Prelude

Adult
What happens when a woman meets a giant statue of a cat, two Volcano Goddesses, her ancestors, Spirit Allies, Elemental beings, and has a whole lot of really scary and weird adventures?
Part memoir, part Shamanic adventure, part guidebook, Prelude is the story of my quest to confront my monsters, uncover my true Name, and understand that I lived in just a tiny corner of a much vaster Cosmos.( More
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About Widdershins

I was born in England on a crisp autumn eve in 1958, emigrated to Australia at the tender age of two, and moved to Canada in 2004 where I married the love of my life. I left school when I was fourteen, and thereafter continued my education via libraries, books, and whatever Life decided to throw my way.
I’ve tried, and succeeded, (and failed) at many things in my time on this little planet we call Earth, and I’m sure that before I leave this mortal coil I shall joust with many others.
I’ve ridden a bicycle down a hill so steep all I could do was hold on and scream with sheer exhilaration. (and terror) I’ve sweated under a burning sun to plant seedlings in dusty fields. I have a long-standing relationship with sewing machines, starting with an old Singer treadle machine when I was barely tall enough to reach the pedal. Once upon a time I went to university and studied Architecture ... it didn’t take. I had a dream of athletic superstardom, but a motorcycle accident stopped that rather abruptly.
Above all, writing is my passion and my profession, novels specifically, short stories occasionally, and always with lesbian characters.
I adopted 'Widdershins' as a username in the early days of the interwebz, and it stuck ... because I am, if nothing else, contrariwise.
I blog about all things Widdershins-and-writerly, at Widdershins Worlds and can be contacted through the links on my About Me page.
-oOo-
Widdershins, as Writer:
One day, late in my high-school career, in order to avoid writing a very boring science essay, I turned in a short science fiction story instead. It incorporated the information in the essay, but in a much more readable form. (in my humble opinion)
When I handed it in I caught a glimpse of my teacher's face as she started reading it, she'd turned rather pale. I discreetly exited the room before her ability to speak returned. As I fled I heard a bark of what I hoped was laughter, but it could've been an incipient heart attack. Only time would tell.
Upon receiving the marked essay back I saw the following scrawled across the top. 'Don't ever do this to me again.' Somewhere in the middle was a, 'Well Done.' In the bottom left-hand corner was a very large red 'A'.
That was the moment my career as a writer began.

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