Tag Archives: magick

Hold your hands up & go “Wheeee!”

Things are speeding up for my writing stuff. Last week, I signed a contract for all three books of the Arcanum Faire trilogy with Post Mortem Press: Camp Arcanum, Power Tools in the Sacred Grove, and Ren Faire at the End of the World. This week, Phil Rogers finalized the design for the third book’s cover. It is awesome, just like the previous two. We’ll be making special arrangements for a cover reveal in the next few weeks.

Through the auspices of the nice people at Broad Universe I have been able to afford to put Camp Arcanum on NetGalley for a month. There are no reports on the number of downloads or reviews before the end of the month, but we’ve gotten several “thumbs ups” for the cover in the first five days. I will put Power Tools up in November and follow with Ren Faire in December.

If you are interested in picking up the first book and being paid for it, check out FlipLoud. They are a social media promotion group that enters readers into a drawing for a gift card for purchasing a featured book. If you are seeing a lot more sex, magick, and power tools on the internet, it is all their fault.


One last thing. I will be going down to Louisville this weekend for Imaginarium. With my literary wing man  Sheldon Gleisser in attendance, I will rubbing elbows with other authors, speaking on panels, and learning to drink like a writer. Though I may be sticking to coffee if I give myself too much of a headache Friday night.


Lots of stuff happening as we slide down the slippery slope to Samhain.

It was all done by elves.

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An Invocation of the Goddesses Who Kick Ass

When I was much younger and a different kind of silly, I wrote poetry. Succumbing to the romantic coffee-house image of the starving author, I wrote my gems on the back of Bernie’s Bagels placemats while nursing a single cup of coffee. Not much of that survives.

Thank God/Goddess.

Now, one of the central characters of my first novel Camp Arcanum is a witch and I feel compelled to dust off my poet’s laurels. Bay leaves, actually. Starhawk says in her books about modern Wicca that magick is harnessed poetry, used for the changing and focusing of consciousness.  I did my best to to come up with a few incantations that were both scholarly and evocative. To make the fall a little easier on myself, I made my mouthpiece character Brenwyn humble, even self-deprecating of her abilities.

The Invocation of the Goddesses Who Kick Ass was composed by her to gather the powers of the war goddesses and demon-slayers to oppose an opponent who summoned a demonic force the size of an apartment block. It may not be great poetry, but it might actually do the trick. If any of you out there find yourself needing to oppose a Qliphotic force older than Creation, I’d like to know if maybe this works out for you:


Sekhmet, Lioness of the Eastern Desert the One before Whom Evil Trembles, I invoke your power.

Inanna, Bringer of Sword, Plow, and Fire, I call for your gifts to smite my enemies.

Andrasta, War’s Raven, Scourge of Invaders, Patron of Queen Boudicca, guide my hand.

Durga, Born of the Light of the Triple Godhead Ten-Armed Slayer of Demons, I invoke your power.

Goddesses All—return this filth to he wh.

As I will it, so mote it be!


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Camp Arcanum at the Wicked Library

Yesterday was the official launch for Camp Arcanum, an occult comedy of sex, magick and power tools. Tomorrow, an excerpt will play on The Wicked Library podcast. It is a section with plenty of sex and magick, but only hand tools to fill out the novel’s promise. Nelson Pyles does a terrific job reading and presenting it. You’ll never look at moonlit sex magick ritual the same way again.

Check out episode 407 at the link below:


Camp Arcanum

By the way, Happy Equinox to the paganly inclined.

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I don’t believe in miracles; I depend upon them.  The same for magick.  I had prepared a quantum mechanical explanation of how people’s inner narrative could physically change the world, but I realized I had equal chances of being completely misunderstood and just plain wrong. So, in small words slowly typed: our unconscious minds choose what kind of world we live in and make the choices to create it.  Here are a couple of examples from my very weird life:


I grew up loving monster movies.  From watching “The Spider” from behind the safety of the couch at eight to late-night cable marathons in my second marriage, I had an addict’s hunger for more rubber monsters.  One evening a few years ago, I was watching “Graveyard Shift.”  For those unfamiliar with the Stephen King canon, it centered on giant mutant rats taking over the lower levels of a New England textile mill.  As I watched this monster magnum opus, a flash of motion caught my eye.  A mouse, no more than two inches long, ran along the front of the entertainment center to stop under a stool that held up a potted plant.  Secreted there, the mouse turned, stood up on its hind legs and watched me.  It paws were clasped in front of it body as if he were begging for my pardon for this intrusion.

I watched the mouse watching me watching the giant mutant rats.  Under the stool, he didn’t seem very concerned with me.  He just watched.  I tried to stare him down, but that doesn’t work well with mice and toddlers.  Eventually, I shouted at him:

“I don’t believe you’re doing this!”

My input on the subject didn’t seem to be very important to the mouse and he kept watching me for several more seconds, no doubt enjoying the cosmic weirdness.  He in the end wandered off and I am sure he had his own encounter with horror through a glue trap on the basement steps.


Last week, I purchased the charity anthology “Bleed.”  It has several twisted stories by equally twisted authors.  As I leafed through it at my desk, I came across Tim Waggoner’s  “Unwoven.”  The story starts with a writer discovering a spider crawling on the screen of his laptop.  His panicked reaction is to slam the computer shut and crush the spider.

I set the book down for a moment to get my coffee and to check what was on my laptop.  Again, there was a hint of motion from the corner of my eye.  A spider on a single thread of silk was belaying itself down from the ceiling.  This wasn’t just a little spider; it looked to be half the size of the robot spider from the opening of Jonny Quest and no more than a foot from my face.   I am not usually bothered by arachnids, but I shooed this guy away.  It was like he was reading over my shoulder and that always shuts down the writing flow.


Assuming that I can be believed, (this is the Internet, after all) what do these synchronicity nuggets mean?  Maybe, it’s just the cosmos’ gentle nudge to remind us there is magick afoot, some larger meaning in the world, even if revealed in the behavior of vermin.  If nothing else, it shows that the Universe and I share a sick sense of humor.    

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