one of them strayed too far towards us, he would call them back with a commanding voice that touched me in the deep place where my fear of him still lived. But what could he possibly threaten the dead with?

I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to that question, but as I turned to ask Hagen, Ankou stood before us. He had moved across the dale in less time than it took me to open my mouth to speak, as quick as the dead men who had led us here. I turned my face away, unwilling to meet Ankou’s eyes.

His claim on me had not yet come to pass; he would have to wait. I was here with the man of my heart’s desire tonight and was still very much alive and a part of his life. Ankou bowed and reached out a hand to me. Was he asking me to dance?

I shrank back. Hagen reached me and took my hand in a tight grip. He held out a hand to ward off Ankou’s advance. “Your claim on Katarin is not yet due. What do you seek from the living?” A ring of light glowed a ghostly white on Hagen’s little finger.

Ankou bowed. “A dance to celebrate Kala Goañv and the day of your promising.”

Was tonight's joy to be the cause of hostility? Hagen couldn’t tell me about the unfinished business between them because of a geis. But if all Ankou wanted was a dance, then I could do that. I took my hand from Hagen’s and extended it to Ankou.

A light touch on my shoulder made me turn my head.

“May I have the pleasure of a dance with you, milady?” Brionne, the Tud I met at the Sea of Dreams, the night Heinrich and I made love for the first time, stood next to me. For the evening’s festivities, he wore a burgundy red suit featuring a double-breasted long-tail coat that went well with his platinum hair. Hagen smiled and nodded his head in approval.

Brionne bowed to Ankou and turned back to me. Ankou’s face betrayed no emotion, but a brief smile of acknowledgement appeared.

I gave Brionne my hand. “I’d be honored.”

The other Tud danced with us, their long arms and legs swirling, rising and falling. Ankou swiveled his head to watch us. Their enthusiasm pushed me into a frenzy, just like on Kala Hañv, the Maifest, when I ran with the Tud to honor Eduard’s passing. Here it had none of the urgency of the Wild Hunt I had fled.

I didn’t need to escape Death. Not tonight. Not yet.

Hagen joined Heinrich in his song, his voice higher but in harmony. I’d never heard him sing before. The words poured out evening a rich timbre; although I didn’t understand their meaning, the carefully contained emotion behind them seemed clear. Sebastian added his voice to the chorus, and put his arms across their shoulders. Heinrich ended the song with a few plaintive notes from his Breton bagpipe.

I curtsied low to Brionne and thanked him for the dance before turning again to the dead. The souls in the middle of the downs continued their own songs, voices strengthening and then fading away. Sobs and cries issued forth. They intensified their movements as if working up to a grand finale. At a signal from Ankou, they abruptly turned and began the climb back to where they had come from.

Hagen took a few steps closer to Ankou. They faced off, their words swallowed in a wind that swirled around them, a wind Ankou caused with a flourish of his iron rod, so that none of us were privy to their conversation. Heinrich held me around the waist.

Finished with what they had to say to each other, Druid and Death regarded each other across the short distance between them before Ankou turned and followed his flock, his long hair flowing around him. He turned once more and bowed to me before continuing on his way. Hagen started after him, a momentary sadness lingering in his expression, until Sebastian clasped him by the shoulder.

We began the trek back home.

***

Wishing everyone a safe and peaceful Kala Goañv

*redacted to minimize spoilers.

Illustration credits:
Spooky Forest, j. s. suley via istock
Pompeii bronze, K.-G. Hinzen
Dancing in the Moonlight, Demoncic via istock
2015 Pumpkin carved by K.-G. Hinzen

Sneak Preview: Book 1 of The Sundered Veil, a new Schattenreich series

2016-08-13T16:33:00.001+02:00

Hi Dear Readers,

Time for an update.

Presenting an excerpt of the (still-in-progress) first book, The Sundered Veil. Yes, it is a part of the Schattenreich (Celto-Germanic) universe, and yes, it is a new (fantasy) series, one that takes place in the Very Near Future. Yes, there are some familiar (but older) characters and many new characters.

Yes, I am still writing it, and yes, it is just to whet your appetite.

It started out as a short story and has now reached near novel length. I'm working on it steadily and it has, much to my surprise, now outpaced my progress on other projects so much that I'm devoting most of my writing time and research efforts to finishing it. Such is life.

I've also started a visual (but chaotic) story-elementing thing over at my Sundered Veil Pinterest board.

PLEASE NOTE: Due to a technical error, the KOBO promotion for Primary Fault ended five days too soon! I've adjusted the free promotion to run from now until August 21 (the promotion may take a day to go into effect, so check back again starting August 15!). My apologies if this error caused any disappointment.

***

Jeremiah: The Disappearance

Nine months ago

My friends called me Jim. Short for Jeremiah. Not Jerry or Jem. Might be because my little sister could only manage 'Jimah' when she was…little. Everyone, myself included, thought it was way cute. My cousins shortened it to Jim, and it stuck. I preferred Jem because that would make me much more interesting, but was really glad no one called me Jerry.

Only three people called me Jeremiah - my father, one of my uncles and my cousin Theo - short for Theodor. Everyone called him Theo, even my uncle, his father, the one who also called me Jeremiah. Theo was named after his grandfather, who died shortly after his birth under mysterious circumstances. Mysterious, even for our family, and that was saying a lot.

I wasn't named for anyone. My dad just liked the name, according to my mother. My grandfather was also dead and, by all accounts, not-a-nice-person, and not one to name your son after. Okay with me.

Theo was late, as usual. I had anticipated that and brought my math textbook, Math for Information Technology and Dad's copy of Bronstein for reference. I settled myself in Theo's big comfy easy chair, probably an antique or something close to it -- complete with tattered knitted cotton armrest covers -- and popped open the bottle of Peters Kölsch I filched from the fridge along with an additional bottle in anticipation of Theo's arrival. A stack of firewood was piled next to the open fireplace, so I busied myself with starting a fire, hoping we would make a night of it.

I hadn't seen Theo in a while -- he'd only been home to Burg Lahn over the Christmas break for a couple of days -- and missed him terribly. I'd never tell him that, but I'm sure he knows it. He and his sisters worship their other sibling, Brevalaer, and I understood that, I really could, but Theo was my hero. I'd never made any secret about that. It was because I liked him, he was already a scientist and was mostly off doing scientist-type things with his life, and mainly just because he treated me like one of the family.

The first sip went down quick, all sparkly and cold with only a hint of hops to tickle my nose, and I automatically relaxed.

All was quiet, and there wasn't anyone else about. I had to let myself into the castle with Dad's key. Even the air had a quality of stillness I'd never felt here before -- or maybe never noticed. There was also that faint hint of violets that always seems to linger in this part of the castle. The only thing missing was…

"Hey, Jeremiah," Theo said as he sauntered into the room. "Sorry I'm late."

"No problem," I said and handed him his beer.

"A vintage Bronstein," he said with a smile and pointed to Dad's book. "Bronstein's the best. My copy's not near as cool as that one."

We clicked bottles together and took sips. He settled onto his non-matching couch next to me, right out of the IKEA catalog from five years ago, and slid his feet on the thick oak slab that passed for a coffee table, probably scavenged from the castle basement. Did I mention just how cool Theo is?

"Where is everyone?"

"They're all at one of Heiner's concerts. He's letting my sister join in for a couple of songs. A debut, so to speak. I begged off, saying I had to study for an exam retake."

"Gotcha. Although missing Jax's debut--"

"Needed them all to be gone for what's up for tonight." Theo sat back, a lock of his unruly wavy chestnut hair falling across his forehead.

His stockiness didn't hide the fact that he was fit. He had an athletic build, much closer to my uncle Heiner's than my uncle Hagen's, though he wasn't nearly as tall as either of them. Theo had an easygoing manner, not as obviously comfortable in his skin as his brother. That made me like him more, since I felt so awkward most of the time with my chunky build.

I had so often wished I were Theo in so many ways, and that was one of them.

"What's up for tonight?" I asked.

His eyes twinkled their dark blueness, enhanced by the room's dimness. My eyes, in stark contrast, were…just. plain. brown. Like my mom's. Nothing special. She's also plain. I meant to say, she's very pretty and all. Just not of the blood. Which made me a half-blood, in a manner of speaking.

Luckily, Theo didn't hold that against me, never has, always willing to help me improve my druid abilities. Even though he just called them skills. Schattenwerk. Shadowcraft, the way of doing stuff in the Otherworld. Even a half-blood like me possessed a native ability, but it needed to be directed and polished, like any ability. Like doing science or math. My dad was fully on board with the science and math, but not so much with the shadowcraft. My mother: vehemently against it.

I sighed. Theo took another chug of beer and grinned. "Not what, but when," he said. "We need to test your ability to time travel."

I choked on a swallow of beer and then wiped my mouth, laugh escaping. "Yeah. Right."

He nodded. "Walking the veil," he said. "You've heard of it?"

I nodded, hesitantly. "I've heard you guys mention it a time or two."

"It's one of those inherited things. Like curling your tongue or crossing your eyes." Theo proceeded to demonstrate his ability to do both at the same time.

"Your many talents never cease to amaze me, Cuz. So are you also good at time travel?"

He gestured with the bottle. "Nope. Not even a smidgen. I can't even walk the veil back a few minutes. Mama and Papa can go back centuries."

I couldn't fathom that. "And what makes you think I can do this walking thing?"

He shrugged. "Don't know till we try."

I leaned back; scratched at the stubble on my chin. "Forgot to shave this morning," I said.

"Still working on your game engine?" he asked with a sly grin.

My turn to shrug. "Not making much progress. But having fun getting there."

"I understand perfectly," he said. "When you're doing something you love, time just slips away."

"Another form of time travel. Okay, let's do it. How?"

He folded his legs under him in a graceful gesture that reminded me of his father. "We have to picture where we're going - you especially since you'll be the one guiding us there -- and then we mediate. It's really as simple as that." He slugged back the rest of his beer. "A couple more of these is necessary -- helps to be in an altered state -- but I'd like to try it without anything harder than a few beers."

We did that. But I had to stop in between to ask him what he really meant to do, the why. He just said, wiping a hand across his brow, "Need to find something…out. Don't want the others to know. Especially if there's nothing to it."

Based on his descriptions and what I remembered from the excavations near the Cologne Rathaus that had, after a decade of delays and mismanagement, been turned into a museum, I drew a mental picture of the place he had in mind. Somewhere between Roman Cologne and the arrival of Charlemagne, not that that narrowed it down. Much. But after some intense mediating, by some miracle, and the contents of at least a six-pack (I lost count) to pave the way while we drew up mental pictures of Cologne in the Middle Ages, we traveled the veil.

At first it smelled like old wood, alive, breathing, a subliminal whispering. Then sights, sounds and smells flew past, all distorted and too quick to sort, as if we were on a high-speed train racing through patchy bits of cold-studded fog. Suddenly it all stopped, a curious quiet surrounding us. I looked around and there it was. We had ended up next to the Roman well that Theo said was still in use during Charlemagne's reign.

Theo pounded me on the back. "Excellent, Jeremiah. I knew you had it in you." He walked up to the lip of the well and peered down. He grimaced. "It's pretty deep. This is going to be harder than I thought."

"What is?" I said, joining him and looking into the inky blackness of the well. I couldn't recall if this well was even open to visitors at the museum. If so, it wouldn't be possible to fall into it in our time. Here, in the depths of the Middle Ages, no safety net or warning signs were in evidence.

"The key to saving the veil," he said. "Without too many people getting hurt."

Before I could even ask him what the fuck, some dude with a blond braid down to his butt ran up and grabbed Theo, dragging him over the side, and the two of them plummeted into the well. I never even had a chance to react. I also never even heard an impact or any screams. I looked down into the darkness, hoping to see something and dreading to see crushed bodies at the bottom. But nothing. They were gone. Just like that.

I slid down on the cold ground and put my head in my hands. Shit, Theo. How do I get back? And my next thought, I can walk the veil. Oh yeah. I need to find time to feel guilty about that later.

The Sundered Veil, Copyright 2016 Sharon Kae Reamer, All Rights Reserved.

***

illustrations by: Yaroslav Gerzhedovich
(his pictures also adorn the covers of all my Schattenreich series novels as well as the header of this blog)

KOBO Promotion live NOW!

2016-07-04T13:16:00.000+02:00

It's free! First time ever that Primary Fault has been offered for free. Offer good only on Kobo.
From now through July 10, 2016.

July 4th Weekend Sale and More

2016-06-30T16:07:00.000+02:00

Starting tomorrow (hint: could be earlier or possibly a bit later, depending on when the bots get off their tiny digital butts to make their price adjustments), we are having a sale through the July 4th weekend.

0.99 USD, GBP, and Euro at various vendors (see below for links). For other currencies, some conversion (that may look all weird but should be equivalent to the 0.99 price point) will occur.

Primary Fault,
Book 1 of the Schattenreich*

Amazon worldwide

iBooks

Nook

Thalia, Weltbild, Hugendubel, Mayersche

Shaky Ground,
Book 2 of the Schattenreich

Amazon worldwide
iBooks
Nook

Thalia, Weltbild, Hugendubel, Mayersche

Kobo (through July 10th)

*Where's the Primary Fault link for Kobo? you might ask. A separate promo will run, starting next week, on Primary Fault. Stay tuned for details.

photo credit: Stillwater OK Fireworks-4 via photopin (license)

The Schattenreich Mythology: Five Things You Always Wanted to Know About the Schattenreich

2016-05-29T20:54:00.001+02:00

Some things that some of you have asked. I would like to answer them so as to not give too much away.

1. Why the Schattenreich?

The German word Schattenreich can be interpreted as the realm of shadows, the kingdom of shades or even a plenitude of shadows. My interpretation of this realm, where many shadows do exist, is that through their special relationship with the Otherworld (Ande-dubnos or Anderwelt), the von der Lahn family (and their ancestors) have carved out their own special portion, directly connected to the waking world and which has borders, where they can practice their craft in a relatively protected state.

2. Who can enter the Schattenreich?

Those of the blood, which mainly consists of the generations affected by Cathubodua's original curse - nine times nines generations - where the women are destined to die soon after childbirth. The ability to cross the veil to the Schattenreich is not without its obligations, however. These duties can and do vary according to a person's ability and affinities.

3. Is there a connection between Burg Lahn and the Schattenreich?

Yes! Burg Lahn, ancestral home to the von der Lahns and before them the Du Bois family and a few other branches of the family tree, is - through repeated usage - the well-worn path, easy access to the Schattenreich and through that domain to Ande-dubnos proper. Some would say that it constitutes a special sort of nemeton - a connection through the veil between the waking world and the Otherworld. A Schattenreich construct, Lahn-dunum, the Otherworld equivalent to Burg Lahn, exists in the Schattenreich and is also a place where crossing is facilitated.

4. Who built Lahn-dunum and where is it?

No one knows who crafted the original construct. Access to Lahn-dunum is mostly restricted to the heir - the current Baron of Burg Lahn (formerly a count, but the family was demoted due to their stubborn adherence to their pagan heritage) - and his direct descendants (see, for example, Shadow Zone and Triple Junction). The construct is located within the Schattenreich - or at least it was until relatively recently, when Caitie accidentally translocated it (book 3, Double Couple) to Ande-dubnos.

5. Who lives in the Schattenreich?

The only (known and accounted for) permanent residents of the Schattenreich include:

Korri. An ancient being, most probably a Korrigan who rather than remain in the waking world , chose to dwell there with some of her brethren, who may or may not still exist outside of dreamtime. (see Double Couple)

Five-fingered Yan. a being out of legend whose fingers are lit. He can manifest on the borders between the Schattenreich and Ande-dubnos and can sometimes act as a (not necessarily reliable) guide, especially in dark places. His presence does not bode well (see Primary Fault).

The Lost Children. Legend has it that during a later Crusades campaign, children were recruited to fight for the so-called holy lands. What is more likely is that the children were conscripted, possibly sold as slaves. The lucky ones who were rescued and taken to the Schattenreich, constitute a band of helpful but sometimes mischievous children who dwell permanently near the borders to Ande-dubnos. It is rumored that they can cross to the waking world, where they pilfer foodstuffs and other useful items to stock the ancestral von der Lahn cottage, Ker Gisell (see Double Couple).

Nymphs or mermaids (Breton Morverch) and probably many other names, live underneath the swift flowing waters of the so-called River of Life that forms the westernmost border to the Schattenreich. They guard access to a place of mystery and beauty, an eternally blooming wildflower meadow. Why this particular patch of land should remain inaccessible to humans and inhabitants alike, is not clear. This is likely due to the meadow being a transformative place and so not without special reason, off limit (see Shaky Ground) The nymphs can wear beautiful faces.

And one more as a bonus:

6. Is the Schattenreich black and white?

One reader always had the picture of the Schattenreich in shades of gray (shadows=gray, black, and white). The answer is No. The Schattenreich has very vivid colors (the trees, the sky, the grassy clearing), sometimes even more vivid than counterparts in the real world. The Schattenreich (and Ande-dubnos) do not seem to have strong scents or smells.

Additional questions or comments more than welcome!

photo credit:

Underweald, Sussex via photopin (license)

1095 via photopin (license)

Dawn Mist via photopin (license)

Dancing the May: an excerpt from Double Couple, Book 3 of the Schattenreich

2016-05-01T15:06:00.001+02:00

May Day (and May Eve) continues to be a pan-European celebration that can be traced back to the Celtic celebration of Beltane, one of the high holy days of the Celtic calendar. Even though current traditions vary from country to country and according to which kind of group is doing the celebrating (i.e., pagan, non-pagan, labor activists, young adults in the throes of a romantic relationship).

Dancing maypole ladies

In Germany, the celebrations vary across the country, but usually include May Eve bonfires, dancing until after midnight (also known as 'dancing in the May') - with or without a Maypole and/or with or without traditional circle dances - and also various (ahem) fertility rites and consumption of copious amounts of food and beverages of an alcoholic nature. Historically, the Celts also included various games of prowess and challenge (e.g., Celtic Culture, A Historical Encyclopedia, edited by John C. Koch).

Birch saplings, more or less suitable for a Maibaum

In the Rhineland where I live, young men are expected to deliver a properly decorated (usually with varicolored strips of crepe paper and a wooden heart engraved with the intended's name) to their beloved. This year - leap year - the tradition reverses, and the young lady is required to deliver the tree.

Another historic tradition in Germany - although probably only dating to sometime in the nineteenth century - opinions vary - is the celebration of Walpurgisnacht (named after St. Walpurgis, a female saint who lived and died in the eighth century), the night that the witches gather (on the highest peak in the Harz Mountains) to celebrate the coming of spring.

The excerpt from Double Couple takes place at Burg Lahn during a traditional Maifest, held each year by the von der Lahns, complete with a May Queen, athletic games, a horse race, and handfasting. Of course, just a few chapters later, other things - or I should say Otherworldly things - also happen on this particular May Eve...

***

Book 3 of the Schattenreich series

The multiple thwopping of arrows hitting their targets rang out across the field. Heinrich stood with the other contestants, a half-dozen men and two women, practicing with their long bows. One of the guests commissioned to act as contest official bustled about importantly, pinning numbers on shirts and writing down names. When he came to Heinrich, they conferred for a moment before they agreed to pin Heinrich's number on one leg of his pants.

Heinrich had stripped his upper body of everything but a soft leather vest, and I suspected he would lose that before the contest started. I admired the sight of him, watching the muscles in his arm flex as he pulled back on his bow, taking aim. Heinrich stood out compared to the other men in the field, a wildcat among barnyard tabbies.

The crowd shouted encouragement, adding to the pageantry. Some tied ribbons or strips of cloth around contestants' arms or necks. I waited for someone to offer Heinrich such a fetish. When no one did, I hurriedly extracted a purple satin ribbon Heinrich had woven into my braid. I held it out to him.

"Luck, Heiner. Not like you really need it."

"You can never have enough luck," he said and stared at the proffered ribbon. "You want to give me your token?"

"Only if you want it."

"A favor from my favorite lady. That would be grand, chérie." He took the ribbon and tried unsuccessfully to wind it around his left arm.

"Let me." I tied the ribbon on his upper arm in a double knot so it wouldn't slip down. "Kilhian and I just had a short but interesting Ausflug in Lahn-dunum."

He started to walk to the first peg, but stopped and turned.

"Do your thing. It's not urgent," I said and smiled.

The contest went through only four rounds of shooting but took place in the woods, three arrows each, at different distances from the targets, the distances marked with colored pegs. It was an abbreviated form of field archery, meant only for entertainment and not an 'official' competition. At Heinrich's turn each round, I produced my loudest Texas war whoop, putting even the rowdier teenagers to shame. The younger girls, challenged by my display, cheered their favorites on in a renewed frenzy of yelling.

Heinrich won by a wide margin - he had hit the yellow bull's eye at all three distances - earning good-natured catcalls and whistles from the crowd. Hagen and Elise had arrived and joined in the cheering. Heinrich strode over to me after he was declared the winner and swung me in a wide circle, laughing with joy.

"I'll collect my boon from you later, Caitie." He looked around. "This really isn't the ideal place to talk."

"I can see that. What the heck is a boon?"

"It's a Germanic tradition. A favor. A touch of your fortune."

Wondering about that momentarily chased thoughts of Dagmar Abel and Kilhian ar C'hoed away before the fear returned. Where is she and what is she planning?

Heinrich, now sporting a sleeveless T-shirt and running shorts, lined up for the long distance run, not measured in kilometers but a marked path through the forest to the large oak tree and then a sprint across the meadow. Not having the advantage of my Schattenreich wolf form to augment my speed, I didn't have a chance against all those legs with their well-defined thigh and calf muscles.

Hagen and Elise conversed a few feet from me, and I debated whether to approach them. Not that I'd be able to tell Hagen about what happened, but maybe I could couch it in code. Hagen waved me over. Elise frowned while Hagen introduced us.

"Caitlin von der Lahn, Elise Maier."

I held out my hand. Elise displayed a calculated hesitation before taking it. Her critical appraisal as Hagen enunciated my name was a stitch less than friendly. Hagen's displeasure at her behavior was barely perceptible.

"Nice to meet you, Frau Maier. You make a lovely May queen."

She nodded in haughty acknowledgement before taking Hagen's arm to lead him closer to the race about to start. I felt a touch of anger at her response, but was more irritated that I couldn't talk to Hagen. I turned away from them to watch the race.

Hagen was not so easily led.

He disengaged himself from Elise and clasped my hand as he flashed me a look I had no trouble decoding as patient suffering. Watching us, Elise's arms traveled to her hips in a peeve. I quietly harbored joy imagining Frau Maier and her queenly rump leaving Burg Lahn. The race started to loud whoops and cheers.

"You are so in trouble," I said to Hagen.

He shrugged. "I think I'll survive it."

"And I've had an interesting chat with that ar C'hoed fellow."

Hagen quickly hid his look of alarm.

"You have to play escort for a while still?" I felt a snarky smile forming, but didn't want to ruin Elise's few moments in the sun with the sexiest man on the planet. Especially since Hagen was cultivating a meaningful relationship with the May queen's father.

"The prize ceremony, opening the dance floor, and then the handfasting. Join me there?"

"Glad to."

Heinrich placed a respectable fifth. I gave him a well-deserved hug and an energetic pat on the back before he'd gotten his wind back, prompting him to chase me down.

"Can we talk now?" I asked.

"One more event, and I have to play. I'll find you, though. Don't worry."

"What event?"

"Horse racing. Want to give Bertha a run?"

"Not this time. Don't want to take a chance that she could get hurt."

"You'd be just fine. You make a fine figure on a horse."

"Are you riding Alice?"

"She needs to have her head every now and then. She's got a racer's heart."

"Like your motorcycle?"

"Like all my women," he said, grinning.

"Naughty man."

"Cheer us on?"

"Are you still going to wear my token?" I asked.

"Selbstverständlich," he said, bowing. "I have to change and saddle Alice. See you before the race?"

I went to hunt up Sebastian. I spotted him from behind - his tall erect frame was easy to see in a crowd - and veered toward him. As I drew closer, I saw who he was talking to and changed direction in a frantic motion, clenching my fists.

Dagmar Abel.

I caught my breath and began to pant. When I was safely out of range of discovery, I chanced a glimpse. Sebastian wore a concentrated and purposeful expression. He was drinking in every word Dagmar said. I couldn't - and didn't want to - see Dagmar's face.

"Hey, Cat. What's up?"

I jumped. "Gus, hey. When did you get here? Where's Anna?"

"She bowed out. I think she felt uncomfortable for some reason. Don't know."

He looked dejected. Dancing in the May was something to do with your sweetheart.

"Sign my dance card?"

He managed a grin. "Dance card? Ooh. Fancy schmantsy. Sure thing."

He put himself down for the first dance. I strained a look in Sebastian's direction again. Gus's face registered shock as he recognized Dagmar. His eyes and mine met.

I had to work to keep my shoulders from sagging in dismay. "I don't know what Sebastian had in mind by inviting her. I can't imagine any good will come of it."

"The evening would be much more pleasant without her here," Gus said.

"Is that a prophecy or a threat?"

He draped an arm around my shoulder. "Let's pretend she's not here."

"I wish I could."

***

excerpt from Double Couple, book 3 of The Schattenreich
Copyright Sharon Kae Reamer, 2013.
All Rights Reserved.

photo credits:

Luxor Live: Art Nouveau dancing girls via photopin (license)

fagedajorda-2 via photopin (license)

Support Your Local Library

2016-04-11T17:30:00.001+02:00

(Raises hand) Hi, my name is Sharon, and I have rediscovered the library.

Even though I live in Germany, I am considered a Florida resident (because taxes and whatnot) and can use the local library (Sarasota County) to check out and read ebooks.

It's been a wonderful thing, enabling me to read ebooks that are priced too high for my current book budget: I am semi-voracious reader and go through 2-3 books a week (fiction and non-fiction), and while I also still gladly read printed books, I love my Kindle Paperwhite (many reasons, one of which is I live with a Sleep Diva, SD for short, and the Paperwhite allows me to read in bed, with the lights out, far into the night without disturbing either the SD or the cats) and so am always looking for new ebooks to read.

Examples of ebooks I recently checked out and read and really enjoyed:

How I Killed Pluto and Why It Had It Coming, by Mike Brown
Sized 12 Is Not Fat, Meg Cabot
Raven's Shadow Trilogy, Anthony Ryan
Mistress of Rome, Kate Quinn
A Bullet for Cinderella, John D. MacDonald

That's just a few of the ebooks I've read since I started using the library late last year. My Goodreads goal for this year is 82 books (up from 80 last year), and while I did come down to the finish line last year, I'm already 12 books ahead of schedule partly due to my newfound library pleasure (not guilty, not a bit - well, maybe a little because reading does contribute to my procrastinating just about everything else).

When I was a kid and through my teen years, before I could actually afford to buy any books, the library was my bestest best friend. After I started earning money, I could occasionally buy books - paperbacks - and later a few hardbacks (remember those?). After moving to Germany, book buying became the only way I could keep up with my love of reading. Before Amazon (and before e-books), I would schlepp suitcases full of books back from the U.S. with me every trip. Amazon enabled me to buy a lot more books, and Amazon.de enabled me to buy them without the horrendous shipping charges. Ebooks were an even better solution for a long time, but they weren't available for all the books I wanted to read, by a very wide margin.

Since ebook prices for traditionally published ebooks have skyrocketed in the past year or so (don't want to go into the whole why and who and whatnot, but this and this and this are articles which discuss it), I've felt sad because, despite most indies (i.e., independent or self-published writers) pricing their ebooks in a (for me) affordable range, in addition to offering periodic discounts and freebies, there are still traditionally-published authors that I'm eager and happy to discover and/or keep reading.

And with my library card, now I can. Even in Germany (Note: German libraries also have ebooks on offer, but not usually enough of the books that I want to read in English).

And thanks to a new program from Library Journal called Self-e, some indie and small press books are being offered to libraries throughout the U.S. through Library Journal's curation process. I am happy and proud to say that the first three books in my Schattenreich series: Primary Fault, Shaky Ground, and Double Couple, have been approved and are available for libraries to offer in ebook lending programs.

So if your local library has access to the Biblioboard Library (through Library Journal) and subscribes to the Self-e program, you can check these books out for free. For free! Yay! The librarian at your local library should be able to tell you more. I'm confident that the last two books in the Schattenreich series will also soon be available.

I'm hoping this will get my name out there to more people, even though I don't receive any compensation at this time for my ebooks being available through Library Journal (for me a win-win when readers go on to buy the books in print or digital and pass the word on to other readers about my books). For readers it's a pure win-win. Great books from indie and small press authors at a great price: free. Yes, there are lots of free books available on the Internetz, but not all of them are available (yet) through your local library.

So support your local library! Go do it. Right now.

photo credits

Springfield Public Library via photopin (license)

Book via photopin (license)

A young girl reading via photopin (license)

Seismology in Bensberg, Just Got Sweeter

2016-03-30T15:21:00.001+02:00

We are proud to announce the arrival of our newest team members at the Seismic Observatory in Bensberg!

We have two populations of bees who have just taken up residence in the observatory garden. As you can see they're just waking up. More information as soon as they're all settled in and buzzing around (and especially where you can buy the honey).

For now, an exclusive preview of our honeygram. If we can get the bees to predict earthquakes then we'll be in business for sure.

photo credits:

Beehive, Klaus Hinzen

"http://www.flickr.com/photos/27973668@N08/2751693052">Honey dipper
via "http://photopin.com">photopin "https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">(license) (photo modified to include BNS logo and seismogram)

All Romance Ebooks is putting on the green!

2016-03-17T17:06:00.002+01:00

Selected titles are on sale for St. Patrick's Day! Check it out!

And, of course, the Schattenreich is doing its part to pay homage to the wee green folk.

Primary Fault
Shaky Ground
Double Couple
Shadow Zone
Triple Junction

The Schattenreich Mythology: Ankou

2016-03-07T22:34:00.000+01:00

Hagen nudged my knee with his. “Do you know who Ankou really is?”

“Why don’t you just come on out and tell us?” I asked.

“Many think that Cernunnos is equated with Dis Pater, who Caesar claimed was the chief of all the Celtic gods. The Big Guy, so to speak. His original Celtic name is lost. Or, more likely, hidden. Others think it is Taranis, sometimes Lugh, but not often. Taranis and Lugh are solar, possibly the same being with different names. Dis Pater is definitely a dark, underworldy god.”

“You think Ankou personifies Dis Pater?” Heinrich joined me in admiring the river, slipping his sunglasses on. “Wow. I’d never really thought about him like that, but…there’s nothing to dispute it. I think of Cernunnos as Lord of the Underworld and Ankou as—”

“Subservient, I think, is the word you’re looking for. He assumes the role, at least in the times I’ve seen them together,” Hagen said, repositioning his cutlery and obviously suppressing some excitement.

“And if he is Boss Celt—” I began.

Hagen laughed and glanced around. “Not only that. Boss German, too.”

“Wōden? Ankou incarnates Wōden? What makes you think that?” Heinrich asked.

“He has all of Wōden’s attributes. The cape, the spear – it’s a staff with a curved iron blade in Ankou’s case. The hat, but he doesn’t wear it all the time. He rides a kaveg.”

“He leads the Wild Hunt,” Heinrich said. “At least he led it on Kala-Hañv.”

“He controls the wind – is that also Wōden?” I asked.

They nodded.

“He herds the dead,” Hagen said.

“With your help. But Ankou has two eyes,” Heinrich said. “Wōden lost an eye if I recall.”

“The eye is symbolic. Ankou is not all-seeing. He’s lost the ability. It has something to do with the closing of the veil. I can’t tell you why, but I’m sure of it.”

“What does all that have to do with Caitie?”

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Hagen said.

“Your geis,” I said.

Heinrich frowned. “Wōden got around.”

“He’s a fertility god. Same as Cernunnos.” Hagen shrugged. “There’s so many things that make sense all of a sudden. But I don’t know how to use it to help us yet.”

This excerpt from Book 4 of The Schattenreich, Shadow Zone, refers to a Celtic father god, named by Caesar as Dis Pater. This is a pretty good (if not complete) summary of my interpretation of the Germano-Celtic Lord of the Dead. Ankou aka Woden aka (according to Caesar) Dis Pater. Caesar even claimed that the Gauls believed they were descended from this 'unnamed' deity. According to some scholars (e.g., Derek Bryce in his introduction to his English translation of some of Anatole Le Braz's collected folk tales), the Breton people, although traditionally Catholic, were particularly resistant to suppression of some of their pagan traditions. These traditions also included acceptance of the existence of mythological (and superstitious) events.

Anatole Le Braz collected these 'folk' tales in the late nineteenth century. The above named collection, Celtic Legends of the Beyond, also include some references to Ankou in the form of 'recollections' of his visits and one in particular that I also freely borrowed from (Hell) in Book 5 of The Schattenreich, Triple Junction in the form of an oral tale told by Bertha von der Lahn.

So who is Ankou?

Ankou is a Breton (Celtic) psychopomp, tales of his exploits handed down in the folk tales of Brittany. The (probably) much more ancient figure (or deity) he represents has been lost to history. Since he's specific to Brittany, there's scant mention of him - neither from Miranda Green (The Gods of the Celts) nor from Marie-Louise Sjoestedt (Celtic Gods and Heroes).A couple of paragraphs at least were devoted to him in Celtic Culture, A Historical Encyclopedia, edited by John C. Koch.

Characteristically, he wears a wide-brimmed hat, a cape, has long white hair, might or might not have a scythe, and drives a wagon (or even a train) that he uses to collect the dead. Koch cites references of a similar figure that date to 16th century Breton.

He's been interpreted by such modern authors as Elizabeth Hand in her fantasy series Winterlong (as Book 1 of the series is also named) as a white dog and by Neil Gaiman in his Sandman series as a powerful immortal being in the form of a young Goth lady.

I've painted a broader and more syncretic interepretation of Ankou, binding him with the Germanic god Woden (=Wotan=Wodan=the Nordic father god Odin) in the tradition of finding parallels between Celtic and Nordic/Germanic religions such as those discussed by H. R. Ellis Davidson in her fabulous book, Myths and Symbols of Pagan Europe. The two figures, Ankou and Odin/Woden have much in common: passage of the dead, ruler of the afterlife, broad hat, white hair. Odin rode Slepnir, Ankou drove a wagon. Okay. But about Odin much much much more is written (see, for example, A Dictionary of Northern Mythology, Rudolf Simek).

About Ankou, practically nothing.

This gives me a lot of Spielraum for interpretation and free-association. I made full use of this - equating Ankou/Woden to an even more ancient figure who possibly was the progenitor, the Dis Pater that Caesar spoke of, to the continental Celts. God of death, fertility, poetry, a seer, In other words, a god with many faces, some more beautiful than others.

photo credit:

ankou de La Martyre via photopin (license)

Happy Valentine's Day!

2016-02-14T13:34:00.001+01:00

And to celebrate, one of my distributors, All Romance Ebooks is offering a special one-day sale on all titles (including mine):

It's a great chance to stock up on your Valentine's romances!

Links below go directly to my titles on ARe (available in both Mobi and ePub formats):

Primary Fault
Shaky Ground
Double Couple
Shadow Zone
Triple Junction

Oh, and don't forget the...

Blitz Sale - but only for blog readers

2016-01-22T23:09:00.000+01:00

In addition to the Shaky Ground promotion that runs through January 31, 2016, we've reduced the price for the ebook version of Primary Fault, Book 1 of the Schattenreich, for this weekend.

And besides exclusive subscription services, for blog readers only.

Through January 27th, $0.99

Amazon worldwide (conversion differences may result)

Kobo

Nook

iBooks

additional retailers

New Year, New Bargain at Terrae Motus Books

2016-01-10T16:32:00.000+01:00

Excerpt from Shaky Ground

"Susanna's really pretty. And poised. She's just so perfect. In every way."

"That's Mary Poppins, Caitie. Besides, who wants perfect?"

"Well. They would have made an ideal couple."

"The only one who thinks that is her mother," Samantha said. "If Hagen wanted Barbie, he could have had any number of them by now."

I remembered Sebastian's words about my not being Hagen's most beautiful lover. "So you think he prefers Midge." I felt glum as I stuffed the last piece of toast in my mouth.

She laughed. "If anyone is Midge, it's me. My mom has an original from the sixties. She looks exactly like me, including freckles."

"Well, I'd rather be Midge any day. She's perky at least. Barbie looks like she's just gotten home from her lobotomy."

"Who needs brains when you've got shoes to go with every outfit?" She giggled, snorting.

"And if you lack a frontal lobe, you really do need to have color coordinated clothes." I dribbled red wine on my shirt.

We both cracked up. It felt good to laugh hard and it felt nice being there with Samantha. I hadn't realized how much I missed her company. She refilled our wine glasses and we moved to the couch.

"Have you heard from Hagen lately?"

I just shook my head, wishing we could get off the subject of Hagen. For a minute, I had imagined I was enjoying myself.

"It's just so strange. First he gives you this beautiful pendant, and then a car, for God's sake, and goes poof into the night."

I sighed. "It was morning when he left."

"What do you mean morning?"

"We spent the night together and he left in the morning before I woke up," I said.

"Without even a goodbye kiss?"

"My but we're nosy today."

"Well, you would have given him a goodbye kiss if you were going away for a couple of months, wouldn't you?"

I would never have gone in the first place. "Well, since you asked, we had plenty of those in the hours before he left," I said. And a farewell message, a message that haunted me each night. Words came into my head.

          Night is longing without you.
          The dawn breaks cold.
          With no promise of your touch, a barren land.

awarded an Indy B.R.A.G. medallion, 2014

On sale now through February 1, 2016 for 0.99 cents (or equivalent - due to VAT and conversion, prices may vary slightly) at:

Amazon worldwide
iBooks
Kobo
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the Tolino group (Hugendubel, Thalia, Weltbild and Mayersche)
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To 2016 And Beyond!

2015-12-31T17:12:00.000+01:00

How many cats do you see?

Introducing our newest family members, Loki and Finn (MacCool), 6 months old.

Along with Loki (front) and Finn, we wish you a very erholsam/restful slide into the New Year and that all the dreams you've imagined for the next 365 days (And Beyond! - said with a Buzz Lightyear voice) will come true.

Our newly adopted rescue cats when they were still in hiding. Loki and Finn (aka The Mischief Brothers)

We are celebrating this evening with frozen margaritas and seven layer dip with a side of spanish rice

Seven Layer Dip (meatless version)

The recipe is designed to be spread across a large dinner plate and should serve 4-6 as an appetizer and 2-3 as a main meal. Using a larger decorative platter will also leave room for lining up the tortilla chips or fried tortilla wedges around the edges for a more festive appearance. Feel free to vary quantities according to taste, but don't skimp on the guacamole.

Layer 1: Refried Beans

The easiest is to use canned beans or, if available, canned refried beans (the easiest easy). These can also be made from scratch using dried pinto beans or, for something different, black beans. Simply cover the beans in water, add spices as desired, and cook the beans until tender. This does need some prep. Pintos need at least four hours cooking and black beans can take even longer. The beans can be presoaked the night before to speed cooking time.

Alternatively, with a crock pot (on my wish list), add water, turn it on and forget them for several hours.

Fry the cooked beans in lard or vegetable shortening or peanut oil (about a tablespoon or two per two cups of beans) until softened. Mash the beans and continue mashing and cooking - if they become too dry add a little bit of water - until they reach the desired consistency (I like mine with some lumps). Option: saute diced onion in the oil before adding the beans. Option 2: Fold in some sliced jalapenos at the end of the cooking time.

Layer 2: Sour Cream or Creme Fraiche

Put two cups of sour cream or creme fraiche in a small bowl. Add a couple of tablespoons of taco mix (or make your own - here for example and here) and mix well

Layer 3: Guacamole

The heart and soul of 7 Layer Dip is the guacamole. This is my secret (oops) no-fail guacamole recipe that I learned from a woman I worked with at the UT Medical School in Dallas in my short-lived capacity as medical secretary many many years ago. I wish I could remember her name so I could thank her properly. The avocados must be perfectly ripe. Peel the avocados (need at least two, possibly more depending on size so you end up with a cup and a half - more is certainly okay - I've never ever had any leftover guacamole). Mash them in a bowl, add some finely diced green onion (optional), just a teaspoon or two of chopped and seeded tomato, a few squeezes of fresh lime juice, salt and hacked up cilantro leaves to taste and mix well. Be sure to keep this away from family members until ready to spread onto the dip.

Layer 4: Cheese

Use a good cheese such as a piquant Gouda or well-aged Cheddar or a good Mexican cheese if you can get it. Mozarella also works but is taste-neutral. Shred the cheese until you have a good cup and a half or even two.

Layer 5: Olives

Chopped and seed black olives, a half a cup or so

Layer 6: Lettuce and/or Cucumber

Shred the lettuce finely and, if desired, add a few tablespoons of finely diced cucumber to give about two cups

Layer 7: Tomatoes

Chopped and seeded tomatoes, at least two cups. Option: finely diced green onion can be mixed in with the tomatoes

Assembly:

Spread the refried beans onto the plate or platter to form a layer a bare centimeter thick. Spread the sour cream/creme fraiche on top. Follow this with the guacamole. Sprinkle the cheese on top of the guacamole. The rest of the layers can be sprinkled on as you like. But the order of the layers given here are the way I usually throw it together. The tomatoes on the top give the finished dish a nice color. Warning: the dish will only look good for about the first 30 seconds before everyone begins to demolish it. Give everyone a small plate to pile some dip on and pass around some good quality (plain salted) tortilla chips or deep fried corn tortilla wedges to use as dip utensils. The round chips seem to work the best.

Some people add a layer of ground beef between the beans and sour cream. When adding meat, divide the taco mix between the beef and the sour cream.

For frozen margaritas, this is a simple but excellent recipe and this one is sweeter because it uses a sugar syrup.

Enjoy!