project intro, choking on sea salt
choking on sea salt
chapter 1, chapter 2 part one, chapter 2 part two
genre . gothic horror, folk horror
status . outlining, drafting
tag . #choking on sea salt
a fishing village with a foggy history. whispers and visions of century-old evils. unexplained shipwrecks and an ocean no one is permitted to step foot near.
if you're a fan of vengeful sirens, feminine rage, or the concept of "coastal gothic" (in the same vein as southern gothic), then choking on sea salt may draw your interest...
summary .
sadie is a young journalist intending only to study the history of a remote fishing village. upon her arrival, however, the residents are distrustful and avoidant of her questions. it is forbidden to step onto the beaches or into the water, and the ocean elicits a visceral fear in the locals. more notably, though, is the startling lack of women, and sadie’s attempts to speak with the few women present are repeatedly thwarted or outright denied. sadie’s suspicions are growing, her notebook contains more questions than answers, and the eerie song echoing through the night is drawing her closer and closer to the ocean – and the century-old evils that lie in wait beneath it.
please let me know if anyone would like to be added to the tag list for posts about this wip!
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Rocks dark in the setting sun. Rubbing grape juice across my lips, I watch the sun leak from the sky. Wrinkled and grey, it is left. A lonely shade to welcome the Moon.
Father caught a pink fish for supper. We ate the flesh and spit out the bones.
I bury them beneath sand grains and look up at the grape stained sky.
Soon, we loose the summer and I find you.
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I guess while I’m at it, I’ll upload a few. This is a fave, and I ended up loving the rough edges. Listened to “Under the Milky Way” by The Church, on repeat, when I drew this...
“Low Tide”
graphite and charcoal on paper
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ruins of a beachfront restaurant | cardiff-by-the-sea, california (2019)
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choking on sea salt
fog rising from the ocean’s surface, choking your lungs, muffling your senses. the shimmer of blood-stained scales flashing in the corner of your vision. pale figures flickering through the haze, lingering when you close your eyes. the taste of sea salt on the breeze, stinging your cracked lips. waves rumble in the distance, not a comfort, but the distant growl of a hungry wolf. the fury of your mothers and sisters before you boiling in your veins, prepared to bite at a reaching hand.
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The ocean today.
I fear I am obsessed with creation. Are we all—writers, painters, playwrights, friends—longing to become Gods? Can we ever be satisfied?
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Story time
I’ve been off for a while, and I return with this:
Context: before I was forced to move to the very edge of a city a little ways inland, I used to live in a TINY town right on the beach. This town is surrounded by marshes, swamps, rivers, forests, and canals.
Anyway, a coworker and I were discussing cool things we’ve seen in our towns--a deer eating from a drive-thru window, a city pigeon with a trio of crow bodyguards, etc--when I brought up how many times I’ve seen tourists from the city fall into swaps and marshes back home because they don’t read the signs warning them about the ghost lights.
My coworker stared at me like I was crazy. “The...what?”
So I tell her about all the tourists I'd seen lose their bikes, shoes, bags, even a whole car to these ghost lights. Then I tell her about the time my school called all kids inside and locked the doors because a teacher spotted a light outside the yard. No recess that day, even after the light vanished.
“Your home town is haunted as shit. You know that, right?”
“Oh yeah.”
I have so many more stories from my old hometown, but my coworker says she doesn’t want nightmares.
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