Bardic Writings · Pagan Blog Project 2014

Working on a Novel

A few years ago I begun writing a novel. I’m a quarter of the way through, and I’m about to re-do it entirely.

A few nights ago, I thought of an entirely new way to approach this novel. Once I got out of the shower, the idea escaped me. Since then, I’ve been trying to formulate it and word it the way it came to me mid-rinse. This new approach would take it from teenage/young adult to adult reading.

Since I have major writers block, here’s a completely unrelated and seriously short story I once submitted to a competition.

 

(C) Cara Fenton 2012 | Book of Eucalypt

I died last night. I died and I found peace.

I was home, home on the beach I love so much. Where my hands buzz from the energy of the land, and where magic is alive, and it swells and escapes from me the moment my bare feet touch the sand.

A slight breeze kissed my cheek as I made my way to the water’s edge. It was quiet. Cicadas sang their song in the midnight air, and the full moon shone down, eliminating the crescent of sand, from cliff to cliff. Not a single cloud was present in the sky, allowing the stars to dance, and the Milky Way to be seen in all its might and glory.

I made my way to the water. Far off the water was still and the waves crashed gently. The flow of the break and the rush up the shore – this was the heartbeat of the land, and of this place; and soon mine matched its rhythm.

I walked closer and the water rushed up the shore, further than it had before and it washed over my feet. “Welcome home,” I heard in the wind, and felt in my skin. “Welcome home, daughter of the sea.

My body tingled and I felt dizzy. Emotion, power, magic, love – it filled me from toe to crown. My cheeks hurt from the smile that could not be wiped from my face.

Slowly I walked forward. The waves lapped at my calves, beckoning me to go continue in. If the water was cold, I could not feel it. It was a part of me, an extension of me, and within it I felt whole.

Further I went, into the stillness under a glowing moon. I paddled out, chasing the moons reflection, sending ripples out to sea.

Something was wrong. Where my feet numb? Why couldn’t I feel them? I tried to swim back to the shore, but felt no muscles to move. That’s to say, not to kick. Scared and terrified, I began to go under.

“Remember,” the ocean sung. “Remember who you are.

I calmed down and managed to arch back so I could float on the surface. My legs weren’t gone after all. They had merged, combined. Fins replaced feet; scales replaced skin up my legs and hips, over my breasts and lower back. I smiled, and laughed, and flapped my new form, splashing the water high into the air.

It was no time, but it was all time. I swam and danced within the water, jumping through the air, exploring my new self and my new surrounds.

There were others. How did I not notice them before? Far on the rocks on either side of the crescent beach, my brothers and sisters sat. And they welcomed me! They welcomed me home, and asked why I had been gone for so long. I did not know, I could not remember.

All I knew is that I died on that beach that night, and was reborn as what I was always meant to be.

I was free.

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