Release of Odessa of the Seraphym Wars YA Series

At 15 Myrna was attacked by demons. At 17 she was sent to kill them, with the help of six other teenaged Vigorios. But are the romantic advances of three warriors demonic distraction or real love? How will she know in time?

So, Friday’s the BIG day!

For nearly 30 years I’ve thought about, dreamed, written chapters then tossed them, talked about, researched the product that releases Friday, April 1^st. The irony of its release falling on April Fool’s Day has not been lost on me, either.

For 99% of those 30 years I was too busy teaching or mothering to take time to write. I got up at 5 am for a while and typed away on my portable typewriter, but that grew old and didn’t last long. But the story—the girl who would save the world from evil—never left me. It changed, grew, evolved, changed some more. But from beginning to end, the basic story stayed the same.

So now it begins. Officially. For all to see—or read. I hope readers will see the story in their heads as they read it. I did. It was plain as a movie during the writing. And as I reread, revised, tightened, edited and prepared it for public consumption, I thought it was a pretty darn good story. At some points I laughed, at others I cried. Lots of adventure, lovable and intriguing characters, some sexual tension, childhood and teenaged issues to deal with all set on a foreign world full of danger and creeping evil. Then there were the dragons. How could anyone NOT like a story with suspicious, evil, shape-shifting dragons? Right?

Then why, as I write this, is my stomach churning and I feel nauseated thinking about others reading my story? For 30 years I’ve wanted this. I wonder if each book release will be this tension-filled. Do you suppose there comes a point when an author says, “I’m a good writer and I know it because I have a truck-load, no—not big enough--train-load full of fans.” And with every release they sit back and sip champagne? Somehow, I don’t see myself ever reaching that degree of calmness. I’ll always worry if it’s good enough, scary enough, well-written, intriguing, will hold the reader’s attention.

I guess I’ll know soon. It’s a blessing and a curse. But I’m glad I wrote it and can’t wait to write the next one. Even if I end up with only one person who really enjoys the story, it will be worth it.

Here’s the OFFICIAL Blurb. Hope you like it.

“Did anything…uh…traumatic or horrifying happen to you lately?”

            I shuddered, nodding.

I sat cross-legged on one end of the sofa, facing Michael at the other end.

“Yeah. You could say it was horrifying.”

I was so glad today was Saturday. It was the one day of the week I didn’t have school or work. I sat cross-legged on the sofa, watching my favorite classic movie, The African Queen, and munching on a bowl of popcorn resting in my lap. Suddenly my body went rigid. I sat bolt upright. My vision spun in circles. The room became kaleidoscopic. A rushing roar echoed in my ears. Then I saw my brother Quinn running around in circles, screaming. Wide-eyed, I stared, transfixed and mute. A boy with blond dreads, wearing a black leather jacket and ripped jeans, chased him across a field. Once close enough, he threw some kind of liquid from a small red can on Quinn.  A smaller boy with spiky red hair tossed something small that glowed in the dusk. It landed on Quinn’s chest.

Flames shot high into the darkness as he screamed and continued running around the grassy enclosure. Insane laughter echoed in the still darkness. The crackling and popping of the flames snapped like firecrackers. Quinn’s arms flailed wildly, like he was trapped in a giant spider web. My hands balled into fists, wadding my skirt in my hands. I smelled the acrid, sour stench of burning flesh and hair but couldn’t scream. I was frozen—watching. Three teenaged boys, all wearing black leather jackets, surrounded him, laughing hysterically and pointing. An oddly metallic odor of sweat mingled with the bitter odor of searing flesh. Trees closed in like spectators, hovering in the blackness of night. Mute. Unemotional. Uncaring.

Quinn rolled on the grass, screaming a banshee wail while trying to put out the flames. Then he lay still. Silenced. The red-haired boy poured more of the flammable liquid onto Quinn’s back. The black-haired teen threw a match and Quinn flashed into flames again. This time there was no movement. There was no screaming. The laughter and pointing stopped. The three boys sneered at the flaming, blackened corpse at their feet.

“Too fast,” the smallest boy said, his hair the color of fire.

             “Too easy,” the black-haired boy declared with a kick at Quinn’s head. “Whatcha  gotta say fer yerself? Shoulda paid me back, slacker.” His voice slithered slowly like the snake his boots were made of.

 “Not enough fun,” said the third. He stared at his feet, his long blond dreads falling across his face until he turned his head to look at the smallest boy. A port wine birthmark covered his cheek and part of his neck.

            “Yeah. What video game did ya buy anyway? Sumthin’ with demons, I hope!” the small boy squeaked, his high-pitched voice grating on my nerves. All three of them roared with laughter.

            “Loser,” the black-haired boy said. A wad of spittle flew onto Quinn’s back and sizzled.

            Finally I screamed. As though released from bonds, I leaped up from the sofa. The stainless steel bowl of popcorn flew through the air, scattering kernels across the beige carpet and clattering upside down on the coffee table. Tears streamed down my face. My parents ran into the TV room. “Oh, my God! NO! This can’t be happening again…” I wailed, holding my head.

            “What’s the matter?” my mother, Ashley, said, as she pushed my long hair back from my sweaty face.

            Gasping with hiccups, I took a deep breath and, between bouts of crying, told them everything I’d seen. In unison they turned their heads and looked at the television. A Katharine Hepburn film danced on the screen.

            “Are you positive?” Dad asked.

            I stared my dad in the eyes and nodded. “Absolutely. You know my visions are always right. Mom.” I looked at Mom’s white face. “We have to try and find him. Maybe it didn’t happen yet. Usually it’s a warning. Remember Jarrod? And Marcy when she was three?”

Dad’s face went ashen and Mom’s hand, still resting on my back, began to tremble as it flew to her mouth.

“Oh, my God,” Mom said, “we would have lost both of them had you not seen.”

            “I’ll try to call him on his phone,” Dad said, leaving the room in a hurry.

            Moments later he returned. “No answer. Should I call the police?”

            “We don’t even know where he might be,” Mom cried, holding her face in her hands and rocking back and forth on the sofa beside me.

            Dad knelt down and made eye contact with me. At first I didn’t see him. I saw Quinn again, running across the grass in flames.

            “Where was he? Could you tell?” he asked.

            His eyes, too, were already red-rimmed, as if they knew the truth.

            “All I saw was grass. Like a park, maybe. But it seemed small. They took their time.”

             I hiccupped, crying again as images of Quinn, much younger, flashed through my mind. Trying to pedal his red bicycle as I held it steady for him. Crawling into my bed in the middle of the night because he’d watched a scary movie. Rolling around on the grass in flames, screaming.

            “I can’t just wait until we hear something. Cops won’t do anything based on a vision. I’ll drive around and see if I get lucky.” Dad looked at me, his face long and eyes sad. “I hope this time you’re wrong, hon.”

            “Me too, dad. Me too.” I shook my head, rubbing weeping eyes.

            Still hiccupping, I sat on the sofa and shut my eyes. Maybe there was a detail that would direct Dad. My head throbbed and my nose was stuffed up from crying. I hoped another migraine wasn’t starting. The scraping sounds of Mom scooting around on the floor picking up the popcorn irritated my brain. I’d noticed before that my hearing was super acute during and after a vision. But I knew she had to be doing something, so I pretended not to notice

            When Dad returned without news, we all sat in a huddle on the sofa, crying and praying. Jarrod, eleven, and Marcy, fourteen, came home and learned of my vision. Since I’d seen him die, they knew there was no hope. My visions were always true.

If you’re still interested and want to read more, click this link to buy this awesome story in eBook form (a print version will be out later in the year)

Be sure to stop by my main blog and sign up for the incredibly awesome Release Party Giveaway Pack. Release Party lasts until April 8, but the tour (and 8 more prize packs) goes all month.

St. Brigid, the Irish Goddess of Fire

With St. Patrick's Day creeping up on us, I was put in mind of the Celtic influences in my book. I guess it's only natural I would include them. I married a man 35 years ago who had been in America only nine months. He grew up in Kilkee, Ireland. So we visited about five times before the kids came along, then took them all once for an extended stay, then he took each of the girls once while I stayed home with the younger kids. Now it's gotten way too expensive to fly over and stay, so it's been a long time since he's been home. And I miss it, too. I'm about a quarter Irish and mostly English (the rest is French Canadian married to a Creole). But there's something about the Celtic  mythology, Druids, leprechauns, fae, that gets under your skin and tickles your fancy. So I ended up using mostly Celtic names for my characters.

This is the first post concerning the names I chose for my characters. Brigid Saulwen Heulog is one of the Vigorios Myrna finds in Odessa. She is 16-years-old, but has lived the experiences of someone much older. Each of the Vigorios has a special talent which develops around the time they are discovered to be Vigorios. The talent played a role in their name choice. Brigid’s talent involves use of light, as in sunlight, and control of weather. Physically, Brigid is tall and thin with short, blond, spiky hair. She has a sun tattooed on her right shoulder because her father used to call her Sunny. According to baby naming manuals, Brigid means, “bright, shiny”. Since I wanted her to reflect the sun aspect as well as that of a goddess, I chose the name Brigid. According to Irish lore, Brigid was the goddess of fire.

Historically, Brigid was the Irish Goddess of Fire, whose manifestations were song, craftsmanship, and poetry - which are considered the flame of knowledge. As a healing goddess, she governs childbirth and the birthing time. That Brigid was highly regarded as a healing goddess as can be seen from the numerous healing wells dedicated to her all over Ireland. As a goddess of poetry, she governs not only the inspiration and writing of poetry, but also divination and prophecy. As a goddess of smithcraft, she governs the forge's fire. It is for these reasons that she is considered the "Bright Goddess" and is associated with the element of fire.

The Irish goddess Brigid is unusual among deities because she is found in several different religions. References to her are found in ancient Paganism, Neo-Paganism, Christianity and Voodoo.

Both Neo -Pagans and Pagans of old worshiped Brigid as a Celtic Pagan triple goddess. The term triple Goddess refers to the belief that some deities have three distinct aspects covering the maiden, mother and crone phases of life. Brigid has power over childbirth, motherhood, smith craft, peace, unity, poetry, inspiration, healing, hearth and home among others.

Brigid, the Celtic goddess of fire (the forge and the hearth), poetry, healing, childbirth, and unity, is celebrated in many European countries. Born at the exact moment of daybreak, Brigid rose into the sky with the sun, rays of fire beaming from her head. She was the daughter of Dagda, the great 'father-god' of Ireland.

In Druid mythology, the infant goddess was fed with milk from a sacred cow from the Otherworld. Brigid owned an apple orchard in the Otherworld and her bees would bring their magical nectar back to earth. It is said that wherever she walked, small flowers and shamrocks would appear. As a sun goddess her gifts are light (knowledge), inspiration, and the vital and healing energy of the sun.

February 1st is a special day on the ancient Irish calendar. It's known as La Fheile Bride, Brigid's Day. This day is a celebration of the ancient Irish goddess Brigid, and marks the start of the spring festival called Imbolc.

Legend holds that Brigid began the Irish tradition of keening (crying,wailing, and singing) over the body of a deceased person at a wake. As outlined in the following story:

Brigid became the wife of Bres, an Irish king. Together they produced three sons, each of whom became a famous warrior. Brigid and her husband came from two warring tribes and hoped their marriage would end the enmity between their kin.

Unfortunately, it did not. However, as it turns out, the battlefield death of their son Ruadan assured Brigid's role as a goddess of peace and unity.

A major battle between the two families was about to begin.

Brigid's eldest son, using the knowledge of metalsmithing that he had learned from his mother, struck the first blow, killing the smith of the opposing army. But as the warrior fell to the ground, he managed one last blow before he died and Ruandan was also killed.

Brigid's grief was enormous--for the continual hatred between the two sides of her family and for the death of her son. Her lamentations were so loud they were heard throughout Ireland and so heart-rending that both sides left the battle and forged a peace. The goddess Brigid is said to have originated the practice of "keening".
She is also credited with the invention of whistling, which she used to summon her friends to her side.

Eventually the love and respect for the goddess Brigid brought unity to the Celts who were spread throughout Europe. Regardless of their differences, they all agreed upon her goodness and compassion.

One of the most popular tales of the goddess Brigid involved two lepers who appeared at her sacred well at Kildare and asked to be healed. She told them that they were to bathe each other until the skin healed. After the first one was healed, he felt only revulsion for the other and would not touch him to bathe him. Angered, Brigid caused his leprosy to return. Then she gently placed her mantle (cloak) around the other leper who was immediately healed.

Ireland is full of springs and wells named after the goddess Brigid. Symbolically, water is seen as a portal to the Otherworld and as a source of wisdom and healing. There is a saying that Brigid rewards any offering to her, so offerings of coins were often tossed into her wells, the forerunner of the modern custom of throwing a penny into a fountain while you make a wish.

At her most famous shrine Brigid taught humans how to gather and use herbs for their healing properties, how to care for their livestock, and how to forge iron into tools. As a goddess of childbirth and protector of all children, she is the patroness of midwifery. This shrine, near Kildare, was located near an ancient Oak that was considered to be sacred by the Druids, so sacred in fact that no one was allowed to bring a weapon there.

The shrine is believed to have been an ancient college of priestesses who were committed to thirty years of service, after which they were free to leave and marry. During their first ten years they received training, the next ten were spent tending the sacred wells, groves and hills of the goddess Brigid, and the last decade was spent in teaching others.

Nineteen priestesses were assigned to tend the perpetual flame of the sacred fire of Brigid. Each was assigned to keep the flames alive for one day. On the twentieth day, the goddess Brigid herself kept the fire burning brightly.
The goddess Brigid was also revered as the Irish goddess of poetry and song. Known for her hospitality to poets, musicians, and scholars, she is known as the Irish muse of poetry. 

The goddess Brigid lends us her creativity and inspiration, but also reminds us to keep our traditions alive and whole. These are gifts that can sustain us through any circumstance. 

Her fire is the spark of life.

The Heavenly Banquet (Saint Brigid)

I would like to have the men of Heaven

In my own house

With vats of good cheer

Laid out for them

I would like to have the three Marys

Their fame is so great

I would like people

From every corner of Heaven

I would like them to be cheerful

In their drinking

I would like to have Jesus too

Here Amongst them

I would like a great lake of beer

For the King of Kings

I would like to be watching Heaven's family

Drinking it through all eternity.

Rebecca Ryals Russell’s debut novel Odessa comes out April 1, 2011. You can read more about how she chose the names of her characters and places at the various stops along her Virtual Blog Tour to be announced mid-March. Check her Odessa page or main website for dates and places she'll be visiting throughout April. And watch for a lot more about the Celtic nature of her series Seraphym Wars.


If you like prizes, appreciate good cover art or my illustrations, be sure to watch my websites for the March Madness Blog Hop March 17-20. There will be multiple prizes going to one winner in a random drawing. 


I'm also running a Giveaway Blog Hop in April, and that prize is a dilly, or should I say prize-s, since I'm doing a huge Giveaway to mark the release of Odessa.