Friday, October 6, 2017

Jennifer Lynn ~ an interview and her novel ~ Being Here

Jennifer Lynn

TITLE: Being Here
RELEASE DATE: February 10, 2017
AUTHOR: Jennifer Lynn
ISBN: 978-0692837030
IMPRINT: Craig Na Dun

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

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.


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…


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.


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

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... Find us on Twitter at @Circlejlj.

To meet Bree MacLeod and glimpse her world for free, download The Interview at

To celebrate the rising light of Imbolc with Bree MacLeod, download Out of Darkness: Voices of Mystical Fiction & Fantasy for free at

To purchase Being Here, book one of Bree MacLeod’s Story, visit

KEYWORDS: Mysticism, Celtic, Shamanism, Druidism, Goddess, Spirituality, Soul Midwife

CATEGORIES: Pagan Fiction/Mystical Fiction/Urban Fantasy/Fantasy

Glimpse the world through the eyes of a modern-day shaman. Bree MacLeod and her story, Being Here, are waiting for you. 

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?


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.
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.”



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