It's always a great day when Ann Gimpel is here as my guest! Today she's talking about Jungian dreamwork and her historical PNR series, Coven Enforcers.
First off, thanks so much for inviting me back to your blog.
I appreciate your ongoing support for my books, and I’d be happy to return the
favor and feature something of yours on my blog. Just let me know.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Carl Jung lately. All the
unrest in the world was something he predicted over half a century ago. After I
finished my psychology training and was fully licensed to practice, I decided I
wanted to integrate Jungian dreamwork into my practice, so I studied Dr. Jung
and his prolific works.
Jung was born in 1875 and graduated from medical school
around 1900. He saw himself as a man of science, not as a mystic. That label
has grown since his death. It’s true that Jung was fascinated by “soft
science.” For example, he believed in astrology. There are a few “Jungian
astrologers” around today. They have a slightly different take on reading
charts. In any event, before Jung would accept an analysand (Jungese for
patient), he sent them off to have their chart done to see if their energies
would be a good blend with his own.
Before you scoff and stop reading, remember that Jung was a
psychiatrist. He treated mental illness before we had drugs to blunt the most
severe symptoms, and he had a surprising amount of success “curing” illness we
consider incurable today, like schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. This is a
gross simplification, but he joined patients in their delusions so he could
understand them, and helped them find ways out of the twisted labyrinth their
minds had become.
Traditional analysis is an extremely intimate relationship
between doctor and patient. Patients spend several hours a week in the doctor’s
office analyzing dream material to shed light on the roots of their problems.
While modern psychotherapeutic approaches focus on symptom alleviation,
analysis aims to integrate a person’s psyche so they can transform themselves
into fully functioning human beings.
While treating his patients, Jung was struck by the
similarity of the material presented by those with mental illness. This led him
to postulate the existence of a collective unconscious that collects and
organizes our experience as human beings. He traveled widely and did research
into primitive cultures. The commonality in symbolic drawings led to further
fleshing out of his theories of the collective (as opposed to our personal)
unconscious.
This is getting long for a guest post, so let me wrap it up
on a personal note. I was drawn to depth psychology because of its potential to
enrich us. That we are alive at all is one of the mysteries, and I don’t want
science to explain everything away. If any of you are interested in learning
more about Jung, try Man and His Symbols
or Memories, Dreams, and Reflections.
Thanks again for inviting me. I’d be glad to answer
questions added to this post as comments.
*~*~*
Blood
and Magic
Coven
Enforcers
Book
One
Ann
Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
63K words
Release Date: 7/18/16
Genre: Historical paranormal
romance with a steampunk edge
Coven
Enforcers = Dark, Dangerous, Magical Men
Coven
Witches bow to no one—least of all Enforcers.
Sparks
ignite. Tempers run high. Passion explodes. Hot. Sweet. Impossible to
ignore....
Book Description:
Magic didn’t just find Luke
Caulfield. It chased him down, bludgeoned him, and has been dogging him ever
since. Some lessons are harder than others, but Luke embraces danger, upping
the ante to give it one better. An enforcer for the Coven, a large, established
group of witches, his latest assignment is playing bodyguard to the daughter of
Coven leaders.
Abigail Ruskin is chaperoning a spoiled
twelve-year-old from New York to her parents’ home in Utah Territory when Luke
gets on their stagecoach in Colorado. A powerful witch herself, Abigail senses
Luke’s magic, but has no idea what he’s doing on her stagecoach. Stuck between
the petulant child and Luke’s raw sexual energy, Abigail can’t wait for the
trip to end.
Unpleasant truths surface about the
child. While Abigail’s struggling with those, wraiths, wolves, and dark mages
launch an attack. Luke’s so attracted to Abigail, she’s almost all he can think
about, but he’s leery too. The child is just plain evil. Is Abigail in league
with her? It might explain the odd attack that took out their driver and one of
their horses. In over his head, he summons enforcer backup.
Will they help him save the woman
he’s falling in love with, or demand her immediate execution?
Excerpt
from Blood and Magic:
…Cursing her long
skirts and cumbersome petticoats, Abigail used magic to skip the coach steps.
Power blazed from her hands before she could see what she was aiming at. She
was afraid if she took even a few seconds to hunt for a target, something would
get her. Being dead wasn’t desirable, but it was better than the other things
wraiths could do to her. Those turned her blood to ice chips.
With her booted
feet planted firmly on the ground, Abigail finally got a good look at the
wraiths. She drew magic from deep in the earth and sent it chasing after them
when they jumped sideways to evade her magic. Insubstantial as tall, thin puffs
of smoke, they had glowing charcoal eyes. Long, blood red claws graced what
passed for hands. Binding their victims with fiery strands was a favorite
trick—just before they sucked your soul right out of you, leaving a handy
vessel for one of their masters to occupy. Wraiths used to feed only on the
living, making them into new wraiths. They’d been bad enough then, but now they
functioned as hired thugs for practitioners of the Black Arts. It lent them the
ability to operate in broad daylight. Abigail wondered which group of sorcerers
this crew worked for. The Alchemical Council? Black Magick?
Good God but there
were a lot of them. Why? Surely they weren’t interested in the contents of the
coach, which only carried mail and Carolyn’s substantial luggage. Ducking and
spinning to escape being entwined in a blazing net, she thought about the
girl’s steamer trunks. Abigail only helped pack two of them. The third had been
locked and ready to go. Could that possibly be what the wraiths were after?
She shut off her
thoughts so she could focus. The ragged sound of her own panting thrummed loud
in her ears as she chucked one killing blow after another. Bolts of blue-white
light flared from both hands. No point in running anything less than wide open.
For each wraith she obliterated, three more showed up to take its place. Her
chest ached from breathing sooty air and wraith stench.
Heat seared her
back. Damnation! Her skirts were on fire. Abigail funneled magic behind her to
quell the flames, but it didn’t work. Smoke stung her nostrils. Fire had
already eaten a long gouge in one of her hands. If she dropped to the ground to
deal with her burning clothes, the wraiths would pounce. Terror licked at her
along with the flames.
In spite of her
brave thoughts earlier, she didn’t want to die. Not here. And not like this.
She cursed her corset. It was hard to get a decent breath. If she’d known she
was going to have to fight—
“Keep after ’em,”
Luke growled from behind her. “I have your dress under control.” She felt him
drape something heavy around her shoulders—a lap robe he must’ve snatched from
inside the coach—and press it close against her with his body. Gratitude
wrapped warm tentacles around her. Having him right next to her made her
already pounding heart do flip-flops, but she forced herself to focus on
something other than all those rock-hard muscles jammed against her back.
“Are they all on
this side of the coach?” she wheezed, still struggling to breathe. Between the
smoke, her stays, and Luke’s body so near, it was a losing battle.
“Pretty much.
Guess they want you more than me. Actually, they’ve been trying to get to the
trunks up top.”
A discordant
warning note sounded in the back of her mind. What the hell was in the girl’s
luggage that would draw wraiths? Her back wasn’t hot anymore, so she assumed
the fire was out.
That fire, maybe.
The one inside me is just getting going…
She squirmed from
more than the smoke and struggled not to turn around and press the front of
herself against Luke. They had bigger problems than his undeniable charisma.
Luke didn’t seem to be in a hurry to move away, though. He remained front to
back with her, and she absorbed power flowing from him. Damn, but he was
strong. What she wouldn’t give for that kind of magic.
It would help if I
could breathe…
With difficulty,
Abigail forced her mind away from Luke’s charms. “The driver?” She hadn’t been
round to the front of the wagon to check.
“Dead.”
“Ever driven one
of these things?”
“Concentrate on
killing, woman. If we can’t get shut of the wraiths, ’twon’t matter a diddly
damn.”
Blood
and Sorcery
Coven
Enforcers
Book
Two
Ann
Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
64K words
Release Date: 8/1/16
Genre: Historical paranormal
romance with a steampunk edge
Coven
Enforcers = Dark, Dangerous, Magical Men
Coven
Witches bow to no one—least of all Enforcers.
Sparks
ignite. Tempers run high. Passion explodes. Hot. Sweet. Impossible to
ignore....
Book Description:
Joshua committed his life to
fighting Black Magick. Not sure who he hates worse, dark sorcerers or the
clerics who tortured and mutilated his family, he lives on the road with his
horse and his magic, working as a Coven enforcer. Breana Giraud is the only
woman he’s ever loved, and until very recently she was married to someone else.
Breana’s husband, Don, sold his
soul to the devil, embracing dark practices. Along the way, he corrupted their
daughter. While Breana could’ve turned him in to Coven justice without a second
thought, she couldn’t bring herself to implicate her child. Still reeling from
her daughter’s death at the hands of evil, and grateful her husband met the
vicious end he deserved, she feels broken, damaged. The last thing on her mind
is falling in love.
Joshua tries to hold back, give
Breana room to mourn her losses, but if he has his way, she’ll become his wife.
With Don dead, and the path to his heart’s true love finally clear, he’ll do
anything he can to make her his. Even if it means fighting his way past the
dark mages’ leader, who wants her for his own.
Excerpt
from Blood and Sorcery:
Salt Lake City,
Utah Territory
Breana Giraud
bolted upright in her bed, the darkness around her shattering into fire-tinged
motes of black. Heart thudding hard against her chest, throat constricted with
fear, she reached for power, intent on shrouding herself in a protective spell.
Goddamn her husband. He was at it again. It was like him to wait until she was
sleeping—and she had to sleep sometime.
Once upon a time,
she’d cared about Don—a witch with power to match her own. But he’d been
seduced by the dark and become deeply entrenched in Black Magick. Shielding
herself against him drained her, but she didn’t have any choice. Sucking air
around the narrow place that used to be her throat, she sent magic spiraling
outward. She didn’t sense him near, but the enchantment that just dragged her
from a sound sleep had Don’s name—and sliminess—stamped all over it.
Her eyes snapped
open. Don was dead.
Dead.
What the hell was
happening to her?
He couldn’t harm
her anymore, so why was his stench all over the room? It wasn’t even the
bedroom they’d shared. She’d moved to the far end of the hall to escape the
horrible memories that swamped her every time she thought about him.
Guess that didn’t
work very well.
She pressed her
tongue hard against her teeth and reached for her magic again. Surely she could
summon a mage light. Simplest of spells, it required almost nothing in the way
of power. Finally, after she was shaking and sweating with effort, a wavery
blue light formed, casting the bedroom in eerie shadows. Breana urged her light
to burn hotter, brighter. Her teeth were chattering, and she felt as if she’d
never be warm again. Icy sweat dripped down her sides.
She tugged the
heavy, wool blanket around her shuddering form, but it didn’t help so she
dragged air hard into lungs that had nearly forgotten how to cooperate. And
then did it again. And again, until she was able to clamp her jaws in a harsh,
desperate line.
Her light
flickered and brightened, and the ball of fear making it hard to breathe eased
the slightest bit. Falling back asleep was laughable, so she dug her way out
from under the covers and pulled a robe woven from soft, cream-colored wool
over her linen nightdress. Sheepskin slippers came next.
At least the
godawful chill that had permeated the air was dissipating, and the reek of evil
along with it. Brimstone held a sulfur taint that burned the back of her throat
and made her skin prickle with a million points of discomfort.
She blinked back
tears as she made her way downstairs, her mage light bouncing over one
shoulder. The dark had taken both her husband and her daughter, and robbed her
of what had once been a warm and comfortable marriage. She hated Black Magick
with a passion. Hated what it had almost done to her as she walked a tightrope
between her husband’s demands and her responsibility to the Coven.
“Yeah, and I did a
shitty job all the way round,” she muttered as she poured a cup of tepid coffee
into a mug. It was bitter as all get out from sitting on the back of the
woodstove since early the previous morning, but she gulped it down anyway,
wanting the quick stimulation.
Too keyed up to
sit, she wandered to a window and looked to the east. Dawn wasn’t far off, but
the horizon was still dark. Days were growing longer, but it was still winter,
and it might not get light until seven. She’d sent a meticulous letter to Coven
headquarters in New York. Within it, she detailed her sins in not turning her
husband and daughter over to Coven justice—once she fully understood their
allegiance had shifted to dark power.
That letter had
certainly arrived by now.
What would they do
to her?
A snort of
derision curled her mouth into a bitter smile. She knew what she’d do to
someone in her position. Banish them from the Coven for starters. After that,
it would be anyone’s guess, but the Coven wouldn’t be out of line demanding her
life as punishment for shielding her family from what they deserved.
Not much she could
do. About any of it. No. She needed to keep going, day by day, and let the
wheel spin as it would. She’d find out soon enough. Certainly by this coming
summer when most—if not all—of the Coven had relocated to Utah Territory. At
least she’d given Luke and Abigail a good start by marrying them. Memories of
that day—and their joy—kept her going through the hardest spots.
She plodded back
to the stove and poured the last of the coffee into her cup before she opened
the woodstove door and sent a jot of magic to stir the embers. Once they
crackled merrily, she added chunks of wood and refilled the kettle on the back
of the stove with water from the pump next to the sink. The chores were
automatic, and they settled her nerves enough to dissect what had driven her
awake.
Coven enforcers, a
group of hard-bodied, sharp-eyed men, who kept witches on the straight and
narrow, had seen to it that both Don and her daughter, Carolyn, met their end
in mage fire, purging their souls of darkness. And they’d killed Alistair
MacDuff, head of the Alchemical Council. She and Abigail had seen to the death
of Alistair’s henchman before he, too, was dumped in the purification of mage
fire.
“Guess we didn’t
get them all,” she muttered as she ground coffee beans with a mortar and
pestle.
“If them refers to
who I think it does,” Joshua drawled from the kitchen doorway, “of course
they’re not all dead. That fresh coffee I smell?”
Breana curved her
mouth into a soft smile. “You know damn good and well it is. I drank the dregs
from yesterday morning. Hang on till the water boils, and I’ll brew a fresh
pot.”
“Don’t rush. I got
time.” Joshua moved closer to the stove, extending his hands toward its warmth.
Tight-fitting, buff-colored leathers, similar to what most Coven enforcers
wore, hugged him like a second skin. Flame red hair hung loose to the middle of
his back.
Breana turned to
face him squarely and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Looks as if you got
up in a hurry. Your hair’s not braided.”
Blood
and Illusion
Coven
Enforcers
Book
Three
Ann
Gimpel
Dream Shadow Press
64K words
Release Date: 8/22/16
Genre: Historical paranormal
romance with a steampunk edge
Coven
Enforcers = Dark, Dangerous, Magical Men
Coven
Witches bow to no one—least of all Enforcers.
Sparks
ignite. Tempers run high. Passion explodes. Hot. Sweet. Impossible to
ignore....
Book Description:
Not all witches join the Coven.
Fiercely independent, Isla heads up her own small band in the San Francisco
area. She’s never needed help before, but dark sorcerers drive her and her
group into hiding, trapping them.
Sam’s worked for the Coven as one
of their enforcers forever. He’s been there so long, the Coven is the only
mistress he knows. It’s a lonely life on the road thwarting wickedness and
Black Magick with his guns, his magic, and his horse, but it’s been enough to
satisfy him. Until now.
A group of witches is in deep
trouble. They’re not part of the Coven, but Sam is sworn to protect all witches
and he rides to their assistance with several of his brothers. Nothing prepares
him for the outspoken spitfire who ends up riding double with him. She’s
forthright, opinionated, and downright hostile, but he’s drawn to her
self-sufficiency—and her undeniable beauty. Soon, Isla is all he can think
about.
Dark forces are on the move.
Protecting the woman he’s falling in love with is at the very top of Sam’s
list. If they manage to survive, he’ll tame her. Claim her. Make her his.
Excerpt
from Blood and Illusion:
…Isla huddled with
six other witches in a basement beneath one of the warehouses lining San
Francisco’s docks. Her hair hung in filthy strands. Grime caked beneath her
nails, and she stank, but at least she was alive. Russian sorcerers—or at least
sorcerers who spoke Russian—had killed four of her sisters before she’d dragged
the rest of their small band to a defensible position and swathed them in
layers and layers of magic.
It had been a
short-term solution, but they hadn’t had any choice. Not really. Only problem
was they had no easy way out. If they dismantled their spell, the sorcerers
would find them in a trice. If they remained where they were, eventually they’d
starve to death. She was far weaker than she’d been a week ago when they’d
barricaded themselves into the underground room with its dirt floor and dirt
walls. Small cutouts high on two walls coincided with ground level, and
provided their only source of light.
In desperation,
she’d used her power stone to call Hester Thorne, a witch who’d been
instrumental drawing their group into a cohesive unit. Hester promised help,
but it had yet to materialize. Breath steamed through Isla’s teeth as she bent
forward and stirred the shallow pool she’d created from a broken pot made of
crockery and water dripping down the walls. It took a while, but the water had
finally grown deep enough to become a scrying instrument.
Weariness dogged
her, and her vision blurred. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing them to focus
next time she dragged her lids open. Thinking it might help, she pushed herself
upright and walked around the six- by ten-foot room.
“What are you
doing?” Kat eyed her balefully out of bloodshot blue eyes. “I was asleep.”
Dirty blonde hair had been braided to keep it out of the way.
“Aye, and ye’ll be
asleep permanently if ye’re not careful,” Isla shot back, the brogue from her
native Scotland thicker than usual. It was one of the reasons she and Hester
had bonded so tightly. Shared roots from Scotland’s Highlands and islands.
“Isla! Come look
at your pool!” Rowan cried. Silver hair fell about her, dragging in the dirt,
but her brown eyes were lit with hope.
Isla skidded to
her knees and stared at the water’s surface. Nine men strutted down the
rock-strewn sand fronting the ocean. Tall, rangy, hard-bodied and clad in
leathers, it was obvious they were used to ruling the world. At first she
thought they were a new passel of sorcerers, but she forced herself to look
closer.
Not trusting her
first take, she took a ragged breath. Maybe she wished for salvation from the
room that was likely to become their crypt so desperately, she was imagining
things, “What does it look like to you?” she asked Rowan.
The other woman
turned to face her. “Help. That’s what it looks like. Those men are bleeding
power, and it’s the good kind.”
The other women
skittered across the floor, jostling one another to get close to the pool so
they could see.
“Be careful!” Isla
cautioned. “Else ye’ll tip the dish, and we might not live long enough for me
to refill it.”
Her heart hammered
against her ribs as she took in the men. One of them in particular caught her
attention and held it. Long, blond hair spilled across his shoulders, and his
eyes were a bright, turquoise blue. Strong bones carved his cheekbones into
bas-relief, and his jaw was square, determined. Buff colored leathers covered
him, and they were skintight, leaving virtually nothing to her imagination.
Broad shoulders led to deeply muscled arms and narrow hips with a high, tight
ass. Long legs disappeared into boots that laced to his knees.
Her throat grew
dry. Many a year had passed since she’d experienced such an immediate reaction
to a man, and it confused her.
Must be because
I’m half-staved.
Och aye, and ye
know better, the other half of her brain inserted dryly. Whoever he was, he was
one gorgeous man.
Understanding
slammed into her, and she was ashamed she hadn’t put two and two together
immediately. “They must be the aid Hester promised.” She glanced at the other
women.
Rowan lurched
upright. “If that’s true, then we need to go outside and help them.”
Isla licked her
chapped lips. “They’re not looking as if they need any help, but at least that
way they won’t have to hunt for us, and mayhap we can leave this accursed
place.”
“You’re the one
with the strongest magic,” Kat pointed out. “And the only one who can project
telepathy beyond the enchantment hiding us. See if they answer.”
Isla exhaled
sharply. It was a reasonable suggestion, but not without risk. If she was
wrong, and those men were actually allied with the dark, she’d have given away
their position. Opened them to a certain death. Or worse, imprisonment at the
hands of evil.
“I was in your
mind,” Rowan said, her voice surprisingly gentle. “We’re as good as dead now. I
say we chance it.”
“I was coming
around to the same conclusion.” Isla breathed deeply to center herself and drew
out her pink moonstone. Before she could think things to death, and her courage
failed utterly, she linked to the stone and sent her magic thrumming outward.
No need to make things fancy, so she settled on the shortest phrase imaginable.
“Are ye who Hester
sent?”
Depending on the
answer, she’d ask for proof and take things from there.
About
the Author:
Ann Gimpel is a national
bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing
speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared
in a number of webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from
urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients,
now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality.
When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with
her camera. She’s published over 30 books to date, with several more planned for
2016 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren and wolf hybrids
round out her family.
Find Ann At:
@AnnGimpel (for Twitter)
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3 comments:
Thank you so very much for inviting me back to your blog, Marsha! It's always such a pleasure to be here. Big hugs as we move into fall, my favorite season.
You're so welcome, Ann! Big hugs back to you!
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