The Root Goddess

This week’s Faerie Friday isn’t a normal Faerie Friday post. It’s not even about a Faerie.

Last Saturday, my husband and I got in the car and headed for parts unknown. Well, they weren’t exactly unknown. Our destination was Lennox, MA via Route 20. We were pretty sure we could get there that way. Wasn’t a hundred percent certain. But we were heading east so confidence was moderately high.

Surprisingly, Lennox was just where it was supposed to be in my head. That almost never happens. We did some shopping, had a lovely lunch (I had the Pear Welwood cocktail if you must know) and even stopped at a chocolate shop that had the most amazing chocolates.

On the way out of town, my husband pulled into this place that I spotted on our way in but didn’t give much mind to. At that point, I was a little overstimulated and ready to go home. If I was a cat, my husband would have been either scratched or bitten or both. He cut the engine of the car and gave me a look: Just shut up and follow me already.  

So I shut my trap and followed him into a shop that had some of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. Masks and statues from all over the world. Jewelry. Artwork. Talk about overstimulation. As I was coming out of one of the small rooms, I spotted the carving in the picture above. I couldn’t get to her because another couple was looking at jewelry. Finally they moved out of the way and I made a beeline for her.

 The owner spotted me gazing up at her. She was strung up against a beam, fastened by a bit of twine. He explained that the carving was from Bali and was a representation of goddess, Dewi Sri. On the surface Bali is a Hindu country, but at the core, the Balinese people still believe in Earth Magic flows through the soil and into the plants. The carving was made from the roots of a 17^th century coffee bush and she brings with her abundance, prosperity and fertility.

I just had to have her and after debating where to put her, we decided above the mantle in our living room. I toyed with the idea of putting her over out bed, but I decided not to tempt fate.

Doesn’t she look lovely in our living room?

The lesson: Don’t be afraid to check out new places. You never know what you are going to find.

If you find yourself in Lennox, make sure to stop by Inspired Planet. You won’t be disappointed.

Hey, that chick has my face!

Today is Friday the 13^th. Yeah, don’t get all excited about it. I’m not particularly superstitious. I love black cats to distraction. I’ll walk under a ladder with wild abandon. I’ll even dance a jig if the right song is on the radio. And if there was any merit to the broken mirror prophecy, my bad luck would last well into my death. Can a rotting corpse have bad luck? I guess the rotting part doesn’t suggest exceptionally good luck.

*Buff shrugs*

My Grandma Wade used to say that Friday the 13^th was one of the luckiest days of the year. I guess she was one of those glass-half-filled kinda gals. I liked that about her. 

Anyway, in honor of today and the foolish dread some folks will no doubt feel, I decided to write about one of my favorite faerie like creatures – the Co-Walker. He’s creepy. He’s bad luck. He's perfect for today's Faerie Friday post.

Some of you folks will know the Co-Walker by some of his/her/its other names. Fetch. Doppelganger. Ghosts     of the Living. Copies. I’m especially fond of Thrumpins. Yes, Thrumpins.

Picture this: You’ve had an exceptionally long, tiring day. You can’t find a parking spot near your apartment. You drive around and around for what seems like hours and you finally find a spot in a dark corner three blocks from your place to park. As you are walking down the street, you hear footsteps behind you. You quicken your pace, but so does the guy behind you. Your heart pounds in your chest. You can’t catch your breath. You forget the uneven patch of pavement in front of your building and you find yourself tumbling onto the ground. When you look up from your humiliating sprawl, you stare into the face of someone that looks like you. Just like you. Right down to the hot pink ponytail holder and scuffed shoes.

No, that’s not the twin your mother never told you about. It’s a Co-Walker and that fact that you’ve seen him means only one thing – you’re a dead man. Or woman.

The Co-Walker is a powerful portent of death. Seeing him means your death is imminent. But sometimes, he befriends lonely children. I guess he’s not all bad, folks.

I will concede this isn’t one of my best Faerie Friday posts. In my defense, a bunch of my research books are buried under a pile of other books in my office. I had this incident a few weeks back where my desk collapsed. Long story, but I’ll try to be more creative in the future. 

The Rusalki

I’m chilling in Russia this week for Faerie Friday. Again. Just in case you were wondering, I plan on staying here through next week. And maybe I’ll swing on over to Japan next month, but I’m undecided. I found this great book on the Yokai. If you don’t know what the Yokai are, you’ll just have to come back and find out. J

The Rusalki are the Russian equivalents (sort of) of the Greek Naiad, i.e. hot freshwater nymphs. Okay, they aren’t hot in all the versions of the story, but for the purpose of this exercise, they are. Capisce?

In some versions, the Rusalki wear white shifts and in other, they are completely bare assed. In all stories, they have long, flowing hair. Sometimes green. They spend the winter months submerged in the depths of lakes and rivers and crawl out during the summer months.

You are going to meet one of two ends when you tangle with a Rusalki. Most commonly she uses her siren voice and her laughter to lure young men to the water where she takes them in her embrace and drowns them. The other way is a more ignominious way – she tickles you to death. Yes, I said tickle. They sing, giggle and swing from branches and when they have you in their thrall, they sneak up behind you and tickle you to death. I can just imagine the epitaph: HERE LIKES BORIS, FELLED BY A TERRIBLE TICKLE. It’s a shameful way to die, but it does play into some boyhood fantasies. They only thing that’s missing is topless pillow fights.

By “you” in the above referenced illustrations, I mean young men. She can’t be bothered with women and is very hostile toward the fairer sex. As an aside, I know women like that and they are equally as unlikable as the Rusalki. Just not as deadly.

The Russian villager has a few tricks to keep them away – charms, hanging linen in the trees, garlic, iron and crosses.

Like many faerie creatures, they Rusalki are thought of as the souls of unbaptized children, drowned maidens and unwed mothers. They are considered an unclean force deriving their allure from the devil himself. Most likely, the Rusalki are the remnants of pagan goddesses. They are used to illustrate the contrast between themselves (unclean, devilish) and Christian women (good, chaste.) The Rusalki are spirited, wear their hair flowing freely, take lovers that are not their husbands, and in general behave like naughty (albeit more dangerous) sorority girls.

Not a nice girl, but a fun girl. Okay, fun for just a minute, but fun nonetheless!

Russian Water Devil

Okay, this one is going to be short. I have a cough I can’t get rid of and a book that won’t read itself. And I’ve been screwing around on my computer for two hours and haven’t accomplished anything. Such is the life of me.

Anyway, I decided stay in Russia for this week’s Faerie Friday post, but instead of a forest dwelling creature, we are going to focus on a guy who hangs around bodies of water looking for some sucker to drown, i.e. the Vodianoi, sometimes called vodianoi chert or “water devil.”

Russia is a big country, huge in fact, so the stories of Vodianoi vary from region on region, town to town. Sometimes he lives in the slimy bottoms of ponds and in other stories he lives in a crystal palace. He usually resides somewhere near a mill and he’s known to be a danger to everyone but fisherman and millers. Probably because they know how to treat him. They leave him the proper offerings – tobacco, bread, salt, vodka. You know, the usual.

His appearance also varies from place to place. Sometimes he’s slimy or scaly with green hair and beard. Sometimes he’s old, sometimes he’s young. That usually depends on the cycle of the moon. He’s naked in some stories and half fish in others.

He can be spotted by the water dripping from his coat. His clothing never dries and he leaves puddles everywhere. I find that more amusing than menacing. 

Guardian of the Russian Forest

Working on this week's Faerie Friday post. I swear this desk was clean a few days ago. Honest Buff.

So I took a break from blogging.

My intention had been to take the time to work on a few stories that I was close to completing. I’d like to say I was successful, but that wouldn’t be true. I’m a lot of things, but liar isn’t one of them. Well, mainly I’m not a liar. How does that old Dwight Yoakum song go? “I tell the truth except when I lie.” Something like that.

*heads to Rhapsody to add song to play list*

Anyway, I’m back and I’m heading to Russia for this week’s Faerie Friday post. I’m high on cold medicine so please forgive the occasion forgotten word or sentences that make little to no sense. I’m a bit rusty in the blog post writing arena.

Here goes nothing.

As I stated a few sentences ago, we are traveling to Russia for this week’s Faerie Friday post - the Russian forests to be more specific to where the Leshii dwell.

The Leshii is a natural spirit. Think Green Man with a Russian accent. One of my references says that they are the offspring of human woman and demons. Do what you will with that piece of information.

Each forest, unless it’s a big honking forest, has only one. (Les means forest, apparently.) He doesn’t just guard the forest, but all of the animals that reside there. He lives with his wife, known at the Lesovikha. She is portrayed in a number of a different ways: an ugly bint with big breasts, a woman in white or a pretty naked chick. Their children are called Leshonki.

In most stories, though they vary from location to location, the Leshii isn’t exactly a prize himself. He wears his boots on the wrong feet. He sports both green eyes and a green beard and long, messy hair. He casts no shadow and his eyes glow. He is a shape shifter that can change size and forms.

The Leshii, like many forest dwelling figures of folklore, love to play tricks on unsuspecting peasants. Making forest noises, laughing loudly, or clapping loudly, he liked to cause people to lose their way. Not such a big deal in our modern times, but before the invention of GPS, wandering aimless through a big forest could and would get you killed.

A way to ward off the Leshii is to wear your clothes inside out and to put your shoes on the wrong feet.

Like most of the creatures/figures I write about, there is a lot more to the Leshii, but I must leave that for another post.  

The Lorelei

Don’t I color well?  Yes, I did shade her legs.  Thanks for noticing! ;-)

Everyone has heard of the Greek sirens.  You know, those pesky but beautiful women that lure sailors to their death with their magnificent naked bods and their insidious songs.  Apparently the German’s, not to be outdone by the Greeks, needed a supernatural explanation for bad weather and poor navigation skills, too.

The Lorelei (sometimes spelled Loreley or Lore Lay) hail from the Rhine where they play the harp and sing sweet songs.  There seems to be some confusion (at least on my part) if there are multiple Lorelei or just one.  For the purpose of this exercise we are going to go with a drove of strumpet like Faeries that have nothing better to do than entice men to their death.  If a man sees a Lorelei, he instantly goes mad and/or blind. 

They sit on a rock of the same name and wait for a passing boat.  Like they have nothing better to do.  Just so you know, if I had these talents, I’d take the show to town and really rake in the dough.  Think bigger ladies!!  Just because someone put you on a rock doesn’t mean you have to stay there.  Just saying.

Puddlefoot

 

 

Last weekend I babysat a pair of five year old twins.  Okay, my husband and my mother-in-law helped.  I spent a good portion of Saturday afternoon sitting indian-style on the floor in front of a child’s size table coloring.  I probably hadn’t colored in 25 years, maybe longer.  I don’t think I appreciated it for what it was when I was a kid – a damn good excuse to zone out and relax.  Coloring is the ultimate de-stresser.

When I got home on Monday, I decided I wanted my own coloring books.  Amazon to the rescue!  Now I have five. (I know. I can’t just buy just one thought.)  Thanks to Dover Coloring Books I have three books with Faeries, one on Gargoyles and Medieval Monsters and even one with Vampires.

One of the coloring books inspired this week’s Faerie Friday post – Puddlefoot.  Please see picture about.  I know it’s not done yet, but I was running out of time.  I gave him pink and red shorts. :-)

Puddlefoot is a kind of Brownie that lives at Clochfoldich Farm in Scotland (somewhere outside of Tayside thought unless you know Scotland well will mean nothing to you.  It means nothing to me.)  As most good browies, he does a lot of household chores.  The only problem with Puddlefoot is he likes to go splashing around the pools of the Altmore Burn before going to work. He gets the work done, but he leaves wet little footprints everywhere. 

I don’t know about you folks, but I could forgive a few wet footprints for a clean house!

Tuscan Night Elves - The Linchetti

I keep a bunch of books on faerie lore tucked in places around the house. One of my favorites to browse through is Nancy Arrowsmith’s Field Guide to the Little People.  I must have looked through it four or five dozen times.  Last week I was thumbing through it as I often do and I came across a creature that I hadn’t noticed before – the Tuscan night elf known as the Linchetti.  I know it by one of its other names, Buffardello.  Yes, I just happen to like that name.

These night elves (also called Caccavecchia and Mazapegolo in other regions of Italy) have a nasty habit of climbing through keyholes and perching upon a sleeping person’s chest.  At two feet high and invisible, they are hard to detect, but nightmares and/or trouble breathing gives them away.  Their antics can kill an elderly person.  He doesn’t live in the house, but rather in the barn where he shows favoritism to certain animals while starving others.  He likes to braid the hair of horses, but those braids should never be undone.  He places all of the good qualities of the animal in the braids.

There are a few ways to get rid of the Linchetti:

1)   A person who is plagued by the Linchetti should leave a bowl of seeds on his/her chest while sleeping.  When the Linchetti tries to sit on the person chest, he will knock the seeds onto the floor.  The Linchetti can’t stand disorder (he suffers from OCD!)  He will spend the rest of the night trying to pick up the seeds one by one.

2)   You can assign him the task of straightening a curly hair.  He hates curly hair.

3)   This is my favorite.  If you suspect a Linchetto is bothering your rest, get out of bed and turn on the light.  While sitting on a chamber pot, eat some bread and cheese.  Between bites, recite these words: “To shit with the Linchetto! I eat my bread and cheese and shit on his face.”  He will be so disgusted he’ll leave never to be heard of again.  No, you really can’t make this stuff up.

The book goes onto tell a story of a young man and his troubles.  I won’t bore you with the details, but it involves multiple annulments, a seemingly impotent man, a dauntless young girl and a curly pubic hair.  I’m sure you can fill in the details.

A Fish Called Ceasg

I returned from RWA12 around midnight on Sunday. To say I was exhausted is an understatement, but it was the kind of exhaustion only reached when one has had the time of his/her life.  It was such a freaking awesome experience, one of which I will never forget.  Thanks to Jami Gold, Angela Quarles, Janice Hardy and all of those amazing women I met for the great week.  I hope to see you all again soon.

If you follow my blog regularly, you will notice a suspicious lack of posts in the month of July.  I decided to take the month off from my regular Faerie Friday posts. Granted, I neglected to tell anyone.  My bad.  I felt like I needed some sort of break.  It was hot and I was cranky. I’m feeling rejuvenated now that I am back though I do believe I am coming down with a cold.  Oh, well, you can’t meet that many people, get on that many planes and not contract a horrible death illness.  You just can’t.

Okay, so I should probably get on with it.  This week’s Faerie Friday post takes us to Scotland.  I love Scottish faeries.  Armstrong is a Scottish name in fact.  I remembered reading somewhere that in the 13^th century the Armstrong Clan could raise up 3000 fighting men.  That’s a lot of hairy, filthy Scottish men in kilts. Invictus maneo! (The Armstrong Clan motto – We remain unvanquished!)

Anyway, the Ceasg is my topic for the week.  Please don’t ask me how to pronounce its name.  I don’t know.  Sometimes I wonder if these names are elaborate jokes like the silly names for items in IKEA.  Swedish executives just want to get us to say Knubbig.  They are laughing behind our backs.

The Ceasg is the mermaid of the Scottish Highlands.  Sometimes she is called Maighdean na tuinne, or the Maiden of the Wave. She’s smokin’ hot from the waist up, but from the waist down, not so much.  She’s half salmon.  Like most faeries, she is not so nice.  In fact, she likes to lure men into the water so that she can kill them. Supposedly, she swallows them whole.  (I find that hard to believe since she has a human size mouth.  It’s not my job to make sense of these stories, just to report on them.)  If the man can catch the Ceasg, she will grant him three wishes.  She keeps her soul in a super-secret place outside of her body.  If you can find it, you can defeat her. 

So what do you think of the Scottish Highland mermaid?  Do you think you could catch her and obtain three wishes?  Did you miss me?  I missed you.

The Far Dorocha

For those of you who have been following my blog from the beginning, you may remember that I did “7 Days of Halloween” back in October.  I wrote a post for seven days that had something in it that frightened me.  I wrote about my fear of pigs, the Tailypo, even getting haunted in Savannah.  I had about a dozen ideas, but only seven days to write about them.  One of the faeries on the list was the Far Dorocha or Fear Dorocha.  You know the Irish, they can spell things a dozen different ways and each time it’s completely unpronounceable!

At the same time I was writing this series of blog posts, I was contemplating whether I would have the balls enough to attempt NaNoWriMo.  Yes, I did have the balls, steel balls in fact.  What did I have to lose?  The answer was nothing.  Only problem: What the hell was I going to write about?

I glanced over my blog notebook.  (I keep a notebook for notes on my posts and idea for future posts.)  I kept rereading the name Far Dorocha.  I was going to write a story about him.  And he wasn’t going to be the villain in the story.  He was going to be the hero.    My novel, The Dark Man, was born.

You see, the Far Dorocha isn’t exactly a good guy.  In fact, you can argue he’s a horrible guy.  Far Dorocha means Dark Man.  (I know.   My novel’s name isn’t very clever.  I’m open to suggestions.)  Everyone who studies faerie lore knows that the faerie queen likes to kidnap mortals.  Well, the Far Dorocha does the dirty work for her.  He rides up on his black stead and carts folks back to Faerie for her.  He can compel people to obey without uttering a single word.  He acts as a sort of butler serving the queen her tea.  Oh and he also punishes folks with a big mouths.  What does he do?  He blinds and/or maims them.  Charming really.

The Far Dorocha had the potential to be a complex and interesting character.  How did he become the Far Dorocha?  Did he like his job?  What was his relationship with queen like?  What would he say if he talked?  Does he like red or white wine?  How do the other faeries treat him?  Do they let him join in their faerie games?  The questions are endless.

A few weeks after I started writing The Dark Man (which back then was called Enlightened), I read about Karen Marie Moning’s graphic novel, Fever Moon: The Fear Dorocha.  (If you haven’t checked out the Fever series I would recommend it.  I only read the first book because it was free on my Nook.  I love free books.  I really loved this book.) 

My heard plummeted to into my shoes.  If you haven’t experienced this feeling, you are lucky.  I believe I had a mini-panic attack.  How could I compete with KMM?  The answer was I couldn’t.  Her Fear Dorocha is different from my Far Dorocha.  He appears to be the villain in her story.  I don’t picture him a black suit and tall top hat like she does.  I have seen a few panels from the graphic novel and her Fear Dorocha looks very much like how I picture Ankou, the Breton portent of death.  There seems to be some relationship been the Fear Dorocha and Ankou.  Anyway, I put on my big girl panties and got over it.

If you’d like to check out my inspiration board on Pinterest for The Dark Man, you can check it out here.

Exotica or Xotica Part One

The Three Fates

No, I will not be talking about a strip club.

Origin:  Greece

Description:  The Exotica is a pantheon of Modern Greek spirits.  The word Exotica means “things beyond” or “things outside.”  They are pre-Christian spirits living in a Christian world and considered wicked.

A few examples:

Charos – Personification of death

Gello – Killer ghost.  A woman who died before having a child and therefore could not become an ancestral spirit.  With nothing else to do, she takes pleasure in killing other women’s children.

Gorgon – Hello, Medusa and her repulsive sisters.

The Moirai – The three fates.

The Strange Hour – A kind of a demon that possesses humans and sometimes is a disease demon.

There are many more.  I’ll save them for another post.

The Monacielli “Little Monk”

I don't think the Monaciello would be wearing a cross, but I'm not sure.

Origin:  Naples, Italy

Description:  The Monacielli look like tiny chubby drunken monks.  They wear sandals and a brilliant red habit and hat.  They can turn into cats at will.

Disposition:  They are a pain in the ass to have around. They dwell in human houses where they pinch people (where I do not know), steal clothes, knock over wine glasses, dance on people’s chests when they sleep, and make a huge mess.  They are even known to cut off little girls’ braids.

Apparently, they have an obsessive compulsive streak.  If you leave out a sieve for them, they will spend hours counting each and every hole.  They are poor at math and this task will take hours - a great way to get one out of your hair for a while.

The Monaciello are known to guard a massive treasure.  If you can steal their hat, you can ransom it back to the chubby little guy for part of the treasure.  It can’t live without its hat.



Apple???

Name:  Dirne-Weible, means “Little Serving Maiden”

Origin:  Bavaria

Description:  Faerie dressed in red with a basket in apples. In Germany, the Dirne-Weible is a type of Wood Wife dressed completely in white.

Disposition:  The Dirne-Weible is a kind faerie.  If she gives you her apples, they will turn into money.  She is also very sensitive.  She’ll want to go for a walk with you.  If you refuse, she’ll run bawling into the forest. 

I don’t know about you, but I’ve read enough fairytales to never trust a woman with apples.  How about you?



Birthday Addition of Faerie Friday

Normally I write my Faerie Friday post on Thursdays.  Yesterday was my birthday so I didn’t get around to it.  Hey, a girl only turns 34 once. 

In honor of my birthday, I am doing something a little different for Faerie Friday.

Yes, something different.

I want you guys to tell me what your favorite creatures of lore and myth are.  I know you have them.

Please share!  Don't leave me hanging.

Gwrach Y Rhibyn

Thank you to all of you that followed me for the A to Z Blogging Challenge.  I appreciate all of the support.  The format for the challenge worked so well I thought I would incorporate it into my Faerie Friday posts.

Sort of like this but not really.

Origin: Wales (Welsh)

 

Description:  The Gwrach Y Rhibyn is a hag and she looks like one.  She has tangled red hair, sunken eyes and a hooked nose. She has really long, black teeth.  What really gets me are the disproportionally long, shriveled arms.  Yuck.

Her deal:  She is a Welsh Banshee.  She follows besides a person she wants to warn. She is invisible to said person.  When she comes to a crossroad or stream, she lets out her warning.  It could be one of a couple things.  “My husband” means you husband is going to die.  “My wife” means your wife is going to die.  “My child,” means… well, I think you get the picture.  If you can’t make out she is saying, you are going to die.

Many scholars look at her as an ancestral figure or a mother goddess.  Have you noticed that a lot of the old mother goddesses are now portrayed as hags?  I spell a conspiracy!

What's New with Buffy?

I'm so glad you asked!

I have been busy lately working on a new story, tentatively titled Lead Her Home Again and I’ve been remiss in my blogging duties.   I thought I’d give you guys a tiny glimpse of what is going on with me:

• I am preparing a synopsis of The Dark King’s Lover.  I recently had an editor read the manuscript, but it was deemed too dark for what they are looking for.  Fair enough.  It is awfully dark.  I’ve made a list of 4 different publishers to send it to.  I will hopefully get it sent out to at least one of them by the end of the month.

• This Friday I am having a special guest for Faerie Friday.  I can’t wait.  Hint:  She’s going to talk about Djinns.  I love Djinns.  They play into the whole sheik fantasies of my youth.  I had a thing for sheiks before we started pronouncing them “shakes.”  I love “sheeks” not “shakes.” Just saying. 

• I am participating in the A – Z Blog Challenge this April.  You post every day for a month (except on Sundays) and you use a corresponding letter to pick the topic of your post.  I plan on doing an abbreviated Faerie Friday post.  We start April 1^st.  Make sure to come back and check it out.  You can check out the other participants and sign up here.

The title of my new story, Lead Her Home Again comes from a Yeats poem and is the inspiration behind the story. 

Excerpt from A Lover's Quarrel Among the Fairies by William Butler Yeats

Long before the morning fire

Wake the larks upon the green.

Yonder foolish ones will tire

Of their tall, new-fangled queen.

They will lead her home again

To the orchard-circled farm;

At the house of weary men

Raise the door-pin with alarm,

And come kneeling on one knee,

While we shake our heads and scold

This their wanton treachery,

And our slaves be as of old.

The Dark Muse

Photo removed by author

The Leanan-Sidhe as depicted by Brian Froud.  I know I’m all about the Brian Froud illustrations.  What can I say? I think his work is awesome covered in more awesome. Yes, double dipped awesomeness. J

I do appreciate the fact that this post is very late and I’m a failure as a blogger.  I keep finding things that take me away from my work. Thursday night I was tired and cranky.  Last night I caught up on the phone with a friend.  Today I was catching up on episodes of Lost Girl, Royal Pains and The River and cleaning my home office.  Those shows aren’t going to watch themselves, you know, and I haven’t seen the top of my desk in weeks (maybe months at this point.)  I’ve now successfully avoided my responsibilities for ages.  It’s time to get down to business.  I have blog post to produce and a novel (or two) to write.  

This week’s post is all about the Irish faerie the Leanan-Sidhe or the Leannan Sith to the Scotts or the Lhianan-Shee to the folks on the Isle of Mann.  There are a few other ways to spell her name, but I won’t bore you guys with that.  Have you ever noticed that Irish words (or Scottish words) make no sense?  Her name is pronounced “Lanawn Shee” and it means “faerie sweetheart.”  I guess you could call her that.

According to “A History of Irish Fairies” by Carolyn White, the Leanan-Sidhe seeks love and domination over mortal men.  She does her best to seduce.  It isn’t difficult.  She can change her looks at will, appealing to a man’s desires and predilections.  If the man can resist, she is his slave.  If she succeeds and we all know she will, she owns his ass (and soul) unless he can find someone to take his place.

The Leanan-Sidhe is a passionate lover, but the price of that passion is a very short life for her lover.  To him, no other woman exists.  She is his entire world.  The desire to possess her destroys him in the end. 

 She inspires her lover to create glorious music or poetry.  He pours his heart and soul into her, into his art until there is nothing left of him.  Like a vampire, she takes everything from him.  This is why they call her the Dark Muse.

Why does she do it?  Maybe she really gets off on dominating men, of holding their lives in her hands. Or maybe she's great lover of the arts and her sole intent in to inspire.  She uses what's she got to aspire to greatness. 

The Love Talker or the Black Elves of Love

I was very excited about this month’s Friday Faerie theme.  I’m calling it “I’d rather be single” month.  As I stated in my last blog post, Faerie love is not for the faint of heart.  It’s not roses and sweet words and boxes of chocolates.  It’s more earthy and carnal, not to mention almost guaranteed to end badly.  Last week I completely flaked out and flew down on North Palm Beach for a long weekend. I should feel guilty but I don’t.  I needed some sun and warmth.  The pool and ocean breeze didn’t hurt either. 

Well, I’m back and one week behind.  I’ll try to make it up somewhere down the line.  I actually have a list of about 7 or 8 Faerie lovers.  Maybe I’ll do a couple extra posts this month.

This week’s Faerie Friday post is on the Ganconer, an Irish elf.  The Ganconer is also called the Lover Talker and Peter DuBois referred to them as the Black Elves of Love.  I’ve been walking around the house this week repeating under my breath “Black Elves of Looove, Black Elves of Looove”  over and over again.  My husband thinks I’m nuts.  He’s probably right.

Imagine that you are a young woman walking alone in a valley.  Of course you would have to be pretty and virginal.  What Faerie (or elf in this case) would bother with a common looking tart?  Maybe you’re out picking flowers or gathering berries or doing whatever solitary young maidens do alone in a field.  Off to the distance is a patch of fog.  A handsome man emerges from the mist and walks towards you.  The birds stop singing and you notice that he hasn’t a shadow.  He looks at you like you are the only girl in the world.  He is devilishly handsome with wavy dark hair and perfectly straight teeth.  He smokes a dudeen (a short clay pipe.)  His eyes shine black and when he speaks, he oozes charm.  (I’m sort of picturing a young Hugh Jackman here.  Just saying.)

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Just picture him with a clay pipe.  

You are completely in his thrall. 

The proper thing to do would be to run the other way, but you can’t seem to put one foot in front of the other.  

You are screwed six ways to Sunday, sister.

The stories differ.  Some claim that one kiss and the Love Talker is gone. The girl is left to pine away, neither sleeping nor eating until she dies of a broken heart.  In some stories, the Ganconer draws out the girl’s life with his kiss leaving her dead where she stood.  Sometimes the Ganconer doesn’t stop with a kiss.  He doesn’t need to force himself onto the girl. He’s has charm out the wahzoo.  It doesn’t matter how the story goes.  The ending is always the same – a dead broad.

The real question is what is the Ganconer’s motive?   Is he so careless that he does not realize what kind of damage he has inflicted or does he hate humans so much that he likes to make them suffer?  Does he even have a motive?  Maybe he just is?

What do you guys think?

The Lamiae

In this painting by Henry James Draper, Lamia doesn’t look particularly vicious, just cold.  

This post is actually a cross between a post for Vampire Faerie Month and a post for next month’s theme – “I’d rather be single than have you as a lover.”   I’ll feature four different Faerie lovers over the course of the month in honor of Valentine’s Day.  And before you start thinking that’s sweet, remember Faerie lovers can be callus, cruel and capricious (and other words that start with C.)  Kind of like that jerk you dated your sophomore year of college, but instead of sleeping with your roommate he causes your untimely death.  Faerie love isn’t for the faint of heart!

The story of Lamia is a sad one and starts very much like a lot of Greek and Roman myths - Zeus getting his dick caught in something and Hera doing her best to cut it off.  In this case, the something was Lamia, a Libyan princess (sometimes Queen depending on the version of the story.)  Zeus falls in love with her as he often did and she bears him a couple brats.  Instead of kicking Zeus’ ass for his infidelity, she gets revenge by kidnapping and killing Lamia’s offspring.

Stricken with grief and anger, Lamia retreats to a cave where she eventually goes bat-shit crazy and turns into a half beautiful woman (upper half) and half serpent (the lower regions) monster. Zeus feels bad for Lamia and gives her the ability to remove her eyes from her head.  It’s just what every round the bend, grief stricken woman needs.  Thus starts her child killing, blood sucking, man seducing rampage.

That was the first Lamia.  The term lamia means “she who swallows up” (yeah, I know!) and it has come to have a few different meanings.  Generally, it’s a horrible beast that is half serpent and half woman.  Lamia has referred to a Roman nursery bogey (a deterrent of bad behavior), a vicious Greek Faerie and monsters that stalk the North African desert.  In medieval Europe, witches were referred to as Lamia.  In most of these legends, the Lamia is a vampire.

Like a succubus, Lamiae have been known to seduce men.  In some stories, it’s the only way to make her beautiful again.  She sleeps with man after man trying to regain her youthful beauty.  I bet you know a few people like that.