GaelicMuse: the pen of Erin O’Quinn

Across the Pond and into Ireland, Scotland, and Wales…from ancient times to the cusp of now… Erin has written more than 35 tales of men and women, men and men, and the first dawn of sweet romance.

But beyond my own scratchings, I will here celebrate the Gaelic Muse with any and all images and writing that give wings to my soul.

This blog has been temporarily suspended. Five is enough already! Stay tuned, though…

 

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Waterfalls are sexy as hell

Waterfalls wax large in two O’Quinn recent releases, one set in Ireland and the other in Scotland, separated by about 1300 years and by choice of partner. But the sensuality is not so different…

Footprints in the wind

I’ve recently published two novels in which a waterfall is one of the central symbols in the story.

The first one, Unkilted, takes a reader to an actual waterfall, where a cave lies hidden beneath the rushing water. The Reekie Linn on the River Isla near Alyth, Scotland is at “full spate” when the main characters arrive. Of course, that phrase means more than the spring-flood capacity of the river. It’s my way of expressing the pent-up passions that erupt between the two main characters, and of course the overflow that results.

If you’re a reader of MM romance, you may be interested in an excerpt published on this blog, here: https://tinyurl.com/yyf4ccgl

The Reekie Linn image below was taken from Wikipedia:

reekie linn image wiki Reekie Linn even has its own legend, of a outlaw who—oops, TMI. Read the novel.

The other waterfall…ah, it truly becomes the crux and the climax of another…

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National Poetry Day with Seamus Heaney

“Postscript”

flaggy 2And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other
So that the ocean on one side is wild
With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
By the earthed lightening of flock of swans,
Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
Their fully-grown headstrong-looking heads
Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
Useless to think you’ll park or capture it
More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
A hurry through which known and strange things pass
As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
swans 2
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