Writer Tammie J. Burnsed

Family, Friends, Flowers, Doggies, Art, The Moon and the Sea.

What more could a writer want?

About Tammie

Tammie has been writing stories, poems and plays for as long as she can remember. In the middle of a satisfying career as a massage therapist, she followed a calling to return to college and her first love—writing. In 2008, T.J. earned an MFA from Goddard College. Today, writing is both her passion and her profession.


After years of internal conflict over the fundamentalist teachings of her childhood, Tammie came to the Goddess path when she "accidentally" attended a women's Full-Moon ritual in 1990. There she discovered that witches were not at all what her upbringing had taught. Having walked on both sides of mainstream religion, Tammie understands what it's like to be judged as odd, or even dangerous because of one's spiritual beliefs. This understanding inspires her to write for and about those who dance to a different beat—the heartbeat of Mother Earth.


Tammie has had short stories and non-fiction works published in a number of print and online outlets including Sage Woman Magazine, Tolosa Press and Familiar. She especially enjoys writing stories about strong, flawed female characters who foster a deep connection to their environment.


Tammie lives in California with her husband of 31 years. When not writing or making family memories, she enjoys creating mixed media art from her hoard of ephemera and doing her best to deserve the love of her four-legged friends.  





This cover is just a mockup to keep me inspired while I write. But something like it someday! A writer can hope.

Moonlight, Mugwort and Murder:

A Runa Bishop Mystery

Tammie is currently revising her third novel, "Moonlight, Mugwort and Murder" and hopes to soon enter the hopefully not-to-grueling process of finding an agent who loves Runa has much as she does. Tammie has a total of eight books planned for the Runa Bishop series, each one connecting in some way to the seasons and holidays most commonly recognized in the neo-Pagan Wheel of the Year. 


Runa is a single 30-something, living in the small California coastal town of Vista Bay. She's the proud owner of the Strange Brew coffee shop and the doubly proud granddaughter of the late Alice Bishop. Oh yes, and Runa is a witch! But not the Hollywood type who flies or defies other laws of physics. Runa is a real- life, candle-lighting, full-moon-worshipping, nature-loving witch who has recently discovered the historically friendly attitude of her beloved hometown is changing. And not for the better.


When her best friend becomes the victim of a violent crime, Runa's protective spirit--along with her long-denied intuitive power--ignites. Runa's determination to follow in the courageous footsteps of her grandmother leads her on a journey of discovery where she learns some mysteries may be better left unsolved. 


Moonlight, Mugwort and Murder combines the sleuthing fun of a cozy mystery with important topics such as inclusion, religious freedom and the value of supportive friendships among women. 


From Moonlight, Mugwort and Murder:


Losses continue to pile up after someone dies. The things grieved are greater than the absence of a single person. This is a fact only the bereaved know. There are sentimental things, like no more strawberry pancakes in bed on your birthday. Practical things, like washing all the dishes by yourself and putting them away too. And big things, like the empty places left by the people who drift away because, as it turns out, that no-longer-alive person wove the web that held your social life together.


I couldn’t help thinking about my losses as I took Gram’s china out of the buffet. I circled the soft pad of my right index finger under the rim of each pearlescent plate looking for the single chip that marred an otherwise perfect service for thirteen. Found it, a chalky divot the size of a flattened pea. With the stealth of a Vegas card dealer, I shuffled the blemished plate to the bottom of the stack. Later, I’d line up last for the post-ritual potluck and snag the chipped one for myself. Just as Gram had done. On nights when fewer women attended the full-moon observance, ol' chippy stayed out of sight in the monster-sized dish cabinet I almost always managed to stub my toe on any time I wandered through the dining room in the dark. But tonight, I expected a full circle. It was all hands on deck.