Mythos and the Human mind


CC0 Public Domain Pixabay

When I was earning my BA in English Lit, I had a particular fascination with mythology and Carl Jung’s theories of archetypes. It came together for me after I read Joseph Campbell’s The Power of Myth.

It connected and compared many of the world stories from different cultures. He was extremely interested in the Egyptian myths and how they influenced modern day spirituality.

If wishes were horses, I would have continued studying myths and how they connect to the human mind. I was extremely fascinated about how the brain worked. After all it is chemical, electrical, and organic. It has a physical structure, but it also needs an operating system.

We live in a world that just doesn’t make sense most of the time. Why do certain people get cancer? When others who do the same exact things–don’t? Why are we born here instead of a mud shack with five other families. So we tell each other stories. We become the heroes of our own stories.

I believe stories help us operate in an uncaring world. A world of laws needs us to add the mercy. If you watch the wild, it is truly “tooth and nail.” It is survival at its most basic. So as a group we developed myths to ease our minds. We need to believe that we have a purpose beyond food and shelter. I think if we didn’t have these stories we would be insane.

I do believe that certain stories and myths can cause insanity.

But I wasn’t meant to study myths and stories. Funny that. I made a great academic when my brain was working properly. Still what I studied in those few years have stayed with me. Something else I would never have learned in a dusty library. People are not just meat and words. They have something else that makes them more–

Sit down near my campfire. We will roast hotdogs and marshmallows. Let’s tell stories.


Essential Oils and Diamond Butterfly

img_0365 A couple of days ago, I was talking to a mental health professional about how I thought part of my problems with health was because of the underlying anxiety I feel all the time. While we were talking about my husband’s death (we were married on Feb 16th) and my chronic illnesses, she handed me a cotton ball, which she laced with a couple drops of peppermint oil.

The response was almost immediate. I could feel each muscle relax. But it went even farther than the skin, muscles, and organs. I could feel the relaxation go down into the cells of my body. I felt the electrons that had been spinning like crazy, start to drop to a slower frequency. When I left our meeting, I was even smiling and holding that cotton ball to my nose.

When I drove the forty minutes home, I had one hand on the steering wheel and the other hand was holding that cotton ball to my nose. I made it home without yelling at drivers, or giving them the one-fingered salute. I think there was a silly smile on my face when I walked into my apartment. Foxy jumped and gave me the chihuahua greeting, including the waving front paws.

When I think about it, smell is one of the most powerful of our five senses even though we use visual more often or think we do. Smell is the first sense we develop and the last sense we lose.

Cinnamon and peppermint are the two smells that remind me of Christmas and magic. So now I am trying out a few other oils. Orange is a great pick-me-up. I really need that one in the morning. I’m also looking into a few that can help dry skin and kidney function.

Peppermint is still my go-to when I lie down and my brain starts to roll and spark. It calms me down even quicker than lavender–maybe because it sparks a feeling of safety.

Now here is an excerpt from my current WIP Diamond Butterfly:

The snow came down wet and heavy as I trudged down a dirt road, marked by slashes on the trees. Without those slashes I couldn’t see the road, and I still had to hike a couple of miles before I made it to the cabin at the end of the road. My baby boy’s sleeping breath warmed my neck as I carried him on my back, wrapped in a blanket. With his weight on my back, I tested each footstep. If we fell in the snow, hypothermia could be a problem. I couldn’t fall.

I had been driving down that road like a demon with the snow hitting the windshield. I should have gotten new blades, hell, new tires when I realized that I was heading for the storm. The heater kept a small portion of my windshield clear. I might not have jerked and slid off the road, barely hitting a tree if I had seen the black creature earlier. Now I was walking in the storm and trying to keep my baby warm.

The snow dampened the sound around me. I could only hear the crunch of my own boots. Even the birds and smaller animals were hidden in burrows, snoring. I opened my mouth to taste the air. I couldn’t smell or taste anything around me, just wet and more wet.

I reached back and touched my boy’s small foot. It was soft and warm. I felt a quick relief. If I could just make it to the cabin soon without getting lost, we would be fine. I took a deep breath and followed the slashes, the loaded revolver heavy in my pocket.
How did I, Nova Tewa, obedient granddaughter, get into this predicament?


Don’t forget– Dragon Boy is my new release:

If you’re down on your luck, come to Hilda’s Inn for a game of dice and cheap ale. The hundred-year-stew has been stewing for a hundred years and the fire never burns out.

Except Hilda’s Inn is under new management, and Hilda is on the run with Davi, a dragonling. There will be dwarfs, ogres, dragons, and magical trinkets between Delhaven and Koenigstadt, the king’s city.

Don’t forget that the woods are not a safe place–the Draugr is lurking and
hungry. And, he has a taste for magic

A wander through my mind


CC0 Public Domain. DasWortgewand

Paper, thoughts, and little strips of memories are strewn over all available flat surfaces in my writing room. On one table, I have the bits and pieces of material for sewing. For the first time in two months, I have had time to let my mind wander. Who am I? Why am I here? What am I doing in this tiny apartment with a little black dog for a companion?

When I was twelve almost thirteen one of my mother’s great uncles died, leaving her a library full of original books that ranged from classics to pulp fiction. I was introduced to Isaac Asimov and Robert Heinlein. I read stories of men and even women who ventured into outer space and explored worlds. This taste of the fantastic led me to Andre Norton and her Witch Worlds.

In my deepest memories and emotions, I wanted to travel. I wanted to see new worlds and I wanted to see planets who had double suns or double moons. Even with these ambitions, my life kept coming back to the world– the one everyone else had created. When I found out that only NASA (and the Russians) had space programs, I wanted to be a part of it. Of course, it didn’t work out that way. I had neither the money nor status to get an education. No one was interested in educating a white woman whose public education only extended to the seventh grade.

Still I had hoped that we had walked on the moon, so our governments couldn’t put that genie in the bottle. But they did. When I turned 40, I lost hope– and became very ill. For years I was out of my mind from the meds and the disease. Thank god, for my late-hubby who was my caretaker and my support.

I had to turn my ambitions to something else. I started to write. My only hope was that I could populate the world with my ambitions to travel and see new things. My hope was that I could find new worlds in my imagination. Ironically, I wrote fantasy better than sci-fi.

So my dark secret? I envy you– there are at least two private companies making space craft and are looking to the stars. There are probably more that are planning to make the attempt. It is sad that our country has to use Russia for transportation to the Space shuttle.

So ask yourself– Why are we still earthbound?

The Snow has Landed

Outside it is a balmy 60 degrees. The hills around the place received snow last night. I can see it miles away from my window. When I took the dog out for a walk, we ran all the way because we wanted to get back to the relative warmth of the inside. Foxy, my little chihuahua terrier mix, is now wrapped in a blanket.

I am looking at a blank screen and trying to decide what to do with Hilda and Davi in the next book of their adventures. Plus I am not sure if I need to bring Lord Barton in so soon with the story. His representative, although it is not clear at this time, is the Draugr. I am not sure in this world if a Draugr can be killed. Maybe only be put to sleep for a long time. Davi will have to discover this himself.

When I write, the characters become real in my head. I have talked to other writers who say the same. At least they don’t crowd my mind when I am relaxing. Or maybe I am rejoicing too soon. There are times when they wake me from sleep or just at twilight when my body starts to relax, I hear and sometimes see what will happen next.

Does that make me a nutcase? I don’t think so because I can use my five senses in this world. I can touch the table and lean my arms against it. I know when I am here. I do dream though. When I dream it is like I don’t know I am dreaming. And sometimes the dreams leak into my day to day life. Why just yesterday I was trying to remember a fact and only realized later that some character in my dream had told me. That it was a true fact when I looked it up, still didn’t stop the chills. I knew before I was supposed to know.

So I write of this and other things. Of what is real and semi-real.

My motivation for writing is story. I want to write a story that will help someone escape. I want that reader to feel better after they finished my book. And in rare cases I want them to laugh. I want my writings to give the same enjoyment that I get when I read my favorite authors.

So here is the rub. I am a reader first and a writer second.