When I moved to Stony Brook this past summer, I was fortunate enough to spend the first six weeks of my time here house-sitting for one of my new colleagues. The house was beautiful (the office? Is my platonic ideal of a writer's office), there were two excellent cats for me to hang out with, and the house was in walking distance of the beach.
One of the things I had missed most during my exile time in Minnesota was a large body of salt water. I had lived in Miami, and near Seattle before Minneapolis, and I strongly suspect that there might be selkie in my genetics somewhere. So living in a house like that meant that I walked the beach at least once every day.
The waves carry the most interesting things. One of those things was my story, "The Speaking Bone," out today in this month's Apex.