If I watch myself, then I suddenly have a bunch of things that I’m scared to do. It just upsets me. I’ve stopped reading reviews, as well. If one is negative, you hold on to that. It was killing me. It was holding me back from being creative and being free. … The first thing that was written was, ‘What’s up with this kid’s eyebrows? He looks like a friggin’ Neanderthal.
The poor whelp had probably never even met a girl, let alone kissed one, judging by the pox on his face and the squeak of his voice.
Jane laid out on a warm black rock, sunning herself. Waves lapped up against her tail as she reclined, resting a hand on her stomach which had been satisfied by a poor cabin boy she’d managed to steal away from his ship at port. They’d be missing him surely, but there were plenty more little scraps to take his place. The young sort were never her favorite meals- too small, mostly stringy and not well-built, but she made do.
When she laid out above the waves, the gills that lined her neck closed tight and her human lungs took over. From the navel upwards she looked like a normal woman, if you couldn’t see the massive fish’s tail that comprised her lower half. Her wet hair was plastered to the rocks, exposing her bare breasts to the warmth from above. Gulls squawked nearby- there was an island not but several swishes away. Sailors didn’t usually stray out to these parts- the islands were small, overgrown, and undesireable. There was no treasure to be found here. Barely an island to find in the first place. It was the perfect place to rest for the afternoon. Jane lazily flicked her tailfin, occasionally spraying the briney water up over herself.