Stories were always part of my life…
Those of us fortunate enough to have been gifted a book of stories, fairy tales, folk tales, stories of fictional worlds, or better still, read to at bedtime and whenever an adult had time, remember the joy of those times. Everything stopped for the story.
The desire to hear what happens next instilled in me a fascination with character, with setting, places never seen or visited in real time, but, when the story is read and the words work their magic, I traveled there, I wanted to live there.
Then there were the family gatherings, when stories were told of those who no longer, and will never again, share the table, but still share the tales.
As I grew older I read of the ancient Irish Bards, Poets, Satirists, linked to this world and the world of the Others (the Irish gods and goddesses, the good folk, the gentry, the fairies, the Sidhe). I want to continue that tradition.
Realizing the beauty of the ancient Irish myths, it saddened me that they are rarely heard. I don’t tell them in the ancient ways, as long and intricate memorized poems, but as stories, ‘as they fall out of my mouth’ (‘whatever falls out of your mouth, daughter’, was my grandmother’s get out clause for story telling).
So, I tell stories, the myths, the folklore, and my own tales, the Wee Tales, the Feathered Tales, and the Chisel Tales. Stories speak to me, and I write them down.
I hope to keep telling, to keep writing, and to keep finding more tales. What they have given me is priceless, it’s only right that I repay them by telling…ing…