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Then every sailor lad he would be happy with his friend
My short story "Twice Every Day Returning" is now online at Uncanny Magazine.
It was written last September, another ice-story from a heat wave; it was my first original fiction since the onset of the pandemic and arrived somewhat unexpectedly as a pendant to the title novelette of As the Tide Came Flowing In (2022), itself already a prequel to the central novella of Forget the Sleepless Shores (2018), thus making a cycle for the first time in my fiction. The title comes from the ballad "Just as the Tide Was Flowing," but the song itself was written to albums of Gordon Bok and Cesária Évora plus an assortment of sea-songs, chanteys, and morna. It is queer, and maritime, and about diaspora, and important to me.
The past is the anchorage of the future. I want one to live toward, not merely into.
It was written last September, another ice-story from a heat wave; it was my first original fiction since the onset of the pandemic and arrived somewhat unexpectedly as a pendant to the title novelette of As the Tide Came Flowing In (2022), itself already a prequel to the central novella of Forget the Sleepless Shores (2018), thus making a cycle for the first time in my fiction. The title comes from the ballad "Just as the Tide Was Flowing," but the song itself was written to albums of Gordon Bok and Cesária Évora plus an assortment of sea-songs, chanteys, and morna. It is queer, and maritime, and about diaspora, and important to me.
The past is the anchorage of the future. I want one to live toward, not merely into.
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the blue lace of the Atlantic fanning itself white over black sand as hot in the sun as if it remembered the volcano it had blood-spouted from
a shooting star such as they had watched streaking the cold fall night of the Galatea’s passage through the North Atlantic, another and then another after it like the sky itself coming loose from the zodiac, a lion’s mane of sea-quenched light
the barnacled black flukes spun him down into the blue-skinned depths of the Beaufort Sea.
Thank you!
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I'm so glad!
Had always wanted to work Cape Verdean cranberry bogs into a story--so pleased you've done it!
I am especially glad then that you approve! I still think you should write your story with them. I'd love to read it.
I loved the tracery of Abraão's life spread out across the world and the bits of language you put in. That word for the flowers! And the descriptions
I had the invaluable assistance of Manuel Da Luz Gonçalves' 2016 dictionary for the Cape Verdean Creole and for the rest, I really missed the sea.
Thank you!
Thank you!
P.S.
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.... in other news, it's morning. Sending love. I am here for you and everyone in the struggle we're up against.