1.19.2008

The Blue Tail

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Chapter One

Call me Blue. Everyone else does. My birth certificate says my name is Serena Blue Rivers, but no one calls me Serena. My grandma Merry named me Blue. Not because I was born blue or because my eyes were blue, not even because my grandma Merry had the blues for as long as anyone could remember. She said she named me Blue because the color blue made her feel free. I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. As far as I could tell, my grandmother had always been free. My grandmother gave me the name Serena too. She gave me both names, she said, because those were her wishes for me: freedom and serenity.

When I was about five years old, my mother Cara told me that the name Serena also meant “mermaid,” as in la sirena, as in siren. She told me this when we were alone because she knew Grandma Merry did not want to hear anything that had to do with mermaids. My grandmother did not like mermaids. She had an aversion to them like some people have an aversion to snakes. She refused to go into any of my many bedrooms over the years because of the old mermaid painting my mother hung in my bedroom wherever we lived. The mermaid had black hair, brown skin, and a shiny blue tail that somehow glowed night sky blue in the dark. The mermaid held a sign in front of her breasts that read, “Welcome home, Serena Blue.” My mother had painted the mermaid when she was pregnant with me. The sign said, “Welcome home” until my grandma named me, and then my mother filled in the words, “Serena Blue.”

The mermaid on my wall was not a young mermaid. Or a little one. Her shoulder length hair flipped up at the end, and her green eyes were wild looking. Her entire expression was wild--as if any moment she was going to leap, swim, or dive off that canvas into my room and take me on some kind of adventure.

My mother told me that when she was a girl, her mother--Grandma Merry--used to whisper stories about the ocean to her late at night. Mom would wake up to find her mother leaning over her, spilling stories into her ear, stories about mermaids, stories about mysterious places called Old Mermaid Sanctuaries that were hidden in plain sight all over the world.

“These are places where people like you and me could live, baby girl,” Grandma Merry told her. “Where we could thrive, where other people like us live--people who are still wild, who are still connected to the great Old Sea and all the wild things. We could go to an Old Mermaid Sanctuary, baby girl, and be welcomed and never have to change our ways to be like everyone else, to fit in like a book on a shelf where all the books are the same shape, size, and color and when you open any of them they all tell the same story. Old Mermaid Sanctuaries are places where beauty, love, and magic still held sway, where old is beautiful and young is becoming.”

My mother would smile and kiss her mother and whisper, “old is beautiful and young is becoming,” as she fell back to sleep.

My mother loved those stories. She told them to me as I was growing up. My grandma stopped telling them to my mother when Mom was about five, and Grandma Merry doesn’t remember ever telling any such stories to my mother or anyone else. When Grandma Merry stopped telling the stories, my mom went to her father--my grandpa Warren--and asked him about the Old Mermaid Sanctuaries.

“I don’t know about any such places,” he said. “But sometimes when mermaids come ashore for a long while, they go a little crazy, and your mother has been ashore a long time.” Grandpa Warren grinned at my mother and didn’t say anything else for a bit.

Finally my mother pulled on her father’s chin and demanded more details. After a while he agreed to tell her what he remembered. “I’ve been living with an old mermaid for a long time so I’m a little crazy, too,” he said. “I’ll tell you this much: I lived near the ocean when I was a boy and beyond, you know that, before I became a desert rat. Where we lived, the mermaids sometimes came ashore, usually during the full or dark moons, and they’d dance and sing on the beach. They’d step out of their tails--most of them had two--like you and I would step out of our clothes, only different. It was a sight to see, I tell you. It seemed like all the colors in the world came alive on that sand. And the air had a kind of strange electricity in it. You just knew that anything was possible. Now don’t tell your mom I told you this part, but after they took off their tails, they’d lay them on the sand, as though to dry them out, or display them for all the world to see. Oh, baby girl, they were so beautiful.

“I liked your mom’s tail best, so one day I snuck down to the beach and picked her tail up off the beach and I stole it! I wouldn’t give it back. No matter how much she pleaded, no matter what she promised me. I hid it. She wasn’t able to go back to the ocean with her sisters, so she came home with me. It was something, baby girl. Your mom was the finest mermaid in all the world and I caught her.”

Grandpa Warren told my mother that story many times, even after Grandma Merry found out and told him not to. One day when mom was a teenager, he told the story to her and a group of her friends who had come over after school. When Mom’s friends left, Grandma Merry walked over to Grandpa Warren and slapped him across the face.

“If you ever tell that obscene story to anyone again,” she said, “I will leave you.“ And she walked out of the room.

Mom said the kitchen felt full of electricity for a few moments after that, and she was afraid to move, afraid she’d get shocked if she touched anything. Grandpa Warren looked over at her and made a face like “oops,” and he never did tell the story again, at least not within earshot of Mom or Grandma Merry.

After a while I started to understand why Grandma Merry didn’t want to hear anything more about mermaids or Old Mermaid Sanctuaries. My mom spent most of her life and all of mine looking for these mysterious sanctuaries. We went all over the continent during and after the time my dad was living with us looking for an Old Mermaid Sanctuary where we could make our home--where Mom felt at home. Every once in a while she would find a place she thought was promising and then something would happen and she’d say, “This isn’t it,” and we’d move on.

By junior high, I had had enough. I wanted to stay in one place for longer than a year. Before I started high school, I told Mom I wanted to go live with my dad in Boston so that I could start and finish high school in the same place. Mom cried some, but then she asked if I would like to go to school in Santa Fe where she had grown up and where Grandma Merry still lived. She promised she would stay there for as long as I wanted.

I agreed to that, and we moved to Santa Fe. We tried living with Grandma Merry at first. There was room for us, especially since Grandpa Warren had died a few years earlier. But Grandma Merry and my mother got on each other’s nerves very quickly. Mom said it was like they were water and sand.

“Don’t you mean oil and water?” I asked when she told me this.

She shook her head. “No, water and sand. When we’re together everything gets muddy. I know it’s hard for you to understand because you and I get along so well.”

I laughed.

“What?” she said. “Don’t you think we get along? I listen to you. You can tell me things. Right?”

“Okay, Mom,” I said. It was too much trouble to burst any of her many fantasy-life balloons.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?” she asked again. She kept trying to look into my eyes. I looked away from her and kept laughing. A nervous habit of mine--laughing at strange times.

“Sure, Mom,” I said. “I can tell you anything.”

You won’t listen, but I guess I could tell you anything. Like I told you for years and years and years that I wanted to stop moving all over the country.

“Well, at least your life has been an adventure,” Mom said. “Not many kids can say that. Never a dull moment.”

“You’re right about that, Mom.”

An adventure. That was how Mom viewed our life. I saw it as a non-ending quest for me to find a place where I could fit in, be comfortable, get used to a house, a home, my own skin. I never fit in, always thought I stuck out in a crowd--and not in a good way.

We didn’t stay with Grandma Merry long, even though I liked living in her house. My mom found a place to rent down the block. When we moved into the new place, I told my mom that I didn’t want to hear anything more about Old Mermaid Sanctuaries or mermaids or anything that was not completely normal.

“I want to go to school and live a regular life,” I said.

“Define normal,” she said. “What is regular?”

“You know what normal means and what regular is,” I said. “I want to have friends. Maybe even a boyfriend. I don’t want to be the new kid all the time, trying to figure out how to dress and how to act.”

“Don’t act,” she said. “Just be yourself. And dress how you want to dress.”

Be myself. Easy for her to say. She was always so sure of herself. I didn’t know who myself was. I hadn’t stayed in one spot long enough to figure that out.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to hear about the Old Mermaids,” Mom said. “You were born old.”

She had been telling me I was an old soul for as long as I could remember. Compared to her, a three year old seemed like an old soul.

“Why are they old mermaids, anyway?” I asked. “Why aren’t they just mermaids?”

“That’s just what your grandma always called them,” Mom said, “even though she denies ever telling me a single story about them. The Ocean is old; the mermaids are old. A sign of respect, I suppose.”

Mom always had some kind of flimsy explanation about anything that had to do with the Old Mermaids.

“Does this mean you don’t want the painting of the old mermaid your new room?” she asked.

“Yes, I want her,” I said, “but I get to hang her up myself.”

I loved that painting. For many reasons. I was used to seeing her every day, for one thing. Wherever she was felt like home, I guess. And when I showed the painting to potential new friends, they were always impressed.

“Wow,” they’d say, or something like that. “Your mom let’s you have a giant half-naked woman on your wall?”

“Sure,” I’d say. “She painted it. Besides, she’s a mermaid, not a woman. Technically.”

For two and a half years we stayed in Santa Fe in a house just down the road from my grandma. I visited my dad on holidays. My mom’s art started taking off. Or at least she was making a living. She painted portraits of people as mermaids--or mermen. One tail or two. Your choice. And I liked school. Yes, I was one of those freaks who actually liked school. I wasn’t the belle of the ball or anything, but I had friends: Kaitlin and Jordan. I even had a boyfriend: Stephen.

I could write pages about Stephen. Maybe even a book. He was gorgeous. Tall, dark, and handsome, just like in the fairy tale books. Only, really, he was tall, pale, and handsome. I met him on the Plaza one afternoon. I was there with my art class, but I was alone, sketching, by the Palace of the Governors, when he came and stood in front of me.

“Care to sketch me?” he asked.

I didn’t say anything. Mostly because I couldn’t think of what to say. He smiled and kind of ducked his head. Then he said, “I’ve been looking for you, you know.”

“Me?”

He nodded. “I’m new in town and I wanted you to show me around. I knew as soon as I saw you that you were the one.”

I said, “Well, the library is over there.” I pointed. “And the mountains are over there.” I pointed again. “The acequia madre--the mother ditch--is a couple blocks that way. And the famous Santa Fe sky is above us.”

I had meant to be clever, but as soon as I said it all I felt like an idiot. I was so embarrassed I started to laugh. He laughed, too.

“Ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer,” he said.

I continued to laugh.

“I must be getting old,” he said. “That line always used to work.”

I smiled. Now I really felt stupid.

“You mean you aren’t new in town?”

“Well, that depends,” he said. “I’ve lived here for ten years, but I’m new to you.” He held out his hand. “Let’s start over. My name is Stephen Johnson, and I’ll try not to be such an idiot next time we meet.”

Next time?

I shook his hand. As soon as my skin touched his, I felt at home with him--like he was what I had been waiting for. I had felt so uncomfortable, so off-balance most of my life. Sure, I liked my new school. I liked our new house. But I still didn’t feel as though I belonged. Do you know what I mean? When Stephen and I first touched, I knew where I belonged. I belonged with him.

”I’m Serena Blue Rivers,” I said. I hesitated and then I said what I always said, “Everyone calls me Blue.”

He nodded. “Would you like to go out with me, Serena Blue Rivers?”

“Uh, sure,” I said.

I said yes before I asked my mother. Later when I told her he was a senior at another school, she wasn’t too thrilled. That meant he was older than I was, plus she didn’t know any of the parents at the other school. She said she had to meet him first, so he came over to the house. After that, she agreed that I could go out with him. I could tell she didn’t like him. She didn’t say anything, but I knew.

He took me to dinner and a movie that first time. I had never had a date like that before. Usually it was just me and my friends, girls and boys. Stephen picked me up in his car, came to the door and got me, and then drove us to a restaurant. A Mexican restaurant.

Once we started eating he said, “I should have asked you where you wanted to eat. You probably get sick of Mexican food.”

“This is good,” I said.

“I mean because you probably get Mexican food all the time,” he said. “I’m new at this. I’ve never gone out with a Mexican before.”

“I’m not Mexican,” I said.

“Really?” he said. “I thought you were.”

“My father’s ancestors were from this area,” I said, “back when it was Mexico.”

“Oh, sorry,” he said. “I thought you were. You’re so dark. And beautiful, of course. Does that mean you’re Mexican-American? All legal and everything?”

“I guess,” I said. “Although my grandmother was a mermaid captured by my grandfather, so I guess technically she’s not legal.”

“Really?”

“That’s the family story,” I said.

He shrugged. “It’s a good thing I didn’t take you to a fish place then,” he said. “We might have accidentally eaten one of your relatives.”

I laughed.

That’s how we started. Everything was good. I loved going places with him. People always watched us. Especially the girls. I guessed they wished they were with someone like Stephen, but he had chosen me. Me, me, me. I loved it. And I loved him. Sometimes he didn’t realize his own strength. We would be kidding around--roughhousing he called it--and he would accidentally hurt me. “You’re such a girl,“ he’d say and laugh. “That’s right,“ I’d say. “Remember that.“ A couple of times he pushed me, just joking around, and I fell down. He felt really bad about that. He slugged me in the shoulder once, and I told him he had to remember I wasn’t his brother or any of his guys: He couldn’t hit me, even if he was just goofing around.

“I’ll try to remember,“ he said. “But when I’m having so much fun with you, I forget. I promise I’ll do better.” Then he wrestled me to the ground and kissed me.

Everything seemed like a fairy tale, for months. And then after school one day, this girl came up to me and pushed me.

“You know who I am, chiquita?” she asked. Two other girls--two big girls--stood behind her. “What’d they call you? Blue? You so much nothing that you only got a color for a name, is that it?”

I shook my head.

“I am Eva Rodriquez,” the girl said. “Hear me? I am Stevie’s girl. You got that? And if I ever see you near him again I will beat down your fresa ass to nothing. You understand me?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.

“You heard me,” she said. “This is the first and last time I’ll tell you this.” She pushed me again, and then she and her girls walked away.

My heart was beating so loud I thought someone was playing the drums nearby. I laughed, nervously, and hurried away. I kept looking around as I walked home, anticipating someone jumping out and attacking me. After a few minutes when nothing else happened, I calmed down. She didn’t actually want to kill me. Probably wouldn’t even beat me. Wow. She was a beautiful girl. Stephen had chosen me over her?

My grandma and Mom were at home when I got there. When I told them what had happened, Mom wanted to call the police.

“Mom, no,“ I said. “It’ll be all right. She was jealous.“

“She had her hands on you,“ Mom said. “That’s not good. She’s probably in a gang.“

“Maybe she was trying to get you to join her gang,“ Grandma Merry said. “Isn’t that what they do? Beat up new gang members. That wouldn’t be good, Serena Blue. You can’t join a gang.“

“Mom,“ my mother said, “she’s not joining a gang. Blue, I’m either calling the police or I’m calling Stephen to find out what’s going on.“

“Please don’t do either,“ I said.

She picked up the phone.

“Mom, Mom,“ I pleaded. “Don’t do this. Let me call him. Mom!“

She wasn’t listening. As usual.

”Stephen,” she said, “some girl just came up to Blue and threatened to kill her. She said she was a girlfriend of yours.”

Silence.

“I don’t who she was, Stephen,” my mom said. “Eva somebody. Is your mother there? I want to speak to her. No, you don’t need to come here. All right. For a few minutes.”

“Mom, Stephen didn’t do anything,” I said. She put the phone down. “You shouldn’t be mad at him.”

“Well, obviously he’s been dating both of you at the same time,” she said, “and this other girl found out.”

“He never said he wasn’t dating other girls,” I said. I didn’t usually lie to my mother, but I wanted to calm her down.

“Mom, she didn’t hurt me,” I said. “I shouldn’t have told you.”

“I’m glad you told me,” she said. “My job is to protect you.”

“I’m not a baby,” I said. “I should have punched her.”

“Yes, that would have made everything all right,” she said.

“This boy is trouble,” Grandma Merry said. “He is no good.”

“Grandma,” I said, “you don’t know him.”

“I know he has a girlfriend who is threatening to kill my grand baby,” she said. “He is not a good judge of character.”

“He’s dating me,” I said. “And I’m a good character.”

I don’t know if that was exactly what I said. I would have said anything. I shouldn’t have told my mother. I’d been bragging about it more than anything. I liked that a boy--a man, really--had chosen me over another girl.

When Stephen came to the door, he looked confused--and angry. Was he angry with me? I started to say something to him, but he stepped into the house and went right by me and into the kitchen. My mother stood near the sink with her hands on her hips. My grandmother sat at the table.

Stephen said, “Eva’s an ex-girlfriend of mine. I’m so sorry. I’ll make certain she never bothers Blue again.”

My mother didn’t say anything.

“I’m really sorry,” Stephen said again.

“Mom,” I said.

“You’ll make it right?” she asked.

“Yes, Cara,” he said.

My mom bristled. I could tell she didn’t like him using her first name.

Stephen must have noticed, too, because he said, “I’ll make it right, ma’am.”

My mother said, “We’ll see.”

My grandmother shook her head.

“Go home, Stephen,” my mom said. “It’s a school night.” She crossed her arms across her chest.

Stephen nodded and left the kitchen. I followed him outside to his car. He leaned up against it, took my hands in his, and pulled me to him. He wrapped his arms around me and I closed my eyes and listened to his heartbeat.

“Why’d you tell your mom?” he whispered.

I shrugged.

“Eva wouldn’t hurt you,” he said.

“I think she would,” I said. “I’d hurt her to have you.”

He laughed softly.

Then he said, “I didn’t mean to lie to you. I don’t know why I did.”

I looked up at him. “Lie to me?”

“I said I’d never dated a Mexican,” he said. “Eva was my first. But I thought she was Filipino.”

Sometimes he said the strangest things.

“When did you break up with her?” I asked.

“A few months ago,” he said. Stephen and I had been going out for six months. I tried to pull away from him. He held me tighter. I looked up at him.

“I know, I know,” he said. “But it’s only you now, baby Blue. Just you.” He leaned down and kissed me. “Let’s go for a ride. I really need you now.”

“I can’t,” I said. “You heard my mother.”

He moaned, kissed me, and let me go.

“See you when I see you then,” he said.

He got in his car and drove away. I wondered if he was going to find Eva.

I went back into the house. Grandma Merry and Mom were both sitting at the table.

“What do you see in him?” Mom asked.

“Why don’t you like him?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t want to push you into his arms by telling you what I don’t like.”

“He cheated on you, for one,” Grandma Merry said.

“He didn’t!”

“He’s been dating this psychopath Eva while he was dating you,” Mom said. “That’s cheating. Have you had sex with him? He’s obviously having sex with her.”

I felt my face turn red. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying.

“That’s my private business,” I said. I turned to leave. Mom grabbed my hand.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Sit down. Talk with us.”

I pulled out a chair and sat at the table with them.

“He doesn’t seem very respectful of you,” Mom said.

Grandma looked out the window. She was “gone.“ She had lost interest in the conversation. She did that. She’d be in the room with us or I’d be on the phone with her and suddenly she’d go away.

“Stephen is respectful,” I said. “And I haven’t had sex with him.“

I almost asked, “what is your definition of sex?” But I knew that would open up a whole can of worms that none of us wanted to look at.

Stephen wanted to have sex with me. Lately, most of our conversations seemed to revolve around him wanting me to do something sexual to him. I wasn’t sure why I kept saying no, but I did. I mean, I loved him, so why didn’t I just do what he wanted.

My grandma looked away from the window and back at us. “Blue likes this boy because he’s pretty,” Grandma said. “You’ve been running around the country with her all her life making her feel rootless and homeless and now she has found herself a pretty boy. Everyone admires her. The other girls want to be her. She’s never experienced that before.”

I stared at Grandma Merry. Sometimes she was long gone and other times she could see right to the truth. Even if it wasn’t a truth I wanted anyone else to know.

“It’s more than that,” I said. “I feel safe with him.”

“Safe?” Mom said. She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“When I’m with him, I feel like there’s no one else in the world but us,” I said, “like I’m pretty and interesting.”

“But you are pretty and interesting,” Mom said.

I laughed and wiped my eyes before any tears fell down my cheeks. “You’re my mother,” I said. “You see me through momma eyes.” I looked at my grandmother. “And grandma eyes. Most of the time I feel like nothing and nobody. Like I don’t have control over anything.” I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Mom squeezed my hand.

And then out of the blue, apropos of nothing, Grandma Merry said, “Warren’s sister Geraldine died last month.”

Mom and I looked at her. She didn’t say anything else.

Finally Mom said, “I’m sorry she died, Mom.”

“She’s your aunt,” Grandma Merry said. “Your great aunt.”

Mom looked at me and rolled her eyes. “Thanks for the genealogy lesson, Mom. I don’t think I ever met her. And we were talking about Blue and how she’s feeling.”

“That’s all right,” I said. “Let’s forget about it.”

“She’s left her house on the Oregon coast to us,” Grandma Merry said. “It was Warren’s house. I mean the one he grew up in. There’s some land, too.”

“She left it to us?” Mom said. “Don’t you mean she left it to you?”

Grandma Merry shook her head. “No. She left it to Merry Rivers, Cara Rivers, and Serena Blue Rivers. The will stipulates that we have to go to Bandon--that’s the name of the town--and claim the property, even if we want to sell it. If we don’t go within three months, the land and house will then be donated to the state government to do with it what they will.”

“Do all three of us have to go?” Mom asked.

Grandma shrugged. “I’m not sure.” She looked at us. “But why don’t we go anyway, all three of us? School will be over in a week. Let’s go claim our inheritance.”

“But, Mom, you hate the ocean,” Mom said.

Grandma Merry looked at her daughter. “What makes you think that?”

“Because you told me you do!” She looked at me. “If I go, will you go?” she asked.

“You mean I actually have a choice?” I asked.

“That’s a good question,“ she said. “I’ll have to think about it.”

“I already bought the tickets,“ Grandma Merry said. “And I’ll lose a lot of money if we cancel.“ She pushed away from the table. “So really,“ she said, “neither one of you has a choice. I’m the eldest and the wisest, and I’ve decreed we’re going.“

“Mom!“ my mother said. “You can’t do that.“

“I just did,“ she said. “I don’t ask either of you for much, and this is important.“

”It’s probably some dumpy cottage that’s falling into the sea,” Mom said. “Probably not worth anything.”

“Maybe not,” Grandma Merry said, “but I want to go and I want my daughter and granddaughter to come with me. You don’t have to stay long, either of you.”

“Don’t you mean ‘we’ don’t have to stay long?” Mom asked. “You’re not staying there, are you?”

“Of course not,” Grandma Merry said. She shook her head. “Remember, I hate the ocean.”



17 comments:

Joanna said...

What a wonderful story to wake up to! I love it! And you've left us hanging, wanting more . . . what happens when they get to Oregon???

becky said...

This is so awesome! Please let me know when there is more to the Blue Tail. I would also love to read your book, church of the old mermaids. How od I contact you?

Becky from CT

Anonymous said...

This is so awesome, when will the next chapter be ready?

Star Kay said...

I am an OLD MERMAID Crone...I have a young grandneice to train up into the ways of Mers and Selkies....Please more story, I am entranced by the Ladies maiden, mother and Crone! :)
Star Kay

Kim Antieau said...

Glad you all liked it! I've written the second chapter and am eager to get to the third one. I probably won't post any more; I usually just post the first chapter. Now I'll look for a publisher. Although I can tell you that Blue, Cara, and Merry do get to Oregon and many amazing things happen there. (What a dodge, eh?)

Becky, you can go to my website and get my email, or write to kim(at)kimantieau(dot)com and I'll send you a pdf of it. Of course substituting @ for the (at) and a period for the (dot). All this subterfuge is to prevent spam robots.

Star Kay, I'm so glad to meet another Old Mermaid. Wander around the site and you'll find lots of Old Mermaid stories.

Blessed sea!

kerrdelune said...

I agree with Joanna. what a wonderful thing to wake up, turn on the computer and find a new mermaid book. I love it, I love it, I love it. Much love, Cate

Kims Art said...

Kim, I loved the first chapter of the Blue tail. A gifted writer you are! I could spend hrs looking through all your posts. I will be back to read some more. I am going to add you to my links. I am a member of the Enchanted Folk. You might want to look into that. I have a link on my site. It is a place for writers, poets and artists. You will love all of the mermaid art!

Susan said...

Kim, I love this, too. So much so that I don't know how I'll ever manage to wait for the rest!

The Story Siren said...

i would really like to read some more! that was great!

Kim Antieau said...

Thanks all. Your words inspire me to keep on going! You'll be glad to know (I think) that I'm up to the fifth chapter! So cross your fingers that all goes well. The sooner I finish it, the sooner I can get it out there.

Raelynn said...

I really like the story! I'm waiting for more!

Susan said...

How lovely to see Serena's name in a story, by the way. I've always thought it was beautiful and I love what Blue says about it.

Anonymous said...

A welcome distraction from the stress of my real world, I love it!
Pam
AJ says: Will you write a book about a boy sometime so it's something besides Harry Potter?

Kim Antieau said...

Thanks Raelynn, Susan, and Pam! And tell AJ that in my next book (which I begin tomorrow) the main character is a boy. Has he read Broken Moon? It is chock full of boys--and it's a beautiful story, if I do say so myself, with lots of adventure and pathos.

Mystery Ranch said...

Kim
Great to read your work. Do you have a feed on your page? I'd like to subscribe. Since you're a mermaid fan, you might be interested in my mermaid soaps. One is chocolate scented and contains chocolate. The other is Tropical scent and contains kelp.
www.wisewomenofthewest.com Go to "the Souk" page to see. I also make products from seaweed. I have a blog too mysteryranch.blogspot.com
Mysteryranch

Kim Antieau said...

Well, Mystery Ranch, I think you can subscribe to it. I'm subscribed to it. Were you not able to?

Mya said...

Kim,
Where can we find a copy of The Church of the Old Mermaids? I think I like your work. Wonderful find! I would like to hear more about Oregon as well.
-Mya