New book ready for pre-order!

I’ve posted Irish Fantasy Volume I: Drowning for pre-order and I’m pretty excited about it.

COVERV3

You can find more information about it here

As the title implies, it gets a bit dark. The book is the first of a series that I’m working on that plays with the creatures from old Irish legends. What I love most about these legends is the conflict that they have with humans. These are not your Victorian sugar plum fairies. Many stories passed down through history revolve around the fickle vengeance of Irish mythical creatures (or sídh ((pronounced shee)).

The story takes place around Glencar Falls in Ireland, the same setting as W.B. Yeat’s poem, “The Stolen Child.” While the poem wasn’t really my inspiration, I couldn’t help but be influenced by it as I was writing. I believe the poem is in the public domain so I’m going to go ahead and post it here for your reading pleasure. (and if it’s not, oops, guess I’m screwed.)

Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed:
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes, the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand
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