It’s June 1st, Time To Start Posting Real Live Sirenstories

It’s June 1st and as promised, Sirenstories begins today.

Our first Siren is Violette a singer songwriter I hadn’t heard of until she uploaded her song to the Sirenstories SoundCloud. Now, because of her deliciously intimate voice, I feel I’m on close terms with her.

I’m trying to write my post while I listen to this French native’s song. Even though it’s the third time that I’ve heard Insomnie, I’m so overwhelmed by goosebumps and emotions I don’t want to do anything but sit back and listen. Again.

At 25 Violette sounds young but polished. Her music is fresh and sophisticated. The production of Insomnie is perfect and leaves plenty of room for Violette’s exquisite vocals. Her sound is tinged with the diverse influences of pop, jazz, and soul.

I chose these pictures from Violette’s website. Click on them and they’ll take you into her world.

Violette’s voice is indeed warm and inviting as the description she posted describes. And she’s a Siren. Definitely. At the minute two mark in her track, I’d totally wreck my ship on the rocks for her.

Thanks so much for sharing Insomnie with us Violette, I’m sure I won’t be your only new fan today.

Violette didn’t post her lyrics. I let her music wash over me, and I wrote some words of my own. As far as I can tell, this is an unedited stream of consciousness that came from one of the characters in a series of YA novels I’m working on.

I knew I wouldn’t fall asleep easily, and what was the point? If I slept, the night would pass faster, morning would come sooner. Tomorrow was not a day a wanted to face. Tomorrow, would be my first day without him.
I lay on top of my white cotton quilt. A light sheen of sweat coated my skin. The summer heat had snaked its way up into the top floors of the granite block vestibule house for the first time since I’d moved to Rock Hook Harbor Light Station.
I’d put my heavy down comforter away months ago but I craved the weight of it, as if the heaviness could hold me to my bed in a way that gravity couldn’t, that sleep wouldn’t—but I couldn’t even pretend I wanted to sleep.
I got up, went to the window. The air was hot and thick. Humidity clung to me, another layer over my white nightgown. The ocean down below my window was quiet, as if it slept even though I couldn’t. Was it the low tide that created the calm? I could see the sand where the water had washed out and left it, as I had been left. Where sand and water met the fog took over. Under such a heavy blanket, maybe the sea had no choice but to doze. I imagined the ocean dreamed of its own dark depths.

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