The ancient Celts celebrated Samhain as a weeklong holiday, when ghosts walked and no one made war. I figure I’m just outside the orb of Samhain now—late harvest, time to cull the herds, though around here we only get the occasional mouse.
I’m taking a couple weeks off writing as I prep for our annual magical retreat, this year dedicated in part to Hekate. We also called the Lady of the Crossroads for our Samhain ritual, which focused on looking at the shadow. I know that I’ll catch up writing, and talking to my lovely publisher has unblocked me a bit. This next book is a different kind of challenge, though I have some strengths to touch on. It looks like part of the book will be set once more in ancient Sumer.
For me, for some reason, the existential dread of this time on earth has backed off, at least a little. Perhaps that’s because I want to face it point-blank at the retreat.