Thank you, reader, for your interest in my story. As you may have read, I was fortunate enough to win the SFWoE Short Story Contest in both 2002 and 2003. I have been writing all my life, but never had the courage to submit anything anywhere before attending Clarion in ’01. A Clarion buddy, Theodora Goss (who placed second in the SFWoE 2000 contest and won the 2001 competition), urged me to submit "Lady of Land’s End" and it placed Second! Gil Reis (SFWoE Administrator) and Ed Bryant (SFWoE Contest Judge) were so complimentary and encouraging I had another go the following year… and won First! When my winning story "Mirror, Mirror" went online in April ’04, it was my very first publication.

      But that was only the beginning! I showed my two winning stories to author/editor extraordinaire Julie E. Czerneda, one thing led to another and Mythspring was born. Mythspring is an exciting new anthology of original speculative short fiction inspired by the legends and lyrics of Canada. I am co-editing with Julie and my stories will be included. So, for copyright reasons, I’ve had to remove it from this site. I’ve left a tiny passage below to whet your appetite. I hope it will tempt you to run out and buy Mythspring as soon as it is released in the fall of ’05. It will be published by Fitzhenry & Whiteside and should be available at most bookstores or you can check my website. This will be my first print publication and it's all due to SFWoE.

      Before you go… a word about entry fees. Contests, especially when run by volunteers, must charge fees to cover administration costs. As such things go, the SFWoE entry fee of $5.00 (USD) is negligible; the prize money generous; and the fee for publication as fair as many. And you have the courtesy of an acknowledgement, which is more than certain professional editors will give you. So if you are an aspiring writer, I strongly urge you to submit your short stories to the annual SFWoE contest. Good luck.

--- Genevieve Kierans

     She was awakened with a jolt by a dreadful wailing, like that of some tortured soul from hell, ululating from the shifting shadows above her. A thick blue haze eddied around her in time to the howls. For a moment she was too terrified to breathe, and could only stare in panic at the steeply peaked roof above her as cold shivers crawled down her spine. Maybe this was hell?

     Then she recollected the accident and her other senses returned. She found herself stretched out on a lumpy sofa and covered by a none-too-clean Hudson's Bay Point blanket, its white background and bright indigo, red, green and yellow stripes but distant memories. A cold compress on her pounding forehead seemed to be melting and trickling water down her aching neck. Her hands and feet prickled with that uncomfortable, just-thawing-out, itch. Her nostrils were assailed by the pungent mixture of thrice-boiled coffee, burning pine and stale tobacco. Beneath those aromas were older scents, familiar smells that her befuddled head couldn't quite name, though it knew it ought to.

     Groaning, she pushed herself to a sitting position, dislodging a one-eared black cat that had settled itself on her legs. It hissed in a most unfriendly way, then proceeded to wash its face.

     "Doucement, ma vieille, doucement," said a gruff voice. Gently, old lady, gently. It was unclear whether the voice was addressing her or the cat.

     The voice disengaged itself from a chimneyless stove it had been stoking in the far corner of the hut, and turned to face her. It belonged to a giant of a man, tall of stature and broad of shoulder. Un Indien. Or as one must say nowadays, a Native Canadian or a Member of the First Nations. His broad weathered face was more lined than a dried apple, telling tales of seasons long gone. Yet his raven hair was untouched by frost; it was pulled away from his face into a single queuedown his back. He wore Army Surplus khaki pants, mukluks, and a heavy plaid shirt.

     Or did he?

     As he moved across the crackling illumination thrown by the old stove, it seemed for a second that his clothing morphed to ghostly buskin, decorated with wampum and animal teeth. A wolf's pelt, complete with muzzle and fangs, draped head and shoulders. His eyes were as unfathomable as the night sky.

     From the murky recesses of childhood shadowy memories stirred within her, so vague as to seem but dreams of memories. Storybook pictures and fragments of legends twisted in her jangling brain, as she tried to make sense of the stranger and his flickering appearance. Le Beau Sauvage, he was called in some tales. At first a fairytale savage who became a handsome prince, the term eventually evolved to mean any noble native who succored the helpless. Which in the early days of New France meant supporting the early settlers against the prior inhabitants. Le grand Manitou, he was called in the earliest tales of the land, the native spirit guardian of the woods, awe-some and unknowable and beyond the laws of man.

     Marie-Hélène blinked and the impression dissolved, but not before she caught a whiff of crisp balsam pine and cedar in her nostrils.

The Indien lit a Players Unfiltered and inhaled raspily. "You feel more good?" he asked through a plume of blue smoke. His voice was deep and gravelly.

     "Fine. Merci."

     She recognized her surroundings, now. An abandoned sugar shack not unlike her own, twice as long as it was wide, its timbers saturated with decades of evaporated maple sap, the nooks and crannies redolent with generations of field mice. The dreadful howling was nothing more fearsome than the wind being funneled through the open sides of the venting cupola on the peaked roof.

     Marie-Hélène tried to get to her feet. "Thanks," she repeated. "But I have to go now, get home to my kids."

     From the inky ceiling, something black and screeching dove for her face and she fell back to the sofa with a shriek.

     The Indien loomed over her. "Non. Don' tink so. Blanche-Neige, she say no. Not yet."

     SFWoE thanks Genevieve Kierans for allowing SFWoE to place her 2003 Contest First Place Story "Mirror, Mirror" on the SFWoE Website. The SFWoE Staff wishes Genevieve the best of luck with her book.

     If you would like to learn more about the author, please read SFWoE's interview with Genevieve Kierans.

--- Gil Reis

     Because persistence and faith are such important virtues for aspiring writers, it's always good to see previous finalists listed again in the top ten. This year was no exception. It was, therefore, a distinct pleasure to award first prize to last year's second-place winner, Genevieve Kierans of Toronto, Canada.

     In "Mirror, Mirror," Ms. Kierans once again visited rural and isolated small-city landscapes and again populated them with recognizable human beings often trapped in arguably insoluble situations. In the case of the exhausted housewife and mother in "Mirror, Mirror," Marie-Hélène Carter obtains the enchanted mirror of the title after she's rescued from a potentially deadly midwinter road accident by a being who just might be a modern avatar of an ancient Indian nature deity. In the final analysis, Marie-Hélène must attempt to come to terms with natural aging and the question of possibly wasted potential. It's an intensely human story, gracefully and empathetically told.

     Ms. Kierans's story is a wonderful portrait of a frustrated and questioning woman. Her protagonist convincingly comes to breathing, agonizing, deeply affecting life. It's a fine accomplishment.

--- Edward Bryant

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     "Mirror, Mirror" attests to a fine gift for the delicate, descriptive, ethereal short story. It leads the reader through the humdrum to surprise, from the expected through a mental maelstrom of memories, fears, fancies, and self-preservation. The reader’s reward is a mysterious ending without answers. The author's reward is life and love.
--- Genevieve's Dad   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     I enjoyed Genevieve's story, because as a woman I can relate to her story. I know it is a fantasy story, but I am sure most women over 35 can see themselves in this story.

     I am recommending this story to all my female friends. I am sure they will enjoy reading the story as much as I have. Genevieve, keep up the good work.

--- Audrey Glascock   Lawton, OK  USA

           

     Genevieve Kierans' story is a delight to read - lyrical, evocative and heartfelt. It moves with an inner force, creating a vivid landscape, and demonstrates that beauty is not fleeting but endures in the power of love.

     Genevieve deserves this recognition.

--- Lily Poritz Miller   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     When I was a young man I use to camp out in the beautiful lake country north of Toronto, Canada. One cold winter night, on the back road to my camp site with three of my close friends, my car skidded off the road into a deep ditch. We could not get the car out of the ditch and we were miles from any town where we could get help. All we could do was to wait until daylight and hope someone would drive by and take one of us to the nearest town where we could hire a tow truck.

     Just before midnight an Indian appeared in front of the car. We asked him if he knew how and where we could get help. He spoke French and we did not. He soon turned and disappeared into the woods. We figured he was no help for us.

     In the morning, we were awakened by a tow truck driver. He told us that he found a note on the door of his shop written in French, which explained that we needed help and where we were located. He also mentioned that his shop was 20 miles away by road and a good 12 miles through the woods, which with the deep snow would be a near impossible trek.

     Ms. Kierans, I truly enjoyed your story, but I think you will understand when I tell you I am not sure it is a fictional fantasy.

--- Bill Reed   Buffalo, NY  USA

           

     I always enjoy a good short story, but it was all the more delightful because you painted such beautiful word pictures for me. Maybe a thousand words is worth a picture.

     I relived many a harrowing drive in Northern Ontario in the winter. As a wife and mother, I relived the joy and sorrow of family life with a husband often out of town working during the winter.

     A truly good read.

--- Charlotte Daly   Port Rowan, Ontario  Canada

           

     I thouroughly enjoyed "Mirror, Mirror." It was beautifully written and full of genuine emotion. Ms. Kierans has done a fine job on this year's winning story.
--- Angie Lofthouse   Springville, UT  USA

           

     Wonderful, sensitive, and thoughtful. Thank you Genevieve!!!
--- Sydney Johnson   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     My what a lovely story. I was told once by a shaman that the crow was simply the messenger. I asked if it was a good or bad messenger. He said good. It had appeared shortly after my father's death on a deck, waited, looked and left.

     Thanks Genevieve for the good news.

--- Cliff Yerex   Winnipeg, Manitoba  Canada

           

     A very powerful story, it gave me shivers. Her words are beautifully image provoking.

     Thank you, Genevieve.

--- Darren Moore   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     Genevieve Kierans has crafted a beautiful tale, haunting and lyrical. As one who has lived through a few Canadian winters, I can say that her evocative writing conjures up many a memory.

     It is clear to me why SFWoE chose her story as its First Prize winner. She is a very talented writer.

     Congratulations to Ms. Kierans!

--- Donald Martin   Los Angeles, CA  USA

           

     You might say I am prejudiced. After all Genevieve is my darling and first granddaughter. But I need no prejudice to tell me that "Mirror, Mirror" is a wonderful story movingly and beautifully written AND I AM SO PROUD OF HER.
--- Margaret E. Stewart   Guelph, Ontario  Canada

           

     What a handsomely crafted, beautifully written story! I enjoyed every line. And admired the evocative touches, the names of real everyday objects that punctuate life on a Quebec farm, the striking images of weather, winter, and nature that made the tale come alive, interwoven with rich fantasy.

     A wonderful feat! Carry on, Genevieve!

--- Thérèse Romer   Montreal, Quebec  Canada

           

     I enjoyed this story, especially the strong sense of place. I have never been to that part of the world, but now feel as if I have.

     Marie-Hélène's care for her children -- the way she knows of each of them and their likely behavior without altering hers -- and her longing for her husband's return, along with the details of her life at home show both her strength and her vulnerability. In the segment with the mythical rescuer Marie-Hélène's feeling of unreality was not overplayed. The interspersal of the song lyrics added to the whole. She is a very talented writer.

     This is good stuff. I want to see more of this author's work.

--- Kathy Gabriel   Upper left corner of the contiguous United States

           

     The best fiction reaches us because it rings true - this story is loud and clear.

     I loved it!

--- Roben Goodfellow   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     This is an excellent story. Genevieve Kierans obviously knows her way around Native American mythology, and the workings of an enduring, loving marriage.

     Congratulations to Genevieve on a job well done. :-)

--- Jason D. Wittman   Richfield, MN  USA

           

     "Mirror, Mirror" is a beautifully crafted, spell-binding story. I can so relate to the years taking their toll and was left with a feeling of absolute joy for Marie-Hélène.

     Just the right touch of magic!

--- Mary Hnatiuk   Toronto, Ontario  Canada

           

     I had often thought that Stan Rogers' songs were inspirational and was pleased to find the interview with Genevieve on the Fogarty's Cove website, which led me here.

     It is a testament to Stan's enormous gift that a new generation has seen fit to keep his work alive, in other forms. "Mirror, Mirror" is an excellent extrapolation of "Lies," one that Stan would, no doubt, be very pleased with. My Sincere compliments!

--- Mark Rushton   Oxford, Nova Scotia  Canada

           

     The ordinary, non-metrical form of language - plain speaking - often hinges on the ability of the reader to interpret body language in order for the brain to ferment the information into appropriate mind images. In "Mirror, Mirror," the need for fermentation is replaced by intimate detail which is thrust rudely into our consciousness highlighting human frailty.

     The accurate portrayal of the old truism, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," is given new life amid the cold Canadian snow through the subliminal image of old-time Indian magic. It bridges the chasm between what we think we ought to be and what we are. In reality, the story itself is the mirror and the image is self-esteem.

     Modern life often has the capacity to stifle our self-esteem, drowning it in a pool of self-doubt and hiding the body in our past. Genevieve Kierans has thrown back the shroud of secrecy and exposed the fragile nature of our ego confirming that for Marie-Hélène Carter at least, beauty is more than skin deep.

--- Graham Parks   Taperoo, SA  Australia