"Kristin Butcher has created a world grounded in Irish Celtic traditions, one that readers will find familiar and fantastical all at once." 

     When I read this excerpt from a review for The Druid and the Dragon in CM Magazine, I was over the moon, because it meant I had achieved my goal.

      I don't read science-fiction and I seldom read fantasy -- both primarily for the same reason. The worlds the writers create are usually too bizarre to get my head around. Either I don't find them credible or they're over-stuffed, confusing, and hard to imagine. Sometimes they simply have too many gaps and leave me with questions.

      My reading genre of choice is historical fiction. The worlds in these novels are certainly different from my own because of changes created by time, but they are not so different that they feel strange.

      Setting The Seer Trilogy somewhere historically recognizable and then adding elements of fantasy seemed the perfect way to go. So that's what I did. Oh, I mucked about with some geographical and historical details to fit Maeve's tale, but for the most part the setting is Celtic Ireland.

      With readers comfortably settled into a time and place, I could beginning trickling in the fantasy bits. They are infused so gradually that they are easy for readers to accept and believe. Only a couple of fantasy concepts are introduced in each novel, so readers have a chance to get acclimatized before being hit with the next one.

      Sneaky, eh?

• the first dragon ever was Kur of ancient Sumeria (modern day Iraq)
• Western dragons are often depicted as evil creatures, but Eastern dragons most often represent wisdom, strength and hidden knowledge.
• 'dragon' is mentioned 9 times in the New Testament of the Bible. Daniel slays the dragon with special barley cakes that cause the dragon to burst when he eats them.

 (excerpt)

      The stream was shallow—probably only knee-deep—and narrow, though not so much that she could hop to the opposite bank. For a time Maeve watched the water ripple over and around the rocks, polishing them with wetness. There was a peacefulness about it that urged her to linger, but as she looked for a place to sit, a breeze hurried past the trees behind her, and one of the boughs brushed her neck.

      Maeve spun around. “What?” She thought she'd heard someone speak. “Who's there?” But there was no response, and though she peered long into the trees, she saw nothing unusual.

      She shook her head. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Despite months of lessons aimed at teaching her how to manage her gift, Maeve still found there were times when she was plagued by bizarre imaginings. She made a mental note to ask Bradan if this was something that happened to all seers, or if it was simply her mind that was unruly.

      She pushed the notion aside. She should continue her explorations. Who could say when she'd have another chance? But which way should she go? She looked upstream and down, and then lifting the hem of her robe, she continued following the flow of water. This choice offered no more promise than the other—the ground in both directions was slippery with rocks and gnarled tree roots. Still there was something that pulled her this way.

      After a time, she came to a place where the water abandoned its leisurely course and sped up, rushing at the rocks blocking its way and spewing white foam as it crashed into them. Peering downstream, Maeve realized the reason for the change in the water's nature. Directly ahead was a small waterfall, pulling the stream to it and dragging it over the edge.

      Buffeted this way and that, the water thrashed angrily as it hurtled down the drop into a pool below. Maeve watched the churning foam ripple away and settle into stillness. Not complete stillness though, for the water continued moving, albeit with a new laziness. She gazed down the length of the pool to the place where it narrowed back into a stream and hurried on its way again.

      Maeve caught her breath, for crossing the stream at that point was a stone bridge. And standing in the middle of it, looking into the water, was a woman. Her back was to Maeve, so all she could see was the woman's torso and a shock of copper curls trailing to her waist. Without realizing, Maeve twisted a tendril of her own hair around her finger.

• I have begun the line edits for The Bridge of Whispers. (This is the part where my publisher/editor 'kills my darlings' -- I know these cuts improve the novel, but it's still tough ... sigh)

• I have also begun writing the third book in the trilogy, The Sorcerer's Revenge (working title). This one should be out in the fall of 2022.