It was a lucky day for me when I took a friend’s advice and went to investigate an ancient Mayan artifact that was visiting Hawaii the same time I was. This was a crystal skull named Max. Strange, but I enjoyed the lecture and seeing this curious object. Perfect for a paranormal mystery writer.
When I got back home, I moved to Boulder, and as luck would have it, Max came to visit my new town. I went to visit Max again and met this guy who had studied crystal skulls when he worked as a research scientist for the Rosicrucian Order AMORC in San Jose. He told us all about his research. He was also fascinated with Egypt. In fact, he’d studied Egypt all his life. This was his true love, and he finally went in 1992. One thing led to another, and we became a couple.
We brought each other luck. Stephen started doing yearly tours to Egypt starting the year we got together. I was lucky enough to get a sabbatical in 1999 and even luckier that enough people signed up for that year’s tour so I could come along. That got me started on my first novel, Under the Stone Paw, about the urban legend that a stash of ancient technology is buried beneath the paw of the Sphinx.
My second novel came from a tour we did together in England and Scotland. Stephen came as the Rosicrucian historian, and I got to tag along again. That’s where Beneath the Hallowed Hill was born, a novel exploring several myths of Glastonbury, formerly Avalon.
Luck was with me once more when I was browsing books at the International New Age Book Fair in Denver and found Marsha Keith Schuchard’s book William Blake’s Sexual Path to Spiritual Vision. My husband was off doing an interview on his latest book, so I was wandering. Luck guided my steps. Or fate? Jung’s serendipity? Is there a difference?
The British edition was titled Why Mrs. Blake Cried. Why did she cry? Because Blake wanted to practice sacred sexuality as taught by his mother’s church and Catherine didn’t want to. Blake suggested he have a concubine of sorts. So she cried. Leave it to that randy Sagittarius visionary poet to suggest such a thing.
Wait, what? His mother’s church? The Moravian Lodge in Fetter Lane?
The who? Moravian?
Wait, I was raised in the Moravian Church, and we certainly didn’t condone such activities. No concubines in my neighborhood.
Turns out Blake made that part up based on Abraham of the Old Testament. But Schuchard was right about the sacred sexuality part.
I was floored. Amazed. I had to know more.
This was the lucky start of my last novel. I’m waiting for fate to strike again. Meanwhile, I’m still working on the next two novels. Maybe when I heard about the house falling in on the Giza Plateau because they were digging for antiquities in their basement, that was fate. We shall see.