Thursday, March 3, 2016


Seems like everyone is looking fro a little serenity these days, what with the Presidential-Whoo-Haaa Season in full swing.

I wrote a poem about this mediation because it is the only thing that always works for me.  Well, that and washing my hair.  Enjoy!

My Meditation
by Judith Cullen
One candle alone
A formless blackness
Not in a void
In my mind
A single flame
Dancing in a wind
From my soul
As I inhale
an embrace
As I exhale
moving on
Breathing in
Breathing out
Breathing in
Breathing out
A waltz in the air
Until consciousness relaxes
Into the dark comfort
Of peace.

Thursday, December 31, 2015


All Good Gifts ~ Conclusion                                                                                            by Judith Cullen
© 2015

Image: Public Domain
Some students only wrote to their pen pals for the rest of the school year, letting the delights and America and Anna in Germany, continued to write for the next several years.  They shared stories of their studies, their families.  Anna had just her mother, having lost her father and a brother in the war.  They talked about the news of the day and what was popular.
attractions of the summer months cushion their enthusiasm for overseas correspondence. The two girls, Ann in

Ann began to understand what the teacher had meant by learning about other cultures and different ways.  Most of the time the two girls shared their thoughts easily.  But sometimes her friend would share thoughts or opinions that she didn't agree with.  One time Anna had written about a well known American actress who had done a film in Europe with a famous European Director, and was now carrying his child out of wedlock.  She thought it was fantastic that they had gotten together.  Born in the much less cosmopolitan Midwest, Ann did not share this enthusiasm.  At first it bothered her that her friend did not see this situation as she herself saw it.  In the end she decided to let it go, and did not comment on it in her reply.  In short order their correspondence moved on to other stories and other details and the point of disagreement faded.  It was her first lesson in accepting other people for who they were, and not who she would have them be.

Monday, December 28, 2015

'TIS THE SEASON: A Good Time to Remember

In a time of year filled with gift-giving, we often get caught up in the quantifying of values rather than remembering the power found in genuine gestures.  As we move towards a new year, and now that some of the holiday hoopla is past, here is a brand new original tale that is not about Christmas presents at all.  It is about the power of simple acts, generous giving, and heartfelt thanks that endures. 

Thank you for a wonderful year of new adventures in self-publishing. Part One today, and the conclusion on December 31st, the last day of 2015

All Good Gifts                                                                                                                     
by Judith Cullen
© 2015

Found on
The hands that held the small frame gently were beginning to twist with age. 

"It is one of my most treasured possessions," she said softly.

"I don't remember ever having seen it before, Mom. How long have you had this?" her daughter inquired, noticing the clear affection with which the elder woman was regarding the picture she cradled.

"Oh!  Years and years."

She ran her wrinkled thumb along the dull, gold-painted frame, feeling the texture of it, her eyes never leaving the small oil painting as she spoke.

"Over sixty some years ago, now. Sometimes I wonder ..." 

Her mind wandered away to that realm of familiar yesterdays, where minds are young and full of endless tomorrows, and bodies are still straight and free from restriction or pain.

Tuesday, December 1, 2015


Available on Amazon:
For Kindle  & in Paperback

Continuing the popular A TRIO OF IRISH TALES, this collection presents two continued adventures of characters from the first volume in Patrick's Path and The Fairy Tree, plus an entirely new cast in Two Houses

Three modern tales steeped in the lore of an ancient land that will call to your Celtic soul, even if you never thought you had one.

Sunday, November 29, 2015


A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II will be releasing in the next 48 hours.  And here is a deal you can take advantage of even after Cyber Monday. This Holiday Special is good through December 15th! Yeah, it costs more than a couple of lattes, but it can be enjoyed much longer!

Here's what you get for just $20

  • Paperback copies of both the original A Trio of Irish Tales and the new A Trio of Irish Tales II signed by the author (me!)
  • Specially gift wrapped, and shipped to where ever you specify in time for the holidays (Sorry, only in the U.S. by the December Holidays).
  • The satisfaction of supporting an independent author, a creator/artist, not a cumbersome corporate entity.

How do I take advantage of this offer?

Send an email to simplycreativettown AT gmail DOT com with the following:
  • Your name
  • The name and address that you would like the books shipped to 
  • Special Instructions: who should the book be inscribed to?  What would you like the gift tag to say?
By reply email, you will receive payment information. When your order payment has been confirmed it will be shipped.  

It is as easy as that!
Happy Holidays!

Look for the release of A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II this week!

Wednesday, November 25, 2015


I am taking a brief moment to pause in the final preparations for A TRIO OF IRISH TALES' release to reflect on the nature of being thankful.  Enjoy!


Managing Life's Glass: 
An Unlikely Essay on Thanksgiving
by Judith Cullen
© 2015

"It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the age of wisdom,
it was the age of foolishness,
it was the epoch of belief,
it was the epoch of incredulity,
it was the season of Light,
it was the season of Darkness,
it was the spring of hope,
it was the winter of despair,
we had everything before us,
we had nothing before us,
we were all going direct to Heaven,
we were all going direct the other way
-- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."  
~ The opening paragraph of  A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens

We do it all the time: measure where we are by comparison to another time, another place, someone else's life, the life we desire for ourselves.  Life is full of "Tale of Two Cities" moments, as I refer to them.  They are blips on the fabric of our lives where we know that our proverbial "glass" has both water and air in it, but we often choose the simpler path of acknowledging only one element.  They are both there.  They are always both there.

Tuesday, November 24, 2015

ALMOST THERE ... "Two Houses" ~ A Preview

We are days from publication of A TRIO OF IRISH TALES II . . . and here is one more preview, this time of the final story.

Two Houses (Preview)
By Judith Cullen
© 2015

“Mark, the top has to be here somewhere!”
Mark Murphy glanced at the tourist map one more time, but it might as well have been written in Greek for all the sense it made to him.  “I know, we both saw it.”  He paused, lowering his voice, “I should have asked for directions, I’ll admit it.”
Cate turned to him indulgently, “I’ll take that admission, and I won’t abuse you with it.  Not much, anyhow.”  Then she laughed and threw her head back in that way he loved. 
This was part of why he had married her – life was just that much brighter, that much “more” when Cate was around.   Like now, when they were lost in Ireland on their honeymoon, looking for a hilltop they had both seen clearly from the front lawn Rathmore House.  It had seemed like such a natural thing to spend their honeymoon exploring their mutual Irish heritage. They were inexperienced as world travelers, at best, and they really should have done more homework than they had.  Still and all adversity can lead to adventure, and so far they had shared that in abundance.
“Look here!  This lane seems to go up.  This could be promising. Let’s try it and see where it goes.”  She was pointing towards a disheveled gate and a scraggly lane of trees leading uphill. What waited at the end of the lane was not clearly in view.
“You call this ‘promising’?”  He eyed the gate and the road that left the main track and disappeared to God only knew where.  It was a single metal gate between two square stone pillars.  They might have been nicely finished once, with an outer coating of sandstone or something to dress them.  The metal had a few vestiges of ornamentation left – tiny metal swirls and flourishes.  But one of the pillars was almost entirely crumbled away, and the gate hung from the remaining pillar by a single hinge.  Squinting his eyes, Mark wasn’t even sure of that.  He had the feeling that the gate was held there by habit alone, not by any actual constructive attachment.