Dolores Ashcroft-Nowicki is a third-generation psychic who has worked with magic since childhood. She studied under the late W. E. Butler and with him was a founding member of the Servants of the Light School of Occult Science. She travels the world lecturing on all aspects of the occult and is the author of many successful books, including The Shining Paths, Inner Landscapes, Illuminations, The Ritual Magic Workbook, and My First Book of Magic.

Tell us a bit about your personal background.

I was born in Jersey 91 years ago, and a bit. I've lived here, apart from the time during the war when the island was invaded by the Germans, and the 10 years when I was doing theatre work. But my Grandmother was a witch; she didn't call herself that. In those days, you didn't. But when we left the island, we went up to Wallasey, where my Grandfather had relatives, and within three or four days, she'd found the local group.

She was one of those who followed the Old Way. There's a place outside Wallasey called Bidston Hill; it's an old archeological site, and that where they used to meet, the local group. And they met all the way through the 1940's, and they did the old rite that sent the Spanish Armada to the bottom. "You cannot come, the way is closed, you cannot come." And that is what they did. Every Friday night, that is where she was.

I was born into this kind of thing, My mum was in it up to the neck, and I grew up knowing it was all right to talk to people that other people couldn't see. It did get me into trouble once or twice, though.

On the way to school, there was a very old wall; it had been there for two or three hundred years, ancient Jersey granite. And I discovered a gnome in there. And I used to stop and talk to him. We had our own little signals for one another. I would stand there and look all around, making sure nobody's here, and then put my hand on a certain stone and turn it like I was turning a handle. And he would be there.

Unfortunately, one of the teachers saw me talking to a wall. They went to my parents; my father thought this was terribly funny. They were called to the headmistress, and she said, "We're a little bit worried about Dolores. We've arranged for her to see somebody." My Dad said, "Oh, yes. And who?" "Oh, umm, well, he deals with this kind of thing. Imaginary things, and things like that."

Now it just so happens that this guy and my Dad were both spiritualists. So, anyway, I go off, and I'm sitting there, and he's saying to me, "How do you do?" And I'm talking about the fact that ever since I was really tiny, at full moon, I would get out of bed, strip off, and dance on the lawn because the moon liked to see that. And the old lady who used to sit on the end of my bed and tell me stories, only she'd been dead for several years--she used to live there. I'm happily telling him all this.

He was Welsh. And he said to me, "Now listen, darling, none of these are things you mustn't see, but they're things you mustn't let people know that you see." I said, "Why?"

"Well, it's because some people don't see them. And you know, if you don't see them, you don't believe in them. So, just don't let anybody hear you. You'll be all right there." And he wrote down, "She's got an overactive imagination." And that was it for that.

It started opening up even more during the war, and when the bombing was really, really at its height, and I used to be really, really frightened, I would sit with my mother, and I would put my head in my mother's lap and put my hands over my ears. I figured if I didn't hear anything, I wouldn't know it was coming.

I was like that one night, and I thought I had fallen asleep, but all of a sudden, I wasn't there anymore. Where I was, was very high up, and I knew, although I didn't feel the cold, that where I was it was very, very cold. And I could see in the distance a very strangely-shaped mountaintop. And there was a big fire, and people were sitting around it, with these golden-red shawl sort of things wrapped around them. It looked really nice and warm and safe. Then one of them looked up and patted beside him to come and sit. So I went and sat with them. Nobody said anything; we just sat. I was safe; I could feel that safeness around me.

When the bombing finally petered out after eight or nine months, then all of a sudden, I didn't get there anymore. But many years later, I told Ernest Butler (W.E. Butler) about this, and he said, "Very interesting." He went and got a book out and went through the pages, and he said, "Is that the mountain?" And I said, "Oh, yes!" Because it's got a half-moon shape between the two peaks.

He said, "Well, there's a very special Tibetan temple there. They train people to do the kind of things you're doing now." Now, the one who called me to the fire, about easily 30 years later, a friend of mine--he's dead now, unfortunately--he was a wonderful conductor of music. He was the head of the Calgary Orchestra for many years. But then he went back to Hungary, to his home.

He was making his debut at the Royal Albert Hall, and he said, "I've got a seat for you, Dolores; it's almost at the end of the row. I've got a friend who's coming, but he won't be here until after the interval." So I'm there, listening, thinking, "This is so wonderful." The lights went up, and there was somebody sitting beside me. I turned round (and remember this is 30 years later, give or take a couple), and it's the man who called me to the fire. He hadn't changed. And he said, "It's all right; it's all right." I was just dumbfounded. So, this sort of thing has been going on all of my life.

I went into The Inner Light school, took initiation there. I left The Inner Light, went to work as a supervisor for Ernest's new school, The Servants of Light. Ernest had just gotten over being in a very bad car accident, he'd been in a coma, and he wasn't all that well. He had been told by his contact that someone would come to him and would give him the contact's name, and they would tell him they'd come to take over after him.

Michael and I collected him and went out to eat. And we're sitting outside, and he's smoking his pipe and talking to Michael. It was Haverstock Hill, which is a busy hill. I was watching traffic going up and down, then I turn, and I'm looking at a seven-foot-tall figure. It doesn't look anything like anything I'd ever seen before, and I'm thinking, "I shouldn't have had that wine at dinner."

This figure says, "Give him this name. Tell him you've come to take on his work when he's dead." I'm thinking, "Yeah, sure, I'm going to say this to an elderly gentleman who's just come out of a coma."

And it got very insistent. And in desperation, I turned to Ernest and said, "Ernest, there's something here, and this is the name it gave me." And the pipe dropped out of his mouth and just smashed on the pavement. And he said, "That's the only pipe I've got." I said, "I'll buy you one!"

And he said, "It's time to go down; they'll be starting the ritual soon." We went down into Steele's Road, and this thing is following, saying, "Tell him you'll take over when his time is up."

In the end, again, in sort of desperation, because I couldn't get it out of my head, I said, "Ernest, please don't take this wrong, umm, you know, you haven't been too well. And umm, when you die, can I take over?" It all came out, and he turned to me and said, "You're late. You should've been here six months ago."

I've been haunted most of my life. I'm just a weirdo.

We like it.

My Dad was weird; my Grandmother was weird. My Grandmother, her Grandmother was a full-blooded gypsy. I used to play with the gypsies during the war. There was a time I could speak Romani reasonably well. I've forgotten most of it now, but I think I could at least make myself known and do the usual tools of greeting. My Grandmother was very quiet about it, but people used to come to her, wherever she was, "Can you do this? Can you do that?"

My mother was very quiet and gentle; her people from way back were Druids from Wales, near Llanberis.

I've enjoyed my life. On the whole, I've been allowed to do things I always wanted to do. I learned to perform in the theatre. I wanted to be an opera singer. The trainer said, "Your voice is decent. You can act. You haven't got the ability to kick people in the teeth to get to the top. And without that, you won't get there." But everything I learned there was useful. Public speaking? I'll talk to hundreds of people for hours. I love talking to people, I really do. What I've done, I want to share.

And these books can go on, long after we can speak.

I don't like the word 'teach,' because teach brings up this image of kids sitting in a schoolroom, doing their 12 times table. The teacher says, "This is what you've got to do." For me, that's not teaching. For me, teaching is being able to say to somebody, "This is how I think about this particular situation. Now, you don't have to think about it in the same way I do. It's all right for you to think about it in a different way. So long as you get the same result." There are many ways of doing it. Showing, not teaching. That's what I've done all these years--still doing it. Of course, I can't travel now. Bummer.

Well, that's a plus of books, too. Books can travel for you.

Wait until you see what I'm working on at the moment.

I'm looking forward to it; I've enjoyed these first two so much. Tell us about one of your favorite scenes in Hill of Dreams.

What is my favorite scene? I think it would have to be when he meets Bella, the dragon. The Naghareem, the last dragon of all. And to hear her say, "You have come to kill me, and that is what you must do, for that will set me free." I don't know how many times I re-wrote that, and every time it ended up with the same thing, "You have come to kill me." I couldn't get away from it.

I must admit, I was crying in a waiting room reading that scene.

That's exactly what I wanted, for people to feel and know the dragons had come to this planet to share what they had with us. People were so jealous that they could fly when humans couldn't. They had courage where humans didn't. This has been so true of humanity, people have come to teach, and they have denied them. "I don't do it, and I can't do it, and I'm not going to let you teach me."

The one that was most difficult to write was the last one. I was right in the middle of that when it dawned on me, and I hadn't realized that before, when you face the 42 assessors, they are all you. You are the only one who can forgive yourself.

Those were both hard. One because it tore my emotions apart. The other one--I kept thinking about Ernest, I felt him very close. The only one who can judge you is you. So that's my favorite.

This series offers a very different view on the Arthurian legends. You see it in a different way than the classic books.

We never fight, my editor John Matthews and I, but he kept saying, "You're making Mordred sort of likable." There is a time that he and Thomas meet at the gate. It was an old way, before a battle, that the two sides would meet and share a meal. Then they'd get up and go kill each other. I wanted to show people that there's always a reason that things happen.

My characters are very real to me. I listen to them. I watch them like I'm watching a film. When they say something, I go, "Oh, that's good," and I write it down.

Everybody has an axe to grind in the Arthurian tales. It's been told so many different ways by so many different people. This is mine. I'm making no apologies.

I set up three areas. Camelot is there. Then there's Tir na Nog, with the fae. And there's the Mystery of Men. Thomas is told when the time comes, those three roads will open, and you can choose. You can be in Camelot with those you know; you can choose Tir na Nog and those you have such a strong tie to, or the Mystery road, the Mystery of Humanity. That will be the ending of the whole thing in the third book, The Ring of Swords. And the end of one of my favorite characters as well.

I see in a lot of creative criticism around movies and books today, a rejection of: these stories are all about kings and monarchs, and isn't this propping up an old form of government? The archetypes, whether it's Disney princesses or books like this, that hereditary bloodline, that position of royalty, it speaks to everyone. It's assumed to be a very elitist thing, but everyone feels some connection to it.

In a sense, what you are is a country. You are created out of earth and fire, water and air, all the different bits and pieces. You rule that country; you decide what you're going to do with your life (though sometimes life decides for you). But you decide whether you're going to be a meat-eater or a vegan, you decide whether you're going to be a drunk. You can say, "Well, I've got a penis, but I really don't want to use that. I am a woman." You have that right, now, to say, this I what I will do. And a woman has the right to say, "I want to be more masculine." And that's okay. We've only just begun to look at this.

You can be that because this body is your country. You are the ruler of that country. You can guide it; you can let it down, you can destroy it. But you can also lead a decent life; you can help others. It's all up to you. That is I think always when I've been teaching. I've said, "This is what I know, what I feel, what I have found out, what I believe in, what I've experienced. But that's all I can do. I can't tell you what to believe. You must find the way that is right for you."

That's a great way to see why that sovereignty archetype is so powerful and why the princess-to-queen or prince-to-king journey speaks to us. The process of becoming the kings and queens of our lives is a gradual one, since as children, obviously we don't have much control, and we get bits of it at a time. You have these checkpoints, but you don't suddenly gain full sovereignty. Thank you.

You've said that the character Thomas is named for your grandson. How alike are they? You know, does waking-world Thomas love terriers?

He hasn't got a dog. I chose terriers because a friend of mine has two of them. They are lovable; they are called Merlin and Nimue. If I was young again and I was going to have a dog, I love Highland Terriers, Westies. On the other hand, I also have had Bearded Collies, which are wonderful but take a lot of grooming. If it has four legs, I love it. If it has eight, no. I also love snakes.

The Guardians all have shapeshifting powers. What form would you choose if you could change into an animal form?

An owl. Where my daughter lives in the UK, there's a sanctuary for hawks and owls; they have a pair of snowy owls. I love owls. The silence when they spread their wings. And when they are little, they are beautiful. And baby hedgehogs are adorable. I'm so glad that when we give birth, the children don't have prickles. If I'm coming back as an animal, it's not a hedgehog.

Is there any place that readers might visit that is like the Singing Stones? There are so many ancient sites in the UK, which one or two would you most recommend visiting?

The cover photo of The Singing Stones is Callanish, and it's on the Isle of Lewis up in Scotland. On the border with Scotland, there's Long Meg and her Daughters. At least 4 or 5 in Exmoor, in Cornwall you've got the Maiden Tor, you can literally fall over standing stones in England. Believe it or not, Stonehenge can be a real turnoff.

Further down, the stone circle at Avebury is quite nice. It's still a bit stale. I chose Callanish because it's still very powerful. It has a feel about it of ancient times. When you set foot in England, there's any amount of books to get you there. Tell people to go to The Atlantis Bookshop in Museum Street, London, ask for Geraldine, and say, "Dolores sent me."

What's your next project after the book series? You said there's a new book coming along?

I've got to finish this novel, which frankly, it scares the shit out of me. I started writing it in the early 90s, and I put it down in 1998 and said, "I can't do this." A friend of mine came across it, and there were about 150 pages done, and he bugged me to finish it. He's a man whose intelligence I envy. He finally said, "If you write it, I'll edit it." Because my typing is terrible. Not only am I short-sighted, but I can't touch type.

He and his wife, they are so supportive. They ring me every single night. They're as close to me and my son and daughter in many ways. I would never be afraid to say, "Steve, I need this. Carol, can you come over?"

I've got to finish Ring of Swords first. Then this new book. It's over 300 pages now, and I think it will take another 300 to finish it. I just need to take it slowly, because it's a biggie.

I've got a children's one I'm just itching to get to; it's called The Bridge to Anywhere. It's about a boy called Zachary; his father is Welsh, the mother is bi-racial. Father brings him back to Wales after a tragic accident. He's bullied at school because he doesn't look like everyone else, and he limps. There's an old manor house, and a broken bridge over an untidy overgrown river. Zachary is shy, and he makes friends with a crow and a water rat.

One day he walks out on the bridge and almost falls. He gets back and is gasping and shaking and recovering, when the water rat comes up and says, "That was a very silly thing to do." And the crow says, "What were you trying to do, anyway?"

As he makes closer friends with the crow and the water rat, he asks, "Why is the bridge broken? Why doesn't anybody repair it?" The water rat says, "The bridge isn't broken. When the right person crosses it, it's all there." "Where does it go?" he asks. "Anywhere," says the crow. And that's the beginning.

I like how Charlie and Laura are both part of Thomas and support his growth.

In book two, Hill of Dreams, Thomas starts out in Cambridge. Charlie just came out of nowhere. Thomas seemed to be friends with all the others, but I heard another voice. It said, "I wish I was more like him; I wish I could talk to people like that. I'd love to be able to talk to him." Because he has no idea that Thomas's got a title, he's very wealthy. Charlie makes a supreme effort to reach out, and they end up on a journey together.

I wanted someone totally unlike Thomas, but who had the inner knowledge and desire… he's born to do what he wants to do. They're two entirely different types, yet they are able to reach out and offer something to the other that they each need. Charlie has a gift for language--speaks Latin, speaks Middle English. I had such fun with the time that Thomas finally opens up to Charlie and shows him who he really is.

To see this scene, I turned the computer off. I pictured Thomas standing outdoors, looking at the sunset, with Charlie behind him. Thomas thinks, "Charlie, I really need you to believe this. You've got a strength in you that I don't have." As this is going through his head, he flows into the change.

That just stuns Charlie, but it doesn't frighten him off. He knows instinctively. And that really finishes the chapter… it's almost a cliffhanger, and a bridge to the next idea in the story that gives you what you need to get across.

Honestly, writing is so much fun! I've been given such a gift, that at 91 I've got all my marbles, and I can still talk about all the things that are important to me, and I can still work 8-9 hours a day about writing. I love it so.

Where and when can people get the new book?

The Singing Stones and The Hill of Dreams are available in all the usual places, in Barnes and Noble or Amazon or Bookshop.org, as is my book for youngsters, My First Book of Magic, which was published last year.