Bog blogging and Jessica Law

(Nimue)

Here we have Jessica Law and the Outlaws covering The Rattlin’ Bog – a video taken during a recent band practice. It’s all very low tech, so the sound balance was mostly handled by having people closer to or further from the camera.

Jess has a new children’s book out which I talked about in this post and which celebrates wetlands. Bogs tend to get a bad name, but are wonderful, liminal places that support a great deal of wildlife and also absorb a lot of CO2. If you’ve got a small human in your life, maybe get them a copy.

If you fancy booking us as a band, we’re suitable for folky, steampunk, fairy, Pagan, and other alternative events and best suited to spaces where people want to listen to the words. We’re in Gloucestershire, but we can travel further afield.

Jessica has a lot of music on youtube, so do go and have a poke about in her channel!

Storywalker

(David)

This review and the novel itself has particular significance for me during May, it being ME Awareness Month.

Part-time librarian Molly Matthews lives with the painful and exhausting chronic illness ME. The condition has broken every part of her life, except that she has plenty of time to escape into books. Especially her favourite fantasy series, Tamass the Fearless.
 
And when Molly escapes, she really escapes, because she possesses a rare talent that allows her to enter a book and meet its characters and share their adventures. Molly is a Storywalker.
 
Novelist Paul Best doesn’t walk in stories, but he’s always been good at making them up. At least, that’s what he believes, until he learns that he’s spent years unconsciously channelling the life of his unknown twin brother Tamass as the hero of his successful series.
 
When Tamass turns up at Paul’s door one dark and stormy night with murderous demons on his tail, it’s the start of a frantic multiverse-hopping adventure.
 
And then there’s Molly, one of Paul’s loyal readers, a woman who is so quietly ill in one world that she’s nearly invisible, but who in other worlds is seen riding a warrior dragon.

You can buy Storywalker as a paperback or ebook directly from the publisher – https://payhip.com/b/dcs2z

It’s also available from the usual array of online shops.

Wheel of the year poem

(Nimue)

Turning

Snow drops ice white emerging

The year turns, life comes again

Celandine in hopeful yellow

Growing new and bright again

Lambs in fields, newly delivered

The year turns, life comes again

Final frosts melt into water

Flowing now and free again.

Leafing trees their green unfurling

The year turns, life comes again

Catkins dancing, small birds calling

Nesting now, begin again.

Sweet the ducklings on the river

The year turns, life comes again

Feasts for otters, numbers dwindle

Fleeting life is lost again.

Dark the leaves of summer shading

The year turns, life comes again

Fox cubs wander, road side straying

Some survive to roam again.

Autumn shifts, red toned and freezing

The year turns, life comes again

Fall away to browns and fungi

Rotting down to live again.

Bare the trees, exposed the branches

The year turns, life comes again

Forming buds for next year’s growing

The wheel turns again, again.

This is another poem that’s come out of doing poetry classes with Adam Horovitz. The remit for this one was the use a repeating refrain.

From a Sandbank

(David)

I lived upon the sea.
Knew the freedom of salt air
in my lungs, salt wind in my hair,
the violent exhilaration of flirting with death.
I stood high on the bow as it thumped and soared
and thumped and thumped and soared,

and struggled to breathe at the stern as it plunged under
and plunged,
and stayed,
and stayed under,
and laughed with maniacal glee when we broke surface eventually.
I really lived upon the sea.

And I lived upon the land.
Survived courses when survival
meant more than just passing the course.
Ate things I would rather not even touch
and went further than I ever thought I could.
I stayed alive.
I survived.
I really lived upon the land.

I shared those things with friends.
We were friends because we shared those things.
Some survived.
Others did not.
I suspect you did.
At least, I hope so.

You are my best friend, my confidant.
We went through hells and high waters together.
I know you are still alive
because sometimes I think your thoughts.
You took me to sea,
taught me to defy the storm and to live.
You led me up mountains,
taught me to survive and to live.
You are the one, and I always thought I would see you again.
You are my youth, and I still think I will see you again.
We are a team and we keep each other alive.

Some won’t understand that,
although sometimes they will think they do.
They just don’t understand it.
It’s something we always knew.
Some survive, often without knowing why.
We really lived because we weren’t afraid to die.

You are hope and I hope you are still alive.
I hope you come crawling out of the surf,
wearing that stupid bandanna,
with a glint in your eye and a knife between your teeth.

When I dwelled in woodland

(Nimue)

Small my antlers, swift my hoofs

Tangled summer flowers in unkempt hair

Birdsong shimmering on my lips

Moss rolling, bark chewing exuberance

Raucous barking in the moonlight

With voice of doe or vixen

Rough, uncanny music.

Happy to leave, flitting unapologetic

Beyond the reach of responsibilities

And other people’s rules.

When I had antlers and belonged

Only to the leafy beech woods

Mine the bounty of windflower and bluebell

Crows my friends and owls too

Dawn and twilight my domain

In the spell of blackbird melodies

No need to explain myself

Living in wonder and beauty

A secret wanderer

At the edges of the world.

I’m currently doing a poetry course with Adam Horovitz. This came out of the first session following a prompt to imagine ourselves as something other than we are. I recently acquired a pair of antlers to wear at events, and these are the feelings that wearing them evoked in me. On the evening of the course, one of the deer can and shouted for a while near my home. they don’t do that very often, so it felt significant.

How we impact on each other

(Nimue)

Last summer I read Cider Lane – a novel by Mark Hayes. It affected me deeply, to the point where I wasn’t able to figure out how to write a review. It’s a novel about trauma and redemption, loss, grief, guilt, self-harming and wanting to die. It’s also about overcoming those things – sometimes. Having read it was a major contributor to my being able to fix a languishing novel of my own. I started writing Ghosts of the Lost Forest about fifteen years ago, and couldn’t finish it,

Last week, Mark wrote about his feelings in response to Ghosts of the Lost Forest. It’s not exactly a review either, because he’s had the same kinds of issues with this one that had with Cider Lane. Which seems fair.

Forgotten forests

The act of sharing stories can have powerful and unexpected consequences. That’s true for stories of our lived experiences. It’s also true for the things we make up but that also come from our souls. Sharing stories isn’t particularly about writing novels. Most of us have small, everyday opportunities for sharing stories about what’s going on in our lives. What we share, and how we share it can have a huge impact on others.

It is so powerful seeing something of your own experience reflected back. This is why inclusion is so important, and why we need to push back against the domination of able-boded, white, cis, straight, neurotypical male stories. There are a lot of other people in the world who need to see something of themselves. The majority of people are not served by that narrow bandwidth of stories and the growing diversity in recent years has been such a good thing.

Tell the stories that only you can tell, and seek out stories that show you different perspectives of the world.

Ghosts of the Lost Forest

I have a new Pagan novel out. It’s set in the early 21st Century – which is about when I started writing it. I stalled near the end, and had to put it aside for a lot of years. Last autumn I was able to finish it. This is a story based on living as a Pagan and includes the kinds of things that really do happen to people. I’ve drawn a lot on personal experience, but the whole thing is entirely fictional.

I’ve posted a video of me reading from the book –

It’s on Amazon as a paperback – https://www.amazon.co.uk/Ghosts-Lost-Forest-Nimue-Brown/dp/B0CWKW9ZP8

If you pick up an ebook copy from ko-fi you can have it for free, or pay what you like. https://ko-fi.com/s/9be360746d

I’m able to offer free books because people support me on Patreon and people who are able to pay for books do. So, either way is fine. If you don’t have money to spare and want a book – please have one. This is important to me. If you can afford to drop a few pennies in the hat, please know that it makes a real difference. Gift economy works, and we all win.

Fairy songs

(Nimue)

As there are regular fairy events happening in Gloucester, it makes sense for me to have more fairy songs. Fairy events most places tend to focus on that Victorian inspired, cute, winged fairy idea. One of the things I and my comrades-in-folklore have been doing is trying to get more of the older material into the mix. It’s a good opportunity to educate people, and the more diverse the fairies, the more human diversity is supported.

This first song is for fairy parades. For this one I’ve gone for the beautiful but dangerous perspective, these are the Belle Dame Sans Merci fairies. I look a bit beaten up here, but we made the video during Keith’s cancer treatment and I wasn’t sleeping well.

This is a more recent video, taken during a Jessica Law and the Outlaws rehearsal. I got this song from a chap called Dan Evans, and it is based on the novel Lud in the Mist. We sang it at Borth, and a small group of teens danced very slowly to it, which was perfect. In the story, this is a piece of music that lures people into fairy.

Keith has written a cracking fairy song this spring, but we don’t have a recording of that yet. At some point I will fix this and share it.

Cover stories – Ghosts of the Lost Forest

(Nimue)

In the normal scheme of things, when you put out a book you want a cover that alerts the reader to the genre. Matching your genre is a good way of flagging up that you know your stuff, and of course it helps the right readers to find you.

Pagan fiction is not a huge genre. Witchlit is definitely a thing, but none of this is established enough to have any genre conventions where the look of the book is concerned. What this cover does first and foremost is flag up that this isn’t an urban fantasy novel or a paranormal romance. Although if you like that sort of thing there’s a possibility that this story will also appeal. I’m more at the Charles de Lint end of urban fantasy.

It is a cover that suits the story. Within the tale, there are paintings depicting the spirit of the forest of Arden. Having a face that is human-ish but not human works well with the book. There is both mystery, challenge and something uneasy about that face, I think. 

The cover was created for me by Keith Errington, and while there was a bit of photoshopping involved, there was no AI. All of the photos you can see here were taken by Keith. The background tree photo is of a hazel that grows not far from where we live. The foreground laurel leaves were also close to home. The wood texture in the face comes from a photograph of a cut tree trunk. The face itself is something Keith drew digitally. It’s worth noting that digital art and many of the ways of working with photoshop require skills and knowledge, it’s not just about feeding text prompts in.

The paperback version of this book is up on Amazon now. I’ll be releasing an ebook version in a few week’s time. As usual, the ebook will be free or pay what you like. I’ll be posting more about this story over the next few weeks, including ebook links once that goes live. If you want to be alerted every time I put up a new ebook, your best bet is to follow me on ko-fi – https://ko-fi.com/O4O3AI4T

Last Christmas

(Nimue, fiction)

I wrote this piece to honour all those who fell during this year’s Whamagedon, and to celebrate those whose dedication to avoiding popular Christmas music got them through the season unWhammed.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart (it’s ok, covers and remixes don’t count.)

But the very next day you gave it away (and when it comes to questions of copyright I’d like to mention that there is an exemption for parody.)

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart.

Well, technically it was mine in the sense that I had it. Not the one inside my own chest of course, that would be way too complicated. Someone else’s heart, which I had claimed ownership of by removing it from their chest. But for some reason you didn’t find that especially romantic as a gesture.

This year, to save me from tears

I’ll give it to someone special

I’m looking for that special person right now, as it happens.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

And frankly I felt unappreciated because that was a pretty unusual and remarkable gift, not the sort of thing you can just waltz into John Lewis and buy. You won’t see that in any emotive Christmas adverts, will you?

This year, to save me from tears I’ll give it to someone special

The thing is that I like giving other people’s hearts as gifts, but it isn’t easy to find someone who understands.

Once bitten and twice shy

I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye

Tell me baby, do you recognize me?

Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me

I think it was more than once, the biting. I really hadn’t expected that much screaming by way of a response but you’ve healed up well, The scars hardly show at all. Not with that neckline.

Happy Christmas, I wrapped it up and sent it

With a note saying “I love you”, I meant it

I wouldn’t just give a heart to anyone, that would be wrong.

Now I know what a fool I’ve been

But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again

But based on what’s in the terms of the restraining order I’m fairly confident that you aren’t going to get that close.

Last Christmas I gave you my heart

But the very next day you gave it away

And you told me this. So who did you give that heart to? You could at least introduce me to them, we’ve clearly got things in common.