It’s back in my life... the number TWO is back in a huge and stupendous way.
Like February 2, 2009, which breaks down to 2,2,2 in numerology ~ February 20, 2009 also breaks down to 2,2,2 ~
Yesterday, as in February 20, 2009, I found a Google alert for WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS with a link to an RSS feed ~ http://www.ndsafety.cn/index.php/2009/02/20/funny-valentine-jokes-humor-the-angelic-magic-of-february-2-2009/ ~ featuring The Angelic Magic of February 2, 2009 ~ Volcano’s Angelic Forecast, a blog I originally penned on February 2, 2009 for the Siren-BookStrand blogspot, then featured here, on Title Magic.NOT ONLY THAT eye-popping synchronicity I received the TWO print copies, ordered from Amazon, of WHEN A GOOD ANGEL FALLS, yesterday on 2-20-2009. Purring-it’s gorgeous...of course. Kiss-kiss, smooch-smooch... admire-admire...
AND, on Coast-to-Coastam, nighttime radio which comes on at midnight here, that night’s show featured the synchronicity of numbers... or constantly seeing 11:11, for example ~ which breaks down to 2+2 = 4 in numerology. See the description below ~
*** Appearing during the middle two hours, authors Marie D. Jones and Larry Flaxman discussed the phenomenon of frequently seeing 11:11 on clocks, and the synchronicities of numbers. ***
Yep, an avalanche of TWO synchronicities yesterday...
Nope, I can’t get away from those NUMBERS... Big Cat yowl! As I was showing my mommy the RSS feed of my blog, it was 4:07pm, which breaks down to 11, then 2 ~ [4+7=11=2] ~ Wowza to the celestial splendors of the Divine.
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And speaking of Two-by-Two, it’s been kinda weird to my sensibilities that, so far, my book releases have come in TWOs ~ three times in a row.Red Lioness Tamed & All Shades of Blue Paradise ~ a week apart.
Tangerine Carnal Dreams & When a Good Angel Falls ~ six days apart.
Murder by Hair Spray in Gardenia, New Atlantis & Black Cat Beauty ~ twelve days apart.
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Of course, I have no idea if this will hold. Most probably not since I just sent in a contracted story, but have no others submitted.
Still, statistically I would think this run of TWOs is pretty darn unusual.
~~~~~~What about you? Notice those kind of number synchronicities? Or other ways synchronicity works in your life?
HAPPY AGE OF AQUARIUS ~
May your most romantic dreams come true...
Savanna Kougar ~
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Authors, aspiring authors, are you hunting the magic were-beast?
Pssst...if you’ve settled on were-ducks, I’d give that honking mallard another thought. According to the SmartBitches, Ellora’s Cave has already claimed those quacking heroes as their own. Yeah, yeah...I gotta an old fallin’ down duckstand I can sell ya.
Still ~ still as a full moon werewolf-shifting night ~ are you looking for that perfect were-beastie to star in your next novel?
Howl desperately to the moon, dear writers...is that next were-heroine or hero ~ or were-villain elusive? Is your were-inspiring Muse on hiatus...er...shacked up with that gorgeous ManWolf, and she’s not emerging from the waterbed den until all her lusty appetites are completely satiated?
Growl-darn the writer’s block, is that perfect were-beast still escaping your imagination? Just as the real were-beasties do, escaping detection by mainstream media and mainstream science?
Yep, I said ‘real’. There are dedicated researchers combing through all the reports turned into law enforcement agencies, including animal control, about beasties that go more than ‘bump *or hump* in the night’. These truth-seeking researchers tromp through the fields and forests tracking down evidence, snapping pics of unusual, unknown tracks, bagging bits of hair, along with the occasional claw-ripped shirt. These intrepid few among us have even been known to set up camp for a night or two, attempting to lure the beasties with their fave snacks. I believe lunch meat was mentioned in one report. Truth to tell, if I were a fierce and cunning were-critter, I don’t think lunch meat would tempt my primal slavering immense hunger. Now frying bacon....
Linda Godfrey, author of Beast of Bray Road and Hunting the American Werewolf, is one such dedicated researcher. Her occasional reports on Coast-to-Coastam, night radio, are beyond fascinating, the stories of encounters absolutely enthralling, not to mention chill-scary entertaining.
Nope. We are not alone, Earth humans. Strange monster critters, magical were-beasts, wherever they originate from...inner earth? And...wherever they lurk...? Are hiding deep, deep inside our forests and caves, their lairs unlocated by Google Earth...yet.
So, if your writer’s imagination is on the fritz, and all you’re visualizing is a set of savage yellow-neon eyes, get a spooky halloween re-charge, investigate were-beast territory on Linda Godfrey’s website: beastofbrayroad.com. Here is a snippet from Linda’s blog:
November 5, 2007 - Return of the Bearwolf?
It never ceases to amaze me the way these things seem to work. Only a few days ago I had decided to post a note about the Washington County Courthouses's cryptid creature art, and then today I get a call from Mike Lane, the hunter who went looking for the creature's footprints last fall right about this time. He found some, too...bipedal, large and roundish looking deep imprints that indicated something very large and upright went walking through a mushy field across from Holy Hill, and then entered a marsh where the tracks ended. (See photo of Mike standing in front of that marsh last year.)
Inspired by Linda Godfrey’s reports, an excerpt from my WIP, Don’t Cry Werewolf ~
"This should be the spot." Weak, in pain, she shuffled slowly. Focusing on each step, she tried not to stumble, not wanting to fall, hurt herself so severely she’d have to crawl into the isolated forest.
"The lucky spot," she encouraged herself. "The lucky spot where I get eaten by a werewolf." She whisper-sang those words to herself over and over – forging ahead at a snail’s pace.
The night-chilled air wheezed in and out of her lungs. Her feet drug over the dead damp leaves from last autumn. There wasn’t much spring foliage to hinder her way.
"Here, little werewolf," she called out. Again she laughed at herself. She needed a big monstrous werewolf, actually. "Here, big horrible nasty werewolf," she called out instead – several times. She chuckled, faltered, the effort costing her.
Looking upwards at the immense display of tree limbs in the moonlight, she felt the usual quick up and down of her chest, listened to her struggling whoosh of breath. It took nothing anymore to wear her out completely. "Hey, if nothing else I’ll get lost in the forest and die," she murmured philosophically, between her strained puffing breaths. "Maybe only the bugs will get me."
Able to lift her foot again, she continued moving deeper into the old forest. "Death by mosquito – god, that would be horrible. Instead of a thousand cuts. A thousand bites. – The itching...no it’s better to be ripped apart. Definitely."
Reaching an enormous tree trunk, she leaned against her palm – the rough bark strangely comforting. "Maybe it’s still too cool for mosquitos." Breathing heavily she turned, leaned back against the trunk, rested. "Death by exposure can’t be much fun," she whispered, huffing huge breaths, hurting breaths. "No, death by werewolf is the way to go."
When her breaths calmed down, she called, "Here, werewolf, here, werewolf." Painfully she shoved from the tree trunk, shuffled from the rough bike trail onto a deer trail. "I may not be as tasty as little red riding hood." Feeling woozy, she slowed her steps. "But I should be good enough for one meal."
Numbness crept into her limbs. She forced one step after another. "Maybe I’ll just die on the trail."
No fresh dinner for you, werewolfie. She sent the telepathic message just in case werewolves were a telepathic species, like most animals. No drugs, I’m mostly organic – even if I’m no spring chicken dinner. She stumbled to her knees.
"Damn!" Pain radiated upwards sharply. Straightening, she grimaced, shook her hands out. I guess a bear will do. Soon as she could, her breathing not as ragged, she leaned forward on her hands, struggled to stand up. Groaning with the pain and effort, she cried out, finally standing up. Geez – not a good night to die. Dragging one foot, exhausted, she continued along the deer trail. Bear...cougar...maybe a wild pack of dogs...come on, werewolf. Eat me!
She begged. Heart, mind and soul, she begged. *Come on, werewolf. Eat me!* Her eyes shut, she took several small steps. She begged, knowing it had never mattered before how much she’d begged for help. I need a cliff.
She opened her eyes. Nothing, no glowing red eyes. No glowing eyes at all. I should just jump off a cliff...of course, there’s the whole fear of heights thing. But it won’t really matter once I’ve jumped...I could just pretend it’s a flying dream...Hit.
Her body felt wooden, about ready to collapse. Feeling chilled, she hugged herself – kept dragging her feet forward, tiny steps. She didn’t care. If she simply dropped and died – that would serve her purpose. It’s just that she wanted to know. If werewolves existed, she wanted to know. Before she died.
She figured she was owed at least that...for enduring her pathetic nightmare life. For maintaining her integrity, her goodness as a person, despite the endless brutal trials.
Why not serve yourself up as a meal? And know. It was eco-sound – no land-eating coffin. No energy expended in cremation. Just bloody rent flesh, dinner for a werewolf. Any remaining pieces devoured by nature. "
The natural way to go," she whispered. "Instead of don’t feed the animals at the zoo. Do feed the animals." She laughed silently at herself. "The new cool on YouTube," she muttered. Looking around, she noticed there were no more night sounds. "The zoo’s new slogan – end it here, save a polar bear," she whispered, trailed off. The eeriness tingled her flesh to goosebumps.
Hugging herself unconsciously, she waited, noticed she was frozen. She couldn’t move her feet. A strange dread coursed through her. Yet she was calm, a strange anticipation soared through her. Slowly, slowly, she swivelled her head, looking.
It rushed at her from the darkest part of the forest, fearsome, upright, huge. Shadow-dark in the moonlight. Searing feral gold eyes charged straight at her. Her scream stuck in her throat. She was grateful. Her fast breaths hurt like knives in her throat. It would be upon her soon.
Closing her eyes instinctively, she prayed it was a werewolf. That she would know. Somehow. Fluttering her lids open the next split second, she saw the wolfen features, monstrous and magnificent, displayed beneath the full moon. She nearly passed out from the shock, swayed. His ferocious growl as he ran at her possessed her spine.
Forcing her eyes wide, she watched him launch – fur and bulk and incredible power. His hot breath blasted her neck. His fang tip touched the side of her neck. She fainted.
But not before she thought – goodbye, cruel world.
Good Readers and Title Magicians All, recently my past has been colliding with my present. No, not just the one magical example that I will speak about in today’s blog. Nay, the count is many times over now. I suppose this is bound to happen, if you live long enough. Yes, I have definitely lived long enough. Crones of the world, unite, I say! Staffs raised triumphantly.
Once upon a time, when magic emerged like a dandelion from beneath the technology of our industrial age...and the frolic of dancing had come upon the land again...disco. Once upon a time, I viewed a real live unicorn – in all it’s beautiful white-silky coated flesh. The enchantment was nearly overwhelming, even though it was the unicorn of medieval tapestries, and not the horse unicorn of my fantasies.
If you have ever been to a Renaissance festival of ye older years, you may have also seen these magnificent beasts, these unicorns from ages past, reborn again unto our land.
So, begins my Crone’s tale (on a disappointing note: no shapeshifter’s furry tail yet despite the spells and mind concentration).
Mid 1980's, the advertisement was in the newspaper...full page, in black and white, a picture of the mythical beast with one of its owner/creators, Morning Glory. Mom and I stared in sheer bewitched fascination at that ad. We studied, trying to see anything about that huge jutting horn that looked fake. Anything! What further intrigued us was that Morning Glory and her unicorn were going to be at Hall’s department store on the Plaza. Hall’s, now long disappeared from Kansas City’s world-renowned Plaza, was comparable to an upscale Dilliard’s department store. Shopping land of the snooty, chic and definitely rich.
Loving all things magical, especially beasties, and loving all things genetic – that is, we were creating our own breed of super dogs, mom and I couldn’t resist this opportunity, even though it meant arranging time we didn’t have to get there. Fortunately, when we arrived there weren’t many people gathered around the roped off platform area. And there they were, the exquisitely lovely Morning Glory and her amazing magnificent, obviously very male, unicorn – looking exactly like the unicorn laying beside the maiden in the medieval tapestry we’ve all seen. While staring, besotted fool-like I’m sure, mom and I peppered the gracious Morning Glory with questions.
How? When? The genetics of the unicorn. As I recall, she explained that they, she and her husband, had found ancient medieval manuscripts describing how to create a unicorn from a certain breed of goat. Wisely, she gave away no real secrets in the process (currently under patent), they had successfully used. When we could finally tear ourselves away – the unicorn having provided a further demonstration of his reality by taking a giant pee on the floor – mom and I puzzled and pondered over our adventure into true sorcery as we drove home.
As the years passed, I had the sweet enchantment of glimpsing these unicorns of Morning Glory and her husband, at the Ren Fairs. I also knew they were eventually featured in the Barnum and Bailey Circus, only because I would come across the advertisements.
Hold your wands back, magicians! This is where my past and present collision occurs. Sunday night, January 14, 2007, with Ian Punnett on Coast-to-Coast am – the Wizard Oberon Zell Ravenheart was the featured guest. Husband of Morning Glory, partner in creating the real live unicorns, he has written a new tome, A Wizard’s Bestiary.
Wizard Oberon Zell Ravenheart is an incredible man, a man of true wisdom in many ways. Perhaps not the flash and magic of a Harry Potter character...no, he’s real, just as his unicorns were real. I recommend listening to his interview and checking out his website (oberonzell.com), including reviewing the many tomes he has written. If you’re a writer of the paranormal, and all things mystical – if you desire an entrancing trip inside a real magical world, use your finger wands and fly on over to see Oberon Zell’s story, the photos of his unicorns, photos of him and Morning Glory – or, if you just want to experience one of the best, most magical things to occur in the eighties, go to the website, Sideshow World (sideshowworld.com/interview-OZ.html).
Being of the Flower Child generation, it was easy to realize back then, that the very lack of magic in our age of the industrial military complex, was one of the dynamics in creating the counter-culture. Where, once again, magic revived itself. Becoming the weed, the dandelion, the dandelion blowing in the wind...the seeds of change...that cannot be stamped out, nor poisoned out of existence. Nay, not to be destroyed forever by those who refuse to believe and by those who would use it to rule over us.
Magic surfaces everywhere now. The Medusa of the modern day world. Cut off one serpent strand of hair, and two more fantastical novels are published. Everywhere, in every domain magic – magic in it’s myriad of forms and lights, lives...and wants to thrive among us all.
Indeed, the magic of Morning Glory’s real unicorn, straight out of medieval lore, in the prominent middle of Hall’s department store, lo those many years ago – sparked the magic in my heart to a higher, fiercer flame...for which I am eternally grateful.Title Magician, Lexie O’Neill, is a finalist in Amazon’s Breakthrough contest. Check out her entry, The Eddy Complex, in the romance category at amazon.com/abna.If you haven’t taken a quick peek yet, here’s my reminder to check out All Shades of Blue Paradise on the coming soon page of Siren Publishing. In the World of the Blue Pearl Moon, every shade of blue has its own fantasy seductive quality.
Blue unicorn...hum...? Just a Muse-whispered thought for another story...
It’s back in my life... the number TWO is back in a huge and stupendous way.
