Everyday Goddess Stories: Volume 1: Everyday Goddess Stories, #1

By R.S. Kellogg

 Women and goddesses face adventures large and small in this new collection.

            From the wilderness of a remote camp site to the cultivated trees of a backyard, the settings in this book introduce five unique stories of exploration and wonder.

            Whether these heroines seek out their challenges or their adventures seek out them, changes are coming for all of them.

This collection features five tales of goddesses brushing the mortal realm or everyday women encountering the mystical, including:

            "The Empress Kuan Yin," in which Kuan Yin's search for the balance point of the year begins in a suburban backyard.

            "Try Not to Get Lost in the Woods," in which Betty, hiking alone, loses her way as the sun goes down.

            "Artemis the Midwife," in which Bethany faces a surprise storm when she goes camping with her children.

            "Tia's Eclipse," in which a superstitious seeker looks for a place away from tourists to watch the coming eclipse.

            "Artemis and the Cats," in which Penelope chases her dog after he finds an unexpected escalator to a realm of the gods.

Buy this collection and receive all five of the above stories, gathered together for the first time in this book!

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.S. Kellogg
• Release date: Aug 6, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201933074

R.S. Kellogg

 R.S. Kellogg writes in the fantasy Breadcove Bay series, as well as exploring other story worlds and non-fiction topics.

Book preview

Introduction

Myths and stories of goddesses and of women’s encounters with the mystical fascinate me.

Actually, to give the full story, myths and stories in general have always fascinated me, and my relationship with them has certainly evolved over the years.

As a child, I gobbled up illustrated books of Greek and Roman mythology as well as books that novelized fairy tales and new inventive tales spun out with delightful details and enchanted charm.

As the reader, I generally associated myself with the lead hero or heroine, while pausing to take note of the sometimes-peripheral characters who seemed to carry the heart of the story. I also admired the strong, memorable female characters that showed up, occasionally on the periphery, in some of my favorite plots. Wouldn’t it be cool to have more about them? I thought as I finished a satisfying book with a female character I would have loved to have seen more about.

IT TOOK SOME TIME BEFORE I recognized that the adrenaline-high stories of the epics and sagas I loved so well, while certainly entertaining, could also feel exhausting to me after a certain point.

I longed for journeys that explored the heart, the inner landscape, and relationships, just as much as they tracked a hero or heroine’s quest.

I may have longed for this piece even more.

When this element was missing or lacking from a story, I certainly felt it, and I always was left wondering . . . what would have happened if we’d seen what had been going on inside of that character’s heart and mind more deeply?

What if the character had sunk more deeply into that realm themselves? What may the story have become then?

In stories I read that traced that deeper arch, I felt so satisfied after reading the final paragraphs.

In many traditional male-driven sagas and legends, there is a woman somewhere at the symbolic heart or pivotal points of it, and she typically plays one of a few roles:

Either a love interest that holds the heart of our hero and represents a large part of his exterior motivation or reward, a quiet voice of reason that asks him to consider his options, or an intuitive voice or channel that gives him wisdom or information that he needs.

In female-driven stories where the action does not follow the traditional male arc, I feel there is room to play with a deeper level of interior transformation and shift. The surface drama can become a force for change not only on an external level but also on a level that is intimately, deeply personal . . . and can therefore, potentially, lead to more expansive shifts—sometimes merely for the character at the heart of the story, and sometimes for the broader group for which the woman is a part or with which she engages.

Most of the hearts of these stories explore just these kinds of arcs.

But some of them were written just for sheer fun.

And most are both.

Happy reading.

Cheers,

R.S. Kellogg

The Empress Kuan Yin

By R. S. Kellogg

The trouble with visiting Earth is that if you stay long enough, and have any level of power, the locals will assign you as either a demon or a deity.

There are headaches either way.

And, due to their cycles of religion, sometimes the locals will assign you as both. Usually by different factions though.

Kuan Yin sat on an ornamental jasper stone throne with a tall back and curving armrests that a devotee had ordered carved in her honor to invite her presence into the family’s backyard garden behind a tasteful old house in Virginia.

She felt, as she often did when she gathered herself and paused, the depth and weight of her years on this planet.

She felt them like a tree feels its years in rings and roots, anchoring it where it stands, tall, thick, and rooted to the life force of this Earth, somehow both itself and yet connected with all beings. Many years stretched behind her, and endless centuries remained before Kuan Yin’s work here would be finished.

Her pet white cockatoo flitted in various spaces within the backyard.

She saw him:

| molting in spring after breeding, landing on a bare branch above the fall leaves (Kuan Yin wondered if this resulted in sacred cockatoo babies and peeked to see that—yes)

| pecking at grain set for him in a ceremonial bird feed bowl in summer, neck moving in his slight jerky fashion as the grain made the faintest scattering sound under his beak

| molting in fall, again, near fragrant orange flowers where he shook himself and scattered a few feathers (looking like a triumphant little devil)

| and head tucked under wing napping on her lap in the winter, the texture of his claws bumpy against her thigh even through her robe.

Kuan Yin had four-part vision.

True, she existed in the human version of a now, and could focus a primary part of her essence to a given location and time, as she did now in this garden, but generally she existed a year at a time, and saw things in simultaneous seasons.

She saw and held four seasons at once.

She held the seasons until she saw the thread at the center that represented the balance for that year. Then, when the thread of inner balance within the cycle revealed itself to her, her gaze would trace the length of it, enraptured by the pattern that balance took that year.

Being witnessed by her, the balance-thread would vibrate in response.

Kuan Yin would smile; all would burst into resonance.

It was the closest thing she had to what the humans experienced as love at first sight.

Her mood would elevate rapidly and her vision would shift into wholeness.

The four-part vision would fold—curving together like the spherical sides of a pearl—closing together for her to comprehend the year as an entire piece—precious moment, treasured moment, moment of crystallization and completion—she’d see one image.

And she’d shriek within herself for joy, a sound few to no locals would ever hear, as they recognized her mainly as a goddess of calm, and interacted with her in that aspect, generally oblivious to some of her other pieces.

It was one of those other pieces that had brought the force of her presence into this garden.

Reluctantly in this case, but still she’d had to come.

She’d been sitting on a moon swing at the top of a hill in Kawaii, singing with the stars in a great ecstatic symphony of cosmic sound when the call had come.

The edge of a whisper, distinct enough to command her immediate attention.

Kuan Yin was immediately elsewhere, the swing under the stars moving back and forth on its own for a spell, leaving the heavy scent of rose and ylang ylang behind, and the echo of vibrato on a song.

A tourist rubbed her eyes. She’d caught a glimpse of a woman in a long robe on the swing, and then the being was gone.

Now that Kuan