a clutch of mermaid eggs


It took years of searching under kelp and seaweeds, of slipping past barnacles at low tide, and hunting through the flotsam of a storm surge. At last I’ve found a clutch of mermaid eggs. With care and a stroke of luck, I might be able to hatch them. I’ve studied the manuscripts, the old legends scraped in stone. If I succeed – well, I’ll have a pair of mermaids to raise as my own, won’t I? Shh. Tell no one and I’ll introduce you to them one day.

The Antler, the Witch, and the Queen

The witch used an antler to make a sling beneath her cloak and settled the baby inside. She slipped past the guards, beneath the portcullis, and hurried into the forest.

Hours passed before she heard the howls and snarls of the dogs sent to track them. She lay the sling in the snow, removing the girl-child’s swaddling cloths in haste. Her fingers brushed the Mark of Future Ruler on the baby’s belly. The third girl born with the mark. The King and his knights had slaughtered the others for their sex. This one, the witch vowed to save.

The frenzied dogs drew nearer. Rabbits and birds fled past, leaping over the babe in the snow. The witch pulled her magic quickly to her and whispered a spell of shifting.

The baby cooed as she grew from infancy to womanhood in a heart’s beat. The old antler sling made a crown above her head. The witch thought it fitting.

When the dogs arrived they circled, sniffing, round and round, but only a naked woman, a bear, and the fast fading scent of baby remained. The dogs couldn’t read the mark upon the woman’s belly, or see the bear had the old witch’s eyes.

Whining for their lost trail, the dogs scattered into the forest.

“Best stay in this form for now, little one,” said the Witchbear, gathering the woman in her arms.

The future Queen cooed.

The Witchbear reached for the antler. Best keep it. It made a fine crown.

white concrete building interior with antlers hanging
Photo by fotografierende on Pexels.com

Sister Toad

A witch turned Breanne into a toad for making fun of the witch’s warts. “I earned every one with a spell well done,” muttered the witch as she walked away. Now Breanne had warts of her own and hid underground where no one could see her.

The only person she would allow to visit was her sister, Senora, who came every Saturday.

Years passed. The girls grew up.

One Saturday Senora made an announcement. “You should know, I took up magic. I’ve studied and studied and I’ve finally got a spell to turn you back into a girl.”

Breanne croaked with joy.

Senora shut the door and hung her lantern on a root. She cleared her throat and readied herself for the spell. “Toadstools to footstools, nightmares into dreams, turn sister toad into a girl!”

There was a shimmer of light and Breanne the girl stood where the toad had been.

“It worked!” Senora whooped with pride.

Breanne gazed at her hands, whole and unwebbed at last. How she had missed them. How she had missed her own beautiful face! She yearned for a mirror.

Breanne reached out to embrace her sister, grimacing as she noticed a witch wart appear on the end of Senora’s nose. “Gross! You’ve got warts.”

Senora’s anger crackled in the air. “It’s a badge of honor for a working spell.”

“Ugh. Get rid of it.”

“As you wish, you ungrateful toad.” Senora’s spell dissolved, the wart disappeared, and her sister turned back into a toad.


Toby’s Alicorn Adventure is out and it looks amazing!!

Toby’s Alicorn Adventure, my middle grade fantasy short story about a little girl who finds an alicorn (unicorn’s horn) and uses a magical website to find its lost owner, is out in this month’s issue of Cricket: the Realm of the Imagination!

2018-09-18 14.05.44.jpg

It’s a real thrill to see my name in the table of contents of a magazine I love reading with my eldest daughter. She says it’s exciting for her too but… I might win the excitement award on this one.  *wink*

2018-09-18 14.03.22.jpg

Artist Benjamin Schipper illustrated Toby and he did a marvelous job. I’m so thrilled to see my characters come to life.


In the story Toby posts an ad to find the owner of a lost alicorn on a website for magical creatures called the Hag’s List. After posting her ad with directions to her bedroom window to claim the alicorn, a few shady characters turn up.

2018-09-18 14.04.17.jpg

My story was inspired by my partner’s misadventures trying to sell a tractor on a buy-and-sell site popular in our area. If you’ve ever tried to sell something on the internet, you can probably relate to the strange responses Toby gets.

I am happy to admit I squealed with delight when I saw the flying rhinoceros got his own illustration!

2018-09-18 14.05.08.jpg

If you want to read it for yourself or think your kids would enjoy my story, it is available on Cricket’s website, many fine bookstores, and your local library.

Happy writing!

Eeny Meeny Miney Mo!

After a dangerous voyage from the Rivendell wilds of New Zealand, my print copy of the children’s anthology Eeny Meeny Miney Mo: Tales for Tired Tykes has finally made it to my mailbox.


This is a larger book than I had pictured, much bigger than a typical scribbler (school notebook). The print is a nice size for reading and the full page illustrations preceding the stories pop off the page. All of the illustrations were done by artist Jon Stubbington.

The table of contents is a series of those illustrations rather than words, which works well for the younger end of the 3-7-year-old audience. They select a picture and their readers turn to the page to read the title. This frustrates me a little, I’ll admit, being used to titles in my tables of contents, but my girls love this feature.


My story contribution, Leif the Story Hunter, sits somewhere in the middle of the book. Of course I flipped there to read it first. It’s about a boy who lives in the woods with his father, hunting for stories which they trap inside blank books and sell to the bookstore in the city. It’s a wonderful life, but when they trap the wrong story Leif’s father is held hostage until Leif can catch a replacement. Lief has never hunted on his own before…

2018-09-14 10.21.30.jpg

This is a fun book, and what’s great about it is that it’s geared to kids, not adults, on every level of its design. If you’d like to grab a copy, you can find them at the Patchwork Raven.

That’s it for now but stay tuned because the September 2018 issue of Cricket: the Realm of Imagination is out and I’m watching my mailbox for it. It takes a little extra time to make it into Canada but it’s going to be worth the wait because my funny fantasy story ‘Toby’s Alicorn Adventure’ is inside! The girls and I love reading Cricket and I am so excited to see my story inside those beloved pages.

Happy writing!

ghosts of the apocalypse


The ghost flames flickered over the branches, tasting the sweet sap. For half a breath we thought them safe until the phantom flames shimmered and spread their tendrils. The trees were engulfed. The flames rushed through the forest, devouring everything. When they finished with the Boreal, they started on the Amazon. Not a single dandelion was spared. Life on Earth was over.

Some say the phantom of that fire ate our souls as well, but there comes a bitter heartbreak to being forced off-world which lends itself to poetry and dark, deep thoughts of loss. We, the broken, exist to survive now. Our children will not be burdened by this darkness. For them we carry on.




the little diveman

Eldin glimpsed his mermaid in the water, the one who stole his heart when he rescued her from the beach. He’d given up everything to find her.

He rushed across The Sea Witch and struggled into scuba gear.

“You sure know what you’re doin’?” asked the Captain.

“Of course.” Eldin flashed his forged dive ticket again.

The Captain cursed as the boy splashed into the water. “No deeper than 30m or the decompression’ll kill ya.”

Eldin found his mermaid waiting for him, smiling and holding out her hands.

She led him to an underwater village built of kelp and coral.

The regulator he needed for breath wouldn’t let him speak his promises of love, but he rejoiced at the warmth of her hand against his glove.

His depth gauge read 120m when his mask cracked. Eldin paid it little mind, his mind too full with the magic of first love.

She let go of Eldin’s hand as a school of merchildren swam to greet her. When she gestured to Eldin they rushed to hug him. He tried to smile but his stomach knotted up with doubts. A smiling merman shook his hand. Her family, Eldin realized, her children. Her husband.

Eldin turned, hoping they wouldn’t see the agony of his shattered heart. He needed to get away. To find somewhere alone to howl with this awful pain.

He released his dive weights, rushing to the surface, heedless of the Captain’s warning.

They never found his body. Some say he turned to sea foam, his sorrow clinging to the surface of her world and to his.



the mermaid’s return

I slip inside the waves, the sea kissing my skin. We’ve been so long apart. She soothes my aching senses, dulling the sharp sounds and smells of the open air.

My tattered feet merge into my tailfin. Out of habit my eyes hunt for the notch I earned from a run-in with a nurse shark when I was seven. I take comfort that my true form remains the same after so many years hidden away.

Everything turns inward. I am aware of my self in the water, my breath, my heartbeat. I swim deeper, reaching for the distant clicks and whale song of the sea, leaving the land and all its ghosts behind forever.


skeleton keys

“Skeleton keys don’t unlock skeletons, you know,” said the boy. “It’s a real shame, too.”

“I guess, but this one will open my mum’s closet,” said his friend.

The first boy shrugged. “Yeah, but who cares about some old shoes and dresses. Come on, let’s go play outside.”

The door slammed behind them.

The skeletons in the closet relaxed in a clatter of loose joints. That was close.

2018-08-02 20.16.52.jpg



Making Beaches Great Again

I believe artists have a social responsibility not just to provide escape, but to stand up for what’s right. To show a mirror to society, to speak up. While there is some movement on this issue, I encourage everyone to keep fighting for these families and children. We are all one natural disaster away from becoming refugees ourselves.

Making Beaches Great Again

“My Mom and I came to this beach a month ago. It’s something mermaids like to do, you know? We tell each other these heart-breaking stories of mermaids who fall in love with human men and everything goes wrong.” The mermaid gazes across the sea, her smile fading, her lips trembling.

Her mermaid name is not allowed in the camp. The pronunciation is too difficult for the guards. She’s been temporarily assigned ‘Zoe’ until her processing is complete.

“The immigration officers were hiding behind a sand dune. They called us ‘illegals’ and told me I’d never see my mom again.” Her chin quivers. “I haven’t.” Zoe brushes a smooth, turquoise glass from her cheek. It’s true, that old legend of sea glass being mermaid tears.

Immigration Affairs refuses to back down, despite the lack of infrastructure to handle the sudden influx of underage merfolk. “These aren’t international waters. These mermaids broke the law. Nobody wants to see our beaches overrun with mermaids. We take their kids, they’ll get the hint and stay in the water.”

On Tuesday the leader of the dry world tweeted We could solve a lot of our problems by having a fish fry. #mermaidsushi #gettingmesometail. The House of White quickly issued a statement that their leader is not a cannibal and only intends to eat the fish half.

Zoe isn’t on twitter. I don’t bring it up.

She digs her fingers into the wet sand and fights back a sob. Her lap fills with sea glass. “Do you know where my mom is?”

Photo courtesy of Ian Espinosa on Unsplash