Bear: Bear plays a major role in many Native American narratives. The animal represents the west and thoughtfulness. Many tribes tell narratives with Bear as the central figure.

Publication is proceeding apace on Eagle Quest. It's available in a variety of ebook formats and in print. Here are the links so far:
Lorrie Unites-Struiff researched like a mad woman for her paranormal mystery romance, "Gypsy Woman," published by Eternal Press (Buy the Kindle edition on Amazon). I asked her to fill us in on Gypsy lore. Take it away, Lorrie!
They marched on in a straight line, having no better idea of which direction to go, while Cusith zigzagged ahead of them with his nose close to the earth. Suddenly, the green hound raised his head and bayed. A moment later he galloped across the moor, water splashing when his huge paws hit the tiny pools.
“What’s up with him?” Katya asked.
Sianach lifted his chin for a better view. “He appears to be in pursuit of an animal of
some type.”
“I hope he’s not hurting some little swamp creature.”
“If he is, then the beast is making Cusith pay for the privilege.”
Katya and Sianach walked faster after Cusith, the dog’s trail marked by flying grass and water. When Cusith finally stopped, Katya and Sianach trotted to catch up. The hound was standing over something furry and black that lay on the ground beneath his huge paw.
“No, don’t!Don’t hurt it,” Katya called out. Cusith turned his head toward her, tongue lolling.
“I won’t. It’s not food.”
Katya reached Cusith’s side and knelt down to examine the raggedy clump of ebony fur. It leapt up, scrabbling for a foothold, but Cusith clamped his paw down harder to hold it still.
“It’s a cat!” Katya said. She reached out with her mind, but met the same blank wall she had with Sianach and Cusith. So, she tried the old-fashioned way. “Here kitty, kitty. Nice kitty.” An ear-splitting yowl almost knocked Katya back on her rear.
“I am not your ‘nice kitty,’ you rude thing! I am Cait Sidhe, I’ll have you know. Surely, this stag . . . and mutt . . . have heard of me.”
Sianach, who stood to one side to stay out of the fray, nodded his elegant head. “Yes, I know you. Not that it is a pleasure.”
The cat hissed and swiped a pawful of razor sharp claws across Cusith’s foot. The big dog quickly released the black cat. “Sorry, Cait,” Cusith said. “Just having some fun.”
Cait sat up and licked a couple of swipes over the white spot on her chest. “Now you’ve covered me with mud. It’ll take hours to get clean again.”
In the third Witches of Galdorheim book, Scotch Broom, I elevate one such small-time player to the exulted role of minion. If you watched the Ice Age animated films, you might be familiar with the proto-squirrel (with fangs) named Scrat.One of the many creatures that are said to move into the farmhouses from time to time is the skrat. He usually lives in a beech tree or a cave and looks like a chicken that has been caught in a downpour. His wingtips and tail drag on the ground. He may also transform himself into a small bird, a goose, a dog or cat, or even a hair-covered man. Any family he lives with becomes rich.
A scratching at the door caught her attention. Walking over, she peered through the peephole, but didn’t see anyone there. "Oh, bother. Is some spoiled brat trying to play tricks on the old woman?" She grabbed the handle and jerked the door open, screaming, "I’ve got you!"Note: Cailleach is the Scottish Celtic goddess of winter fallen on hard times in the present day world. She’s tired, aging, a mere vestige of her former glory, but a scheming old bitch like her won’t ignore opportunities when they fall from the sky. Which is exactly what Katya does.
Nobody stood on her porch. A clucking made her look down. A scraggly, wingless chicken, looking as if it’d been out in the rain, crouched at her feet. The skrat stood on four wobbly legs, staggered around Cailleach’s legs and into the house. It squatted by the fire and ruffled its feathers.
Cailleach glared at the scruffy creature. She never could tell one from the other, but they had their uses. "What do you want, Skrat? I’m busy--"
Skrat spoke in a high-pitched, ragged tone as if he was gargling pebbles. "I have news."
Cailleach stepped closer. The skrats didn’t bother her unless they had something good to report. "Tell me."
"Witch is near."
The hag considered for a moment. "Is it one of the Wiccans? They’re harmless. Always collecting plants for some potion or another."
"Wiccan, yes, but witch, not wannabe."
Cailleach narrowed her eyes and plucked at the hair growing from her chin. "Where,
exactly?"
"In bogs."
"Why would a real witch be there? Staking out territory?" The crone pondered a moment, then looked down at the skrat, which had not dried out at all. "You watch. Bring your brothers with you. Report thrice daily to tell me what she’s up to."
The skrat nodded its featherless head. "What you pay?"
Cailleach aimed a kick at the skrat, but it scuttled out of the way. "Bother! You’re always asking about pay. Have I ever shortchanged you?"
"No. Want to tell brothers."
Cailleach glared at the creature. "A month’s grain for each of you."
"Done. I go now."
The skrat wobbled to the open door and departed. Cailleach closed it behind the creature, then returned to her fireplace. She swished the brew in the cauldron a few times.
Ilmatar spun, danced, and dived. It had been too many years since she had taken her true form. She was the wind, the hurricane, the tornado. Air she was, air she would be. She sighed, and a tree bent with her breath.
She rose with the heat, dropped low and sped across open fields when clouds blocked the sun’s rays. Yet, neither heat nor cold drove her. She flowed over or around as she pleased. When she was in the mood, she flattened everything in her path.
She laughed, and earth-bound creatures cringed at the booming thunder. She smiled, and a gentle breeze danced over hills and valleys. She reveled in her freedom, then grew angry when she thought how Ajatar had stolen this from her. She’d almost forgotten the power and glory that was Ilmatar.
Now, she’d get payback. Ajatar, she vowed, would regret this day for the rest of her life–her brief life, if Ilmatar the air spirit had any say.
But enough reveling for now. She had a job to do. Gathering free air to her as she flew, she coalesced into a cutting shaft, sharp and deadly as any arrow, and one thousand times as large. She swooped up, down, and sideways, leaving a vortex of spinning air in her wake.
Increasing her speed and the velocity of spin, she smashed through the tops of trees and touched down, a whirling cyclone in the center of Ajatar’s glade. Moss and branches whirled through the forest clearing and trees bent away from her, howling, cracking and snapping, with the thunder of rustling leaves.
Ajatar heard her coming; she could hardly miss Ilmatar’s roar. Ajatar grew taller, rising above the treetops, spreading her vast scaled wings. Her mouth gaped and fire roared out. With a single downward thrust of her wings, she soared upward. Ilmatar’s tornado followed close behind.
Note: My buddy Kevin Robinson, who also writes YA fantasy, provided the white roc illustration for me. Thanks, Kevin!

In Arabic, a genie (also jinn, Djinn, jinni) is a supernatural creature which occupies a parallel world to that of mankind, and together with humans and angels makes up the three sentient creations of God (Allah). Possessing free will, a djinn can be either good or evil.
The Djinn are mentioned frequently in the Qur'an, and there is a Surah entitled Al-Jinn. While Christian tradition suggests that Lucifer was an angel that rebelled against God's orders, Islam maintains that Iblis was a Djinn who had been granted special privilege to live amongst angels prior to his rebellion. Although some scholars have ruled that it is apostasy to disbelieve in one of God's creations, the belief in Jinn has fallen comparably to the belief in angels in other Abrahamic traditions.
Wizards, Sorcerers, Magicians, Warlocks: These are the males of the species Homo Spellcasterus. Please comment on how you use these terms in your own writing. If you’re not a fiction writer, feel free to give your opinions as well.

The Kraken is a fearsome beast. Yikes! Just look at that shot from Clash of the Titans (the remake). From Encyclopedia Mythica we learn that the Kraken isn’t a Greek myth at all. The good old Vikings claim the Kraken as their own.
PegasusIn Greek mythology, Pegasus is the winged horse that was fathered by Poseidon* with Medusa. When her head was cut off by the Greek hero Perseus, the horse sprang forth from her pregnant body.
* Percy Jackson’s father does get around. A lot.
I know this is a damned good ebook since I worked my butt off critting for Lorrie. I'm so proud of her, I could just spit.
In Greek mythology, Ceto or Keto (Greek: English translation: "sea monster") was a hideous aquatic monster, a daughter of Gaia and Pontus. The asteroid (65489) Ceto was named after her, and its satellite (65489) Ceto I Phorcys after her husband. She was the personification of the dangers of the sea, unknown terrors and bizarre creatures. Eventually, the word "ceto" became simple shorthand for any sea monster. The term cetacean represents a case in point. Her husband was Phorcys and they had many children, collectively known as the Phorcydes or Phorcydides. In Greek art, Ceto was drawn as a serpentine fish. Ceto also gave name to the constellation Cetus.
My Mashup
Ceto and Nessie become one. She's not a bad, um, person, but much misunderstood. She finds my heroine adrift in the northern seas sitting on a block of ice. Oh, yeah, the block contains the body of her father. Ceto finds this all fascinating and helps my heroine dock the ice block at Ultima Thule and find a messenger to send for help from the Witches' Island of Galdorheim in the Barents Sea.
The queen of the sea, variously given as the daughter of Oceanus and Tethys or of Nereus and Doris. When the sea god Poseidon wanted her as his bride, she declined the honor and hid from him in the Atlantic Ocean. A dolphin not only located her, but also brought her back to him, and he married her. The dolphin was awarded a place in heaven. Their son is the fish-man Triton. Amphitrite was portrayed on Greek mphoras together with her consort, riding in a chariot pulled by sea creatures, or sitting on a sea creature, surrounded by Tritons. She is decorated with the attributes of a queen, her waving hair covered with a net, and sometimes with the pincers of a lobster attached to her temples.
The Romans referred to her as Salacia.
The name means something like "The third one who encircles (the sea).

Aesma
Aesma is the demon of lust and anger, wrath and revenge. His wrath is mainly directed towards the cow (go figure). He is the personification of violence, a lover of conflict and war.
Buyasta
An ancient Persian demon of laziness who tries to prevent people from working.
Nanghaithya
An archfiend. Nanghaithya is the personification of discontentment.
"Quest for the Simurgh" is available at:In Persian belief, Ahura Mazdah ("Lord Wisdom") was the supreme god, he who created the heavens and the Earth, and another son of Zurvan. Atar, his son, battled Azhi Dahaka, the great dragon of the sky, and bound it in chains on a high mountain. The dragon was, however, destined to escape and destroy a third of mankind at the final reckoning, before it was slain. Ahura Mazdah was the god of prophetic revelation, and bore both Ahriman and Ormazd.
As leader of the Heavenly Host, the Amesha Spentas, he battles Ahriman and his followers to rid the world of evil, darkness and deceit. His symbol is the winged disc.
The ancient Persian water goddess, fertility goddess, and patroness of women, as well as a goddess of war. Her name means "the immaculate one". She is portrayed as a virgin, dressed in a golden cloak, and wearing a diamond tiara (sometimes also carrying a water pitcher). The dove and the peacock are her sacred animals.
Anahita was very popular and is one of the forms of the 'Great Goddess' which appears in many ancient eastern religions (such as the Syrian/Phoenician goddess Anath). She is associated with rivers and lakes, as the waters of birth. Anahita is sometimes regarded as the consort of Mithra.
Clayton Bye reviews books for The Deepening. He just posted a nice review of my juvenile fantasy, "Quest for the Simurgh." Visit the review site for lots of good, thoughtful reviews by Clayton. You can also ask him to review your book!Four teenagers discover their magic teacher, Wafa, has disappeared. The condition of his home suggests he didn’t leave willingly. On a table, his teaching book lies open at the section devoted to the mythical bird known as the Simurgh. Someone has chalked a large X across the open pages. Some of the youngsters think he has been kidnapped by mountain raiders. Others feel the X means they are to go in search of the Simurgh. All agree they must go after their mentor.
So begins a quest that takes the young adventurers from their small desert village into the mountains and, with the aid of a strange little man they encounter, right through one of the mountains into an enchanted land, a place full of natural beauty, life, mythical creatures, demons, gods and spirits.

A storm demon from Iranian mythology. He steals cattle and brings harm to humans. It is a snake-like monster with three heads and six eyes who also personifies the Babylonian oppression of Iran. The monster will be captured by the warrior god Thraetaona and placed on the mountain top Dermawend. In a final revival of evil, it will escape its prison, but at the end of time (fraso-kereti) it will die in the river of fire Ayohsust.

Today, we're talking with Karen L. Newman: poet, editor, evil mind. Karen has the perfect combination of talents to succeed in the strange and dark world of horror poetry. She has authored two poetry collections, Eeku and ChemICKals, in addition to over 150 of her poems and short stories have been published, both online or in print in places such as Dreams and Nightmares, Star*Line, Cthulhu Sex, Aoife's Kiss, and The Sword Review. She won the 2005 Mary Jane Barnes Award, been nominated for a Dwarf Star, and received two honorable mentions in The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror.Yup, that's not exactly romantic poetry. Tell us a little more about ChemICKals. What sparked (haha) the idea for the collection?Oxygen
As emphysema ate her lungs,
Faye chain-smoked
while being
constantly connected
to an oxygen tank.Thin and bedridden,
she huffed and puffed
until she lit herself up,
forming a human cigarette
that left a long cylindrical ash,
as the flaming tank
torpedoed the house.