Author Heather Rigney Release Party and $50.00 Amazon Gift Card Contest LIVE Here!
You might be asking yourself, What’s this word—merrow? Fair enough. I’ll tell you.
Merrow is a Gaelic word. It comes from moruadh or murúghach, which comes from a combo of muir, meaning sea, and oigh, a maid.
So Heather (that’s me, the author), isn’t a merrow a mermaid?
Well, yes. But not your average sitting on rocks, combing one’s hair, making goo-goo eyes at sailors type of mermaid. No. My characters are not like that at all. This tale is different. In fact, the whole book is different. Oh you hear that all the time, do you? You probably do. Let me clarify …
Top 5 Things you will not find in my debut novel Waking the Merrow:
1. Singing mermaids. Not a one. My merrow don’t sing songs, fall in love, or talk to crabs, etc. Most of them are vicious, unpleasant beasties. They’ll eat you. For real life.
2. A main character that is attractive, polite, and responsible. I mean, really? Where’s the fun in that? Who wants to be inside the head of someone perfect? Not me. I’m a hot mess, but I’m interesting. At least I think I am. In any case, I relate more to someone who is real and flawed, and screws up every now and again. If you’re human—and not a Barbie doll—you might relate to my main character, Evie (rhymes with heavy) McFagan. Either that or you’ll hate her because you’re projecting …
3. Kissing. Yes, there’s some sex—but NO kissing. What, you might ask, do I have against kissing? Nothing. It just makes me queasy.
4. Underwater royalty. Nope. None of that. Not even going to go there.
5. A tropical setting. I’m a New Englander—Rhode Islander, to be exact. We don’t do tropical. We do wet, cold, icy, snow-covered misery. It’s the perfect backdrop for a spooky nautical romp, skittering past the jaws and claws of homicidal sea creatures.
1. Man-eating merrow. A girl’s got to eat, right? Well, my antagonist, Nomia (pronounced No–mee-ah), likes to feed her family frat boys. There’s a sushi joke here somewhere, but it’s eluding me. Feel free to create your own sushi-frat-boy themed joke in the comments section below.
2. An alcoholic, trucker-mouthed funeral director who sucks at life. That would be Evie. She just caught the attention of the aforementioned man-eating merrow. I told you my main character was a hot mess. Read the book to find out what the chances are of her redeeming herself.
3. Bad words. Evie uses bad words. I’m not apologizing. I just wrote what I heard, and I heard Evie using bad words.
4. Rhode Island. You may be familiar with Austin, Portland, and Seattle. Well, bah. They’ve got nothing on our tiny, weird state. We happen to be the same size as these cities, too. No joke. The novel takes place in the waters of Narragansett Bay, which is equivalent to the jelly part of a doughnut. The Bay is Rhode Island’s innards. We aren’t called the Ocean State for nothing. We have plenty of water for ageless, man-eating, aquatic nasties to dwell in, and they have—for centuries. Which brings me to …
5. History. Rhode Island was one of the original thirteen colonies. Colonial history was spoon-fed to me from the age of seven. Now that I’m a grownup (stop laughing!), I’m serving it up my way. This time, the British have more than angry colonists to deal with. They’ve got vindictive merrow climbing up their red coats.
The water lapped against the rocks, a soft lulling gurgle. The gulls were gone, and Aiden could make out the faint sound of an engine far across the Bay. Probably someone out night fishing. Wish I was with them, lucky bastards. The boat faded into oblivion. Once it was gone, Aiden snapped his fingers, then dug into the back pocket of his dungarees. Tucked neatly in his pipe pouch were two matchbooks. “Right!” he said drawing out one of the matchbooks. He returned the pouch to his back pocket and opened the heavy folded paper. One match remained. Tearing the last stick off, Aiden struck a match on the faded strike pad. Pinching the match in his oil-stained fingers, he searched the rocks for the lost lantern, cupping the flame with his free hand. “What the …?” The stones from the three piles had been reconfigured. Shards of glass, which he assumed came from the lost lantern, circled a large X of smooth flat stones. In the center, something dark and visceral glistened in the fading light from his match. “Huh?” Aiden stared down at the handiwork, then looked around the empty jetty. The match burned down to his fingers, then went out. “Ouch! Damn it!” He dropped both the burned-down match and the empty matchbook then shook the burning pain from his fingers. The darkness was all encompassing. Aiden’s eyes had not dilated with the light change. He was blind. With his eyes no longer useful, his ears went into overdrive. The waves slapped at the jetty, sloshing and licking at the rocks. A bell chimed on a channel marker, far across the Bay. Something rustled behind him followed by the sound of something shifting, sliding, as whatever it was tried to be silent. Aiden dug out his pipe pouch in a hurry. The zipper sounded like a jet plane as he opened it. He winced and, with trembling fingers, produced his backup matchbook. He kept the matchbook in his palm and returned the pipe pouch to his back pocket. Ripping another match from the brand new book, he struck the head on the back of the matchbook once, twice, three times. On the fourth strike, it caught with a faint hiss, the flame burning brilliant white, then fading to a warm orange glow. The smell of sulfur burned the hairs in Aiden’s nose as he lifted the lit match above his head. The flame didn’t produce enough light—just enough to make the blurry shadow of Aiden’s head dance around his feet. He turned left, then right, his hands above his head, shielding and directing the flame to cast some light on the source of the noise. He saw nothing. Must have been a rat. But unease and a slight tremor had settled in his soul, nesting there, squeezing Aiden’s heart with icy fingers. Returning his attention to the rearranged rocks at his feet, Aiden crouched down to examine the handiwork of the unknown vandal. Holding the second dwindling match with his left hand, he extended his right forefinger and poked the thick substance pooling in the center of the X. With a scowl on his face, he smeared the gunk against the pad of his right thumb. It was sticky. He brought his fingers to his nose and inhaled deeply. Aiden’s eyes grew wide—he knew that smell. Something’s not right. Aiden stood. The second match was almost out. The rustling sound returned, this time from his left, off the edge of the point. Aiden turned, swinging the match light to illuminate the source of the mysterious rustling. He saw nothing. But the noise continued. It was more of a whisper this time, more like the bubbling of liquid escaping down an old drain, gurgling as it hit the filth of the pipe on its descent. It was coming from just beyond the lip of rock that jutted out into the Bay, just beyond the light of his match. Aiden took a deep breath and chucked the match over the rocks. It flew end-over-end, then landed with a pfft, expiring as it hit the surface of the sea. Aiden was sure he saw something in the water just before the match died. A large shape that disappeared the instant his eyes registered its presence. Aiden struck another match and crept over to the rock’s edge. The flame danced and shimmied as he tried to keep his hands from shaking. He got down on his knees, both hands in front of him, directing the flame to what lay beyond the boundary of the rock. Aiden held his breath. Holding out his hands, he stretched the light towards the water. The ever-moving surface of the sea lay four feet below him. The blue-green liquid shimmered and swayed while tiny flecks of aquatic life flitted in the small pool of light, but there was nothing else to see. Letting out his held breath, Aiden leaned closer, his third match threatening to expire at any moment. The noise came again. This time it was right below him. Using the lit match, Aiden set his entire matchbook on fire, creating a miniature torch. He leaned forward, his torso over the surface of the water and looked down. Two hands, two clawed hands, and a face, a face of nightmares, raced towards the surface of the water. Towards Aiden. He never had time to scream. Across the Bay, a bell chimed, lulled by the rhythm of the incoming tide. In a nearby cove, gulls napped on pilings, waiting for the morning light, waiting for the opportunity to scavenge whatever might be floating on the cold surface of Narragansett Bay.
Read a 5 star review of Waking the Merrow by clicking here.
Buy a print copy of Waking the Merrow from Amazon by clicking here. Buy a Kindle copy of Waking the Merrow from Amazon by clicking here. – ONLY $2.99!
About Heather Rigney
Author Bio:
Writer, artist, and underwater fire-breather, Heather Rigney likes to make stuff. Stuff with words, stuff with paint, stuff that’s pretty, and stuff that’s not. Heather’s stories reflect her dark, gothic childhood spent alone in the woods of northern Rhode Island.
Having discovered the works of both Stephen King and Clive Barker at the age of eleven, she started to wonder if she truly was alone in the woods, or perhaps not. The perhaps was what kept her up at night. Her imagination cranked out stories and dreams that she kept to herself. She was an odd child and didn’t need one more reason for the neighbors to cluck, “That Rigney girl is so odd …” But now that she’s comfortable with her oddness, Heather would love to share her stories with you, dear reader.
Connect with Heather
| Website | Newsletter | Twitter | Facebook | Goodreads | Books by Heather Rigney
| Reviews of Heather’s Books |
Open to readers worldwide.
stickers and a Waking the Merrow T-shirt.
No comments :
Post a Comment