
Dear reader, tonight with us is one of the Irish fae, inspiring poets and musicians for decades. She’s here to talk about unseen worlds and working with a touring rock band.
Tell us a little about where you grew up. What was it like there?
I’m not human, you see, so I can’t exactly give you warm and fuzzy tales of my idyllic “childhood.” I’m actually a leanhaun sídhe, or as you might call me, a “fairy mistress.” Like many fae, I exist because I am believed in, and the more powerful the belief, the more powerful I become. I was created out of a string of folk and fairy tales from Ireland, and I believe my true father was none other than the poet W.B. Yeats, who first gave me form in his 1892 book Irish Fairy and Folk Tales. I visited him more than once, though once he left for France he was out of my reach. In those days I couldn’t travel across the waters … but today it is different.
What do you do now?
My duties involve inspiring your poets – or, in the case of The Only Song Worth Singing, your rock musicians, driving their inherent creativity to heights of near (or total) insanity. What do I ask in return? So very little. Just a bit of life, taken bit by bit. It’s a fair exchange. It’s also why your poets die so young….
What can you tell us about your latest adventure?
Fae exist in a world “beyond the Veil,” sometimes considered “under the hills,” but in any case, a place separate from the human world. All fae can pass through … and a few humans, if they are particularly special. But when a human and a fae comingle and create a new … being, it can be distasteful to us. One such exists, and we’ve been keeping an eye on him his entire life. Then he – and his band – left to share their music in the New World, and the orders came down from the Seelie Court: Find him and decide if he’s allowed to live. What can I say, though? I got distracted and found his bandmate far more interesting.
Continue reading “Sheerie (of The Only Song Worth Singing, by Randee Dawn)”

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