A March of Marys, day fourteen
Today is day 14 of A March of Marys, a literary experience where I share a sequential chunk of American Mary, my first novel, right here online every day throughout the month of March. How are you feeling? I hope you’re good. As for me, I’m feeling a little depressed and not good enough, but I’m holding it together.
Tomorrow I am hosting an event for Bring a Blanket Reading Series!-, which I’m very much looking forward to. We’re having a book release party at Philadelphia Small Works Gallery for Kris Hall’s new book Post-Mortem Dance Fever, featuring Kris Hall visiting from the West coast, alongside local legends Shannon Frost Greenstein and Jane-Rebecca Cannarella. If you’re in town and you’re free you should totally come and rage with us. There’s a bunch of other literary events happening afterward as well, so perhaps we’ll roll deep to another venue and keep the celebration going.
I’m thinking of spending some time this weekend, maybe Sunday, to put American Mary together as a free/downloadable ebook for you, so you can read it in its entirety. Stay tuned for more on that.
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We owned a haunted house. An attraction of sorts, maybe you could call it a tourist trap, but we lived there too.
We spent our days repairing leaky ceilings and raking dead leaves. We ate homemade bread and jam and took turns with the chores, but we knew our place. I liked the quiet and you liked the cold.
Arms locked, we toured the grounds with our visitors. Some said it felt like the Strangers On A Train amusement park. We had it all. Manmade lake and islands, scattered woods perfect for choking, and pale brown fields stretching over hills and disappearing into dusk.
It scared me at night, but you held my hand.
One evening while crossing the woods, we came across a huddled form. A red-haired hag drinking the blood of a male wolf, to restore her looks. As she lapped, the wrinkles fell from her neck.
‘Don’t tell my husband,’ she said, stroking the wolf’s fur, but we kept walking, quickening our pace.
You put your hand on the small of my back and left it there all the way home, guiding me along trails and helping me avoid tree roots underfoot.
That was the last significant thing that happened to us before I decided to leave.
Missed yesterday’s post? Read it here.