In the last three days, I have taught three versions of the Seasons of the Witch: once for Eastern Sierra locals, another at Nuts & Twigs in the hick town of Bishop and today in my home as an AirBnB experience.
When I first became an author in 2000, I believed more in the world of Faire and fantasy than the mundane world. I yearned to bring my sons into the world with me but I couldn’t imagine how to include them at the festivals and sign books or connect with readers at the same time. I lived a world divided – on one hand I was a bad ass Witchy author in control of my destiny and on the other hand I was the unhappy wife of Bluebeard, locked away from my Wild Self.
Today, I felt something different than the old story, the rut. I felt in my bones, blood and breath, the courage I had to be a witch author in post 911 era. You know how in New Age personal work we send our child the love it didn’t get? Well, my younger version gave me a shot in the arm of verve, reminding me that THE TIME HAD COME.
This weekend, my book The Book of Spells was shared by the Random House team at the New York public library. I gave a talk about being a Witch in a hick town. I hosted an AirBnB exerience in my own home, pulling images off the wall and books from my shelves.
I may not always be graceful, but I am always so grateful to share my Witchy knowledge and am moved to tears when it helps others recognize that they are Divine co-creators holding the paintbrushes to the canvas of their lives.