Janell Rhiannon
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What It Means to Be a Matriarchist Storyteller

11/2/2025

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When I started writing The Homeric Chronicles, I never set out to rewrite Greek mythology through a modern filter. I wanted to live inside it—to walk with these characters, to feel the salt air of Troy and the ash of their choices. Over time, I realized what I was really doing wasn’t feminist or revisionist. It was something older, deeper. It was matriarchist.

To me, being a matriarchist storyteller means restoring balance to stories that have tilted too long in one direction, or the other. It means holding compassion for both the men and the women who shaped this ancient world we love—the warriors and the weavers, the kings and the queens. It’s understanding that everyone walks through fire and that almost no one has to stay in the dark forever.


When we 1977–1980s kids watched Luke discover that Darth Vader was his father—and later learned that Vader had once been a boy who loved the stars and flying—we were beyond shocked and heartbroken. What would those kids have given to stop Anakin from turning to the dark side? To let him raise Luke and Leia with Padmé and live happily ever after?
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In a world where men and women seek, strive, and weep—where we all want love, forgiveness, and redemption—we need our old stories to remind us that it isn’t always hopeless. That we can rise, no matter our circumstances, and become better versions of ourselves—for our families, our friends, and for the ones we love.
 
I love these characters fiercely. I really do. I take them through the fire, yes—but I also bring them back into light, redemption, and humanity (most of them). The White Island is the culmination of that journey: a story about legacy, forgiveness, and what remains after the war is over.

As I prepare to release The White Island and its paperback edition by Christmas, I feel like I’m finally naming what I’ve been all along—a matriarchist reteller of myth. Not rewriting history, but remembering it in full.

The Homeric Chronicles has always been about balance, consequence, and love that outlasts empires. And now, I’m thrilled to share that vision more clearly than ever.

Copyright © 2025 Janell Rhiannon. All rights reserved.



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Trojan War Timeline Podcast Notes

10/13/2018

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Listen to the full episode at Greek Mythology Retold Podcast

Hello fellow myth lovers! I’m so excited to share with you the Greek world of the Homeric Chronicles. If you watched the movie Troy and loved it, or felt like you wanted more...If you’re currently watching the BBC One Troy: Fall of a City (or waiting for it to hit your Netflix playlist), this podcast is for you. You’re a Myrmidon. Basically, if you love Greek mythology in any form you’ve come to the right place. Shall we get started?
 
When I first began toying with the idea it was...what if you could read about all the mythological stories as one seamless tale? I thought, what if George RR Martin was telling it? It would be EPIC! CRAZY HUGE! Can you imagine the cast of characters? It’d be a celebrity Who’s Who of the ancient myth-historic Greek world. And because I love these stories, I got to thinking...what if I wrote it? No way, I can’t do that. Then, I thought, you have a degree in history, why not try? And the Homeric Chronicles was born.
 
That left me with the million dollar question: Where to start? How to begin? After piles of research, 25 gray hairs carefully dyed dark brown, and a bazillion cups of coffee later, I realized exactly where I needed to start: with Homer. But not just some retelling that was meant to get you to the “great war” or to take you through the bizarre journeys of Odysseus back to Ithaka...It needed to be MORE. Much more! But, Homer’s work in the Iliad and Odyssey definitely provide the backbone. I wove many other stories that touched on the characters in Homer’s work into the structure of the spine. The major heroes and heroines of Homer’s tales are entwined with so many other characters I had to dig deep, b/c it’s chronological, I had to make some hard choices. The original myth-makers weren’t worried about telling stories that made chronological sense outside of the story they were reciting. But for the Homeric Chronicles to be what I envisioned that’s exactly what I had to do.
 
I wanted to include the regulars: Achilles, Paris, Hektor, Odysseus, Menelaus, Agamemnon, Helen, Hecuba, Cassandra, Andromache, Leda, Deidamia, Priam, Tyndareus, Peleus, Thetis, and Chiron just to name a few. And include characters like Palamedes, the poor guy who unfortunately pissed off Odysseus, Tantalus the first husband of Clytemnestra, Oenone Paris’s first wife, Peisidike the Methymnaan princess in love with Achilles, well, you get the picture. Now, I was tasked with putting the myths in chronological order, and keeping them all easy to connect with.
 
It wasn’t until I fell in love with GRRM’s SOIAF that I knew structuring a story of this epic scale was possible. I take you along several characters’ journeys through five major kingdoms. And after the movie Troy ruthlessly cut them out (and I wonder if David Benioff wishes now that he hadn’t), I put the pantheon of gods and goddesses back in there.

On to chronology: The first chronological hiccup involved Helen, Paris and Achilles. Let’s start with Paris, in particular: the Judgment of Paris. Most people familiar with the story assume that Paris gives the judgment of the fairest goddess to Aphrodite and leaves to Sparta not long after. But, it just doesn’t make sense that way, not in the context of the larger EPIC tale. Let me explain:
 
The golden apple contest that caused the Athena, Aphrodite and Hera to seek Paris as the judge occurred at the wedding feast of Peleus and Thetis. These are Achilles parents. So, Achilles, the greatest fighter of all the Greeks has NOT been born yet. He’s the star of the Iliad. So, the judgment of Paris takes place soon after the wedding feast, before Achilles is conceived and born. Why does this matter? Because, we have to wait at least 15 to 18 years for Achilles to grow up, get trained, and father a son, Neoptolemus, BEFORE Odysseus can discover him on Skyros, dressed like a girl and call our hero into action. This means two things: Paris has to be at least 15-18 years old to be considered MAN enough to judge the goddesses (he’s not an 8 yr old judging 3 of the most powerful females in the story); therefore, Paris is 15-18 years older than Achilles. Most movies and books depict Paris and Achilles about the same age, or as in Troy make Paris much younger than Achilles. It’s all wrong. Paris is definitely Achilles’ elder.
 
That raises the next logical question: When does Paris meet and woo Helen? Because that is the EVENT that brings the Argives, Achaeans, Danaans to Troy. Paris couldn’t have taken off with Helen any time soon following the judgment because that would mean Paris and Helen would’ve been in Troy for years before Menelaus even tried to get her back...B/C we’d be waiting for Achilles to get born and come of age. Even if you take the whole Paris and Helen get lost in Egypt into consideration that still leaves too many years in between the kidnapping and the attempted rescue. Remember, no matter what, Achilles has to be old enough to lead the Myrmidons and have fathered a child before he goes to Troy, as other prophecies depend on it.

My research took me to Apollodorus (a 2nd century AD compilation of ancient texts) which states in 3.13.8 that Achilles was 9 when he was taken to Skyros, because Odysseus was looking for him due to a prophecy by Agamemnon’s seer, Kalchus. There is some consensus that Achilles left Skyros at about 15. But let’s break this down chronologically and logically.
 
1. If Odysseus is looking for Achilles when Achilles is 9 and that’s why Thetis hid him as a girl, then he has to be hiding there for years before he’s old enough to get the princess Deidamia pregnant. So, for all these years, what are the Greeks under assembled under Agamemnon’s banner doing in Aulis? Twiddling their thumbs? Sewing sails? Getting sunburns? If the consensus is correct (and we have to make choices to be consistent) at least 6 years (give or take) have to pass until Odysseus finds Achilles.
 
2. I recall reading that there were TWO calls to war that met at Aulis...the first one which assembled the Greek tribes went to Aulis was a bust b/c they needed Achilles, so everyone went home and waited...then returned...years later? after Achilles was found? This doesn’t make any sense...it would’ve been a monumental feat getting that many ships and men from all across the Greek world assembled just once, but twice? And in all his searching, Odysseus never makes it back to Ithaka to sneak a little love time in with Penelope? I don’t buy it.
 
3. What makes sense in the human and mytho-historic terms is that Achilles is 9 when he goes to Skyros with Thetis fully aware about Achilles’ dual fate, and that some day he’d have a huge decision to make. When the call to Aulis came, 6 or so years later, that’s when Odysseus and Ajax find him. It gives time for him to grow up, father a son. I do give Achilles a few more years, rounding out his age at 18. Why? Because I used the historic figure, Alexander the Great, as a model. Alexander distinguished himself at Chaeronea at 18, so makes sense that a young man at 18 could indeed be seen to lead an army of warriors (Myrmidons).
 
 Well, Myrmidons, times up for today. Up next time let’s take a deeper look into Helen’s age and how placing her story in chronological sequence was challenging, but not impossible.
 
For now--
What do you think about Paris being 18 years older than Achilles? that Helen couldn’t have been born at the time of the judgment?
How do you think a comprehensive timeline will change up the Greek myths as you know them?

Listen to the full episode at Greek Mythology Retold Podcast
You can find out by reading the Homeric Chronicles 
Song of Sacrifice and Rise of Princes
Love to hear your thoughts, answer questions, and connect with my fellow Greek mythology lovers.
Join my mailing list for updates and Greeky things!
 
Until next time, let’s take the advice given to Menelaus in the Cypria: “know that the gods made wine the best thing for mortal man to scatter cares.” Drink your wine and be merry Myrmidons.

© 2018, revised 2026 Janell Rhiannon. All rights reserved.

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Dice Games, Achilles and Ajax

3/21/2017

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Sometimes people think being an historian is all about names and dates and politics, but it’s so much more. My favorite thing about studying ancient Greece is getting to a museum and looking at all the pottery. You get to see these beautiful works of art close up. Pictures just don't do justice to the sheer size of some of the pottery. My favorite place on the west coast to gaze at antiquities is the Getty Museum in Malibu, California. If you get a chance to go, you should. It's amazing not only for its art work, but because it's an actual replica of wealthy Roman villa complete with gardens and a giant pool.

While writing the Homeric Chronicles, I reference amphorae quite a bit because these vessels were commonly used to store wine, oil, and water much the way we use Tupperware. So, one vessel that intrigues me is the two handled amphora depicting Achilles and Ajax playing dice while trying to relax during the Trojan War. The vessel is from the Archaic Period (525-520 BCE).

I love this scene and decided to reference it in Rise of Princes, book two of the Homeric Chronicles. Playing dice humanizes the Greek heroes, making them reachable characters because they too needed reprieve from stress and bad days, as well as the grinding hardships of war. Enjoy the video :)


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Start your journey with the Homeric Chronicles grab Song of Sacrifice today!

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Hecuba’s Plea: Motherhood and Breastfeeding in Homer’s Iliad

7/13/2016

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In our modern American society, there remains a strange discomfort around a woman baring her breast—even briefly—when breastfeeding. I’ve always found this reaction curious. Breastfeeding is one of the most natural acts a woman can perform. It is, quite simply, what the body was made to do. So what, exactly, are people afraid of when they see a mother nursing her child? That it might somehow be inappropriate? That something inherently life-giving could be mistaken for something else entirely?

Perhaps it says more about our cultural lens than the act itself. Maybe it’s time we question the unease rather than the mother.

Since the earliest days of humanity, women have nourished their children this way—openly, instinctively, without shame. One of the oldest known human figures, the Venus of Willendorf (dating from roughly 30,000–25,000 BCE), emphasizes full breasts and hips—symbols not of modesty, but of power, fertility, and the ability to sustain life.

So what does this have to do with mythology, Homer, and The Homeric Chronicles?

According to the 2015 article “Breastfeeding in the Course of History” published in the Journal of Pediatrics & Neonatal Care, breastfeeding held deep cultural and symbolic value in ancient Mesopotamia and Greece, with numerous references appearing in mythology. From my own reading of the Iliad, the Odyssey, and other sources, this holds true. In the ancient world, breast milk was not merely nourishment—it was sacred. The act of nursing was essential, intimate, and worthy of reverence.

The article goes on to note that it was not until the 20th century, when formula companies rose to prominence, that public perception began to shift, and mothers were increasingly made to feel shame around an act that had once been honored.

This brings me to one of the most powerful scenes in the The Iliad. As Hektor prepares to face Achilles, knowing it will likely mean his death, his father, King Priam, begs him not to go. He grieves the sons he has already lost and fears the loss of his heir. But it is Hecuba’s plea that cuts deepest.
She does not speak as a queen but as a mother.

She bares her breast and begs her son to remember what she gave him from the beginning: life. Through that gesture, she invokes something older than war, older than honor—the sacred bond between mother and child. It is not a political plea. It is not even a rational one. It is elemental.
And it is powerful.

Throughout The Homeric Chronicles, I return to this motif—the breast, the act of nursing—as a symbol of that sacred connection. It is intimate. It is primal. It is life-giving. So when Hecuba is unable to nurse her second son, Paris, it becomes a quiet but profound wound. That loss stands in contrast to the deep, embodied bond she shared with Hektor, and it shapes her choices as a mother moving forward. She refuses a nursemaid for her later children, determined to preserve that connection for herself.
Because in a world of war, prophecy, and the will of the gods, there are still things that belong solely to the mother and the life she gives.

If you enjoy this post or Greek Mythology check out the Homeric Chronicles
​or listen to an episode of Greek Mythology Retold Podcast.
© Janell Rhiannon 2016

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Paris and Helen: Chronicling Mythology

7/6/2016

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When I first began toying with the idea...what if you could see the mythological stories surrounding the major figures of the Homeric tales (the Iliad and the Odyssey) in a seamless telling? The cast of characters is a celebrity Who’s Who in the world of ancient Greece: Achilles, Paris, Hektor, and Odysseus. But, you can’t begin to tell their stories without reaching beyond what Homer provides and dig into other mythological cannon to discover more about Helen, Hecuba, Cassandra, Andromache, Leda, Deidamia, Priam, Agamemnon, Menelaus, Tyndareus, Peleus, Thetis, and Chiron. Then, there’s the pantheon of gods and goddesses to contend with. The major heroes of Homer’s tales are entwined with other characters and to get a sense of how that’s even possible, I had to dig deep and make some choices.
 
I used the events of the Iliad and the Odyssey as the backbone of the chronological story. But after days of compiling data, I realized the task was much more difficult than it seemed. The original storytellers weren’t trying to make chronological sense of the various stories. The first glitch was the Paris and Helen myth. Everyone who’s familiar with the story assumes that Paris gives the judgment of the fairest to Aphrodite, who has promised him the love of the most beautiful woman in the world, Helen of Sparta. Soon after, Paris goes to Sparta and absconds with Helen and sails back to Troy. This widely held assumption is, well, wrong. Let’s examine why.
 
The golden apple event that occurred was at the wedding feast of Peleus and Thetis. These are Achilles parents. So, Achilles, the greatest fighter of all the Greeks has NOT been born yet. He’s the star of the Iliad. The Muse sings about his wrath, his undoing of character after Agamemnon humiliates him and his cousin and comrade, Patrokles, was killed. So, the judgment Paris gives about who the “fairest” goddess is takes place soon after the wedding feast, before Achilles is conceived or born. Bottom line, we have to wait at least 15 years for Achilles to grow up, get trained, and father a son BEFORE Odysseus can discover him on Skyros, dressed like a girl and call our hero into action. This means two things: Paris has to be at least 15-18 years old to be considered MAN enough to judge the female flesh; therefore, he’s 15-18 years older than Achilles. Most movies and books depict Paris and Achilles about the same age. But they can’t be. Paris is definitely his elder.
 
The other question in this story is: When does Paris meet and woo Helen? And how old is Helen? Paris couldn’t have taken off with her any time soon following the judgment because that would mean they’d be in Troy for years before Menelaus even tried to get her back. Even if you take the whole jaunt to Egypt bit seriously, that still leaves too many years in between the kidnapping and the attempted rescue. Remember, no matter what, Achilles has to be old enough to lead the Myrmidons (some sources say Achilles was 15 when he went to Troy. (I gave him a few more years to make it more plausible, using Alexander the Great as a close model. Alexander led his first troops into major battle, under his father’s command,  at Chaeronea at age 18). So, if Helen were already born and left with Paris shortly after the judgment, she’d be away in Troy for 15-18 years before Menelaus went for her because he’d have to wait for Achilles to be born and grow up. That makes no sense.
 
Also, there is the first kidnapping Helen endures by Theseus when she was just a young girl, probably pre-teen around 12 or 13. She’s the  hostage of the king of Athens, or rather his mother’s hostage, until she’s eventually rescued by her brothers, Pollux and Caster, and taken safely back to Troy. She is married to Menelaus shortly after this event to secure her safety and the safety of Sparta. Menelaus did not marry an old maid. Helen would have been about 15-18 years old. This is the young queen of Sparta who was seduced by a much older Paris. Their elopement/kidnapping is the precipitating event of the Trojan War. This is the dogma of the mythology surrounding Troy that we can’t alter. Therefore, Helen is most likely Achilles age. She would’ve had to been born about 15-18 years before the ships launch to rescue her. Achilles would’ve had to been born at least 15-18 years before he led the Myrmidons across the sea to Troy. Paris is in his 28-30 and Helen and Achilles are contemporaries at 15-18 years of age.
 
This means Paris has an entire life he lived as a man, long enough to be abandoned by Priam, raised by Agelaus, married to his first wife, a nymph named Oenone and to have a son with her named Corythus. He also had to be discovered by Priam and re-embraced as family. Then sent by Priam to rescue Hesione, Priam’s sister, who was kidnapped by Herakles...you get the picture. One thread wraps around another thread and so on. And yes, some times the “trying to make sense of it” turns what we think we know on its head.
 
I read a review of Song of Princes, by Nadine Paque-Wolkow, she said, in reference to the ages of Paris, Helen and Achilles, “...this may sound like a good idea so first, but I was nervous when Paris was still a child at 30% of the book. Then there was a small leap in time, Paris is now 18, but neither Achilles nor Helena are even born. I admit that I can not recite the dates of birth of all Trojan hero from the head, but in my head [it] is all messed up, just because I already (through books and films etc.) had a picture of all. Also, I glanced back to the percentage display...Half the book was almost already read! Helena was a baby and Achill[es] five at scarce 50%. Hector but already late twenties! And there are still decades until the big final battle of both the gates of Troy! For me, most people had therefore a completely wrong age and everything felt ... wrong and strange.” I think a lot of readers may also have this initial dissonance about the dates and timeline, because most films and books haven’t tried to put a logical chronology to the mythology. (I have a very detailed timeline in the front of the book.) I’ve tried to do just that. By leaving the seduction/kidnapping/eloping of Helen with Paris as the definitive catalyst of the war, it has made several other elements of the entire story sync together in a way most people haven’t thought of, or even entertained. That and there are the many fragments and other sources for these characters besides Homer that had to be integrated.
 
And if that doesn’t get your stars in a twinkle, think about this. The Iliad begins almost a decade after the ships disembarked from Aulis for Troy, making every hero and heroine ten years older when we read about them, than when they set out on the adventure. They are all full grown men and women by the time we see them in action in Homer’s tales. I welcome comments and questions. And again, I thank Nadine for her thoughtful and detailed review of book one of the Homeric Chronicles. It certainly made me get this blog about the timeline question out in a timely fashion :)
 
Here’s the link to Nadine’s original post. It’s in German, but you can easily translate it to English in Google Translate. Happy reading!!
http://meineliteratour.blogspot.de/2016/07/rezension-song-of-princes.html

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© Janell Rhiannon 2016
Any information from this blog must be properly cited :)
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Forging the Timeline of Troy

6/22/2016

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There was a time when I used to joke that I wished I could date Achilles. Strong. Golden. Fierce. Ruthless when it mattered. The kind of man myth remembers, and the kind history warns us about. Achilles is both the glory and the grief of the Iliad, the warrior whose brilliance burned as hot as the fires of Troy itself.

As I began writing The Homeric Chronicles, I quickly realized the story I wanted to tell was far larger than enthusiasm alone could carry. I was not ready, not yet. I needed years of reading, years of writing, and the courage to confront the full scope of these stories: war and love, blood and longing, triumph and ruin. Greek myth does not flinch from the extremes of human experience, and neither could I.

From the beginning, my vision was to create a sweeping narrative, one vast and interconnected epic in which the lives of heroes and heroines converge at Troy and ripple outward into the generations that follow. That vision demanded structure, and structure demanded chronology. I found myself pulling at strands of myth, tracing lineages, comparing fragments, and piecing together events that had never before been fully aligned into a continuous historical arc.

The late George Shipway, author of Warrior in Bronze, once warned readers that “...it would be a rash scribbler who ventured on definite dates.” I became that rash scribbler, though not recklessly. With sources spread across my desk and timelines scratched into notebooks, I began the long labor of ordering myth into sequence. Shipway’s own timeline falls only about seventeen years from mine, a reminder that serious minds approaching the same material often arrive at strikingly similar conclusions.

Writing realistic mythology is no simple task, especially Greek mythology, where the broad outlines of the stories are already familiar to so many readers. The challenge is not invention, but interpretation. Not distortion, but illumination.

From the outset, I made a deliberate choice. I would not twist the myths into alternate endings, nor shift the focus onto minor observers to retell familiar tales from the margins. I had no interest in merely repeating the Iliad and the Odyssey in prose. Those stories already exist in their immortal form.
Instead, The Homeric Chronicles was conceived as something different: a chronological epic that follows the rise of kingdoms, the forging of alliances, the breaking of oaths, and the relentless pull of prophecy that draws heroes toward Troy and beyond.

To build this world, I relied not only on myth, but on history. Archaeological data from Troy, Asia Minor, and mainland Greece shaped geography and culture. Scholarly literature informed political structure and material life. My own training as a historian became the foundation beneath the narrative itself.

The result is a living synthesis of myth and history, an unfolding saga in which legend walks alongside evidence, and prophecy collides with human choice.

If you are ready to step into that world, begin where destiny itself begins, with the births of Paris and Achilles in Song of Princes, Book One of The Homeric Chronicles.

Available in Kindle and paperback on Amazon.

Copyright © 2016, revised 2026 Janell Rhiannon. All rights reserved.
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Achilles: The Warrior Who Chose Glory Over Time

5/9/2015

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Achilles stands at the center of the Trojan War tradition as the greatest warrior of the Bronze Age, a figure whose name endured long after the collapse of kingdoms and the fading of empires. Even Alexander the Great admired Achilles, keeping a copy of The Iliad close at hand as both inspiration and mirror. For centuries, readers and scholars alike have wrestled with a single question: were these heroes purely myth, or echoes of real men whose stories were shaped by memory and song?
Historian Barry Strauss addresses this question in The Trojan War, noting that names are among the easiest elements of oral tradition to preserve across generations. Their survival suggests the possibility that figures like Achilles may have roots in historical memory, even if their stories were later transformed into epic poetry. That possibility alone is enough to keep scholars, writers, and readers returning to the tale again and again.

What makes Achilles endure is not simply his strength, but his humanity. He was passionate, stubborn, brilliant, and reckless. He loved as fiercely as he fought. At the heart of his story lies one of the most universal struggles in human history: the search for purpose. Achilles knew from the beginning that his life would be short. He understood that his choice was not between life and death, but between obscurity and immortality through glory. That choice—between time and renown—defines the arc of his life.

Achilles represents the passionate side of human nature ruled not by caution, but by conviction. His bond with Patroclus has been debated for centuries, yet Homer leaves their relationship deliberately undefined. What remains clear is their loyalty. They trained together, fought together, and relied on one another in the brutal uncertainty of Bronze Age warfare. Their connection reflects a warrior culture built on trust, honor, and shared survival rather than modern labels imposed centuries later.
Achilles also formed powerful attachments to women whose lives became bound to his own fate. While hidden among the court of King Lycomedes on the island of Skyros, Achilles met Deidamia. Their relationship began in youth and produced a son, Neoptolemus, whose destiny would later intertwine with the fall of Troy.

Years later, during the campaigns that preceded the siege, Achilles captured Briseis, princess of Lyrnessus. Over time, she became more than spoils of war. Within the traditions preserved in epic and later literature, their relationship developed into one marked by attachment, grief, and loss. Her removal by decree of Agamemnon sparked the crisis that set the tragedy of the Iliad into motion.
The conflict forced Achilles into a devastating decision. When Briseis was taken from him, the insult struck at both his honor and his identity. His withdrawal from battle reshaped the course of the war, allowing Hector to drive Greek forces back toward the sea. The chain of events that followed remains one of the most tragic in epic tradition.

Patroclus, seeing the Greeks falter, begged Achilles to lend him his armor so he could rally the troops. Achilles agreed, and that decision altered everything. Hector killed Patroclus, believing him to be Achilles himself. When Achilles learned the truth, grief ignited into rage, and rage returned him to the battlefield.

The duel between Achilles and Hector became inevitable.

In the end, Achilles fulfilled every prophecy tied to his fate. His return to battle restored Greek strength, but it also sealed his destiny. Though he achieved undying fame, the cost was irreversible. Those he loved were lost, and the glory he sought came only through sacrifice.
Perhaps that is why Achilles continues to resonate across generations. His story is not simply about war, but about identity, purpose, love, and loss. He embodies the dangerous beauty of choosing greatness at the expense of time.

And in the end, it was love—not weakness—that shaped his fate.
Love for Patroclus.
Love for Briseis.
Love for honor.
That, perhaps, was his true Achilles' heel.

— Janell Rhiannon
© 2015, revised 2026
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Book Comparisons for The Homeric Chronicles: Epic Fantasy with Mythic Depth

8/11/2014

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From time to time I get asked what books might compare to The Homeric Chronicles, and I always come back to the same idea. I love epic fantasy that operates on a grand scale, where individual emotions matter just as much as sweeping wars and the rise and fall of kingdoms.

One comparison that often comes to mind is The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller. Not because the stories are identical, but because of the emotional depth. I’ve always admired the way that novel focuses on the inner lives of legendary figures and reminds us that even the greatest heroes are still human at heart. That emotional core is something I try to carry into my own retellings.

On a broader scale, the series also shares DNA with A Game of Thrones by George R. R. Martin. Like Martin’s world, The Homeric Chronicles follows multiple characters across shifting alliances, rival kingdoms, and generational consequences. No single perspective tells the whole story. Instead, the world unfolds through many voices, each carrying their own loyalties and burdens.

And in spirit, there is also a thread that reminds me of Red Rising by Pierce Brown. Not in setting, but in momentum and consequence. Choices ripple outward. War changes people. Characters are pushed to their limits, shaped by violence, loyalty, ambition, and the heavy cost of survival.

At the heart of it all, my goal has always been to combine emotional intimacy with epic scope. Stories that feel personal, but unfold on a scale worthy of legend.

--Janell Rhiannon
© 2014, revised 2026 Janell Rhiannon. All rights reserved.


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How Soundtracks Inspire My Writing: Music as a Storytelling Muse

8/7/2014

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For me, music has always been part of storytelling. Not just background noise, but a kind of doorway into emotion. More often than not, it is soundtracks that pull me in the deepest. Instrumental music has a way of opening space in my imagination without crowding it with words.

When I sit down to write, I rarely begin in silence. I begin with music. A single track can set the tone for an entire scene. A rising swell of strings can feel like marching toward battle. A soft piano can carry grief, memory, or longing without a single line of dialogue written yet. Sometimes I will play the same track over and over until the rhythm of it feels like the heartbeat of the chapter I am working on.

Soundtracks, especially, feel like they were made for storytellers. They are written to carry emotion without explanation. They hold tension, triumph, sorrow, and hope in pure sound. When I listen, I start to see images. A shoreline at dawn. Armor catching the light. A mother standing at the gates as her son walks away to war. The music helps me feel the moment before I ever put it into words.

There are times when a particular soundtrack becomes tied to a character or a storyline. I hear the music, and suddenly I understand their mood, their fear, their determination. It becomes easier to step into their world because the sound has already prepared the emotional ground.

In many ways, music is my quiet collaborator. It does not write the words for me, but it helps me feel the story before I shape it. And for a writer working in epic worlds filled with memory, loss, and legend, that emotional connection is everything.

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 2014, revised 2026 Janell Rhiannon. All rights reserved.
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    Janell Rhiannon
    Historian, Author, & Podcaster 


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