I woke up this morning and said to myself. Christmas is nearly here. Maybe I should think of going back to working full-time.
A voice from deep inside me said, “…but you have a job you are a writer.” A deep rasp laugh penetrated my soul and came out in a loud ha! I was becoming a comedian if it thought that writing paid especially in the Caribbean.
Most (meaning all) submission requests come with a promise of exposure not money. Publishers invest in anthologies and chapbooks that would make them income with little output and writers juggle between keeping their name out there and becoming irrelevant. Yet I do not begrudge the industry because sometimes I think it is hanging on by a thread.
Self-pushing successfully has fascinated me for a long while and plan to persevere until I find a rhythm with it. I have found my rhythm in writing finally and I love it and I want to share my work on my own time and in my own way.
My Debut Novel Lightning Fire: The Blue Moon’s Calling (Book 1) is out and available on Amazon and Smashwords.
I want to thank everyone who have purchased and reviewed.
A lone carriage came to a halt outside the entrance of a grand palace, the driver parked to one side but made no attempt to usher his guest out. The guards were perplexed and approached but the driver shook his head and raised his hand, there was no need. It was empty. The ground began to shake and the gravel under their feet moved away, something strange was coming up the road. Feet were pounding leaving a trail of dust on the horizon.
One guard walked forward. He placed his hand on the spear on his waist and continued slowly he needed to get a better view of the hill. Swiftly a large dark grey wolf appeared. He walked towards him growling menacingly, his green eyes focused on the hand that was gripping the spear. As the wolf moved forward four other wolves appeared behind him, they were of less stature but they were still terrifying. Fear gripped him and he felt his hands shake but he knew he had to come to his senses quickly. He moved his hand from the spear and turned and ran back up the steps and grabbed the horn that lay on the ground and stood erect. The others guards looked at him and went back to their places on the steps. They all stood at attention.
The wolf morphed into human form as he touched the first step, he was taller than everyone around him and was ripping with muscles. He wore a long brown fur coat and pants but no shirt. His shoulders stood straight and seemed to put even more inches on him as he walked up the steps, his face was grave and his jaw tight, his green eyes pierced, only a wayward lock of dark hair that caressed his face give any hope that he had a beating heart. As he passed, the guards saluted one by one; the horn player attempted to blow as he reached him, but he shot him a look and he immediately lowered the horn and looked away. Two of the wolves stayed outside with the carriage while two followed him inside. The guards looked at each other as he passed by and seem to draw lots with their eyes as to who should follow, soon the horn player handed another guard the horn and ran after them.
As the horn blew, the door to the throne room was already being opened by a guard who seemed out of breath and troubled, his words came out in an unintentional shout, “Your Majesty” he blurted out, “your guest have arrived.”