I've missed a couple of weeks--my apologies. The work in my MA in Publishing program is much more than I anticipated. I love it though. I'm in a great cohort, and I'm learning a lot. The big team project for that program is the publication of an original anthology. We're doing everything from start to finish, and the book will then be distributed by WordFire Press. Our theme is Merciless Mermaids: Tails from the Deep. We published our call for submissions a few weeks ago. It's still open, and you can find it here. Give it a shot!
I'm not allowed to submit, of course, being one of the editors. Instead, I've written a mermaid (OK, a merman) story here. It's inspired by:
BTW, the StoryBundle my novel, The Ghost of Mackey House, was in just finished yesterday. We sold 344 bundles! Thanks to all who picked it up.
The shoreline seemed to split the world in half. Above, in the human world, golden banks climbed from the water’s edge to the line of trees bearing their fall finery in red and gold. They stretched their arms up to the crystal-clear sky dusted with whisps of fairy-wing clouds. I let loose a trilling song toward the house that sat, quiet above the shore.
To my surprise, the leaves above the rocky point parted and my love stepped into the slanting rays of the sun. Her hair blended perfectly with the backdrop of the yellow aspens. Her pale skin glowed in the morning light, and the susurration of the light breeze through their leaves was the perfect counterpoint to the melody of her voice.
On our first meeting, she stood naked, poised to dive into my domain, when I poked my head above the surface. Her scream echoed off the distant hills as she ran to her shack. Chagrined, I returned for several days, but she didn’t, and I feared I had lost her.
Then, wonder of wonders, she appeared again, carrying a small box in one hand and a pail in the other. From the pail, she took a small fish and threw it high in the air toward me. Playing along, I leapt high into the poisonous air and snatched it with a webbed hand. I didn’t notice, that first time, the clicking coming from the box she held up to her face. I simply sang out my thanks.
Our frequent meetings followed the same pattern, and over the weeks, her shack on the shore grew as if alive into a quaint, whitewashed home. Today, though, a buzzing in the air became a great roaring wind that dropped a heavy net and turned my love into her betrayal.