NOT SET IN STONE (Adult Fantasy)


Not Set in Stone


Febe Moss


Adult Fantasy

Word Count:

94,000 words


New York City is a far cry from Medusa Kalypto’s drab ancestral homeland, the Isle of Stone. Here, Zeus is a barista, Hermes is famous for being famous, and Hades is a best-selling poet. And it’s the place where her carefully constructed life begins to unravel on her thirtieth birthday.

For humans, turning thirty involves reevaluating their lives and having mini panic attacks between celebratory margaritas. For Medusa, a green-skinned gorgon with a head full of snakes, it entails taking a government-mandated test to determine if she has the gorgon curse of turning people into stone. The curse means exile to the Isle, and to her mother, where she’ll spend the rest of her life as a pariah due to her relationships with the gods. A fate worse than death.

At least she thought so until the blood oath she took with her ex-boyfriend, Ares, resurfaces with an ugly side effect: telepathy. Now she’s bonded by the oath to her drama-fueled ex and it’s stirring up dangerous feelings. Even worse, Medusa discovers the blood oath was illegal, sparking an investigation that jeopardizes her immigration status. With deportation and heartbreak looming in the distance, Medusa must find a way to make peace with the god of war or end up just like her mother, another gorgon statistic.

NOT SET IN STONE is a 94,000 quirky fantasy novel. It will appeal to readers of the Charlaine Harris The Southern Vampire series and the Kim Harrison The Hollow Series. It’s a stand-alone novel with series potential.

I’m a Mexican – American writer who has been published in Phantom Kangaroo, Merging Visions anthologies Collections I, II, III, IV, and Page & Spine. I am a member of the Denton Poets’ Assembly and a founding member of the North Branch Writers’ Critique Group.

First 300 words:

I twirled a single snake around my index finger like a long green ribbon. The other snakes on my head nipped at the bobbing zipper on my dress, while I hustled in the dying light surrounded by Brooklynites. Our unofficial god was the Sidewalk, and we all bowed our heads and said our prayers as we scurried from place to place mirroring the rats in the subways. I was no different from humans tonight. My silent worship was a welcome distraction from my gorgon anxiety that wanted nothing more than to halt my feet, especially today on the birthday I feared the most. Did humans hate turning thirty as much as I did?

Hell, give me a second glass of quarter-life crisis with tart pang of regret instead of registering with the government. Imagine seeing your reflection for the first time was the last time you got to live life on your terms. The light from your own eyes meant death to your identity and the birth of another sad lonely gorgon wasting away on a small isolated isle with the person who put you on this dreaded path: your mother.

The safer option was never attempt to make your own way and live among humans and the fallen Greek gods. Never try. Just surrender.

I was never one to surrender.

Immortal friends and student loans were my fate. My Brooklyn nightmare, on the other hand, loomed ahead in the dark and murky distance. I lie and tell myself the sprint left me breathless, and not my nerves. I smooth back my snakes and focus myself.

The Center of Sorrow and Sisterhood – or CSS- was a square building with a single door. This unassuming structure played either savior or destroyer for all twenty-nine year old gorgons. What role would it be for me?

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