art & artistry & philosophy & inspiration & whimsy & wonder & nature

My novel, MUSE, a romance that spans centuries, 

is available at Barnes & Noble and


The book has three sections - it begins on Vancouver Island, 

then the action shifts to Venice, 

and the third section takes place in New York City.

It is a riff on an old theme and is definitely for adults - romance and fantasy but serious in tone.

I have pasted the prologue below...

Barnes & Noble link:

Amazon link:

Copyright © 2009 by Duncan Charles Mason

All rights reserved. 

This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, 

or transmitted in any form, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, 

without prior written permission of the author.

His mangled limbs lay scattered all around,

His head and harp a better fortune found:

In Hebrus' streams they gently rolled along,

And soothed the waters with a mournful song;

Soft deadly notes the lifeless tongue inspire,

A doleful tune sounds from the floating lyre;

The hollow banks in solemn consort mourn,

And the sad strains in echoing groans return.

Now with the current to the sea they glide,

Born by the billows of the briny tide;

And driven where waves round rocky Lesbos roar,

They strand, and lodge upon Methymna's shore.


The Metamorphosis

Book 11


Slowly, sensation returned. I remember opening my right eye. At first, as the freezing chill retained its icy grip, I could see only a small circle of light and shadow. My eye would not move in its frozen socket. Eventually, as my severed head bobbed on the waves, my vision began to clear and the world around me slowly, painfully, came into focus: a green, blue and grey world. Massive blocks of ice surrounded me, some rose taller than a cathedral, and my head was often buffeted by smaller blocks drifting by.

Helpless, I floated and the water slowly warmed from liquid ice to numb cold. At one point my eyes bulged in horror as enormous black and white whales leapt and rolled not more than a few hundred yards from where I floated. I passed a great block of ice upon which a monstrous white bear stared out to sea, seemingly stranded far from an unseen shore.

I knew not how long I had been unconscious. I knew not how long it had been since that terrible beach, the explosions, the death rattle, the whiz and whine of bullets. I only knew that eventually the familiar prickle and tingle would begin: a sensation like pins and needles beginning below my chin and slowly spreading out to my slowly coalescing shoulders, my chest and upper arms. As the days and nights went by, the sensation spread into my lower extremities, ending with a flaming, searing pain moving throughout my entire being, a shrill electric tingle that caused me to gasp and moan as sensation suffused newly formed yet ancient limbs.

One misty morning I sensed the smell of vegetation on the wind and knew I was approaching land. Far off I heard the motor of a boat and imagined spinning blades. Then another fear rose in my mind as the sound of seals cavorting was carried across the chilly green water. The ice now floated by in lumps only, seagulls and eagles passed over my head, and from time to time the sound of crows calling echoed across the water. That day no seals came upon me, but I dreaded their voracious curiosity, dreaded their fishy breath, their fangs and the territorial bravado of the bulls.

Then the storm came.

All morning the limpid sun had sailed above the mist, intermittently sending down fingers of light to caress the undulating waves. As the afternoon wore on all light drained from the sky, the wind arose and sent white foam hurtling from wave tip to wave tip. The waves increased in volume and velocity and the night became a nightmare of black valleys and midnight green wave crests capped by a howling chaos of wind-whipped foam. The screaming wind and the thundering of the waves was deafening. I lost consciousness once again...