Selkie Girl, part I   75 comments


Well, for the first time, I think one of my posts needs an explanation. :-) I posted this image in a comment on a previous post. Sara asked me, challenged me really, though she may not have realized it, to write her a story based on the image. I haven’t been writing for very long, and what I do write, turns out to be poetry, whether I want it to or not. I haven’t written a story before, but I thought I would give it a try. Since this is a first for me. I welcome all comments, critiques, suggestions and such, for good or bad. You can’t hurt my feelings :-) so be honest and tell me if this works or not. Thank you for reading. And now we begin….

Image borrowed from Google Images

 “Don’t go”.

There was desperation in the timbre of his words, a desperation she had never heard in her young life, at least not from this man she called father, and for the breath of a gentle sigh, a sigh of heartache within her tiny frame, she almost yielded. His voice did not quaver though, and the strength of his muscles as well as his heart, shone from dark eyes in dark and wrinkled skin. A large and weathered man, Conall had been her life, long before she knew it was not her only one.

“Alban… that life is not for you, you were born on land and land shall be your home…I forbid it”, knowing as he said it, she was no longer his to control.

Alban looked beyond this man she called father, to the home that had been her life. Squat and dark, built of driftwood, stone and the labor of long years, smoke rose in gentle spirals to be carried off by strong metallic winds. This was not the time of year for skies of blue, though she remembered… and would miss them. Lowering her eyes from the dark sky, though not much, for father was a giant and seemed to stand within the clouds, not below them.

“Father”, and for the first time, it was an identity, not a name. “Father, this is not my home, though you have tried to make it so”. “You have loved me as your own, and I”, here she stumbled if only in her heart, “I love you, will ‘always’ love you, but, I am not one of you, and must return.” Conall longed to drop to his knees in the dark earth and put his arms around his daughter, for so she was in heart and soul, but he had never lied to her in word or deed, and would not lie now to keep her here.

Concealed within her dress, a knife, sharp and tinged blue at razors edge, as hard and new as the dress was soft and worn, though it shared the hue of blade. Realizing she was no longer his to keep, he demanded she take a coat. Though her thin limbs shivered in the bite of cold air, she knew a coat would do her no good where she was headed, and refused to waste such a fine warm thing as that, simply for the brief warmth it would allow. She looked up into his frowning face, and saw sorrow mixed with pride, knowing not, which would rise unscathed from the battle on his face. She did not speak and he in return, did not answer, though words flew between their eyes. She turned away, though she had never turned her back on Father before, and walked towards a cold and distant shore.

Conall did not turn away.  “Alban… “ escaped unheeded from his lips, and he was loath to call it back. Many hours later as darkness dropped its mantle on man and earth alike, still, he stood and looked at the path she had taken. Conall was cold, chilled to shaking, but not from winds without. This cold, swelled up and through the cage of bone that held his beating heart, filling him with loss and love in equal measure. Stars burned cold and fierce, yet still, he did not move, for fear of losing the sweet smell of sea that drifted to him from those same distant shores.

Alban remembered the night just passed. She had dreamed, for dreams were food to starving soul, and often supped at what the night had to offer. Her young life was good, from what little she knew of it and the short time she had been in it, but her nights had always been filled with dreams. She both longed for and feared them, for they were filled with strange and powerful creatures. In her dream, she had been awakened, or so it seemed in sleep, to the crash of surf and the sounds of sea birds, though the sea was many miles from where she slept under thick blankets, in a dark and tiny room.

She woke to find a bright lady standing looking down at her. Bright, because she had an inner light that seemed to swell from behind her sea foam eyes. She smelled of sea, and her hair swayed gently to a current that Alban could not see, but knew was there. She could not say whether this lady, for Lady she was, was young or old, for she seemed timeless, as fond memories and summer days on windswept bluffs are timeless.

Her voice though gentle, held the power of crashing surf and creaking timbers. “Alban, it is time.” She surprised herself by not asking, time for what? “This is not your home sweet thing, and here you may no longer remain. You were stolen from us and that which you hold dear, and now you must return”.

“But I was born here” she exclaimed, and knew in her heart it was true.

“Aye dear, though you left the sea within your mother, your first breath was indeed in air and upon the soil of earth”. Alban’s breath was taken from her, heart pounding a beat both fierce and painful.

“Mother… you.. know her?”

“I know of her dear, I did not know her. She was taken from the sea, held by a man whose loss made him do an evil thing.”

“The sea..?”

“Do not interrupt dear, there is much to tell, and little time before I too must return.”

The night passed quickly, as a tale of treachery and love, for ever the two are twined it seems, wove its way through the loom of darkened night. Alban sat rapt, as she heard of Selkies, a life within the sea, of men who would have a seal wife, and the lore of creatures both kind and fierce, who lived below the sea. “This man watched as your mother left the sea and removed her seal skin, that she may walk upon the earth for a few hours. He stole that skin and hid it, that she may not return until she was his. She stayed with him until you were born, and still he would not release her. She hid a knife one evening, and waited for this man to return. She threatened him with it, trying to force him to return her skin. In the struggle for the knife, your mother was killed.”

Alban wept for a mother she never knew, tears running hot from blurry eyes. She rubbed them as the Lady continued, “The man in grief and fear threw the knife down and raising your mother up, carried her back to the sea, returning her, though it did no good. The sea can do many things, but even it cannot raise the dead. He returned to find you crying upon the shore, the knife, tainted with blood of anger, resting on the sand next to your shaking life. He picked up both, as evidence of evil deeds, and walked away from the sea, leaving you on the threshold of Conall’s door. Conall was a good man, and raised you as his own. He named you Alban ‘Light’ for that was how he saw you. Your true name is Alban Muirgen, ‘Light, Born of the Sea’, and now you must return”.

“But how?” she cried.

“Come, I will show you” The Lady held out her hand, and Alban clutched it tight. She found herself in front of a wretched shack of driftwood and greasy planks, near the shore of a crashing sea. Barefoot, cold sand beneath her feet, she entered the shack, moonlight the only glow, spilling between aged and broken wood. It was empty, but for the gleam of hardened steel. Bending down, she picked up a knife, blade still bright despite the years. “Alban”, the Lady continued, “he was distraught, and shamed by what he had done. He took your mothers skin, wrapped it around himself, and entered the sea from which she came. This is an abomination,” her voice cold and sharp as broken crystal. “You must lure him back from the sea, cut your mother’s skin from him, and leave him in the air where he belongs. Your mother’s skin will become yours, allowing you to return to your people. This you must do before tomorrow eve”

“But… how.. I cannot do..” She found herself alone and in her room. Darkness took her then, returning her to the slumber of her night.

She woke the next morning, puzzled for the first time by one of her dreams. What did it mean, why did she feel such a longing for something she had never known? The covers seemed to chafe and rub her raw, she kicked them from her legs. Shocked, she looked down to see sand on her feet and on the the sheets, the bright gleam of steel resting cold upon warm linen. Rising, she dressed quickly, tucked the knife under her dress, though it filled her with fear and apprehension, and went to say goodbye to father. There was a stirring within her heart she could not control, and feared she wouldn’t if she could. There was a roar in her ears she could not place, but she thought she heard the faint cry of gulls just beyond her hearing.

She walked for hours before reaching the cold and windswept beach. The crash of waves echoed within her blood, she felt the tides in time with her heart. She kept walking until the sea swirled and tugged around her legs, the sand shifting and drawing her down into its grip, covering her feet and locking her in place. She knew she must tempt this man from the sea. Wading out, she started a chant from deep within herself, knowing the words, though she had never heard them before. The sea changed, rippling with her words, its surface vibrating with her intonations. Alban saw movement in the sand at her feet. The sand was erupting with thousands of tiny creatures, sand crabs she knew, their red carapaces glinting within the emerald water.

She gasped, despite herself, as the creatures piled one on top of each other, building four towers out of the sea, then building towards each tower, chitin and carapace clutched in tiny feet as they merged and held the one next to them. It was a table, built of creatures of sea and land, held together against the tug and push of surf by creatures she knew, though she had never seen them before. Soon, four more columns rose from glittering sand, becoming a chair for her to sit and draw the evil one in. What now she thought, how do I lure him in? Setting the knife down on the table, she held her hands under the water, visions of the sea, her need, and the one that must be summoned ebbing and flowing behind her eyes. The sand erupted around her. Sinking her hands down into the shifting sands she felt hard objects, drawing them up and out, water cascading back onto the swirling surf around her feet. They were goblets, but what to do with them?

Thunder clapped above her head, as rain began to fall from the sky. Without thinking, she held the goblets up, allowing them to fill with fresh water, something the evil one had not been able to partake of for all the years of her life. Setting them down on the table, the rain stopped as quickly as it had started, clouds swirling in the sky to match the turbid sea. The sand erupted again, she pulled a smaller goblet from its grainy clutches. Without thinking, she grabbed the knife and cut her palms, letting her blood pour into the glass. Goblet now full, she plunged her hands into the salt water, the pain causing her to cry out, but the sea healed her wound, as she knew it would. Her blood, her mother’s blood, would draw the evil one in. She smiled slightly, then sat down in the chair, the goblets before her. Clutching the knife, she looked to the sea then back at the knife. Waiting….she knew it would soon be over, and the sea would be hers again, for the first time.

You can continue the story, and read Part II (Selkie Man) by clicking here.

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75 responses to “Selkie Girl, part I

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  1. no one will believe you that you have never written a story before. This is just too fantastic and perfect. Truely I did not expect an explanation for every element within that picture, yet you did so! wow, riveting. I like the way you said, “Lowering her eyes from the dark sky, though not much, for father was a giant and seemed to stand within the clouds, not below them.” It captures a little girls view so well.

    well I could go line by line and say what I liked but then I would just end up republishing the whole story. :) But I loved this,
    “You must lure him back from the sea, cut your mother’s skin from him, and leave him in the air where he belongs.” and then it just gets even better as we go.

    You DO realize you have just opened Pandoras box don’t you? Except it wasn’t evil that came out. I say ditch the poems and become a story teller, I’ll be a groupy for life. ha, only kiddin’ poems AND stories will do just fine. :D

    and the choice of fresh water? Wow!

    • Well, you did ask for a story, I just assumed you wanted a good one. :-) In one way, writing a story was easier than I had feared, in part because I try to make my poems tell a story. Surprisingly though, it’s easier to rhyme, at least for me, than it is to tell a longer or more convoluted story. I feared I would run out of things to say or wouldn’t be able to say what I saw in my mind. I actually challenged myself to incorporate as much of the image as I could, without seeming contrived. Really happy you enjoyed this, I wrote it for you Sara. :-)

  2. Wow. I completely agree with Sara. This is FANTASTIC! You did an excellent job pulling the reader in and creating believable characters, good description, good dialogue…what’s not to love? I have a few GN points, but will refrain and send them to you in an e-mail, if you like, so as to not ruin the spellbound mood you have created with this tale. :) LOVE it!! 5 stars and 2 thumbs WAY up!

    • Thanks, I hoped you would swing by and give me your thoughts. Really glad you enjoyed it! I finished this late, so I didn’t go into detail checking for errors. Feel free to point out things I should correct, either here or in an e-mail. Either way, I am grateful for assistance with my writing! :-)

  3. If this works or not…ha !

    I agree with Sara – Pandora has escaped forever.
    What a tale – the way you wove all those elements together.
    And I too was spellbound.

    These lines – WOW

    She did not speak and he in return, did not answer, though words flew between their eyes.
    This cold, swelled up and through the cage of bone that held his beating heart, filling him with loss and love in equal measure.
    Her voice though gentle, held the power of crashing surf and creaking timbers.

    Imagery to die for.

    Encore ! Encore !
    Clapping hands, stamping feet, yelling ‘more – more – more’

    I was so involved it took 3 reads before I noticed any spelling/grammar misteps – minor ones – but who gives a toss…
    Bravo Maestro ;)

    • Well Jo, I really didn’t know if I was going to be able to pull this off, more so before I started than when I finished, but I was still curious. I felt better after reading it though, and thought it looked pretty good and included the elements I wanted to include. Many people have said over the years though, that my mind doesn’t work like most peoples, I’m hoping they were compliments. :-) It’s nice to get the positive feedback though, and know that my friends still enjoy what I write. I really enjoyed the freedom that a story allows you over poetry. I hope to do more writing along these lines, we’ll see how it goes. Feel free to point out any errors or omissions Jo, I’ll correct them right away. Oh, by the way, did you ‘really’ read it three times? :-)

      • I surely did Cap’n – just read it again – still feeling the magic. You’re right – storytelling is a different feel to poetry. They both have their own roads. For myself I find that story writing has a different challenge to poetry.
        In poetry – as Freddie Mercury once said:
        “Does it mean this, does it mean that, that’s all anybody wants to know. I’d say what any decent poet would say if anyone dared ask him to analyse his work: if you see it, darling, then it’s there!”
        Well that’s my feeling on poetry as well – storytelling is different for me. I want people to get the story I am telling them – every piece – and this is what brings the challenge to me. Can they see the character as i see them? Do they feel the emotions they do? Do they see the landscape I build on? This story did that. So can’t wait for the next installment.

        Para 1.
        1. did you mean shone here : shown from dark eyes in dark and wrinkled skin

        2. “Alban… that life is not for you, you were born on land and land shall be your home” “I forbid it”, – you don’t need all those quotation marks. I think you are trying to place a pause in the speech here so – instead: “Alban… that life is not for you, you were born on land and land shall be your home…forbid it”

        3. Personally, in such a long paragraph I would give this a new line, even though technically it is not required – it breaks it up and makes it less confusing for a reader. i.e.

        “Don’t go”. There was desperation in the timbre of his words, a desperation she had never heard in her young life, at least not from this man she called father, and for the breath of a gentle sigh, a sigh of heartache within her tiny frame, she almost yielded. His voice did not quaver though, and the strength of his muscles as well as his heart, shown from dark eyes in dark and wrinkled skin. A large and weathered man, Conall had been her life, before she knew it was not her only one.

        “Alban… that life is not for you, you were born on land and land shall be your home” “I forbid it”, knowing as he said it, she was no longer his to control.

        Para 2.

        4. I think this should be a new paragraph.

        “Father”, and for the first time, it was an identity, not a name. “Father, this is not my home, though you have tried to make it so”. “You have loved me as your own, and I”, here she stumbled, if only in here heart, “I love you, will ‘always’ love you, but, I am not one of you, and must return.” Conall longed to drop to his knees in the dark earth and put his arms around his daughter, for so she was in heart and soul, but he had never lied to her in act or dead, and would not lie now to keep her here.

        5. “in her heart” ? – you have “if only in here heart”

        6. “deed” ? – you have “but he had never lied to her in act or dead,”

        Para 3.

        7. still he stood and looked at the path she had taken. – i think you need a comma after still – for the pause that falls here naturally

        Para 4.

        8. Bright, because she had an inner light that seemed to swell from behind here sea foam eyes. “here/her sea green eyes”

        Para 5.

        9. The period goes inside the quotation marks. – return.”

        11. I am going to punctuate this paragraph to show what I mean here – whenever someone new speaks you start a new paragraph.

        Her voice though gentle, held the power of crashing surf and creaking timbers. “Alban, it is time.” She surprised herself by not asking, time for what? “This is not your home sweet thing, and here you may no longer remain. You were stolen from us and that which you hold dear, and now you must return”. “But I was born here” she exclaimed, and knew in her heart it was true. “Aye dear, though you left the sea within your mother, your first breath was indeed in air and upon the soil of earth”. Alban’s breath was taken from her, heart pounding a beat both fierce and painful, “mother… you.. know her?” “I know of her dear, I did not know her. She was taken from the sea, held by a man who’s loss made him do an evil thing.” “The sea..?” “Do not interrupt dear, there is much to tell, and little time before I too must return”.

        How it should read punctuation-wise:

        Her voice though gentle, held the power of crashing surf and creaking timbers. “Alban, it is time.” She surprised herself by not asking, time for what? “This is not your home sweet thing, and here you may no longer remain. You were stolen from us and that which you hold dear, and now you must return”.

        “But I was born here” she exclaimed, and knew in her heart it was true.

        “Aye dear, though you left the sea within your mother, your first breath was indeed in air and upon the soil of earth”. Alban’s breath was taken from her, heart pounding a beat both fierce and painful. (Fullstop instead of a comma)

        “Mother… you.. know her?”

        “I know of her dear, I did not know her. She was taken from the sea, held by a man who’s loss made him do an evil thing.”

        “The sea..?”

        “Do not interrupt dear, there is much to tell, and little time before I too must return”.

        So – that explains that I hope. Won’t bother with that with any more paragraphs, cause you’re a clever Cap’n with great eyes…

        Para 7.

        12. This is an abomination” her voice cold and sharp as broken crystal. Should read: This is an abomination,” her voice cold and sharp as broken crystal. – with a comma after abomination.

        13. Your mothers skin will become yours – “mother’s”

        Para 8.

        14. She woke the next morning puzzled for the first time, by one of her dreams. – I think these need to be, and i don’t really know what it is called or why, but – anywho – She woke the next morning, puzzled for the first time by one of her dreams.

        Last Para.

        15. I know what you are trying to say here, but this is confusing – “Nearly full she plunged her hand into the salt water,”
        there is a technical term for it – but I don’t know. ‘Nearly full’ actually relates to the cup, here the confusion makes it appear to relate to the hand and thus makes little sense.

        Okay cap’n – I’ve said me piece – hope it makes some sense. ;)

        • Thanks Jo, you’re hired. :-) Take a look at it again, and tell me what you think. Some things I changed, some I didn’t, and some I probably missed. Let me know please, if I took your interpretations too far, or if I still need to tweak it. So, what does the rest of my crew think? Better? Still needs work?

  4. Wonderful story! The way you wove the story is like the storytellers of old. Each line was drawing the reader in further. Wonderful story and a superb ending. Like the others said you need to become a storyteller, we’ll all sit on the stern and sip pirates tea while you lead us with the stories.

  5. Greetings!

    You know, we all have our own special style and creativityty in writing.
    I have seen a story in most every thing you have written so far.

    Although I should not be surprised your writing talent has evolved into this story telling fashion,
    I needed to raise my chin from the floor and write you this little message and say I loved the story line
    and the way you incorporated all the wondeful nuances of your writing style.

    *on a side note…I’m sorry I’ve been away for so long, but I continue to be absorbed with surviving the economic hard times.
    Struggling to earn every “red cent” I can get my poor little hands on and keep this roof over my head!

    • Thanks Gary, I know times have been busy and stressful for you, but I’ve missed your presence on these pages. I mentioned you, in an offhand way, on a comment recently on ‘Alone’, knowing you would be back eventually, and hoping for it to happen soon. I know you’re still busy, but I am really grateful you found time to read this story, and took the time to share your thoughts. :-) Hang in there my friend, and swing by when your cup is empty, I’ll find a keg of Pirate tea somewhere to slack your thirst.

  6. As K.C. was wont to sing, “that’s the way, uh huh, uh huh, I like it, uh huh, uh huh, that’s the way. . .” bravissimo my friend!!

  7. and a storyteller you are! Wonderful, I sooo enjoyed this, and will be watching for another.

  8. I skimmed this quickly and will come back to it this weekend when I have more time to dedicate to it, but from what I see, this is brilliant. I really really think you need to try to get published.

    the writ and the wrote
  9. Thanks Bri, really looking forward to your full impressions. :-)

  10. Didn’t it used to say, “tempt this man from the sea”? But now it says, “tempt this man from her sea” The word ‘her’ kinda clashes with the last line of the story. Plus it denotes a sense of ownership that would be foreign to the heart of Fey. Sentiment such as that would add a selfish quality to her deed rather than the simple brave act it is. The word ‘the’ seems a better fit. She has never been in the sea, nor met the evil one so ‘the’ could not be experienced in such a personal way as to make it ‘hers’. at least I think it used to say the, but then again I never saw the word deads either and read it as deed every time.

    acts and deeds, would be words and deeds.

    @ jo oh my, my spelling and grammer must be an utter disaster all things considered. I never knew that about the new paragraphs for each new speaker. Cool! Thats an easy one to remember.

    The new formating does read easier, I found myself seeing new things in the story because of it, like, how the darkness was woven on a loom. :)

    This story really kicks but!

    • @ Sara I think you have a point about ‘her sea’ here clashing with the last line.
      @ Cap’n listen to the maiden – she has a point. LOL :)

    • You’re spot on Sara. It was always her, I had spelled it here though. I changed it to ‘the’, and it is much better. I also changed it to words and deeds, great call!

      • So now – about that payment I mentioned further up… ;)

        • Replied above, you have but to arrive aboard to claim it.

          • I am working on it – figuring out how to put the kids up online – what do ya reckon I could ask ??? ;)
            I mean the girl – she’s a bit fiesty at times – and the lad – he’s another drunken sailor. Gawd – I hope it don’t cost me in the end – getting someone to take ‘em.

            • Jo, if you go to the roughwater amusement park, pick me up a souvenir t-shirt, will ya?

              • Surprisingly enough, I do have T-shirts :-)

                Photobucket

                • Oh you are a Baaad pirate. The question is, do you have one the cat can wear?

                  so Jo,… about that T-shirt.,, :)

                  • Sara, my cats refuse to wear anything but disdain. :-) I do have coffee cups and mouse pads available though.

                    • @ Sara – I was planning to take you with me girl – duh !!1
                      @ Cap’n – oh I agree with Sara – you are a Baaad pirate – but I love that !! And I want 1 T-shirt & a set of coffee cups please. :)

                    • Great idea Jo, absolutely make sure you bring Sara. Actually, I think it would be a great idea to have all the crew on board for the festivities. Of course, you’d all want to insure you retained a good bail bondsman before your departure, and let me know in advance if anyone will need a viable alibi or cover story for their spouse or significant other. I’m not saying things would get out of hand or be too wild, but for the two weeks before you leave home, practice walking down the street with your hand extended in front of you like you’re blocking someone and repeatedly say out loud “no comment… I have no comment at this time”.

                    • You are a true pirate to be sure! Though discriminating wenches know they should never pay for what should rightfully be theirs by way of tribute. LoL (like Cap’n is the crew after all)

                      Though that spindly hairy armed shirt model doesnt do it justice. Perhaps if one wet suit wearing piratey guy was the model, you might have a sale.

                      @Jo OH! Well in that case, you can count me in. Afterwards we can find out where the TBs are and I’ll distract the guards while you …. what would you do?…. Then Rough water could be waiting outside on his bike ready to speed us away at a moments notice. Back to the Glenna Jane.

                    • Actually, the shirts aren’t for sale to the public, I created the logo on Photoshop, then had them printed on T-shirts through that website. I only had two printed at the time, and bought them both. That’s a generic model body that comes up on any male t-shirt I think.

                      I certainly wasn’t suggesting my crew needs to purchase shirts, :-) but I didn’t have any pictures of the t-shirt itself, so I took a screenshot of the order form. Since I’ve saved the logo in my account there, I can have that image printed on everything from travel mugs to salt shakers, anytime I
                      want. :-)

                    • @ Sara – a bike would not surficce as a getawy vehicle – not when I am planning on taking ALL TBs back to the Glenna Jane.

                      @ Cap’n – I think a new model is needed to do justice to the t-shirt and expect that one will be awaiting my arrival to the crew’s quarters.

                      T-shirt that is – though after inspecting the new model – he might be required as well. ;)

                  • Jo, what if I had Big Daddy Winchester as the model, wearing nothing ‘but’ the T-Shirt. Would that suffice? :-) I’d let you have the Capt’ns quarters for the duration of course.

            • Why don’t you contact the producers of TB”s? With all the strange creatures and people you mention in the episodes, I think your kids would be a great fit. You could probably rent them to them for a season or two. :-)

              • ohhhhhhhhhhh – nice idea.
                of course they’d need my supervision whilst there ;)

                • If you’re planning to hang out with TB’s, I’m quite sure it’ll be ‘you’ that needs supervision. After all, there are only four or five of them, right? :-)

                  • Well there are the Winchester boys, that’s 2, Castiel, 3, I quite like the Demon Crowley, so 4, and Bobby is cute in a ‘do ya think I’m an idjit’ way – so yeah 5 at the moment. Though that could change – the way everyone comes back from the dead in that show – you just never know. I mean – if they ever bring back Big Daddy Winchester – I am so the one who will need supervising. ;)

  11. Is there anything you can’t write? ;-)

    What I find interesting is that this piece retains your stylistic imprint . . . there is a rhythm that sways your words (which I find very appealing). This story sings with the same sway – the sentences are just longer than usual. ;-)

    Beautiful work! I look forward to more stories.

    • Thanks C.B.! I’m still fairly new at this, so I don’t really know what I can and can’t do. I certainly know, I wouldn’t write half as well as people think I do, if it wasn’t for the feedback and comments of my friends, crew and readers. It’s kind of cool by the way, to think I have a ‘style’ of writing. :-)

  12. Im not sure it’s possible to explain waking up with a roughwater tattoo. ha! are you sure yur not a mer-man?

  13. reffering to comment..”Actually, the shirts aren’t for sale to the public, I created the logo on Photoshop, then had them printed on T-shirts through that website. I only had two printed at the time, and bought them both. That’s a generic model body that comes up on any male t-shirt I think…. ‘
    Cap’n we already knew all that. Its a pretty cool idea, I think. I have been thinkin about doing the same for the cat blog.

  14. Cap’n all this experience with modern technology has made you an expert button pusher! Silver tounged devil. Id best put cotton in my ears as Ulysses had to do.
    @jo the bike is for me… you would be driving the awesome black car while AC/DC blasts on the stereo. We couldn’t leave That behind, right? It’s part of the package!

  15. Oh Sara – what a thought – AC/DC is good – BUT – at the end of every season – there is this:

    • Ah @Jo this song reminds me of a guy I dumped. It was playing on a road trip. At a truck stop he wanted to put his coffee cup on my trucks dashboard. I said, no food is allowed on the dashboard. My truck was my baby. He ignored, and did it anyway. Big no,no in my book. Poor guy was never the same after that. :)

  16. Wow! This is brilliant. I read part two before I read part one, but honestly, it doesn’t really matter. They go together, yet stand alone. Your prose is taut, yet flows with the lyrical quality of poetry. Even without the image at the beginning, I could see it unfolding quite clearly. I actually feel it might be more powerful without the image – let the reader do the imagining.

    the writ and the wrote
    • Thanks! I’m glad you had an opportunity to read both, ‘very’ happy you enjoyed them. That’s one of the problems with blogging, the later posts always come out on top of the previous posts. That’s why I went back and labeled them part I and II. I don’t know if I’ll put any images with my future writing, but since the first one started with an image, I added one to the second.

      • I can go either way on images. I think in this case it really helped paint the picture. In other cases, things should be left to the imagination. I’m a very visual person, so images are important to me. If I can see it, I can recreate it or create something new. (Disclaimer: if I have to put something together, like a bookshelf, and there are no words to the directions, I can’t do it). I hope you will continue to write more parts to these stories (and/or other stories).

        the writ and the wrote
  17. A wonderful story John. Alban I know her well. Near to the Celtic astrological symbol of Pisces :) Off to Chapter 2!

  18. Thanks Cheryl. I thought trees were the basis of Celtic astrology, or at least, that’s what is commonly professed. I do see Alban in one of your links though, that is a wonderful coincidence. :-)

  19. Hi RWJ! Comments after just reading a bit of the story from “Don’t go.” to “…and walked towards a cold and distant shore.”

    John, even when you write prose, it is in poetic form!

    From the start of my read, your writing voice caught me up and carried along, tense to discover Albin’s story. The imagery your voice provokes images, as if I were watching a film in my mind.
    What fantastic writing: “… as fond memories and summer days on windswept bluffs are timeless”!

    Wow, John! I apologize for taking so long to comment on this post. But I knew I shouldn’t begin reading it if I didn’t have the time to read all of it!
    And I was right…I wouldn’t have supported the suspense :-D

    What a wonderfully crafted story. I can’t wait to read the second part!

    John, as well as a poetic pirate, you are also a born spinner of stories. (Hmmm, though RWJ the Pirate suits you like a wet suit, can’t help wondering if you weren’t a Writing Midas in an other lifetime. Or, maybe it’s that some of his golden touch got pilfered by our poetic pirate, eh?)

    Thank you for sharing such golden gifts with your crew.

  20. creative creation, pirate tea, and the image in the sea, wow.

    thanks for sharing.

  21. Your story is excellent, John. You have a way of describing everything with such vivid detail. I could actually feel each scene unfold. Just beautiful!

  22. This is fantastic and it is so hard to believe that you have never written a story before. You are a natural poem writer and story teller. You have a natural ability to tell stories inside your poems and now to compose one as a short story. This is really wonderful and so well done and I am still reading it over again for the 3rd time. it is fantasitc
    http://gatelesspassage.com/2011/09/29/bubbling-potion-of-love/

  23. I loved this wonderful story. Well done and well written :)

  24. I do so love Celtic mythology and the stories of the Selkie are some of my favorite! You’ve done a wonderful job with this one! Well done :-)

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