I’ve been working on some “projects” instead of writing.  I’m not saying that they were critical, but they have cut into my writing time.  Among these was rereading a couple of novels because I thought that the next in the series MUST have been released.  I thought I actually saw that it was, but no.  Anyway, I had read my copy of George R. R. Martin’s Storm of Swords, but I had to rely on the library for A Feast for Crows.  I signed up for A Dance for Dragons, but it isn’t even released yet.  In fact, the last update from George was a couple years ago.

So. . .      . . . I’m about ready to get back to work.

My intention, as I’ve mentioned and as is indicated by the title of this site, is to write about Celtic people, as I imagine they may have been, as I imagine they could be.  It may be that this is what you seek as well.  

If not, and if you are interested, rather, in the romance and intrigue of the Saxons after Harold was defeated at Hastings you might want to take a look at this: Lothere by Jenny.  This may keep you busy while you wait for me to write more that is Celtic and also rewrite what is merely Celtic into something good, or at least better than my first attempts.

I’ve also been thinking and doing some research and it is the thinking part that has led me to my topic today.

If you are reading this, it is likely that you are an English speaker.  I’d say that there is an even better chance that if you are reading this you are from the United States.  One of the main destinations for the Celtic Diaspora was the shores of the New World.

That being said, let me say that the spirit of the Celts lives in American rugged individualism.  This American ideal is being trained out of us, to be sure, but a focus on the individual owes much to immigrants who themselves were likely influenced by these values.

I planned to sprinkle this little post with several quotes about the flamboyant celtic spirit, their love of colors that some might term gaudy, a certain pride, but also extraordinary bravery.  Instead I think perhaps I’ll put together a page of that sort of thing.  The truth is that reading about CuChulain and Finn, Lugh and Nuada, the Dagda and the Morrigan, all of it makes me want to echo those old themes and bring them to another generation of readers if I can.  .  .

.  .  . And so here we are.  If you’ve made it to this post you may have become disappointed once again.  I’m not very far along on this odyssey.  I’m not sure if I’m up to it.  But like my ancestors, it really isn’t about what I can do, it is much more about what I will do, and what I intend is large and gaudy and brightly colored, and of the same sort of beauty as the bagpipes.  Certainly it isn’t the kind of thing that is for everyone, but I hope it is for you.

Hopefully this rambling confessional ends my hiatus and I can get back to the business of yarn spinning in the celtic mode.

Sincerely,

LSO

Little enough of what I’ve been able to assemble on these pages so far has any basis in the reality of Earth.  I have bent my will and my efforts toward Tir na Nua.  That is not to say that there are no mythic figures worth looking into.  In Ireland the line between myth and reality is as thin as the line between living and dead at Samhain.  There are figures, men and women, who bridge the gap between the real and the fantastic.  Whether they approached such legendary status in life is open to debate, but some few have attained it in memory, in lore.

One such real figure, that I would like to spend some time looking into, is Niall of the Nine Hostages (Noigiallach).  If nothing else, this particular Niall’s story had much to do with my later fascination with things Celtic.  Niall, it appears, was a king and so fixed in memory and genetics that many count him among their progenitors and as many as twenty-five percent of folk in the North of Ireland, and their descendants whether they know it or not, seem marked by his genetics, true story.

I discovered my association on the back of a clan tie at a highland games in Gresham Oregon.  Again, true story.  I don’t know if I’ve ever mentioned how I first came across bagpipe music in a small high-school radio station in North Dakota.  But I discovered it again on a summer day in Oregon when it came through my window and lured me into another world.

Certainly it was different from the run-of-the-mill day in Gresham Oregon.  Also different than North Dakota.  Again, it was on a small blurb on the back of a MacNeill clan tie, that I first read anything about Niall Noigiallach.  With only a very few little words on a bit of paper the writer chose to mention this fellow, Niall of the Nine Hostages, High King of Ireland.  Obviously, it was effective marketing, I bought the tie along with some bagpipe music and a banger. 

Truth to tell, though the O’Neills and the MacNeills both have Niall Noigiallach as a progenitor, they are really named after Niall Glundub (Black Knee).  Still, selling ties is easier with Noigiallach than the closer relative Glundub.  I’ve got to forgive the inaccuracy for its impact.

But that is not even near the end of the story.  No dear reader, looking into Niall exposed me to such wonders as a genealogy that stretched back (thanks to dutiful monk scribes) past Noah to Adam himself.  I learned that legend names a grand-daughter of Noah as the leader of the first settlement on the Emerald Isle.  I ran across names like Nuada Silver Hand, and Finn MacCool, and Conn of the Hundred Battles. 

Recently I found links through geneologies back to those three notables in Legend to my heritage (fictional or not).  Isn’t that a wonder?  All this found through Niall Noigiallach.  True Story.

LSO