Melusine and the sea
STORY | Melusine and The Sea (a wee tale for wee people by Jen Selk)
Melusine lived in a little place, overlooking an enormous sea. And she didn’t like it. She was afraid of the water.
She felt that the sea wanted her. It was always calling. Raw and wild, it roared for her day and night, and when it wasn’t roaring, it seemed to whisper her name. Even on still days, the sea never slept. She could feel its pull in the outbound tide, and she could see it in the surf, clawing away at the beach. It was always there, waiting.
Her family didn’t understand. They loved the sea, and wanted Melusine to love it as they did.
“The sea is beautiful,” said her father, pointing out at the horizon. “See how she dances and sings? The sea is a friendly thing.” But Melusine shook her head. The sea did not look friendly to her.
“All life comes from the sea. It is safe if we respect it,” said her mother. But Melusine shook her head. The sea did not look safe to her.
“The sea is fun,” called her brother as he splashed in the shallows. But when the murky water lapped her own legs, Melusine thought only of great whales, monstrous fish, giant squid, and the abiding cold. The sea did not seem like fun to her.
So she was alone in her fear, and she felt especially alone amongst her family, who made her feel strange.
Here is a thought – a small sad thought, that can bloom in a mind: Perhaps Melusine did not belong with her family at all. Perhaps the sea wanted her because she belonged with the sea.
This was the thought the sea had been waiting for.
A shadow fell over Melusine’s shoulder, like a cloud passing in front of the sun. She turned to look, but instead of a cloud, all she saw was water. An enormous wave, as tall as a building, curled up over her head, blotting out the sky.
And before she could run, before she could scream, before she could do anything at all, the wave broke, covered her, and carried her into the sea.
In the sea, the world was eerie. Melusine went out with the tide.
Over a reef, shoals of fish made patterns in the water, like flocks of birds, but when she tried to join them, they broke and scattered, darting into crevices to hide. Melusine tried to follow, but could not fit into the little spaces. So she knew she did not belong with the fish.
She passed through an underwater forest and saw a group of rays, gliding along through the kelp. She tried to swim alongside them, but she couldn’t keep up. So she knew she did not belong with the rays.
At the edge of the deep, a pod of dolphins played. Melusine tried to speak with them, but they only chittered back, too busy with their game to try to understand her. So she knew she did not belong with the dolphins.
Out in the deep, there was nothing but blue, lighter near the surface, and almost black below. In the distance, she could hear the moaning song of a whale, but Melusine was alone.
She found she missed the sound of her brother’s voice, inviting her to play. She missed the feel of her mother’s hand, guiding her along. And she missed the warmth of her father’s chest, his big arms lifting her to see the world. So she knew she did not belong in the sea.
The tide turned, and carried her home.
Melusine is still a little afraid of the water. There are things in the deep she’d rather not meet. But when it isn’t too cold, she swims with her brother, and often has fun. She walks with her mother, and listens to her, and feels safe. And when her father lifts her to point out to the horizon, she tries to see what he sees. The sea, she knows, is friendlier than it looks.
Melusine and her family are not the same, but they try to understand each other, and she does not feel strange.
-FIN-
BIRTHDAY | Today I am 40.
Last year on this day, I posted about my daughter’s then-bedtime-routine (insane). She has gone through a multitude of obsessive bedtime phases, from insisting I sing The Lumineers Ho Hey to her four million times, to demanding I do the Frozen II lullaby All Is Found, complete with my pinky finger stroking her nose “like the Mama did to Anna,” to asking for detailed original stories.
“Bran new,” she insists. “Ones I never even heard before. Bran new ones only for me.” As a result, I have found myself composing various tales on the fly. She remembers literally every single detail of every story I’ve told her. And she is vocally critical if I try to half-ass it or recycle ideas.
So Melusine and the Sea started out as one such original tale.
Not one of her favourites, for whatever that’s worth. It has aspects of my own repetitive anxiety dreams (monstrous tidal waves, drowning, dark water), references to the fantasy stories and folk tales I once loved, and shades of Where The Wild Things Are. It’s just stuff. The things that float up to the surface when a small child is demanding you tell them a “bran new” story have to come from somewhere. But it felt like one of my better ones, so I wrote it down and polished it up.
Awhile back, I had a number of literary agent nibbles on this (and a few other) pieces of writing.
People seemed to like it, and for a hot second it felt like it might actually sell a few things again. It is a little too dark and potentially scary to be marketable, so I was thinking of working on that, and then … life took over, as it does, and I lost steam on advocating for it, and on pursing new publications in general. Being a woman and a parent, doing my day job from home while also shouldering 90% of the domestic labour and (sorry not sorry) 100% of the mental load, I just … don’t have time. I don’t have the time or energy to pursue meaningful creative work of my own. Lately I realized that a full two years had passed since I last dealt with those nibbly agents and … I got a little depressed.
That was TWO YEARS AGO? The time is flying. And yet seeming to stay still. Maybe it’s turning 40 and everybody saying “FORTY!!!” at me like it’s some huge thing. (Like is it? Who cares? I’ve been aging myself up for years already.) Maybe it’s ten percent renewed Hamilton fever over the past couple of weeks (new to NKL, and he’s now obsessed) and some level of artistic jealousy and looking at Lin-Manuel Miranda and thinking, ‘Jesus Murphy, that guy is EXACTLY MY AGE.’ Maybe it’s just the pandemic. Maybe it’s a lot of things. I’m fine. You don’t need to worry about me. These are fleeting thoughts.
Anyway, I think this is a good little story, so I felt like sharing it. I can’t always play the long game with the traditional publishing market.
I’m no artist, but I created the artworks myself, in a flip-book animation style.
I tried to get them to autoplay and loop, but I can’t get them to all go at once so I think you actually have to tap the play button to make them work. Obviously, I used a free app. I kind of put together some bits of found collage with my own crappy doodles done on a tablet (and I don’t have good stylus tools or anything). I just used the butt of a free pen I got from my accountant. But I stayed up all night for a couple of nights to find the time to figure out how to create this art and to do the drawings (remember, every 1 second means at least 12 frames), so please appreciate me. They’re supposed to be weird and kind of shitty. That’s deliberate.
I don’t advertise at all on this site.
My blog is not monetized in any way. I’ve been here for 15 years now, plugging away at “content creation” for exactly nothing. This is just a free children’s story. No big deal. And it’s fine. I despise capitalism and fully believe that not everything needs to be about the almighty dollar. So if you like this story, by all means read it to your children. Enjoy it in any way that feels enjoyable. Share it if you like. Try to credit me. And if you like my work and ever want to support me in a dollar-bills kinda way, go ahead. You can do that too.
Read some more personal essays, here.
Read about my writing life, here.
40 years old. Who’da thunk it?