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Though my novella Rain was originally published as part of the Arsenic Pills anthology, I'm now re-releasing a stand-alone version that is downloadable for free to your Kindle, Nook, iPhone, etc. Rain was always the cradle for what The Small Hours would become. I wanted to provide a jumping on point for readers, so I figured this would be the best way to accomplish that.
You'll find Book Zero is told in a first-person format--something that is explained at the end of Book Two. Here's the summary and link. Enjoy, and au demain.
James Rothley's memoir details the inexplicable events of his challenging childhood in a shanty town outside of 1933 Atlanta. When it seems alcohol, lust, or death are the only escapes from a grinding reality, James' will to maintain his humanity becomes a daily struggle. But his life is on the line when he encounters the very incarnation of suffering itself.
Download: www.smashwords.com/books/view/…
You'll find Book Zero is told in a first-person format--something that is explained at the end of Book Two. Here's the summary and link. Enjoy, and au demain.
James Rothley's memoir details the inexplicable events of his challenging childhood in a shanty town outside of 1933 Atlanta. When it seems alcohol, lust, or death are the only escapes from a grinding reality, James' will to maintain his humanity becomes a daily struggle. But his life is on the line when he encounters the very incarnation of suffering itself.
Download: www.smashwords.com/books/view/…
Finished.
The rough draft of Cemefaerie is complete. It took me about eleven months, and a lot of no-show clients at work, to finish. It will be available for a short time at Wattpad before I lock it up for further refinement. If you have the time to contribute to said refinement, you can find it here: https://www.wattpad.com/story/25625459-cemefaerie
Fireside chat.
For the longest time, I committed a cardinal sin of writing: I listened to other writers.
These writers advised a series of schools of thought, ranging from write what you know vs. write what you don't know, to just write for yourself, because if you don't like it, well by golly who's gonna? The latter of these two statements has always been my security blanket against the lack of immeasurable success every writer (shut up, yes you do) dreams of. By god, I wrote it, I liked it when it was done, and it's effing me, take it or leave it. And when the story doesn't catch as much air and flight as I'd hoped, who's to blame? Probably the pool of r
Letters.
I haven't written a physical letter in fourteen years. That sounds both improbable and perfectly illustrative of the many aspects of emotional personalization that we've readily sacrificed in the name of expediency. (This coming from a man who selects coffee shops based on the presence of a drive-thru.) Of course, when I say 'letter', I reference the pen-pal kind, not the stilted 'here's why you should hire me'/bragging robot resume cover letter kind.
I want to write a letter. I don't even have the slightest idea what I'd say, though. Perhaps I'd muse over something my son said or did. Maybe it would be rampant with politics, with big, bold
Adventures beyond death: Cemefaerie flies on
I've been writing the serial Cemefaerie for six weeks or so, and it's about to hit its Part 1 finale. Chapter 9 just went live last night. If you want a dark fantasy set in gothic trappings trimmed with romance and mystery, I advise you to cross over now! Right this way, dear...
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