Tag Archives: Guardians of Erin

My Path to Motherhood, Part Four

03 Saturday Jun 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , ,

As I said in my last post, everything is connected. After my twins’ birth, my breasts were definitely in the loop. Overnight, I went from a bra size of 38C to 38J. We’re talking cantaloupes here! Up till then, I never imagined I’d wear an undergarment of that magnitude. Or that I’d develop such an intimate relationship with a breast pump. And who knew cold, wet cabbage leaves could bring down the swelling of said melons, allowing milk to flow?

Despite the discomfort—and the suspicion I’d morphed into a glorified cow—I pumped away. It was the only way to add breast milk to the formula the boys received through tubes.

I feared I wasn’t producing enough, but a male nurse put my mind at ease. “Anything you can do is great,” he said. “Every drop is like liquid gold.”

It must’ve been, for the boys did well. They moved quickly from the CPAP (a method of continuous respiratory ventilation) to the nasal cannula, then from incubators to a double crib. They still had a few nighttime “spells”—when, like most premies, they forgot to breathe—but overall, things looked good.

In the beginning, the NICU allowed us one short visit per day, and the only way we could touch the boys was by cupping a hand over the tops of their heads. But soon after Dan returned to the island, the NICU filled my days.

I moved into the attic apartment of my host family’s Victorian home in Brookline. They apologized repeatedly for the triple threat of staircases I tackled twice a day, but the stairs paled in comparison to bumpy taxi rides to and from the hospital. Dan’s absence was hardest to endure, but he came every ten days for a long weekend. In addition, his parents and my mom flew in for a brief, joint visit.

Being near the boys was my greatest comfort. I sang to them and held them as often as possible to reassure them of our love. But I questioned my ability to care for them outside the hospital, and my constant observation of their vital signs (via monitors) didn’t help.

The data was intriguing, though. More often than not, their oxygen saturation levels ran in tandem. If Connor’s levels dipped, Geoffrey’s followed suit. When Geoffrey’s rose, so did Connor’s. Their whole physiology seemed a joint affair.

Such behavior wasn’t unique to my premies. Whenever the nurses noticed it, they just smiled and said, “They’re doing the twin thing again.”

The staff was less encouraging when I asked if the boys could leave the hospital on the same day. They all had the same response. “That almost never happens.”

During the boys’ sixth week in the NICU, the nurses appeared to be right. Geoffrey progressed faster than his brother, and it looked like he’d be ready to leave in a day or two.

My stomach churned. I’d seen and felt the intense bond the boys shared. When one of them was taken from the crib, the other immediately reached out to the empty space. Once when Connor’s oxygen level dipped, Geoffrey touched his arm, and the readings shot up again. With such an attachment, I wondered how Connor would cope with being left behind. Worse yet, I was afraid he’d think I abandoned him.

I was alone. I didn’t drive. The bassinets, car seats, and other essentials were all on the island. How could I visit Connor if I was busy—and possibly botching the job—with Geoffrey? For that matter, how could I carry Geoffrey up and down three flights of stairs?

My body ached. My hormones were wacky. I was exhausted from pumping out milk every four hours. Let’s face it: I was the definition of overwhelmed.

In the end, Geoffrey orchestrated a solution on his own. The day before his proposed discharge, Dan arrived and together we visited the NICU. Because the boys had to master drinking from a bottle before their release, Dan took a stab at feeding Geoffrey. The NICU staff wasn’t always in the room during visits, but this time a nurse stood by and asked Dan about his work.

Free from all monitors, Geoffrey drained the bottle. Then Dan began to burp him, all the while chatting with the nurse.

For some reason, I glanced at Geoffrey. Then I got the strangest impression.

He’s not in his body. He’s floated off somewhere.

I interrupted the conversation. “Dan, Geoffrey’s not there.”

He and the nurse turned to me.

“Something’s wrong,” I said. “He’s not there.”

They looked at Geoffrey, who by then was turning blue. The nurse scooped him up, laid him on the crib, and worked on him until he started breathing again.

With a sigh of relief, she regarded us. “He’s going back on the monitors, and after a stunt like that, he’s not going anywhere for at least five days.”

Five days more, by which time Connor was ready to leave. My prayers were answered. The boys could leave the hospital together.

Even though both of them passed the NICU’s “car seat test” the same morning, I squeezed between them in the back seat of the rental car and kept a constant watch. I glanced from right to left, from Connor to Geoffrey, for the entire length of our drive to the Cape. I had to make sure they were breathing.

I continued my vigil during the 2½-hour ferry ride to Nantucket, after which our landlady picked us up and took us home. The boys were asleep, so Dan hauled them in their carrier car seats up the steps to our apartment. He placed them on the floor, and we shared a long hug. Then our gazes locked.

“What do we do now?” he asked.

I shrugged. “It beats me.”

As it turned out, the twins dictated our every move. They got the tiny bedroom, while we slept on the couch/double bed in the living room/kitchen of our shoebox apartment. We bottle-fed and burped them. We changed hundreds of diapers. We did load after load of laundry and barely slept.

Until one blessed night, five months in, when both boys slumbered from 6:00 p.m. until dawn. From that point on, they slept through the night.

Today is their thirteenth birthday. What a ride it’s been! Dan and I still don’t know what we’re doing, but we’re giving it our best. Those boys have taught us so much about unconditional love. Is it any wonder I added identical-twin boys to my cast of characters in the Guardians of Erin series? The first book, The Cauldron Stirred, will be released July 21, 2017. If you read it, you’ll see that Kian and Conall Donoghue have a little bit of my boys tucked inside them.

We have a release date!

18 Thursday May 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

I just learned the release date for The Cauldron Stirred, the first book in my Guardians of Erin series:  July 21, 2017!  If you’re wondering what it’s about, here’s the scoop:

Ashling Donoghue never dreamed moving to Ireland would rock her perception of reality and plunge her into a mystery that brings legend to life.

At seventeen, she’s never had a boyfriend, but she feels an immediate connection to Aengus Breasal, the son of the wealthy Irishman who’s invited her family to stay at his Killarney estate. For the first time in her life, a guy she likes seems attracted to her.

But Aengus is secretive, with good reason. He and his family are the Tuatha Dé Danann, ageless, mythical guardians adept at shifting between this reality and the magical dimension known as the Otherworld. Evil forces from that world threaten the Breasals, the Donoghues, and all of Ireland. Ashling must open her heart, face her fears, and embrace a destiny greater than she could ever have imagined.

The Drew in the Dreams

29 Saturday Apr 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , ,

Yesterday, Nancy Drew turned 87.  Tomorrow, I turn 49, but many memories from my childhood are clear and indelible.  I’ll never forget the thrill of reading my first Nancy Drew book, The Haunted Bridge, when I was 10.  I’d found a kindred spirit, albeit fictional.  We both welcomed adventure and felt driven to solve the mysteries that confronted us.

Some puzzles I solved while awake; others, while asleep.  I had a number of lucid dreams (when one is conscious of dreaming while the dreams are still in progress, thereby allowing one to control them).  I also experienced what could only be called “serial dreaming” over a two-week period.  On the first night, a mystery worthy of Nancy Drew began to unfold.  I was the detective, but Nancy and her friends, Bess and George, were right by my side, investigating a haunted house.  Each successive night, I dreamed the next “chapter” of the story.  By the end of the fortnight, I’d solved the mystery.

Some of what I write today—whether medieval romance (The Novels of Ravenwood) or young adult fantasy (Guardians of Erin)—is inspired by dreams.  Sometimes the opposite occurs, and the characters I create wend their way into my nights.  But I’ll never forget the magic of those serial dreams which brought excitement and intrigue closer than fiction and made my favorite girl detective proud.

 

Of Luck and Lore

17 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , ,

Last time, I brought you along for the ghost hunt on my first trip to Ireland.   There are more stories where that came from!  My Irish cousins shared a wealth of information about my great-grandfather, Michael Patrick—who emigrated from Ireland in 1914—and his siblings.  Through fortune and loss, the family became fast friends with Irish luck.  One example concerned Michael’s brother, who missed his boat to America (the Titanic) but arrived unscathed on the Lusitania.

Luck was one thing.  What really intrigued me was the revelation that our family had encountered the supernatural on both sides of the Atlantic.  I’d had experiences my whole life, but they didn’t start with me.  Here are three which occurred long before I was born.

(1) Michael’s sister, Brigit, was promised to a young man who immigrated to America.  As soon as he saved enough money to set up house, she was to join him.  But once he left, she moved to Dublin, “took up with” a bricklayer, and became pregnant.  Nine months later, she was back home and in the throes of childbirth.  The doctor delivered a healthy baby, then headed off into the night.  A short while later, pain seized Brigit, and contractions began anew.  A second baby was born without the doctor’s aid.  Brigit died soon afterward.

In America that same night, her betrothed awoke and bolted upright.  Brigit stood at the foot of his bed, staring down at him.  She held his gaze for maybe a minute, then disappeared.

The next day, he sent a transatlantic cable to her family, relating the event and asking if she was all right.  They were as shocked by his account as he was by her death.

(2) One night, Michael and his mates were enjoying a round of drinks at the pub.  The door swung open, and another friend burst into the room.  He was wild-eyed, drawn, and out of breath.  Michael ushered him to their table.

The friend dropped onto a chair and raked a hand through his hair.  He glanced over his shoulder, then blurted out his tale.  He hadn’t slept for days.  He’d stolen the golden comb from a banshee, and now she chased him to reclaim it.

The group exchanged dubious looks and scratched their heads…until the man opened his coat.  Popping up from the inside pocket was a sparkling, gold comb.

He jumped up from his chair.  “Did ye hear that?”

The others shook their heads.

“She’s here!  She’s found me.”  He darted out of the pub.

The next morning, he was found dead, spread out on his back, fully dressed, atop his perfectly made bed.  His coat lay open, and his attire was the same as the previous evening in all ways but one.  The golden comb was gone.

Tradition holds that banshees attract humans with gold or silver combs.  Then the banshee spirits the person away to another dimension…which is a pretty accurate description of death.

(3) One soft night, while still in Ireland, Michael plodded home.  The street was deserted until a “little man” appeared atop the stone wall and padded toward him.  A chill ran down Michael’s spine; something wasn’t right.  He averted his gaze.  A moment later, he felt compelled to look up.  The man was gone.  Then a flicker of movement across the road caught his eye.

There, on the opposite stone wall, stood the little man.  He’d traversed the distance in the blink of an eye.  He stared at Michael, who avoided his gaze again.  Seconds later, Michael glanced his way, but the man had vanished for good.

My great-grandfather had no doubt he’d seen a leprechaun.  According to legend, if you keep your eye on one, he can’t escape, but the minute you look away, he disappears.  That encounter stayed with Michael the rest of his life, and his eyes sparkled as he shared it with his grandson, my dad, who later shared it with me.

Is it any wonder a leprechaun pops up in my Guardians of Erin series?  It’s a way to honor Michael’s memory, and it’s just plain fun!  I recently turned in the edits of The Cauldron Stirred (Book One of the series) to my editor.  I’ll keep you in the loop as the book heads toward publication.  Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

An Irish Ghost Hunt

03 Friday Mar 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

, , , , , ,

moon-on-fire-1537514With St. Patrick’s Day on the way, I thought I’d share one of my favorite memories from the first time I visited Ireland.  I was eighteen at the time.  It was my first trip overseas with my parents and the perfect opportunity to meet our Irish cousins, who welcomed us with open arms.  The parents were a little older than mine; their five children, about my age.  They lived near Kilkenny, and while their current home was modern, their old residence still stood on the property.  When I say old, I mean centuries old!  My great-grandfather, Michael, had lived in the house before coming to America, and now his progeny explored the abandoned rooms.

History was alive there, in the people as well as the structure.  My cousins spoke of Oliver Cromwell as though he’d invaded Ireland three weeks (instead of three centuries) before.  I soaked it all up and was eager to learn more about the history of the area.

On the second day of our visit, my parents and I set out alone for some sightseeing.  We’d driven only a short distance when we noticed a castellated manor house set back from the road in beautifully landscaped, walled grounds.  Ever the intrepid photographer, my father was determined to get a picture of the place.  A view from the street marred by iron gates wasn’t good enough, so he found a side road and parked the car.  He marched onto the grounds, and my mother and I trailed behind.

I love my dad, but there are moments when he seems to channel Clark Griswold, Chevy Chase’s character in the Vacation movies.  This was one of those moments.

He made his way to the front lawn and paused.  Then he lifted the camera and seemed poised to capture the perfect snapshot of the manor’s façade.  All at once, two Dobermans tore around the side of the house.  Snarling like the hounds of hell, they raced toward him.  My father flinched and assumed a deer in the headlights look, then spun on his heel.

An abrupt command rang out and stopped the dogs in their tracks.  The homeowner, who strolled around the corner, appeared to be in her early sixties.  With inborn grace, she approached my father as my mother and I reached the scene.

Apologies ensued and in the end, the woman invited us to tour her home.  It was originally a medieval manor house but had been rebuilt in 1708.  Decorated with antiques, the structure oozed history.  We admired its elegance, but its owner struck us even more.  She was amiable as could be and deft at handling the large ring of tinkling keys she housed in her pocket.  Handle them she did, for all rooms had to be unlocked before we could enter, which seemed a little strange.  A lot stranger was the fact that she locked the door behind us every time we crossed the threshold, both into and out of each room.

Of all the rooms, one stood out.  Family portraits—paintings and photographs—covered the walls and adorned every piece of furniture with a flat top.  At first, the owner favored us with stories of her ancestors.  Then she indicated a black and white, circa 1950s picture of her deceased sister on the nearest table.  In both hairstyle and dress, the sister reminded us of Jackie Kennedy.  I made a mental note of the photo before the sound of jingling keys foretold our imminent exit.

At the end of the tour, we expressed our humble gratitude and returned to our cousins’ company.  They were excited by our recent adventure and divulged that no one except the owner had been in that house for years.  The property had a mysterious past shadowed by ghosts, fairies, and murder.

Was there a better place to investigate the paranormal?  In our opinion, no.  Were we up for the challenge?  Hell yeah.  Just before midnight, the lot of us set out in two cars for the manor’s extensive grounds.  We had no intention of trespassing; this time, we would stick to the road.

Absent any street lights, the said road and its environs were only visible by the grace of the moon’s glow.  I was just commenting on the fact when a peculiar sight stopped me in mid-sentence.  Outside the car, to our left, a woman in full riding gear (high boots, tan pants, black coat and hat) urged her horse onward.

One of my cousins twisted in his seat.  “Why is she out ridin’ in the middle of the night?”

No one had an answer, so we kept driving.  Farther down the road, we spotted the woman again.  This time, she was on foot, walking her horse in the field.

We continued on, but as we rounded another bend, my cousin made an odd, strangled sound.  “There’s no sense to it.  How did she get there so fast?”

I shrugged, then frowned as a new thought struck me.  “Isn’t it dangerous to ride in the dark?”

My father hit the brakes.  The second car halted behind us, and everyone hopped out.

“It isn’t right,” another cousin said.  “How could she be here one minute and there the next?”

Nonplussed, we peered down the road, seeking a distant outline of both horse and rider, for we’d all seen the same thing.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

We whirled around and there, not five feet away, was the woman.  The horse was nowhere in sight.

Our senses reeled.  Her presence seemed impossible, yet there she was.

Perhaps it was nerves, or the absurdity of the situation, but my father blurted out the bald truth.  “We’re looking for ghosts.”

She regarded him for a long moment.  “They say you can spot them sometimes at night.”

I cleared my throat.  “Have you seen any?”

The hint of a smile touched her lips.  “No.  But you never can tell.”

My parents, cousins, and I exchanged glances and awkward giggles.  Then we turned back to the woman.

She had vanished.  Her entrance and exit were as silent and preternatural as the grave.

Back at my cousins’ house, jerpoint-abbey-1-1624034we gathered around the large kitchen table and nursed mugs of hot tea between our chilled hands.  Only then did my parents and I recall the manor’s portrait room and the owner’s remembrance of a beloved sister…a sister she had lost.

Our agreement was instantaneous.  The midnight rider looked exactly like the woman in the picture.

Speaking of Ireland, I’m close to finishing the edits of The Cauldron Stirred, the first book in my Guardians of Erin YA series.  I’ll keep you posted during the production process!

 

News for the New Year

04 Wednesday Jan 2017

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , ,

Happy New Year!  First of all, a big thank you to everyone who has written a review of Flight of the Raven on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Goodreads, The Wild Rose Press, etc.  I really appreciate your support and enthusiasm.  Also, congratulations to Maria Narkis, who won an autographed paperback copy of Flight of the Raven by commenting on my LASR Winter Blogfest 2016 post.

On the publishing front, 2017 will be a big year.  Soul of the Wolf, Book Two of The Novels of Ravenwood has been sent to production for the final galley, so I should have a release date soon.  Now I’m writing Book Three, Shadow of the Swan.  I’ve also contracted The Cauldron Stirred, the first book in my YA paranormal fantasy series, Guardians of Erin.  The edits begin soon!

That’s all for now.  Wishing everyone a happy, healthy, and prosperous 2017!