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About the author:
Like many who end up being writers, I've worked at many different jobs: riding instructor, horse trainer, computer programmer, and medical transcriptionist.
I began my writing career in the early 1980s with articles for several national and regional horse magazines. My friend Hazel wanted to break into writing novels, so together we wrote three: A *Star Trek* novel; a rather spicy romance; and, finally a sweet romance called *April's Christmas.*
April was the one who got us started when Avalon published that book in 1994. After that I sold my own first novel, the historical romance *Lady of Fire,* to Dorchester Publishing in 1995.
Today I am a full-time novelist, Kindle ghostwriter, and copy editor, and can often be found doing workshops and panels at writers' events and conventions.
What inspired you to write your book?
I have long been interested in how some of our most cherished traditions got started, and Halloween was no exception.
Long before Halloween, there was the Celtic ritual of Samhain. Have you ever wondered why everything about Halloween is so frightening? Why we have things like trick-or-treat? Why it's dangerous to go out alone on that night unless you're in disguise?
SISTER OF THE MOON is the story of a tribe of Bronze Age people in Ireland who are trying to survive the invasion of the powerful Celts. Here you will find the origins of some of the traditions we still follow today, during the holiday known to us as Halloween.
Here is a short sample from the book:
Now began the most magical time of the day. Now began the time when it was truly neither day nor night. It was not day, for the sun was gone from the sky; yet neither was it night, for light remained.
Now was the time for Scahta to show herself, to make her presence known to the Man she had chosen.
From the edge of the forest where she had watched the party of Men, she moved through the trees to the place where their roots met the lake. Again she turned towards the campsite, where the Fianna talked and drank and laughed and where the fire leaped and crackled. The flames, she knew, would reflect off the pair of polished bronze sun-disc pins that held her white wool cloak at her shoulder.
For a time the object of her attention merely swam in the cool water of the lake and breathed deep of the sweet evening air, no doubt quite happy for a chance to relax and refresh himself after all the time he had spent in service of the others.
Scahta took another step towards the shore, turning slightly. She spoke his name so quietly that even she could not hear it, allowing only the wind to catch her words and carry them out to where he swam.
He stopped. Something had caught his attention. He looked around and then gazed straight into the forest… straight at her.
She moved forward, knowing that he would see little more than the gleam of her bronze pins. "Good evening to you, Anluan," she said, in a more normal voice this time, and moved closer so he could glimpse her shadowed outline against the trees.
His hazel eyes were large and searching. "Hello, beautiful lady," he answered. His voice was gentle but nonetheless taut with excitement.
"You do not fear me?" she asked.
"I do not." His strong arms moved beneath the water, keeping his place before her against the currents of the lake. "You are a woman of the Sidhe."
"So, you know of the Sidhe-folk."
"I do. They are the ancient people, the ones who live in the hills and the caves and the deep forests. They are the ones who lived here long before the coming of Men." He smiled and raised his palms out of the water. "I regret that I have nothing to offer you. When I return to the camp, I will share what I have by leaving it at the edge of the forest."
"The other Men share nothing with the Sidhe, Anluan. Why should you?"
He allowed himself to drift a bit closer. "I am no highborn son," he told her. "My father was a herdsman. I grew up in the thick of the forest and on the heights of the hills. I learned as a boy that the Sidhe wanted only to share a bit of our food and other small gifts from time to time. I also learned that they, too, can be generous in their own way."
"Once, when I placed milk and bread beneath the trees for them, they left me a beautiful bronze pin. It was shaped like a willow leaf and made in the old way. It is the only fine thing I own."
"I am not so sure that it is the only thing." Scahta smiled down at him. "Come to me."
He hesitated. Once again she used the wind-voice.
Come to me…
from Sister of the Moon by Janeen O'Kerry