Hunter Wilde was in trouble.  He was young and strong, he had travelled far and wide, but he’d hit a string of bad luck and it was looking like his travelling might be at an end.  He’d lost his horse and now his mule.  The solid little community he had hoped to Winter in was naught but burned beams and ashes.

There were dead too, things too awful to think on, so he buried the dead and most of his trade goods and headed for his last chance.  The snow was deep and fresh which made the going hard.  The Winter was early and strong, he could feel the icy fingers of cold stealing the life from his limbs.  There would be no one to bury him if he didn’t find a fire.

Step after step, each one a fight for life.  Now the wind howled, sure of a kill.  He couldn’t see for the snow and ice blowing into his face.  One more, and one more, keep stepping or die.

Step and step, the wind was less.  Something barred his way.  He pounded at the portal, a door, light, a fire.  Heat and light and the sound of merrymaking smote him like a blow.  Salvation.  He stumbled across the threshold.

He had found the fire of Murchadh, a minor lord in a confederation of such small kings.  However, Murchadh was a man on the make who fully planned to be Rig of a Tuath and maybe Ard Rig, and why not?  Warmed by fire and ale young Hunter was brought.

Murchadh sat a throne, with the furs taken off and the lord not sitting there it might just be a chair, but a throne it was that night.  “Who is it that enters the feasting hall of Murchadh?  Speak if you be friend then welcome.” Murchadh laughed glancing around his inner circle, “If you be enemy then we will have to figure out what to do with you.”

“My name is Hunter,” Hunter drew breath, there were many Wildes who roamed the west, he had no idea what truck this lord may have had with his folk, so he hesitated.

“Your name is Hunter or you are a hunter?” asked the lord.

“Wilde is my name from my mother.  I have never lived near another of that name.”  He added quickly, nobody seemed the least perturbed by his name or his bastardy so he added, “I can hunt, I do as I travel, but I sing better and play.”  Hunter drew his lute out of its case.   

A grumpy looking codger in worn motley spoke up, “We’ve no need of a minstrel, I am bard to lord Murchadh and I have my own harper.”

“Yes, yes, of course Barnen,” Murchadh soothed the skald, “We don’t mean to replace someone so valuable as you.  But this fellow may give you a bit of a well earned rest. . .”

“I need no such. . .”

“Surely not, it isn’t need of which I speak, I only speak of rest that you have earned, that you deserve, dear Barnen.” Turning back to Hunter, Murchadh smiled broadly, “Did you say you travelled?  Perhaps you could tell us of your travels.”

“Indeed I could.  I would be happy to regale you with stories of distant lands and songs from a hundred halls in dozens of kingdoms. . .”

Murchadh glanced over at Barnen who was fuming, “uh, do you compose, say, satire?  Barnen is most adept at satire.”

“No lord Murchadh, I sing mostly ballads and write that sort of thing.” So that was it thought Hunter.  The up and coming lord Murchadh had his every action praised in song and his enemies skewered in satire, but he feared that the poison sword of Barnen’s tongue might turn against him.  Barnen looked smug.

“Welcome to my hall.  Rest for the moment and we will see what can be done to earn your keep later if that is agreeable?

“Yes, most agreeable.”

“Find a seat at my board then, and Barnen, let’s have a tune.”

Hunter found a way to a bowl and a cup and a place near the fire to warm the cold from his bones.

   *   *   *

Hunter Wilde stayed as inconspicuous as could be and still get something to eat and drink.  Several days went by and he gathered no attention at all from Murchadh or any of his inner circle.  Still better, the attention he did garner came from the serving girls.  He became something of a favorite among them and found a better place to rest than the feast hall floor on a couple occasions.

It came as a bit of a surprise when the call came.  Marta elbowed him as he was lost in his own world gently playing his lute at the end of the bench farthest away from the head table.  “That’s you they’re call’n for Handsome.”

It was late and there weren’t many still awake enough to bend an elbow much less listen to him, but Murchadh still sat his throne, his inner circle passed out around him, and no sign of Barnen at all.

“Wake up Hunter Wilde!” Murchadh thundered, “I’ll have that song now, and news of the wide world.” 

The hall, for the most part, slept on, but Hunter played and sang, servers and the temperate few were treated to a few lovely songs of love and loss, of heroes and their deeds and then when even this audience was sent away happy, though eager for more, Murchadh got his news.

“Well lad,” said Murchadh, ”I would love to keep you here for the sing’n and to gather what news I could shake loose that you haven’t passed yet.  But Barnen won’t have it and truth to tell, I’ve more than enough mouths to feed.  This Winter came soon and hard so better than song is meat, not just for me, but for everyone.”

“I could tell that Murchadh was uh, not comfortable with me.”

“Don’t take offense Hunter, I think old Barnen would rather that nobody else sang in the world.  It’s just. . .”

“No no, I expected this when you mentioned satire.”

“You see my position?”

“Indeed,”  Hunter sighed, resigned to what he expected would come.

Bernie Madoff, a former NASDAQ Chairman, has admitted to running the Ponzi scheme that some believe to be the largest investment fraud in Wall Street history.  Uncle Bernie, who people entrusted all their retirement money to, provided massive profits to a few, but as always happens with a Ponzi scheme, past pay-outs are simply bait to draw in the suckers who end up holding the bag.

It may indeed be that Uncle Bernie committed the largest investment fraud, but it is by no means the biggest fraud.  Bernie’s scheme preyed on a fairly rich and exclusive group, as a result people felt fortunate to have Uncle Bernie, former Chairman of the NASDAQ stock exchange, handle their retirement funds.  People had confidence in Uncle Bernie.

Alas, Uncle Bernie handled them, but not well.  I don’t know if the fraud was designed from the start or simply a matter of things getting out of control.  Is Bernie a common thief or just not up to his resume?  Thankfully, I wasn’t an Uncle Bernie investor and hopefully you weren’t either.

Unfortunately, I fear I am involved in Ponzi scheme.  Unlike Madoff’s victims, this fraud isn’t going to limit itself to a few elites, instead I’m pretty sure it will affect everyone I know and just about everyone else. Yes, if you are reading this I expect you are caught up in it too.

A lot of people have confidence in Uncle Sam.  I’m referring to the flag hatted, white bearded, personification of the United States of America, land of the free and home of the brave.  But what I’m really talking about is our constitutional government. (or formerly so)

You see people who don’t have time to pay attention have pretty much trusted Uncle Sam (our government) to look out for us, for our children, look out for all our best interests.  We invest heavily in Uncle Sam.  Unlike Uncle Bernie you don’t really have a choice with Uncle Sam, Pay up or go to jail.  I think because we can’t really do anything about it we cross our fingers and hope that our forced investment will pay dividends.

I hate to say it, but I feel like I’ve fallen for the Nigerian Email scam.  No, it’s worse than that.  I feel like my stock broker fell for it and is telling me how great a deal he got for me.  I know he just got taken, I know about the fraud that he fell for, but it is my money he lost.  Or was.

So Uncle Sam is supposed to be looking out for my best interest.  I think defending our borders is something Sam should do.  Instead we entice illegals with jobs giving benefits to other illegals.  (Yes, if you are wondering if I meant to say what I said, I did.  Let me say it again: I think our governments, Federal, State, and Local, are hiring illegal aliens to administer welfare programs to non-English speakers and that fraud is not just incidental but is central, pervasive, and massive in these programs.)

By funding ACORN it is clear that our federal government engages in vote fraud.  That Chris Dodd and Barney Franke aren’t in prison suggests that Sam, in our name, is okay with mortgage fraud. 

We have spent Trillions of dollars building government, trouble is the maintenance cost of government is what kills.

“Government is not the solution to the problem, government is the problem.”  Ronald Reagan

Clearly more on this is coming.  I’m just exhausted by the idea that we are going to impose more taxation and control through Cap and Trade and the Government health care plan that nobody wants.

<sigh>

LSO

The night was dark save for one star.  I breathed and felt much pain.  My voice echo in the hollow earth when I cried out.  I had fallen into a sidhe and there I lay atop a mound of broken timbers and sod.

There was no flying out of this, nor could I climb up the walls as if it were a well.  Panic gripped me, I confess, my breath came too quickly and as sod was still drifting down I breathed so much I began to cough.  I struggled to my hands and knees.  The fight to breath focused me.  I was not dead, nor even that injured.  I was in the home of my friend, the girl who had laughed, Jella.

At first this was small comfort.  I was in darkness and knowing that none of my folk would ever find me here brought rising panic again.  I tried to remember the place in my dream, it had been lit in the middle and around the perimeter. In truth it wasn’t that large.  I walked down off the pile I had ridden to the floor and promptly tripped over something hard and sprawled on stone flagging covered with more of the result of my descent.

I rose again, walking like a blind man, arms waving, I headed off in what I thought a straight line toward the wall of the place.  Eventually I must find it, surely.  Before I did, I found a wall of stone.  I followed it to a quick turning and felt along one side to the back.  Reaching, I found a screen richly carved with images my fingers could not puzzle out, but I followed it to stone again.  Now I hurried, trusting this was a back wall and was rewarded with slamming my knee into something hard.  I fell into more hard edged items and then the stone floor.  In agony I clutched my knee.

Light was gone from my world.  I was lost.  Lost in a big room, not much more, but it was frighteningly strange for a boy who had always lived with not much more than some leather between himself and the sky.  I felt stiffled in the dusty hole.  I cried out for the only friend who I thought could help, “Jella!” Echoes died quickly and silence mocked me, “Jella, where are you? I need you now.”

I felt my way back to the wall and was too wounded in spirit and frightened by the dark to try to find my way.  I leaned back against the wall and stared, marvelling that eyes opened or closed it made no difference.  “Jella!” I closed my eyes.

The sun was rising where she was.  I saw it color the clouds before it mounted into the sky.  There were herd deer everywhere.  The north deer all have antlers and they are all colored alike, I could not tell which was male and which female, I was in a sea of tawny, antlered, steam breathed herd deer.  There were snorts and a bellow and the creatures shied from where I was.

L. Stephen O’Neill, is a guy who always intended to write novels, but never got around to it.  All that has changed now that I’m using his weBLOG format to begin to write stories and even work on the first draft of a novel, The Abbott and the Djinn.  I always thought I could do it, let’s see if I can. 

I have been swept away by fiction before and would like to be able to do that for someone else.  These stumbling first steps are a sort of writer’s notebook where I stretch my literary muscles and hopefully entertain you.

So, it would seem, that calling myself “the author” is a bit of a fiction to start.  Yet for me, personally, beginning something like this, something I always meant to do, is rejuvenating.  I feel younger for it. . .      . . . also a bit lame.

My mother tried to read “the Hobbit” by J. R. R. Tolkien to me.  It invariably put her to sleep, or perhaps my insistence that she continue to read chapter after chapter taxed her.  Whatever the true reason, my mother slept and I read on.  After “the Hobbit” I read “the Lord of the Rings” and the “Silmarillion,” devoured them really.  But, at the Grey Havens, Middle Earth ends. . .

. . . which bring me to Tir na Nua and the Epic Fantasy that I hope to bring to you, a bit at a time here, but hopefully polished and fully one day.

First Steps

I intend to begin several topics of interest to me and hopefully you.  This will provide the afore mentioned content, at least initially.  In truth, I’ve already piled up quite a bit of this and that, dig into it all through the blog topics, OR take a look at what I’m doing with my Current Primary Storylines. These not only provide you with what I’m focusing on, but also put them in an order which allows you to follow the story from beginning to. . . uh. . . well. . . Hopefully I’ll finish something up at some point.

Here are some selected posts that might give you some insite to me:

Here are authors that I like.  I call it my jump page. When you find out that you can’t get their stuff for FREE, you might jump back.

1. I wrote this on Finn McCool.  Finn is one of the biggest legends in Irish lore.
2. If you haven’t run across a reference to Tir na Nua. . .     . . .Well I just don’t know.
3. I need to do this: Something New Every Day.
4. And FINALLY, a story.  The Red Hand of Courage.
5. Here is a bit of a Novel about Hunter Wilde and the Ui Uilsen.

I pray I have not taxed your resources too much. Enjoy! Comment! Dispute! Encourage! Correct! Guide! Request!

Welcome to this,

LSO

Free CELTIC Fiction

My hope is to create fiction that speaks to the Celtic Heart.  So, warts and all here is a new story that I rip from Celtic legend and set in my new world, Tir na Nua, the Red Son of Concubar.

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Here is the novel beginnings: Intro to and Beginning of The Abbot and the Djinn.  Follow my progress HERE.

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Using a sort of “just start writing and see where it goes” technique I’ve completed the first draft of a short story.  In the end, Concerning The Deer Riders wandered a bit farther than I had anticipated.  Legendary wanderings?  You can read Concerning the Deer Riders yourself and see what you think.

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My Polished Stones

Since this is my process, a good deal of it is rough here as I begin.  My hope is to get better and better at writing Celtic Fiction so that reading it free will become a bargain and not a chore.  I plan to work on a few of my stories to make works of fiction closer to my potential.  That is, I plan to polish them by rewriting them for your reading pleasure and in particular the reading pleasure of those who might come across this sight and have little patience for my early fumblings unfiltered from my imagination?

Recently I’ve realized that I should not.  My first goal was to get something, anything here, secondly I NEEDED to write because it had been a long time since I had.  I have courted your opinion to no effect, but then why should I expect it?  Do I read other’s work and offer up my opinion, my help?  Not recently and can I help? 

So, I intend to polish up a few of the stories that have accumulated.  The raw novelization of the Abbott and the Djinn will continue, undoubtedly I’ll put up more unfiltered imaginings like the Deer Riders and Child of Moss.  Then, in a section before those unpolished stones, I will begin to offer some that have had my attention and effort so that you can judge me or at least have a better chance of being reliably entertained.  Some may read on to the raw.  HERE is the page that will list the more polished work. (it is currently empty <sigh>)

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Other Stuff

I am in the process of writing several novels, but on the way to that I offer these thoughts, insights, resources, and diversions of interest to me and, I hope, to you.  Here I hope to gather legends and lore, notes on antiquity, and present day reality.  Have a look HERE

For now, welcome, and please tell me what you like or you don’t.  I value your insights.

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LSO

PS. HERE are some authors I have read and admire by way of giving you hints about where I’m aiming