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Ann Crawford
a book bubble about
Spellweaver: A Historical Fantasy Novel
Science Fiction & Fantasy
Author Insight
The Magic of Snow
This week I posted a pic on Instagram (@anncrawfordauthor -- if you want to play over there too) of our woodsy backyard full of snow. "Always and for the rest of ever," I wrote, "a scene like this will remind me of Narnia." "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe" was one of my favorite childhood books. It wasn't necessarily a Christmas book, but I especially loved reading it then. Perhaps it made me want to write about a good witch -- a healer -- to counterbalance the White Witch of Narnia. And so I did! The scene in this bubble was written as I sat in my writing nest watching the snow fall. I did feel like I was rising. And snow always does make everything feel fresh and new.
Book Excerpt
Spellweaver: A Historical Fantasy Novel
The sisters watched the snow fall, mesmerized by the magic and peacefulness of the gentle swirl of flakes. Dancing, swirling, sometimes moving upward on a surge of wind. The tree branches sagged under the weight of the snow. Momentary whiteouts occurred as the winds picked up.
As the flakes fell, she almost felt as if she was rising. Although she sat in the shelter of the cave’s entryway, she could almost feel a frosty brush on her cheeks as the flakes touched the ground.
A new world appeared before their eyes. Fresh, clean, a new start. Just like every night. Just like every new year. Just like birth. Just like death.
Her swollen belly was taut against her garments, scratched by the coarse, woolen fabric. It wouldn’t be long now but it couldn’t come soon enough.
Nighttime fell, and the two retreated to their beds. But she couldn’t sleep. So she spoke with her son, her beloved child: Welcome to this world. You’re going to be a strong, powerful man of peace. You’re going to see things I’ve never even imagined, have children who will have children who will have children who will see and do amazing things. She heard an answer in the affirmative.
She lay with one palm up, one palm down on the bare dirt, breathing in sync with the rhythmic pulse of the planet. Wait, was she breathing or was the earth breathing her?
Catriona never wanted for much, and yet she received so much—so much more than most ever dreamed of. She never seemed to need what most people would want—comfort, warmth, luxury. It was like she wasn’t of this world. Maybe she wasn’t.
But she was. Perhaps she was the right idea of this world...a fully alive human.
Or maybe she was a harbinger, of a world of the future—after humanity stops its arguments over who was right, who owned this land, who was going to hell.
There is no hell. Everything is what you make of it, here and in the hereafter. But we can’t judge anyone for their beliefs, either. What if what they are believing, right now, is what their souls need for their evolution?
What if everything you’ve ever thought, ever wanted, ever did brought you to this moment? This place? This time?
What if that’s just right?
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