Grant for Windwatchers of Freed

I've written one whopping thing in the past month. I wrote a grant that would give me funds to attend the Society for Children's Book Writers and Illustrators annual meeting in Los Angeles. I hope I get it. I'd never spend the money to attend otherwise and it would be so amazing to participate in the workshops. It'd also be cool to visit Darin and Kate afterward, take the kids to Disneyland, and spend a day at the beach before heading home. Anyhow, here's the first page of my submission:

Winds, nets, waves, tides
In the deep my soul resides.
Near, far, where 'ere I roam,
the sea will ever be my home.
-First verse, Mariner Folksong

Chapter 1

Lost at sea - what a lonely way to die. So many questions go unanswered when there aren't witnesses or bodies to bury. How did it happen? When? Was it quick and painless or a desperate struggle to the end? Maybe no one else wondered these things, but I did. I feared the sea. Her mood swings terrified me and her depths were a mystery I didn't care to probe. I felt much safer on land. But now I would have to take my chances. I sailed on the next tide.

The clan pennant flapped in my fingers as I stood on the Breakwater Cliffs for the memorial service. The village Alderman tried, and failed, to fill his speech with something meaningful. He and Father never liked each other much. A gust yanked the pennant from my hands just as a waved slammed against the cliff. The wave snatched the pennant from the wind, and then drowned it like the ship it had already claimed.

The Alderman went on and on about the tragedy of Father's untimely death but didn't seem too upset himself. Maybe that's the best he could do, what with the recent conflict between our families and all. And in truth, Father's death was untimely. Now the whole village would suffer. An entire cargo of trade goods had gone down with the ship. Never before had a ship been lost. But the moons hadn't met up in their orbits before either. No one predicted the wild, untamed thing the tide would become when that happened. In hushed whispers, folks were calling it the Death Tide.