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Please join me in celebrating the Yule season. 

You are invited to two Fairy (Faerie) Yule events. 

A sea of black witch hats filled the hotel lobby. Outside, a drum circle on the fake grass below the lights of nearby hotels boomed its ever-changing rhythms into the night as the giant lighted name Trump peered down over the garden wall from across a dark No Man's Land of downtown. The mermaid in the hotel pool swished her tail and ate fish from the tapas bar.

I was at the Halloween Soiree put on by Sin City Witches. That morning, I was preparing for renfaire when I got a message on the book of faces inviting me to a witch event that night. I had not originally planned to go to the Halloween Soiree because it was literally the night before the Renaissance Faire started, and I did not want to poop out before Saturday night because that was when Phyllis's funeral was going to be held at faire (see my previous post for my adventure that night.) But they offered me and my housemate free tickets and sent a car for us, and said I could hang out with guest of honor Jason Mankey and be a surprise extra guest of honor, so how could I say no to that?

So, apologies for being so long since my last blog post! I’ve been burning the midnight oil, with my new book being launched on 8 July. Now I can take a step back, as I’ve done all I can, and wait to see how the book is received. It’s an anxious time, but also an exciting time for most authors, an in-between time. These liminal times seem to be a recurring theme in my life. And not least to do with the denizens of the Otherworld.

There are certain times of the year when I feel closest to the Fair Folk, the Faeries, the Twlwyth Teg, the Sidhe, however you wish to call them. Beltane and Samhain are the usual portals when the veils between this world and the Otherworld are at their thinnest, but the time around Summer Solstice and high summer also holds a great and powerful bridge that spans across to take us into the most enchanted of places. The long twilight nights are ideal for communing with the Otherworld, and it’s lovely and warm enough on a summer evening.

As a Hedge Druid and a Hedge Witch, I have found several places around where I live where I feel a certain magical quality exists, one that is most definitely fey.

A conversation with Rommy Cortez-Driks,

author of 

The Trouble with Wanting, 

and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales

I met Rommy in 2008, when she started studying Faerie shamanism with me. Early on, she showed me some of her writing. I was gobsmacked. Hers was an exceptional gift. She is a true bard.

The creative gift can be fragile. Day jobs and family responsibilities can make it near impossible to find the focus to write, let alone the time. That can be so discouraging that a writer throws in the towel, especially since the inevitable naysayers try to shake one’s confidence and destroy one’s spirit. Piled on top of that are inner demons trying to tear down the visions and drive that great art demands. And all the while, editors and writers with hidden agendas dole out bad advice, e.g., praising a writer’s worst writing as their best, so the writer produces mostly their worst. Add in the actual writing process, which is complicated and demanding if the book is going to be original and moving. ... Well, it’s a wonder any good books ever get written. 

In the court of the royal dún was found one morning a strange stallion, known to none. He was a well-made beast, and beautiful, but strangely-marked, white with red ears, like the cattle of the sidhe. But he laid back his red ears and bared his teeth, if any dared approach him.

Only for young Govan, of all the king's warriors, would he stand still.

So Govan mounted the horse, saying, Take me where you will.

The gates were opened, and they left the dún. To a green hill the strange horse bore him, and as they approached it, the hill opened, and they entered.

Govan found himself in a high and mighty hall, filled with fair people in many-colored clothing, and in the high seat a lordly woman, fairest of them all.

Welcome, son of Gawan, she said, so he dismounted and stood before her.

I was speaking with Laura Red Witch yesterday and she was telling me how magical it is to live in Glastonbury, England and walk amongst such sacred goddess sites and Arthurian legends. She also mentioned that area is a haven for fairies and having the energy of the wee folk around has been a beautiful blessings. Now that spring is here, we can all invite these delightful sprites in with fairy flora.

When planting your garden of enchantments, bear in mind that certain plants attract hummingbird, butterflies and fairies. The wee folk love daisies, purple coneflower, French lavender, rosemary, thyme, yarrow, lilac, cosmos, red valerian, sunflowers, honeysuckle and heliotrope. Folk wisdom handed down through the centuries claims that pansies, blue columbine, snapdragons planted in bed are a welcome mat for fairies and they can use foxglove, which means “folk’s glove,” to make hats and clothing as well as tulips for their haberdashery. They also favor sunny-faced nasturtiums. Fairies are also quite attached to certain fruit trees with pear, cherry and apple as their absolute favorites.  The hawthorn is one of the most magical trees. It marks the fairies’ favorite dancing places, and you should not cut or uproot a hawthorn unless you wish to incur their wrath. Keep your eyes peeled when these trees are in bloom as there are bound to be fairy folk about!

It's well-known in Iceland that elves make their homes in certain boulders.

Some years ago, a certain farmer near Reykjavik resolved to blow up a particular boulder in order to make room for a new henhouse. With this in mind, he went out and bought some dynamite.

From that day, his hens began to lay fewer and fewer eggs.

Every day there were fewer eggs, until finally there were none.

The farmer called in the vet. The vet examined the chickens. The chickens were in fine health; nothing was wrong with their feed. There was no organic reason why the hens should not be laying.

The farmer decided not to blow up the boulder after all. He gave the dynamite away.