I
AM PLEASED TO WELCOME AUTHOR
Jennifer
Lynn
TITLE: Being Here
RELEASE DATE:
February 10, 2017
AUTHOR: Jennifer
Lynn
PAGE COUNT: 244
ISBN: 978-0692837030
IMPRINT: Craig Na Dun
AUTHOR BIO:
Jennifer Lynn is a soul midwife, a modern-day mystic and a shamanic
practitioner specializing in Celtic mystical techniques and practices. During
twenty-plus years of training and experience, she has studied extensively with
Tom Cowan, Caitlín Matthews, the Invisible Druid Order, the Order of Bards
Ovates and Druids, the Foundation for Shamanic Studies as well as with mystical
practitioners internationally.
An award-winning, published poet, Jennifer gives voice to her Bardic
craft through poetry and prose. Her writings explore the rhythms of life while
honoring the Goddess and the Sacred Conversation. Dance through the moon
turnings with Jennifer – read her blog at www.ThroughShamansEyes.wordpress.com.
Jennifer is also a Chinese medicine practitioner and a Minister of the
Circle of the Sacred Earth, a church of animism fostering shamanic principles
and practices. She currently resides in Saint Louis, Missouri, under the
Fleur-de-Lys, nestled amongst the waters and the oak trees.
BANTER
– STUFF ABOUT YOU
Q: How would you
describe yourself as a color? Think personality here. Are you a light and airy
pastel person, or more of a deep, dark, sultry and mysterious color?
A: Deep, rich purples
flowing to midnight blues and black, etched in rose. Unless I am journeying. My
clients tell me when I am Walking in the Otherworld, my energy field shimmers
with opalescent light.
Q: Are you a morning
person, or a midnight candle burner?
A: Definitely a
midnight candle burner. I thrive in the
quiet potency of The Mother’s time.
Q: Tell me one thing
about each of the four seasons you like. It can be anything.
A: Winter = The stark nakedness of the trees
amidst the silence of falling snow.
Spring = The smell of fecundity as the earth opens and breathes
deeply.
Summer = The rich, lush green of
life.
Fall = The colors of wisdom shining
into the world as the trees offer their leaves back to the earth.
Q: Tell me something
you would like your readers (fans) to know about you.
A: Many people ask if
Bree MacLeod and I are one and the same. My answer is always, Not exactly. Bree and I are separate
individuals, unique in our own ways, but we live in the same world.
Q: If you could morph
into any creature, what would it be?
A: Well now… a shaman
and Bean feasa never tells…
BOOKS
– ABOUT THE CRAFT
Q: When did you start
writing and why?
A: As a very young girl,
I began writing poetry. Looking back, I cannot remember what exactly inspired
me to start. But I enjoyed it, so I kept doing it. In fact, I still do. As an
adult, my role as a teacher of Celtic shamanism and mysticism carried me into
the world of non-fiction. Then, nine years ago, I heard Bree MacLeod whispering
to me. At first, I thought she was an ancestor come to tell me her tale. In
writing it down, I discovered she offers so much more. Her story immediately
called to me and I hope it touches you, too.
Q: Which holiday
celebrations do you like to incorporate into your stories and why?
A: Like myself, my
heroine, Bree MacLeod, lives the turning of the Celtic Wheel of Life. Her
celebrations flow with the Celtic Mystical or Druidic calendar as well as the
dance of Sun, Moon and Star. Her story, therefore, may find her barefoot in the
grove, journeying beneath the dark or full moon, honoring the seasons of
Samhain, Imbolc, Beltane and Lughnasadh, or drinking in the gifts of the
solstices and equinoxes.
Q: Generally
speaking, is your work based on real life experience?
A: They say write
what you know. And I know Bree’s world because I live in that world, too. A
soul midwife and walker between the worlds, I study, teach and practice Celtic
shamanism, Druidry and mysticism.
BOOKS
- NOW LETS PROMOTE – STRUT YOUR STUFF
Q: What are you
working on now? Would you like to share anything about it?
A: I just finished a
short story for the anthology Out of
Darkness: Voices of Mystical Fiction & Fantasy. A glimpse into her life
prior to her experiences in Being Here,
The Labyrinth invites you to
celebrate the rising light of Imbolc with Bree MacLeod—Bean feasa, wise woman,
shaman. Walk the labyrinth, spiral into the season of rebirth and receive the
blessing of the Celtic goddess Bríghid as Bree awakens with the magic of
Spring.
Because
sometimes a single ray of light can change your world.
The
anthology, Out of Darkness: Voices of
Mystical Fiction & Fantasy is available for free. To meet Bree MacLeod and
discover new voices in Mystical Fiction and Fantasy, Download your copy at BookHip.com/FMCZDR.
Q: Do you have a new
book coming out soon? Tell us about it.
A: Actually, my
mystical fiction novel Being Here came
out this year.
Being Here begins the story of Bree MacLeod—wise
woman, shaman and Daughter of the goddess Bríghid. Published by Ravenswood
Publishing, Being Here represents
book one of the series with book two, Coming
Home, due out next spring.
Q: How can we find
you? Do you have a web page, FaceBook page or any buy links?
A: Yes, I do.
For more information
about Jennifer Lynn and to follow Bree MacLeod, visit... ThroughShamansEyes.wordpress.com. Find us on Twitter at @Circlejlj.
To celebrate the
rising light of Imbolc with Bree MacLeod, download Out of Darkness: Voices of Mystical Fiction & Fantasy for free
at BookHip.com/FMCZDR.
KEYWORDS:
Mysticism, Celtic, Shamanism, Druidism, Goddess, Spirituality, Soul Midwife
CATEGORIES: Pagan
Fiction/Mystical Fiction/Urban Fantasy/Fantasy
ONE LINER:
Glimpse the world
through the eyes of a modern-day shaman. Bree MacLeod and her story, Being
Here, are waiting for you.
SYNOPSIS:
SYNOPSIS:
Have you ever
wondered if life is more than a series of random events? Or if invisible
threads might weave together seemingly unrelated moments? Bree MacLeod – wise
woman, shaman and Daughter of the goddess Bríghid – knows the Truth.
When her aunt and
foster-mother falls into a coma of unknown origin, Bree is pulled back to
Seattle, the city of her childhood. As the family Bean feasa, Bree must work
with her Otherworldly Allies to reach Emily and convince her soul to choose –
to make Transition or to return to life on This Side of the Veil. But, being
back in Seattle puts her within reach of her uncle, the man from whom Bree fled
for her life years ago. Can Bree and her Allies find the way?
EXCERPT:
The
hospital room was long and narrow. The drapes had been left open, but no
matter. The grey outside would hardly disturb the sleeping patient.
“Emily…”
The
name of her aunt escaped as a whisper, an echo of the shock coursing through
Bree as she stood before that bed. If she hadn’t known it was her aunt… the
withered, grey-haired thing in the bed looked nothing like the woman she knew
and loved. Except for the nose. The nose was unmistakable.
But
it was Emily’s hands that awakened memory inside Bree. Now shrunken and frail,
those hands had once held strength, wisdom and courage. They had taught Bree to
love the earth, to till soil, to pull weeds from garden beds and to clip herbs
with tender care and gratitude for life. They were agile, too, spinning wool
into yarn, untangling with ease the mess that Bree’s hands had spun. Bree could
still feel the rhythm of those hands in her bones… twist, twist, pull… twist,
twist, pull… twist, twist, pull…
Emily
had been like a mother to Bree; yet, rather painfully, they looked nothing
alike. Sinewy and petite, Emily was tiny compared to Bree, who looked more like
her rugby-playing father than her elegant mother. Bree had envied Emily’s
trimness and her red hair. It blazed with a fire more ancient than words.
Raven-black hair spilled over Bree’s broad shoulders, proclaiming the truth of
her mother’s blood. Black Irish, Raven Child they had called her in
college. Then Bree had laughed at the nickname. Now she only wondered, could
they have known?
The
touch of a curl twirling in her fingers awakened another memory. Emily had
taught Bree to braid her hair. Twist, twist, pull… twist, twist, pull… twist,
twist, pull…
“What
are you doing here?”
The
nurse’s voice drew Bree back to the bedside. Emily’s hands lay unmoving against
the white sheets. Despite the impatience of the nurse bristling beside her,
Bree could not remove her eyes from those hands.
“I
said, what are you doing here?”
The
force of the nurse’s demand struck Bree from behind, breaking the hold of
Emily’s hands upon her. Bree gasped slightly, then turned to face the nurse.
“I…
um…” Bree stammered, distracted by the sudden shift in focus. “I… I was hoping
to see Emily’s chart.”
“Charts
are for doctors,” replied the nurse.
Bree
frowned. “I am a doctor.” Even to Bree, her voice sounded tired and small.
The
nurse ran her eyes disapprovingly over Bree and cocked one eyebrow. “You’re a doctor?” The nurse’s tone
conveyed the depths of her doubt as her eyes swept once more over Bree only to
pronounce her not only lacking, but utterly unbelievable.
Not exactly hospital wear, Bree thought, her hands moving to
smooth the wrinkles of travel from her stale jeans and cotton shirt. They had
been clean and fresh when she left Shannon.
How
long ago was that now? Bree tried to tally the hours mentally. After two
cancelled connections and an unexpected overnight in Newark, she had been on
the road, what, thirty-four hours? Or was it thirty-six? She was too tired to
be sure. She had left Shannon yesterday morning; that much she knew for
certain.
Shannon…
Ireland… the Curragh… quiet… refuge… No,
Bree thought, no… not now.
“I
came straight from the airport,” Bree offered in explanation.
The
nurse lifted a hand to her hip.
“I
flew in by request of the family, to consult,” Bree countered the unyielding
nurse. “And, yes, I am a doctor.”
The
nurse just stood there.
Bree
began to doubt the odds of the woman being at all helpful. Reaching through
fatigue for her mantle of authority, she tried again. “Dr. Walters, Emily’s
Attending, is expecting me.”
“Is he now,” the nurse drawled, turning
to leave the room. Suddenly, Bree thought, the room tasted awfully sour.
“He
is indeed.” Dr. Walters, a tall, trim man with graying temples, stood outlined
in the doorway. His stark white lab coat tried to offset the gloom of the room,
but to no avail. With a frown at the exiting nurse, the doctor stepped forward,
hand extended. “I’m Dr. Walters, Emily’s Attending. You must be Dr. MacLeod.”
He
was smiling genuinely, Bree noticed. Extending her own hand, she returned the
smile and the pleasant greeting, noting inwardly that her cousine Rose must
have given him the usual background, conveniently omitting her other credentials.
“Rose
speaks very highly of you,” Dr. Walters offered. “She said you practice in
St. Louis?”
“Yes,”
Bree nodded. “I have a private practice in the Clayton area.”
Let him hear what he needs
to hear, Bree thought as
she continued answering his polite questions. She was a doctor, a specialist in
internal medicine actually. But she rarely practiced that medicine anymore. Nor
did Rose fly her halfway across the world for that. No, it was her other gifts that Emily needed.
They
had resurfaced during medical school, those other
gifts, during her rotation in the ER. She had denied it at first, explained
it away as a combination of solid training and excellent diagnostic skills. But
over time, people began to comment about Bree’s uncanny ability to nail the
problem every time.
She
just knew. Patients would come in,
and Bree would take one look and know.
Her
Chief of Residency was the first to mention it. “They all recover.” He had
waited for Bree to say something, anything in explanation, but she knew enough
to keep quiet. Besides, she was still trying to explain it to herself.
Then
she started seeing them, people walking the corridors of the hospital that no
one seemed to notice. Except Bree. But when they started visiting her at home,
she realized it was time to seek help.
Sensitive, the priest had called her. Hailing from
Ireland, he grew up on stories of people who could see and hear “through the
Veil.” He made it sound so normal. And he had reminded her… “Were you uncanny
as a child? Did you see and hear things that others could not?”
Like
the salmon slipping through her fingers in SeaTac airport, Bree thought. And
afternoon tea with the herb spirits in Emily’s garden. Or the nighttime stories
with her deceased mother.
“My
blood flows within you,” her mother would whisper to Bree from the Otherworld.
“Some day you will have to embrace the gift that blood brings.”
The
priest was kind to Bree. He even gave her the name of someone who could answer
her questions more thoroughly. But it was Emily who had responded. Sensing
something was troubling her niece, she had telephoned in the middle of the
night.
“You
are a Bean feasa, a wise woman, a
shaman,” Emily told the sobbing Bree. “One of the Aes Dána, the Gifted who can see and move through the Veil.”
Veil? What
veil, Bree wanted to know.
Her
aunt, patient and tender as always, explained. “The Veil between the world of
physical reality and the world of soul. You are a bridge between the two, as
were your mother and grandmother before you.”
Bree’s
mind wanted to panic, to run in circles screaming. But her body simply exhaled,
recognizing the truth of Emily’s words.
“The
women of our bloodline are the daughters of Bríghid, the Celtic goddess of the
sacred flame. It is Her blood that gifts you, that calls your soul to the Work.
While Her blood flows through us all, only the first-born daughter carries the
fullness of Her Gift.”
Her
heart had pounded. In Bree’s inner vision, she watched her lineage etch itself
in opalescent trees that blazed against the darkness. Tracking through
generations, she followed the names from first-born daughter to first-born
daughter. Her eyes widening slightly, Bree saw the truth just as Emily spoke
it.
“Bree,
you are the first-born daughter.”
Bree
shook her head slowly in the darkness. I
don’t understand, her mind insisted.
“Yes you do,” a voice—feminine, ancient,
loving—answered within her.
“That
is all I can tell you,” Emily had said in the end. “If you want to know more,
you will need to ask your mother. She can tell you what you need to know.”
“But…”
Bree had stammered, her mind reeling to process what Emily had told her. “But,
she is dead.”
AUTHOR LINKS:
AMAZON US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01NBVJEB8
AMAZON UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01NBVJEB8
AMAZON CA: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01NBVJEB8
CREATESPACE: https://www.createspace.com/6876911
Brought
to you by:
A
reminder to the reader ~ before you leave be sure to take a look at the
Come
back and visit again.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thank you for taking the time to visit and comment. I appreciate your input.