Ancient Mysteries, Family Lore

I've made no secret of the fact that my family history is a mess. In my family, most of the inherited stories we're living out—or determinedly rewriting—are more cautionary tales than motivational manifestos. And sometimes it's sad to think that if we didn't have hard stories, we wouldn't have many at all.

But what we do have is a priceless treasure trove for someone like me.

I grew up largely unaware of my genealogy, so there weren't a lot of longstanding ancestral stories to study. My father never knew who his father was, and even DNA failed to shed light on the mystery of his family. His mother was a living box of questions with no answers, a woman who denied the existence of siblings, refused to tell family stories of any kind, and even kept her birthday a secret in order to prevent my father (and later, me) from looking any deeper than the surface. All my father had were inherited traditions...and most of them were poison.

My mother never knew her father either, though we did learn about him later on through connections with family members my mother lived most of her life entirely unaware of. She did, however, have a close relationship with the man she only knew as "Dad."

My mom's side of the family had a rich oral history full of stories, and while I'm sad that so many of those ancient mysteries passed away with the people who could perhaps have shared them, there are plenty of stories still left to tell. We're a minefield of family lore, and some of my favorite memories are from moments when the adults forgot to care if the children were listening. I loved sitting in quiet corners, filled with delight as the oral traditions of my family passed, sometimes unknowingly, from one generation to the next.

And maybe that's where my love of stories really comes from. Because I think sometimes, far more than names and bloodlines, what we inherit are the stories.

The storytelling sessions I overheard as a child have become, in many ways, my best inspiration for writing. Maybe it's why I lean toward hope in women's fiction—because I saw just enough of it as a kid to believe in it, even when I couldn't believe it was there for me. Maybe it's why I love literary fantasy—because those stories blend real and imaginary in such magical ways, you can't help but lose yourself to other worlds, other lives.

Maybe together, those things are why, long before I knew about my own Irish ancestry, I could happily drench myself in mythology and folklore for hours. When other kids were at the mall, I was hidden in a quiet closet with a book. When my friends were studying how to improve eyeliner application, I was studying werewolves and magic and dragons. I was reading historical fiction that allowed me to travel through time. I was walking through worlds that brought folklore and storytelling together, long before I knew how those stories would shape the one I'm still living.

Another thing I've made no secret of? My mother was always sick. Not just dramatic and lazy, but truly sick. She'd been through some of the worst emotional and physical traumas imaginable, and I spent my childhood watching her past gnaw on her future like a slobbering beast.

In the winter of 2012, I was a young mom with two kids. My daughters were 3 and 8 years old, their dad and I shared one car between us, he was always gone to work, and I was at home with the girls. So when my mom had a serious cancer scare, I couldn't go to all the appointments. I couldn't fix the problems. I couldn't heal her. But in the quiet moments when my children would play together at my feet, I could open my laptop and write. I could immerse myself in a story.

I'd always been fascinated with Celtic folklore, as well as Scottish and Irish heritage (oh, the irony), so it seemed incredibly timely when I discovered selkie mythology that November...and I fell in love. Well, mostly.

In the old stories, Selkies are shape-shifters, seals that shed their skins and live on land as humans. In most stories, the Selkie is a female, captured by a man who steals and hides her skin, trapping her in her human form, keeping her as a wife both because she is stunningly beautiful and because Selkie-women were said to be attentive and caring mothers. The caveat? If the woman should find her skin, she will immediately abandon her human life to return to the sea.

As a woman, I couldn't stand the idea of a trapped wife (again, so much irony)—and as a mother, I couldn't imagine finding anything so enticing as to make me leave my children behind.

So as my mother went from one appointment to another, I entertained us both with these questions: What if the Selkie was a man instead of a woman? A devoted husband then, and a spectacular father? And...well, what if he wasn't trapped? What if he knew where his skin was all along...and stayed anyway? What if the power of choice makes it all even better?

In November 2012, I took what I knew of selkie folklore and flipped it on its head, writing a story about a human woman in a desperate situation. My mother loved Annie's grit and determination...and oh, how she loved Malik. His power, his gentleness, his care. And yes, his sacrifice.

I wrote and published To Love A Selkie in less than a month. I cried when I held the first paperback, and my mother cried when I gave it to her. And those moments taught me that stories passed down through generations don't only have to go one way—which is why, when Annie and Malik refused to let go, I pulled To Love A Selkie from publication and expanded it, republishing it in 2013 as simply Selkie, the first book in the Selkie Trilogy.

I've seen a lot of life in the fifteen years since then, and a lot of death. My parents are both gone now, and maybe that's part of why so many of my characters are orphans, Maybe it's why one of my favorite things to do is take those orphans and plant them in found families.

Maybe it's why I still love Annie's story so much, despite never having been able to finish the trilogy. I published Selkie II in a frenzy of personal crises, and I think the need to escape the struggle of daily life fueled so much of what I'm proud of in that story. It gave Annie adventure...and it gave me a chance to spend time in someone else's life.

But now? Life is looking good these days, and with the Freedom Series finished, I've been digging back into the Selkie story. Selkie will rerelease as a second edition in January 2027, Selkie II will rerelease as a second edition in November 2027, and then...after such a very long time, Selkie III will debut in September 2028.

It's time to see where Annie and Malik's story will take them. I hope you're ready.

*****

One thing I've learned about stories is that we don't always get to choose which ones we're written into. Sometimes they're beautiful, sometimes they hurt, and sometimes they're so full of holes and unanswered questions, you're surprised you can hold onto the pages. Sometimes you wonder if there are even enough pages left to cover all those loose ends. Either way, our stories are ours to carry. Or to change.

I've spent a lifetime collecting stories, and while many came from the books I've loved losing myself in, there are just as many that wrote themselves in quiet corners where children listen to history in the making. I've carried bits and pieces of all of them into my writing, sometimes intentionally, but often without even realizing it until years later.

Maybe that's why I love the idea that stories can be rewritten or repolished when they need to be. Not because the past didn't happen or because it doesn't matter anymore, but because the past only dictates the ending when we let it.

Selkie began with an old Celtic myth I couldn't quite accept, and in my heart, it became the possibility of a story about choice, love, sacrifice, and finding your way to a home you might never have known existed. And now, after all these years, I'm excited to pick it up again and carry it somewhere new.

I suppose that's another kind of family lore, isn't it? Stories don't always move neatly from parent to child, or from one generation to the next. Sometimes they move sideways. Sometimes they skip a generation. Sometimes they disappear entirely for a while, and only come back when someone is ready to hear them. And maybe every now and then, a story begins its journey simply, by finding its way back to the person who needed it first.

I love that Annie and Malik never stopped waiting in the background for their turn. I'm looking forward to figuring out what happens as a clan war begins, a baby gets caught in the crosshairs, and honestly? In all that excitement, I hope I can manage to...

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