 Q1) Tell us about your book My book Tria Ellinka is a collection of three Greek Myth retellings, told from female perspectives. It includes Echo and Narcissus, Scylla’s origin story, and Psyche and Eros. They’re all told in first-person perspective as if the goddesses themselves are telling their own stories. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? As an Art History minor in college, I’ve always been particularly interested in all things Greek, from the Gods and Goddesses to art and architecture. This really came in handy when working on these stories, as I had a lot of knowledge going into it. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? Persephone. I find the reality that she represents fascinating and relevant. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? I have begun working on a new story focused on Artemis and plan to write a few more and rapidly release them in late 2022. Mother's Milk Kate Seger I am of the Asrais. We dwell in the salty seas and wind-swept lakes, the swift-moving rapids, and stagnant ponds. There are others like us, each with their own name; Sylphs who call the forests home, Will-o-Wisps who wander the fens, shadowy Unseelie Goblins, and Sidhé who sparkle with all the light of the stars. We are the Others. The Outsiders. The last vestiges of Avalon. Once, we were called the Fair Folk. Then we were forgotten. And in forgetting, the mortals left the door open for us to return. I have heard the call of The Morrigan. Her voice rises with the tide, and whispers, tonight, my sweetlings. Tonight, we sow the seeds that will remind them why they once spat and touched iron when they spoke of us. Smoke rises from the chimneys of houses cloaked by woodlands. The air is chill, winter threatening to turn autumn aside. A full moon hangs fat and low, bloated and wavering behind a veil of clouds. We must, each of us, claim a Changeling on this eve, and in their place leave one of our own, so they may grow strong on Mortal milk and sink their teeth into the teats of this world, reclaiming it for our people. We tire of being the Outsiders. We long to reign again. We have not forgotten this world. Tonight, as the mists that shroud Avalon recede, we will set the plan in motion. A new Fae Court will be forged by the babes we leave behind. I carry my child in my arms as I rise from the deep. Her feet, like mine, are webbed. Translucent membranes stretch between her tiny toes. A shock of hair, muddy brown and green like kelp, stringy as swamp grass, crowns her head. Her eyes, mottled blue and gray sea glass, gaze up at me. Sentient. Knowing. She understands the plan. She is a babe, but she is not a fool. Faery children are born wise. I close my eyes and raise a clawed hand, murmuring in the Old Tongue, caressing the soft skin of her body. The air around her shimmers. When I open my eyes, it is done. The glamour has taken. She is pale and small with fragile bones, different from the pudgy babies nurtured since birth by Mortal mothers. Her hair is colorless as a reed, but her eyes remain unchanged. "You will have a good life," I whisper. "I will choose your caretaker wisely. And one day, I will return for you when this world is again ruled by the Fae." My child cocks her head at me as if in agreement. She trusts that this is right, as I do. We are guided by the wisdom of The Morrigan. The waters grow shallow, lapping at my slender thighs as I move towards the shore. My skin prickles with goosebumps, exposed to the kiss of the cold wind. Silt sucks at my webbed feet, slimy beneath them. I crouch when I reach the beach, holding my babe close to me, eyes darting to the tree line. When I am sure I'm not being watched, I slink across the beach. Sand sticks to my dampness, sloughing off layers of flesh. I was not built for dry land. If I remain on the surface too long, it will be my end. Should the sun rise on me, I will dissolve, leaving only a shimmering puddle behind. But not my daughter. She will be protected by my glamour and her new mother's milk. The babes are best suited for the task of reclaiming this world. They are not yet Outsiders. They can still be molded to survive. Five hundred years I have dwelt in Avalon. I am well past my prime, too old to adapt. I follow the scent of wood smoke. I have watched the mortal women on this beach, woven hats set upon their brows, gazes following their wee ones as they laugh and frolic. I know many could serve as surrogates. I need only find one. I hang back in the safety of the trees when the first cabin comes into view. It is small and lists to one side like it is groaning beneath the weight of its roof. Moss scales the exterior walls, and refuse is scattered about an overgrown yard. Lights burn in the windows, and the sound of voices filters out. A woman shouts. Her voice is grating, her words coarse. I hear a clatter of pots and pans crashing and immediately think, iron. I pull my daughter tighter to my breast, glancing down at her. She meets my gaze with a shake of her head. She is right. This is no home for my precious daughter. A path leads away from the hovel. I follow it, keeping to the shadows of the forest. Brambles catch on my flesh, rending it, embedding it with burrs. Blue blood weeps from the gashes. But I press on. Eventually, the path widens into a proper road, packed earth turning to concrete. A cluster of dwellings comes into view up ahead. Whitewashed wooden houses built two stories high. A neatly tended garden full of bright red tomatoes, fragrant with basil and thyme, draws me, but peering through the darkened windows, I see only an old hag, well past her birthing years, slumbering inside. I curse my bad luck and move on to the next, tracking the moon's progress across the night sky. I haven't as much time as I'd like, and my child weighs heavily in my arms. I creep towards the next home on the street. My eyes light on three pairs of sand-covered shoes; two large, one tiny, neatly lined up beside the steps of an enclosed wraparound porch. There are no lights within, but a dim effusion comes from one window in the rear. I prowl closer, keeping to the shadows. Peering inside the lit window, I see a tidy room with pale pink walls. A heart-shaped nightlight glows faintly, and a wicker cradle sits at its center. Overhead, a mobile of forest creatures turns slowly. Inside the cradle lays a slumbering babe. Her little fingers are curled in a fist and pressed against her lips, her chest rising slowly and steadily. She is not an exact likeness of my child, but the coloring is close, and it does really matter. The Mortals no longer believe in the Fae. Changelings are the stuff of myth and legend to them now. No one will believe the mother if she claims the babe has been switched. I try the window and, what luck! It slides open at my touch. It is no easy task to climb through it without dropping my daughter, but I manage. I hold my child at arm's length, admiring the fine work of my glamour. She almost looks Mortal when she brings her fist to her lips and closes her eyes, mimicking the child in the cradle. I smile down at her. She will do fine, this daughter of mine. Already she is learning. *** A baby's cry pierces the silence, desperate and mournful. The woman enters the nursery and shivers, frowning at the open window and cursing her own carelessness. She is sure she closed it earlier, but the stiff autumn breeze suggests otherwise. She slams it shut, oblivious to the inhuman eyes watching her. Then she crosses the room, cooing softly as she lifts the baby from the cradle. The child is cold. So cold that even through the swaddling, the woman feels the chill leaching from it. "My poor sweet thing," she croons. "I'm so sorry." She pulls her robe aside and brings the baby to her breast. Its little mouth latches, sucking with such force that the woman recoils in pain. She hisses, rubbing her nipple. "Mary!" she exclaims, thrusting her daughter away from her. The baby blinks up with sea glass eyes, its face angular where once it had been soft. The mother frowns, confused. She removes the swaddling, inspecting this alien child she has found in her daughter's cradle. All skin and bones, a scrawny wisp of a thing. "This is not my baby." The woman's voice begins as a whisper, then rises in a crescendo as she screams, "this is not my baby!" She rushes to the window. For an instant, she could swear she sees a pair of alien blue-gray eyes peering back at her, but when she blinks, they are gone. The baby in her arms does not blink. It just screams, demanding more mother's milk.  Bio
Kate's writings interweave fantasy and mythology into unique, romantic tapestries. An introvert, dog mom, and whiskey connoisseur, when she's not searching for fairy circles in hopes of being transported to an enchanted kingdom, Kate is immersed in the chaos of her writing process. She lives with her husband and her rescue dog Gracie on the banks of the Hudson in Westchester County, NY, where, alas, she has found few portals to magical Realms.  Q1) Tell us about your book Tales of the Black Rose Guard is a dark fantasy/dark romance series.It focuses primarily on a pair of protagonists named Mara and Edward, who have a forbidden love story which spans 1,200 years in an alternative fantasy version of Europe. Mara is a faerie princess who decides to surrender her title in order to join the royal guard and become a knight. Trained by the immortal captains of the royal guard, Mara is a sword-wielding protégée who captures not only the loyalty of the men surrounding her, but also the heart of Edward, the royal captain of the guard. However, their love is forbidden by Mara’s aunt, the faerie court’s wicked queen, who will do anything to prevent them from being happy together. When Mara’s cousin is murdered, Mara takes the vow of the ‘Black Rose’, an ancient oath to track down her cousin’s killer, and see the death avenged. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? The story is based on a blend of Irish faerie mythology and the legend of Tristan and Isolde. I am a doctoral student in Ireland, working on a PhD in creative writing with a focus on Irish mythology. Living in the area and studying the history of various Irish myths heavily inspired the setting for Black Rose to take place in a faerie court. Tristan and Isolde is the tale of a knight of Cornwall who fell in love with an Irish princess. However, the princess was destined to marry another, Tristan’s uncle, King Mark. The marriage of Isolde and Mark would end a war between their kingdoms. Yet the love of Tristan and Isolde endured in spite of the fact the two could never actually be together. Tristan actually journeys to Camelot and becomes a knight in King Arthur’s court. When Tristan and Isolde died, they were buried separately. And, according to one version of the myth, a vine and rose grew from the lover’s graves. The end of this had an impact not only on the Black Rose series’ title, but also on the idea of lovers being connected through roses. In Tales of the Black Rose Guard, roses are enchanted and, through drinking the blood of their chosen heirs, grant Mara and Edward the power to find their way back to each other, even in the darkest moments they endure. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? I would probably say if not Tristan and Isolde, then Lancelot and Guinevere (I have a black and white kitten named Guinevere). I love their tragic love story which endures in spite of all which works to tear them apart. I love stories of chivalrous knights torn between duty and the calling of their own hearts. And the idea that mortality and honor are not always the same. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? I would actually switch myths for this one! I’d probably have to say Athena from Greek mythology. As a goddess of both war and wisdom, I’d love to spend a day simply learning from her and hearing stories of ancient Greece. I’m a huge fan of stories of the Trojan War specifically, so would love to ask her a few questions about Helen of Troy, Prince Hector, and of course, Achilles! Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? I am actually working on book 7 in the Tales of the Black Rose series with an expected 2022 release! The first six books are currently available and the series should be 9 novels when finished! I also have a novel titled Shattered Moonlight, a co-write with Erin McFadden, which also features Irish mythology. It’s a fairytale retelling of red riding hood which features legends about the Hawthorne tree. In Ireland, Hawthorne trees are also known as faerie trees, and are considered a bridge between the human realm and Tir Na Nog. The Irish goddess Danu plays a part in the novel. McFadden and I are currently working on a sequel, Fractured Moonlight, which also has an expected 2022 release date. K.L. Bone bio & author links: K.L. Bone is a USA Today bestselling author of dark fantasy and paranormal romance. Her works include the bestselling Black Rose Guard dark fantasy series. The bestselling Flames of Kalleen paranormal romance series. The Rise of the Temple Gods fantasy series. And a stand-alone science fiction novel, The Indoctrination and numerous novellas. Bone has a master’s degree in modern literary cultures and is working toward her PhD in creative writing. She wrote her first short story at the age of fifteen and grew up with an equally great love of both classical literature and speculative fiction. Bone has spent the last few years as a bit of a world traveler, living in California, London, and most recently, Belfast. When not immersed in words, of her own creation or studies, you’ll find her traveling to mythical sites that have inspired storytellers for generations. Follow her: On Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/klboneauthor On Twitter: https://twitter.com/kl_bone On Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/K.L.-Bone/e/B00EKEDIS8/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0 On Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7793751.K_L_Bone On Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/k-l-bone  Q1) Tell us about your book
My book, Lost Wolf, is about a young woman who lives with a pack of wolf shifters, caring for her younger sisters after their parents perished. The night of her fated mate bonding ritual, he rejects her, and tries to kill her. So, she barely escapes and runs away with her sister into a post-apocalyptic world ruled by dangerous Alphas where Omegas like her and her sisters are rare. But when she and her sisters are split up, she ends up hiring four Alphas to find them. And these men are new in the country. They are Viking Alphas. and have their own agendas and secrets :) Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I have always loved mythology, and I use it in most of my books. I grew up listening to a lot of darker fairy tales, and I read a lot of books on mythology. There is so much lore from across the world, and I love exploring them, along with bringing them into my stories. In Lost Wolf, I did a lot of research into Norse Mythology for my four Viking Wolves and their backstories. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? I love Medusa... she is very misunderstood :) Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? I really can't go past Thor... I am so there LOL. There is so much about Viking Mythology I'd love to explore more and who better to speak to than Thorn himself. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Absolutely. Lost Wolf is set in the same world as my Shadowlands Sector, which has some Romanian mythology through it. My plans are to release another spin off the same using where I'll be diving into some old Russian myths.  When I think of legends, the stories I most often think of are stories of human encounters with fairies. So when I began to write my own stories, I turned to those old legends for inspiration and threw in my own urban fantasy spin. This story takes place in an alternate version of Los Angeles where fairies live openly among humans. But not all humans find them beautiful… THE SMALLEST OF THE SUMMONER’S BELLS © Kat Parrish You could call it coincidence. You could call it fate or destiny or karma. You could call it any number of things but when the too-tan teenager walked through my door with that little scrap of fairy gold, I saw it for what it really was, a big, tasty slice of opportunity pie. You don’t stumble into my establishment by accident. I don’t advertise. I don’t have a website. I don’t distribute flyers on community bulletin boards. I don’t have a Facebook page or a twitter account. My phone number is private and I don’t use email. I’m hard to find for a reason. If you show up here it’s because someone who’s dealt with me gave you my address and you’ve gone out of your way to track me down. If you’re here it’s because you think you have business here. Maybe you’ve come here because you have something to sell and you’ve heard I give fair value. Or maybe you’ve come because you’ve heard I have something you might like to buy. For the right price, I might sell it to you; and the price isn’t always money. If I don’t like you, though, all the riches on earth won’t persuade me to take your coin and you’ll go away empty-handed. And you might be better off. I pegged the kid for a zip code in the San Fernando Valley trying to pass for Beverly Hills. He had the California smile that speaks of good genes and expensive orthodontia but he had a herpes sore at the corner of his mouth. His shoes cost more than I paid in monthly rent but they were dirty and maybe six months out of style. He was a wannabe on the verge of being a never was and he knew it. But he was a pretty boy, I’ll give him that—just the sort of kid who would attract the attention of the fae, at least until they got tired of playing with him and abandoned him to a life of utter dissatisfaction with his own kind. You know what they say, “Once you go fae you don’t ever stay.” Humans who’ve had close encounters of the fairy kind are ruined for other relationships. But try to tell someone that. The kid walked in with confidence and took his time looking around. He was doing a pretty good job of feigning casual but I was getting impatient, so I put an end to his charade by putting my elbows on the glass counter and leaning into the light so he could get a good look at me. You’ve probably heard the stories, the rumors that I’m half-demon with blood-red eyes that can kill you if I look at you too closely. The truth is a lot less interesting. I suffer from albinism. My skin is the color of aged ivory, my hair a pale straw. My eyes are pink, not red, and so sensitive I wear sunglasses even at night. I am no demon but nevertheless, I am no one to be trifled with. Or as my late mother would have said, “no one to fuck over.” My mother knew a lot about being fucked over. She’s the one who taught me about fairies, her knowledge hard-won and secret. She never talked about the source of her information and I knew better than to ask. The kid was surprised when he saw my face. The stereotype of a pawnbroker is an old Jewish man and I am neither old, nor Jewish nor male. He knew that of course. What he hadn’t expected was that I would be pretty in a pink-eyed sort of way. Expectations are funny things. Certainly I’d never expected to end up in the family business. I inherited the pawn shop not long after Los Angeles went broke. There were a lot of desperate people in the city in those days and the businesses that were booming—liquor stores and check-cashing places and pawn shops—provided easy pickings for the predators. My father had known this and he’d kept an extremely low profile. He drove a beater car, lived in a modest house, and wore clothes so shabby they looked like he’d fought a homeless guy for him. It was the mask he showed to the world in the hope it would protect him. It didn’t. My father had died of a heart attack while being robbed and I was his only heir. The thing that had killed my father was not an ordinary criminal. The killer had broken through state-of-the-art paranormal security and he was after just one thing—a gold chain with a tiny ruby pendant hanging from it like a frozen drop of blood. It was a pretty thing, simple and elegant, not the kind of flash bling an ordinary thief would have grabbed. Only someone who knew what it really was would have thought it valuable at all. The thief knew what it was. I knew what it was, too and one day I was going to get it back. And then the creature that had ordered the theft and sanctioned the murder to possess it would be very, very sorry. *** The boy’s voice broke through my reverie. “How much will you give me for this?” he asked. He put down a small plastic baggie like the ones dealers use for transporting their goods. Inside was a tiny gold bell, no larger than the nail on my pinkie finger. The kid knew what he had was valuable, but he also knew that it was dangerous. Once it was out of his hands he seemed relieved. I opened the little baggie and dropped the bell into my palm. It was very warm to the touch, body-warm, blood-warm. The gold was so thin and fine it was almost transparent but it was also strong. I could see what looked like scratches on the metal. Under a loupe, I could see it was engraved with glyphs from the old language. I had been a history major when my father died, specializing in dead and fae languages. This was an inscription in old fae French, one of the most ornate and beautiful of the fairy tongues and one I couldn’t read. “Pretty,” I said and flicked the bell with my finger. Its pure tone rang in the small shop and briefly caused some items to come to life with a golden fire. “I’ll give you a hundred for it,” I added. His face fell. “A hundred? It’s worth at least a thousand.” He took my silence for a negotiating ploy. “Eight hundred?” I looked at him pityingly. He clearly had no idea of its true worth, just thought it was a shiny bauble. I shook my head again and dropped the bell back into its little bag before pushing it across the counter towards him. He made no move to take it. “You didn’t come all the way out here because you heard I pay great prices,” I said. “You’ve been going from pawn shop to pawn shop all day hoping someone will give you money on it. Someone who doesn’t know what it is.” I skewered him with my glance. “Someone who doesn’t know who it belongs to.” He looked at me then, a feral gleam in his eye. “It’s one of the Summoner’s Bells,” he declared defiantly. So he did know. Now that was interesting. “Yes,” I said. “I know.” I tapped it again through the plastic, just for the pleasure of hearing it ring. The smallest of the Summoner’s bells. You’ve heard the story, of course. Everyone knows the story of the Summoner’s bells. Seven in all, they were crafted by Rhodri the Summoner in the 11th century and stolen by a fairy king, who’d killed him to possess the set. Each bell was made of a different material and was a different size and each bell had a different power. The largest, made of bronze, was said to summon the future. This one, the golden bell, was said to summon the past. There’s a prophecy that warns ringing all the bells at the same time will summon apocalypse but that’s a fairy story and I long ago learned to discount such things. In any case, the larcenous fairy king never had a chance to bring doom to the world because he was killed himself and his ill-gotten treasure scattered to the four winds. Both mortals and fae have sought the bells ever since. And here was one that had just been walked into my shop. Call it coincidence, or fate, or karma. The boy was starting to fidget, caught between an intense desire to bolt and an even more urgent need to acquire the funds to pay for his escape. “How did you come by this bell?” I asked him, wondering if he would lie. “It was a gift.” I laughed at that and knew him for a fool. “The King of Air and Darkness is known to have a weakness for beautiful humans,” I said. “But he would never have given you such a gift. You stole it from him and now hope to avoid his wrath by selling it to me and bringing your trouble to my door.” The blood rushed to his face, telling me that I was right. I scooted the bag with the bell a little closer to him but again, he made no move to pick it up and leave. “You should return the bell to him right now and beg him for mercy.” “I can’t,” he said in a whisper. “He has no mercy.” And once again I said, “I know.” “Please,” he said with the little bell sitting on the counter between us. “Please help me,” he begged. With pretended reluctance, I pulled out an old-fashioned ledger book. “Why’d you take it, anyway?” I asked. “It’s not like he wasn’t going to notice it was gone.” A look of desperate pain passed across his face and I knew that his story was going to be the oldest story told about humans and fairies. The fairies take their fun but they’re easily bored. “I thought if I took it, he’d … he might see me again.” He paused to take a deep breath that was almost a sob. “And instead, he sent pixies after me.” Pixies. Nasty little fuckers. If he’d tangled with pixies he’d been lucky to get this far. “You’ll see him again,” I predicted, knowing that would not be a good thing. “I know,” he said miserably, knowing the same thing. I counted out $500 cash on the counter and then added another $200. It was all I had in the till and I knew that I was throwing good money away. He’d never live to spend the money and he’d die screaming. I didn’t want to tell him that, though, so I let him leave with the illusion that he could run for his life. And after all, $700 was a small price to pay for the smallest of the Summoner’s bells. *** I put the bell in a box of cold iron with the other three I owned—the bronze, the bone, and the jade. I knew the King of Air and Darkness would be coming for the bell and I knew he would not be coming alone. He’s not the first fairy I’ve fought to regain what is rightfully mine. He isn’t the first and he won’t be the last. My people are descendants of the Summoner and we have a few tricks of our own. Let the King of Air and Darkness come. And call what happens “fate.”  Kat Parrish is an international and Amazon bestselling author. A former reporter, she prefers making things up! An Army brat, her motto is "Have passport, will travel." She currently lives in Portugal where her apartment overlooks an 18th century church, a park full of oleander trees, and a street full of houses with narrow, decorative doors.
 Egyptian myths centered mostly around the dead and the Gods who controlled the world. Ra was said to be the Sun God who gave life, while his brother, Osiris, had dominion over the dead. Probably the most famous myth involves Osiris and his wife, Isis. Osiris was killed and cut into pieces. Isis loved her husband so that she traveled across the land in search of the pieces and put him back together. She was able to revive him and they were reunited.
 Q1) Tell us about your book A Chance in Hell is the first book in my Gods of Chaos series, which follows Persephone, the Greek Goddess, now living in modern day USA. It follows her as someone from her past shows up, causing trouble, but with a possible way to resurrect a God. Persephone sets out to bring Hades back to life, but the story takes a turn. It is part of a larger series, all set in the same universe which will cover deities from different cultures - Greek, Norse, Irish etc. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I love Greek myths the most, but I will focus on more in the wider series. I love how the Greek Gods were so corrupt and screwed up all the time. It makes them much more relatable. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? It's so hard to choose. Persephone, certainly, but I also like Athena too. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? I think it would depend on the situation. Athena would be cool or maybe Freya. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Yes, I have started the Norse series with Daughter of Odin and I will be writing more on that sub series. On top of that, I have 12 books planned where the Gods of Olympus are reborn. I hope to start work on those next year.  USA Today Bestselling Author S. K. Gregory writes urban fantasy, paranormal romance and horror books. She currently resides in Northern Ireland, where she works as an editor.
 Q1) Tell us about your book Halflings is the first book in a trilogy about a young woman called Riley who discovers that her father was a monster hunter and she may have inherited his skills. The situation is made more difficult by the fact that her rival at school may be her half sister. Riley is drawn into a strange world and must quickly learn to defend herself. It is dark fantasy and for adults only. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? Halflings draws on myths from both Native American and Irish mythology. One of the creatures is my version of a skinwalker and there is also mention of the Morrigan who will feature more prominently in the next book. I'm from Ireland myself so I wanted to include something from here. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? I like myths from all over the world, but I do love the Morrigan and I like figures from Greek Myth too such as Athena - the Goddess of Wisdom. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? Ooh that's a tough one. I would say Loki, because I imagine it would be interesting to say the least. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Yes, I have two more books planned in this series and I will no doubt write new stories with myths too as I think they are such a huge part of our lives and have strong messages.  Kat Gracey lives in the UK. She writes urban fantasy and paranormal romance novels featuring her two favorite supernatural beings - witches and werewolves.
 Q1) Tell us about your book The Lost Legends is the first in a mashup retelling series of Robin Hood and Rapunzel... with pirates. Princess Adalina grew up hearing tales of the Nihryst, a group of immortal warriors cursed and left on a secret island by her ancestors. All her life, she has vowed to one day find them and break the curse. When trouble strikes in her kingdom, she goes on the search for these immortals, thinking they might be the only ones powerful enough to save everyone. She sets sail with a crew that turns out to be pirates, and her quest becomes an adventure worthy of her favorite stories. Q2) Why did you focus on myths/legends from that particular region? I have always felt this deep connection to the history of the U.K., especially with the stories of Robin Hood and King Arthur. Something about these characters overcoming obstacles to help others draws me in. I'm aware that these are common themes in stories, but these two in particular have always called to me. Robin Hood has been my favorite story for as long as I can remember. Q3) Who is your favorite mythical figure? It's hard to pick just one, but probably Poseidon because I love the ocean. Q4) If you could choose to hang out with one mythical God, who would it be and why? Helios. I think it would be fun to see the world from above and bring people light. Q5) Do you plan on writing similar books in the future? Absolutely! In fact, I have a Hades and Persephone retelling planned. I'm very excited to jump into it more. It's set in both the current time and through history.  All her life, Cait Marie has loved fairy tales. When she discovered a passion for writing in 2015, she knew she had finally found the right path.
Cait is the creator and manager of Functionally Fictional. In 2019, she joined the indie staff of YA Books Central as a reviewer and then Indie Co-Manager in 2020. From 2017 to 2020, she held multiple positions within Coffee House Writers, including C.O.O., Editor, Advertising Supervisor, and Writer. She graduated with honors in 2019 from Southern New Hampshire University with a Bachelor of Arts in psychology, and she is currently enrolled in their Master of Fine Arts program. She lives in Indiana, where she freelance edits and provides a variety of other author services. When she’s not writing or reading, she can usually be found watching Disney movies, creating pages in her bullet journal, painting, or singing showtunes to annoy her family and cats.  Mythology, lore, legends, fairy tales...call them whatever you like, but for me as a creative these kinds of things are inspirational building blocks. In 7th grade English, I was about 12 at the time, we had a small unit on Mythology. I remember being handed coloring sheets for the Greek gods with paragraphs about each one. I immediately realized there were next to no goddesses in our unit and the ones we did get a sheet on had even less written about them than their male counterparts. I ended the unit with a dissatisfied taste in my mouth; I wanted more. Fast forward to 1996 and my 12th grade English class where we were preparing portfolio pieces for graduation. The big writing assignment was to essentially re-write Beowulf. My retelling of Beowulf was the first time I flipped a legend on its ear. Gone were the men as main characters. Instead, Beowulf was now told from a warrior woman's POV. I tore down the lore reworking the information to how I saw fit. In the end, my assignment was twice as long as assigned and included full color maps---quite a feat back in the day when color printers and computers in your home were still a rarity. I remember later using the story as part of my college application and the tale playing a part in me landing a scholarship. Once I graduated college, I found myself married to a gamer and started getting into MMORPG games. I loved the "lore" books that came with my favorite game, Guild Wars, and I spent hours crafting my character's name based on the included book. In fact, I joined a guild where one of the fun things to do was to post back stories of our characters. My guildmates were very much in awe of my stories because I chose to weave in actual lore from the game. Of course, I wouldn't realize how much I enjoyed mashing mythology into stories until around 2008 when the lack of Xena and Buffy like entertainment led me to dream up my Daughter of Ares stories. I often describe the series as if Xena and Buffy fell into Lord of The Rings. I spent hours researching certain names and mythology of the Greek pantheon. As the series progressed, I incorporated other mythology including Arthurian lore. When I finished the series in 2014, I thought maybe I was done with mythology and even writing in general. But what writer is ever really done with writing? After five years of a dry creative well, I came back full force...and realized I loved using mythology, lore, fairy tales, and folklore of all kinds in my stories. For instance, my Urban Fantasy branded Monster Hunter Tales series integrates elements of Greek, Arabic, Hindu, and Asian mythologies. The books also contain smatterings of dragons, fae, and Tír na nÓg. Excerpt To Free a Djinn: Book 3 Monster Hunter Tales “Unhand Lord Devyn’s Djinn, Kian!” The man in the three-piece-suit had busted in through the door. Beau was now out of her trance thanks to all of the shouting and door flinging. She found herself in a rather embarrassing position wrapped around Kian. She looked up to see the man in the three-piece-suit. Fear crawled through her body. Beau tightened her grip on Kian. “That is the man, Kian.” “I know, Beau, I know. Let me take care of this.” He untangled Beau from his arms and pushed her behind him. “Lord Devyn would not like it if you turned his Djinn into a vampire, Lord Kian. Now, please, for the sake of all of our well-being give me the girl.” Kian shook his head. “What claim does Devyn have on Isabeau, Finn?” The man in the suit, Finn, responded to Kian with a gruff answer. “That is none of your business. He has a proper claim on her. I have all of the paperwork right here. I had tried to deliver it to her only moments ago, but she took off on me.” “Fat chance, Finn. I saw her first. I have a claim on her and have had for the last three years. Every day she comes in here flirting with me. If you had not interrupted us, she would have already been turned.” The words made Beau angry. She jumped off the table and started yelling. “Wait just a gosh darn minute here fellas! I do not know what a Djinn is, but I am not one. I am a mechanic; so, if you have something you want fixed, I can probably fix it. I also have not been flirting with you for three years, Kian. Plus, vampire, really? Did you think that would impress me? What is this the 2000s?” Finn grinned. “Looks to me she is a fine fire Djinn. Just look at that personality. Lord Devyn will be doubly pleased as fire elements are the most powerful.” “Listen Finn or whatever your name is, I am not a fire Djinn. I do not know who Lord Devyn is and I am most certainly not going with you!” Finn fished out an odd-looking device. It looked a bit like the oil- lamps from the old genie movies. He removed the top and started chanting. Kian pushed Beau towards the exit to the alley. “Get out of here, Beau!” A blue light filled the room and Finn slammed the lid back on the device. The light vanished once the lid was back on the device. Kian and Finn were standing there glaring at one another, but Beau was gone. “What did you do with her, Finn! Where’s Isabeau?” Kian’s temper flared as he rushed towards Finn. “Ah-ah-ah. Do you really want to start a war over this Djinn? Count her among your losses, Kian. She is not worth it.” “She is worth it to me! I love her.” Kian screamed his anger slowly turning into despair. Of course, he knew what Isabeau was before he set his stakes on her. That was the first thing that attracted him to her, but over the last few years he had really gotten to know her. She was so much more than the magic she could use.  A lover of all things fantasy, USA Today Best-Selling Author Shannon McRoberts writes fantastical tomes and tales in between gaming, making art, herding cats, and being a mother.
 Norse Mythology covers the Scandinavian region and mixed Paganism and folklore. The Gods were led by the mighty Odin and the Gods resided in a place called Valhalla. There are many legends from this mythology, but probably the most famous is that of Thor, particularly since he has been introduced to the MCU.
The Gods of Norse mythology were seen as warriors and were often involved in one or war or another. The image above depicts a Valkyrie, a fierce warrior woman who decides the fate of men in battle. If a warrior dies in combat, they are transported to Valhalla as a reward. |
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About the Author:S. K. Gregory is an author, editor and blogger. She currently resides in Northern Ireland. “Description begins in the writer’s imagination, but should finish in the reader’s.” 
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