"Call of the Selkie"--An Excerpt

seal-6
Originally uploaded by Multiple fragments of tissue

Maybe it's my Scottish and Irish ancestry, but I have always been enamored by the idea of the selkie. While many people don't even seem to know what a selkie is, once you hear the typical story, you'll gasp and say, "I know that story..." Generally it features a beautiful young woman bathing naked in the sea. A young man comes up on her and finds an empty sealskin on the beach. He takes the skin and hides it from her, forbidding her to return to her home and her kin in the sea. Because she knows that he has that skin, she marries him, has children with him and plays the role of dutiful wife, until one day she finds his hiding place. Without a word to her own flesh and blood, she takes it in her arms and walks off into the sea, looking back only once with conflicting heart and lament before she disappears forever.

I wrote several stories about selkies, and here is an excerpt from one that I had published a couple of years ago when we were first getting eMuse off the ground. If you enjoy the story, I will leave a link at the end, so you can go and read it in its entirety.

"Call of the Selkie"

Despite living in the middle of farm country Pennsylvania, all of my father’s paintings were of the sea in its many guises. Each painting was a tiny piece of him that he’d left behind, the only goodbye note before he mysteriously disappeared that afternoon while I was at school. Every night after he left I sneaked into his studio, stood in the half-dark of the setting sun and tried to decipher the messages he’d left me. Orange slices of sunset slanted through the blinds behind me as I watched the raging sea roil inside the canvas. Alive and overwhelmingly real, in the silence I could hear the distant call of gulls as the waves smashed like fists upon the shore.

Eventually my mother put a lock on the door and gave me a stern lecture about putting the past behind us. She did it just to punish me. She was jealous that the paintings spoke to me, but more afraid that I might discover some hint about where he’d gone. Maybe she worried that I would follow and forget her just like he did. She hid the key so well that entry was impossible. I didn’t cry, or fight her though I needed to. I wanted to scream and tear the smug look from her face, but instead I acted like I didn’t care. She took away from me the last physical connection I had to my father, and for that I could never forgive her.

It wasn’t long after she locked the door that I began to dream myself inside the paintings. Drifting from wave to wave, surrounded by a host of sleek, grey seals, whose joyful song soared high above the waves. Around and around the seals swam in an ancient spiral dance, and then my father appeared from the edge of the circle, young again, younger than I’d ever seen him even in photographs, but his eyes always gave him away. He smiled, and it was a real smile.

“It’s time to come home,” he said.

He held out his hand, and I grasped his fingers, but as he disappeared beneath the water, the waves pushed me upward every time I tried to follow. I couldn’t follow where he went, as though the sea itself kept spitting me out. One by one the seals all disappeared and darkness drew the sun away. Alone, buoyant, wave over wave of salt musk and hundreds of miles between me and dry land, I laid back and floated beneath the endless stars while moonlight rippled silver sheets over my ocean bed.

"Call of the Selkie"

Have a great night everyone, and don't forget, tomorrow is Thankful Thursday! I'm already planning a great blog full of awesome people I can't wait to share with you.

It Has Been Done

Wax Satan
Originally uploaded by Jacob...K

So today I spent the majority of my day working on finishing up the first draft of a short story I started about three weeks ago. I finished the draft about two and a half hours ago, and as I wrapped it up, I felt slightly unhappy with how it turned it out.

I already gave myself a talking to while on the treadmill. First of all, it's a first draft, which means nothing is set in stone. It's not like I'm handing it over as is (cringes at the thought). I'm letting it rest for a couple days, and plan to pick it back up Wednesday or Thursday to read it over and see how it can be polished and improved.

In the meantime, I've had an idea brewing for a couple of days for a new zombie story, and while I was on the treadmill tonight it clarified itself. So I'm gathering some research before bed and getting to know my new characters.

Overall, I feel like I had a productive weekend. Last weekend I really did not get a lot of writing done at all, and I felt the drain of it during the week. Especially considering how much I had accomplished the two weekends before that. I was on a roll there for awhile, completing a short story or memoir each week, polishing it up and workshopping it, then sending it out. I hope to get back into that routine, where I'm at least sending out one thing each week.

I'm off to get this new piece started, then a little reading, then bed. Oh, and if you're wondering why I have the glorious devil from "Legend" as my picture today, it's because the story I finished today featured that fiery fiend, the prince of darkness.

P.S. I wanted to clarify that the story I was talking about in yesterday's blog was, in fact, a short story, and not a novel, for all you wonderful folks who commented on yesterday's blog. It would absolutely take me way longer than 3 weeks to write a novel... unless it was during NaNoWriMo and I was on a roll. :)

And speaking of Cyborgs...

As promised, my short story, "Black Velveteen" has been published in this month's issue of eMuse.

"Black Velveteen" is the story of a cybernetic service unit named Velvet, who is brought into the police station on murder charges. Only during questioning does the detective in charge discover that there is more to Velvet and her story than meets the eye.

Also in the March edition of eMuse is the artwork of Andy Kaufman, an article on breaking into freelance writing by Nicole Ireland, fiction by Janet Yung and poetry by David Kowalcyzk, Doug Mathewson, Ray Succre, Anne Brooke and Tomás Ó Cárthaigh.

I know that currently, eMuse is accepting submissions of fiction and poetry for their June '09 issue, and any authors who would like to have their books reviewed, now is the time to get in touch with the staff. You can email review requests to review_submissions@emuse-zine.com, and someone from the staff will email you back with details.

I hope you enjoy my story, and thank you in advance for checking it out.

I'll leave you with this very sexy Lenny Kravitz video for the song that loosely inspired my story:

Does Clive Barker Believe in Cenobites?

Pinhead
Originally uploaded by Boogeyman13

How do you write convincing fiction about things you don't believe in? This is a question that has been weighing on me for a couple of years now. I have a series of stories I wrote years ago that all take place in a remote Pennsylvania town where Lucifer resides and wreaks havoc in the lives of the residents. Sounds like an interesting horror series, right? It was, and for the most part, I had fun writing it, but the problem arose in that my personal beliefs do not include "the devil." In short, I felt at the time like my portrayal of the devil would be unconvincing because I do not believe in him.

Then I got to thinking. Do those who write ghost stories necessarily believe in ghosts, or do they just do their homework very well? Do fantasy writers believe in dragons, or again, do they spend a lot of time researching and exercising their imagination? Does Clive Barker believe in Cenobites? (I dunno, he just might...)

When I told my husband I was blogging this topic, he looked at me and shook his head. "You don't have to believe in something to write about it!" he said. And maybe he's right. Enough research on any topic will definitely add an element of realism as you're writing, but is it the same believability established from genuine belief?

And I'm not just talking about horror here. If you're writing a book or short story about life after death or the existence of angels, do you personally think the book would have more credibility if you were a firm believer in the topic? I'm interested in your thoughts on this. I don't know what I think yet. I'm still thinking about it and can see how belief in something would definitely establish more strength in its portrayal. On the other hand, I think that knowing something inside and out could also provide this type of strength. I'm torn.

Thoughts? And I'd really like to know if Clive Barker believes in Cenobites.


Edited to add:


Apparently Mr. Barker does believe in "evil things" all around us.

The Spell Has Been Broken

For a few months I had been feeling like I had cursed myself. No matter how much effort I put into a story, finishing it seemed like an impossibility. Maybe I was psyching myself out too much. I had even taken on the challenge of not writing another story until I finished my last novel. Well, I finished it all right, but was so unhappy with how quickly it all ran together when it was done, that it has been placed on the backburner until further notice.

In July, I started writing my first zombie horror story, but it was slow going at first. I worried that the idea that compelled it in the first place was just a whim, and once the novelty wore off the story would wind up in limbo.

Last night the self-inflicted curse was broken. We were driving our daughter to the skating rink and talking about Eckhart Tolle. I had spent most of the evening writing and mentioned that I really wanted to finish the story. I knew where it was going, how I wanted it to end, and had known that information since mid-September. Why wasn't I finishing it? My husband said it was excuses. No matter what I said, I was just continually making up excuses for why I hadn't finished it. We came home and I updated my status message on AIM and Facebook with what I was doing in the story.

Then it hit me.

I was putting off what needed to be done because I liked the characters too much. I jumped up like a light bulb had just gone on over my head and explained to my husband why I was making up excuses. I didn't want to hurt the characters. Even though I know you have to to make good story in many cases, their situations already seemed dire. What I was about to do seemed downright awful. I imagined myself in that world, in their position and cursed whatever gods put me through that hideous horror.

It occurred to me that the reason my last novel is still sitting on the backburner was based on similar inhibitions. The situation wasn't as "dire" as it is in the short story, but it still involved causing two of my characters a great amount of discomfort and pain. The difference is, they got to have a happy ending. So instead of pushing the pain on them, I muddled through it and gave them the ending, but I know now that it is my job as their creator to wreak havoc in their lives.

Philosophically, I can't help but wonder if that is how our creator feels as it wreaks havocs great and small in our lives. "Oh man... I just really did a number on the Sones's. Maybe I should hold off on killing their Grandpa right now."

Either way, it was an eye opener that allowed me to go through with what needed to be done, and the first draft of the story was completed. I felt great. And while I know I need to go back in and do some serious editing, add more to a couple of scenes that I felt were lacking, I don't feel like I skimped out on my duty as the great havoc stirrer in my characters lives. Sure, they're cursing me in their world, but that's life.