He is, arguably, one of the most enigmatic of all the beings in Tolkien's Lord of the Rings. A mystery that intrigued me from the moment I met him. Tom Bombadil in his bright blue jacket and yellow boots, the self-avowed “Eldest” and “Master.”


Others have speculated on who – and what – he is: one of the Mala … a Maiar … perhaps even Eru Illuvatar. One blogger, the Ranger of the North, speculated he is the spirit of the Music of the Ainar, by which the world was created.


That's a most intriguing thought. Take it one step further. JRR Tolkien in one of his letters once described Tom Bombadil as “the spirit of the vanishing landscapes of Oxfordshire and Berkshire.” In the same letter, he described Goldberry – Tom's lady – as the seasonal changes in nature.


Perhaps Tom is the spirit – or perhaps more accurately – the embodiment, of Middle Earth itself: Middle Earth as it has existed from the beginnings to the Third Age – the age imperiled by the Dark Lord Sauron. Tom says he remembered the first raindrop and the first acorn, and – significantly – he knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless … before the Dark Lord came from Outside. The Elves' name for him translates to “Oldest and Fatherless.” Gandalf says he is “the eldest being in existence.”


The One Ring has no effect on him. He takes little note of it, and at the Council of Elrond, Gandalf expresses concern that, if entrusted with it, Tom would not understand its importance and in fact would lose it. Yet one of the Elves, Galdor, suggests that Tom would be unable to withstand a siege by Sauron “unless such power is in the earth itself.” Indeed, there is the suggestion that Bombadil would not survive if the Dark Lord comes into power.


That, to me, holds the key. Tom Bombadil can only survive if Frodo, Gandalf, Aragorn and their allies can succeed in destroying the One Ring, thereby defeating Sauron. The same is true for Middle Earth.


The world itself will be forever changed, destroyed, if Sauron comes to power.


It's an intriguing idea. At least … I find it so.


It's all speculation, of course. We can have no certain answer to Tom Bombadil's identity, and … It would seem that Tolkien intended it that way. He himself said there are some things that should remain mysterious in any narrative.


So Tom Bombadil remains – as Winston Churchill once said of Russia – “a riddle wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”


May he ever be so.

Before the book, before I even knew what the book would be about, there was …

 Tevis.

He stood framed in the doorway of my thoughts, a quiet, solemn elf who looked a lot like Illya Kuryakin … slender, blond, with
eyes the blue of glacial lakes.

Then I noticed the woman beside him –
auburn-haired, dark-eyed, just a little shorter than Tevis' five-feet-eight. “I'm Kat Morales,” she said. She flicked a smile. “We're police detectives.”

 Ah. Okay, so this would be a story about
police. But not just any police, not when one of them was an elf …

The backstory came to me fairly quickly – over the course of a few hours at most. With Tevis and Kat prodding me, filling in details, I realized that our good old familiar Earth has a … Well, call it a “counterpart,” maybe in another universe, maybe another dimension. Even after all this time, not all the details are known to me.

But anyway, this other world – the Realms of Magic – is home to elves, wizards, pixies, dragons, ogres … all the creatures of our mythologies and folklore, all the beings that we now think of as “make-believe.” It's always been there, separated from our own world by gateways – the Portals that give my series its name. From the beginning of time,
the Portals were open, and in the ancient days, the days of our human ancestors, beings from the Realms could move freely from their world to ours.

Then maybe a thousand or so years ago, wizards – who began to fear continued intermingling of humans and beings of magic – closed the gateways. So humans of later centuries forgot that myths and legends were based on real creatures.

“But in a future not too distant from your present,” Tevis told me, “the Portals have opened again. No one knows why, or how. But the inhabitants of the Realms now have access to your world again. Some of them are returning, bringing their magic with them, and humans are poorly equipped to deal with magic, especially when it is used to commit crimes. Kathryn and I,” a nod to the woman standing beside him, “are called in to investigate crimes that happen when magic is … misused.”

Then they gave me an image … the body of an ogre, recently murdered, and Kat – Tevis is one of the few people who call her “Kathryn” – watching, occasionally taking pictures while her partner examines the corpse.

That's how Shadow Path, the first book in the series, was born. Kat and Tevis have been in charge every step of the way. Initially, for example, I thought the book was going to be kind of forensics-oriented – like the CSI shows on TV, for example.

But Tevis immediately demonstrated the ability of elves – they call themselves Aalfar – to See how someone's died just by touching the corpse.

Well, it's been a useful talent.

 It's been an interesting journey so far with Tevis and Kat. Through them, I've met a host of other interesting characters – Harley, their boss with the Corpus Christi, Texas, police department; Arvandus, the wizard who has become Tevis' mentor; the banshee, Maeve, one of The Morrigan's many daughters; Gairth, Arvandus' half-lovetalker nephew …

And that's all just in the first book!

Five books in – three published, two in the works – and Tevis and Kat still have adventures that they're sharing with me.  The Portals series could go for a while yet …

 And it all started with an elf in a doorway.


How about you, if you're a writer? Do your books start with the characters, or with a story that you want to tell? Please come share.

About the photo: These are new images of Kat and Tevis, recently acquired by Studio See Publishing LLC, publisher of the Portals books.

Do all writers live in two worlds? Even when I'm not writing, I spend a lot of time in the world of my Portals books – that Earth of the not-too-distant future when gateways have opened between our human world and the Realms of Magic, home to all the beings that we've long dismissed as myth and folklore.

 Kat Morales and Tevis, the human and elf police detectives in that world, have become like best friends, people I hang out with a lot. So much so that I sometimes feel less writer than chronicler – simply writing down the stories they tell me. It's a beautiful sensation. When I'm in that zone, it's like watching a movie, seeing the events unfolding before my eyes, and I'm the transcriber hurriedly scribbling down what various characters see, smell, feel, taste …

It's a world of wonder – the world that our ancestors knew, where unicorns move silently through shadowed forests, companions to nymphs and satyrs.

  It's also a world of danger. Magic is a two-edged sword, potentially as harmful to the
spellcaster as to the spell's intended target. And not all the creatures known to our ancestors were benign. So in the world of the Portals, there are evil Wizards, beings with godlike powers and dark hearts, creatures who consider humans nothing more than lesser beings to be manipulated.

  Even nymphs and satyrs have a dark side. Even pixies …

Don't look for Tinker Bell in the world of Portals.

  But it's easy to get lost in a different world when you write fantasy or science fiction. How about those who write crime novels or romance set in our existing world? Do you
also live in two worlds, the reality around us, and the world of your books? And … Westerns. I like Westerns too, as a reader – and historical novels. Now
there would be an interesting world to live in – the past of, say, regency England or Medieval Italy.

  Or the Old West of Jesse James, Billy the Kid, Wyatt Earp …

So … As a writer, where do you spend the most time? In the everyday world, or in the world of your books? Or is it about equal between the two?

  And … for that matter … as a reader, where do you like to hang out?

Not long ago, I saw this question on a writer's forum: “I want to be an author. What do I write about?”

Okay … First – in my humble opinion – if
you don't know what you want to write about, you're not ready to become a
writer, let alone an author.

  Writing is an intensely personal experience. If you're going to connect with a reader in any kind of meaningful way, what you
write has to come from the heart – your heart, not someone else's. I can't tell you what your book should be about any more than I could have told Picasso what to paint.

  It's easy these days to do a little research and find out what types of books are hot commodities among readers. So, all you have to do is check the bestseller lists, write your own book on the current hot topic (vampire love, zombie apocalypse, erotic romance) and – Presto! People will flock to buy your book too. Right?

  Wrong.

  Unless you're an avid reader of this kind of book yourself, unless this is the kind of book you already are dying to write, you've probably doomed yourself to failure.

  My Portals fantasy/detective series, for example, started because I had this character in my head  … He happened to be an elf, and he happened to be a police detective. And at that point, I had to figure out what kind of book I needed to write to accommodate him.


But my “what kind of book” questions weren't about what is, or isn't, selling. They were about the kind of books – and movies and TV shows, for that matter – that I enjoy reading and watching. The Portals books blend a lifelong love of folklore, mythology and fantasy with decades of reading crime novels, plus more recent fascination with the CSI shows on TV.

  In fact, my original plans were for the book series to be a bit heavier on forensics – another interest of mine. But that idea was short-circuited when Tevis (the elf detective who started this whole thing) showed that he could See how someone died just by laying hands on the victim …

But the books are an outgrowth, and a reflection, of my personal interests, my reading (and movie and TV) tastes. For better or worse, they come from my heart.

  All the books that I've read and truly enjoyed have started that way. I can't imagine, for example, JRR Tolkien doing market research before sitting down to write Lord of the Rings. (If he had, in fact, those books might never have been written.) Nor can I envision Hemingway asking around before embarking on such classics as The Sun Also Rises or
For Whom the Bell Tolls.

  It's hard – pretty much impossible – to write about something that doesn't already interest you. Trust me … Readers know the difference between a writer who's actively engaged in the book, a writer who is passionate about her characters and storyline, and one who isn't.

  Writers of fiction continue the ancient art of story-telling. It's just that we set into words the kinds of tales that our ancestors told around campfires in the evenings. And if you, the writer, aren't passionate about the story you're telling, why should I be as a reader? The question isn't “What kind of book should I write?” but …

  “What's the story that I want to tell?”

At it's simplest, point of view – aka POV – for
a writer simply means … How are you going to tell your story?
  Broadly speaking, POV falls into four
  categories:
Omniscient. This is the writer-as-god approach. You, the author, are the unseen narrator who knows everything, who shares with the reader what every character is thinking and doing – and reveal information to your reader that none of your characters know about. Omniscient
is plot-driven, rather than character-driven – which, to me, demands that your plot be strong.

First Person. Your main character is the narrator – “I” am telling the tale. At its best, first person can give the reader a sense of immediacy. At its worst, first person POV leads to a story that's more “tell” than “show.” “I was afraid.” “I was happy.” However, in the hands of a skilled writer, first person can be extremely effective.

  The plus – and negative – of first person is that your POV is limited. The reader knows only what the first person narrator knows. If you suddenly want your reader to know information that's hidden from the narrator, you may have a problem.

  On the other hand, it can lead to some very effective foreshadowing. “If I'd known what was on the other side of that door, I would have run like hell in the other direction.” You also can really get into the mind of your narrator, and it's effective for either plot-driven (think all those hardboiled detective novels) or character-driven work.

Second Person. Other than the “choose your adventure” books popular a few years ago, I haven't seen many novels written in this POV. Second person is “you.” In effect, you're making the reader the protagonist of your book – or inviting him/her along as the protagonist's sidekick. Again, the perspective is limited. Your reader, as the “you” of your story, knows only what he/she can see happening, or can discover.

Third Person Limited. This is similar to First Person in that the author
disappears, and all the action unfolds through the eyes of a single character.
It also has the same advantage of bringing your reader into the mind of your
protagonist.

  My first two Portals novels, Shadow Path and Stormcaller, were written from the third-person POV of a single character, my human protagonist Kat Morales. But, like omniscient POV, third person lends itself to writing in multiple points of view as well.

  What separates third-person multiple POV from omniscient is how it's written. In third-person multiple, you devote an entire scene to one character. For example, I've written one scene from Kat's POV, then in the next scene, looked at events entirely through the eyes of her elf partner, Tevis, picking up his thoughts, his feelings, his observations.

  You also have the freedom, with this POV, to show your reader events that you want to conceal from your protagonist. Several scenes in Deathtalker, book 3 in Portals, were written from the villain's POV – information that Kat and Tevis (and their allies) were not privy to.

  What's the best point-of-view to write from? You'll find a variety of opinions both on the Internet and in any “how-to” book (or class) for writers that you care to check out. You'll find comments about what readers like (or don't like).

  Just about any “rule” you care to formulate about POV has been, or will be, broken at some time – and broken successfully. For me, the best POV is the one that helps the writer tell his or her story effectively.

  What/where is your comfort level? That's the POV you want to use.

(A little note on the photo: That's me with my beloved, now departed, Shilo. The photo was taken by a friend at a writer's conference in Casper, Wyo., a few years ago.)

  The Wizard who features so prominently in JRR Tolkien's The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings is a “wand elf.”

That's the meaning of “Gandalf” in old Norse.

Since I've started writing my Portals books – a blend of police procedural and our own folklore and mythology – I've become intrigued by how many modern names, and words, are rooted in our ancestors' beliefs in elves, faeries and other magical beings.

My own grandfather's name was Aubrey – derived from two Germanic words that meant “elf” and “ruler.” Aha! I'm a descendant of a ruler of elves!

If you're named Alvin, or Alvina, you're an “elf friend” - from the Latin “Alvinius.”

Alfred E. Neuman of “Mad” Magazine fame? His name is from Old English and has been interpreted as “elf counsel” or “magical counsel.”

Oliver, from the French Olivier, is believed to come from Germanic Alfihar – “elf army.”

But the belief in these supernatural beings has entered our everyday vocabulary too.

Sudden, inexplicable illnesses of people or animals were once attributed to the person or animal being “elf shot” – wounded by an arrow or bolt shot by elves or some other fae being.

A person who's “pixilated” – slightly eccentric, whimsical, or under the influence – is being “pixie-led,” drawn astray by the pixies.

The puca, a mischievous, sometimes dangerous nature spirit in English folklore, gives us the term “puckish” for someone who's mischievous or, possibly, devilish.

From Greek and Roman myth, we get such words as “herculean,” meaning something that requires great strength or tremendous effort to achieve. The origin is with Hercules, son of Zeus (or Jove, the Roman equivalent) and a mortal woman, a demigod perhaps best-noted for performing 12 impossible labors.

From the fifth of those labors – cleaning the Augean Stables in a single day – comes another word still in use today: “Augean” now means any task that is difficult and unpleasant.

The link between myth (or folklore) and modern-day words isn't always obvious – and I love to discover new ones. There's “oaf,” for example. That's from the Old Norse “alfr” – an elf. The word originally meant someone who was rendered clumsy or stupid by elven enchantment, or – at least as early as the 1620s – a changling, a “foolish child” left by faeries in exchange for a human mother's own infant.

And … I've never associated Napoleon with the dwarves of Norse (or Germanic) mythology, but some etymologists now say there's a connection.

Rather than the origin of the name being in Naples, they say, the name may come from the Germanic “Nibelungen” – a race of subterranean dwarves who hoarded an immense treasure of gold and jewels.

I love to collect this kind of lore, so any of you who know other names or words that derive from our folklore … Please come share!

Thanks!

  Call them fairy rings, fairy circles, elf rings (or circles), pixie rings …

They are magical places that mark – or are created by – the dancing of the “fair folk” on moonlit nights.

So say the legends.

Fairy rings can be found across the world, most often in forests, but they can also appear in grass- or rangelands. The rings or arcs of mushrooms vary in size, but they can survive hundreds of years and get to be huge. One of the largest – near Belfort, in France – is reported to be around 2,000 feet in diameter, and about 700 years old.

Elves, faeries and pixies aren't the only supernatural beings that they're associated with, either. In France, they've been called ronds de sorciers – sorcerers' rings – and in Germany, they're hexenringe (witches' rings).
In Tyrol, it was believed they're created by the fiery tails of flying dragons. And once a dragon had created such a ring, nothing would grow there for seven years.

Folklore is also full of warnings about entering such a magical circle. Tradition in France held that they were guarded by giant bug-eyed toads that would curse anyone who entered them. Elsewhere across Europe, a person who entered a ring would lose an eye, or die at a young age.

A Somerset tradition holds that a murderer or thief who steps into a fairy ring will be hanged.

To destroy a fairy ring brings bad luck.

It's equally dangerous to enter a fairy ring when the faeries are there. A mortal can be trapped inside the ring, forced to dance to the point of exhaustion, death or insanity. In the British Isles, the fae folk actively try to lure mortals into their circle – and those so trapped can't escape on their own. Help can only come from the outside.

Rescuing someone from a fairy ring can be as simple as catching hold of the victim and pulling him out – but it more often requires some magical means, such as throwing certain herbs into the ring or touching the victim with cold iron. Iron is inimical to magic and a ward against the fae and their enchantments.

Yet even when rescued, the mortal victim of the fae may not be safe. During what seems like minutes or hours inside a fairy ring, weeks or years may pass in the world outside. Legends tell of victims who crumble into dust the instant they emerge from the ring … or die of great age after their first bite of food in the mortal world.

On a more beneficial side, Welsh tradition holds that mountain sheep who eat the grass of a fairy ring flourish, and crops sown in that magical place will be more bountiful than elsewhere.

Other legends hold that fairy rings are gateways to the magical realms of the fae – a legend that I've drawn on in my Portals urban fantasy/detective series. In my mind, these rings mark the ancient sites of Portals between our human world and the Realms of Magic which are home to all of the beings of our folklore and mythology.

Science, of course, has a more prosaic explanation of fairy rings – that certain species of mushrooms simply tend to grow in rings, arcs – even other shapes including double arcs and sickle-shaped arcs. In fact, about 60 species of ring-producing mushrooms have been identified.

I prefer the magical explanations, the image of elves and other fae coming and going and dancing in the rings in moonlight.

What do you think?

  As recently as 2011, the downfall of Irish businessman Sean Quinn – who went from being the richest man in Ireland in 2008 to declaring bankruptcy in 2011 – was the result, according to at least one of his neighbors, of his moving a fairy fort.

Fairy forts – also called fairy mounds and fairy raths – can be found scattered across Ireland and Scotland, and in the folklore of the British Isles, they're the home of the sidhe – the ancient gods of those nations, who diminished and became the Good Folk or Fair Folk, the Celtic equivalent of the French fae (which is the root of the English “faerie” or “fairy”).

In Irish and Scottish mythology, these folk variously were said to live underground in fairy mounds (or forts), across the western sea, or in an invisible world that coexists with the world of humans.

In JRR Tolkien's Middle Earth mythos, the lands of the elves are in the West – and it is to these lands that the elves retreat, as described in Tolkien's epic Lord of the Rings, at the end of the Third Age when the elves and their power in Middle Earth diminish.

For my Portals urban fantasy/suspense books, I've borrowed from the Irish/Scottish concept that the fae are native to a realm separate from our own. In the Portals mythos, this land is the Realms of Magic, a parallel world that contains all of the creatures of our human mythologies and folklore – elves, wizards, pixies, dragons, ogres, trolls …

In the Portals universe, as I've envisioned it, the fairy mounds are gateways between the Realms of Magic and our human world.

Tradition holds that the mounds in particular are imbued with the powerful magic of the druids, and that to disturb them is to invite disaster. Folklore offers many tales of people who suffered bad luck, illness, injury or even death because they disturbed a fairy mound.

That, says a one-time neighbor of Quinn's in the town of Ballyconnell, is what happened to Quinn.

In 1992, Quinn Concrete, one of Quinn's business ventures, moved the Wedge Tomb, a megalithic burial tomb that had stood for 4,000 years in Ireland's Aughrim townland, two miles from Ballyconnell. The goal for the concrete company was to expand a quarry.

Financial experts said the loss of his $8 billion business empire was due to Quinn's decision to gamble on Anglo Irish Bank shares.

But the Fair Folk work in most mysterious ways, and who's to say whether Sean Quinn staked his empire on bank shares because he thought, at the time, it would be a good idea …

Or whether it came, perhaps through dreams in the middle of the night, from some one or some thing that resented having its ancient home disturbed ...