Wintering, from The Coracle Sky
I am asked to write for quiet people, wild dreaming people who may not smudge their houses with sacred herbs or know the names of woodland mushrooms but still are wild in a deep, internal way. Our kindred love books, and can never have enough of those that hold our hearts gently even as they take us into magic. These are the books I want to write, the people I want to reach. It is a quiet thing to do.
Deep In The Far Away
It is also all I can manage at this time. If a publisher knocked on my door, I would open it. But some shy-eyed witches are not good at traipsing around knocking on doors themselves. They need to stay in the forest. When I look back from my death bed, will I regret not hawking some action-adventure YA novel on the traditional market? Perhaps. More likely, I will be thinking instead of walking my baby along peaceful avenues, and baking chocolate cakes, and having someone tell me my story healed an old wound in their heart, and knowing a student passed their exams because of my encouragement, and sharing celebration days with my extended family.
The most important stories I have ever told were therapeutic tales spoken aloud to the one person they were given for. Fame doesn't equal important. Fortune is not the real measure of worth.