Confessions of a Shaman Girl

Ready for a confession? Some of you already know my secret identity and have heard rumors that I’m writing a book called, yep, Shaman Girl.

As soon as Shaman Boy’s back to school, my bottom is back in front of my computer making the final edits on the book. It’s funny and juicy!

Here’s a sneak peek. A tiny excerpt. A little tease! Let me know what you think.

From Shaman Girl:

I have a secret to confess. I am a Shaman Girl. I shudder slightly at blatantly admitting my secret identity to the world like that. After all, a middle-class white girl from Pittsburgh isn’t your most likely candidate for being a shaman. And what will my neighbors say, not to mention my parents?

While I do my fair share of woo-woo, I just have to draw the line when people go all angels, crystals, faeries, or past lives on me. I feel most comfortable blissed out in a formless state, tapped into source, but I also make my pilgrimages to Target in a mini-Cooper with grubby boy prints on the window by the carseat. I don’t wear leather, especially leather with fringe, except when on the back of my husband’s motorcycle. I do have a few small, discrete feathers in my hair, but so do half of the third graders in town who are sporting the latest feather extensions trend.

Go figure, only I haven’t figured it out myself yet. But it’s time to embrace my inner shaman. Not just mine, but yours too. Us spiritual seekers and light workers need to come out of the closet some day. And the best I can reckon, that time is NOW.

You ready Shaman Girls? I am.

A big hug,

M