Excerpt: The 8th Grade Killer by Katy Pierce

Images are Amazon affiliate links to the book


CHAPTER ONE


Amber hopped down from a haphazard pile of driftwood and peered off across Lake Michigan, watching the sunset spill its reds and oranges across the dark water.

At her back, Harborside was already tucking itself into bed. There wasn’t much to do in her hometown—it was mostly filled with boring old shops and creeps walking around with big maps, listening to murder podcasts. But Amber did love this beach. The summer wind blowing off the lake was already cooling down the evening, and she was happy she’d remembered to grab her hoodie.

The crowd of swimmers and beach volleyballers was already disappearing behind her as she trudged through sand in the opposite direction, the distant cheers swallowed by the gentle lapping of waves and an occasional bark from her dog, Cooper. Amber giggled at the big, dumb yellow lab. His tail was wagging at an almost dangerous speed as he trotted ahead along the shoreline.

“Cooper,” she called, knowing the cheeky mutt would ignore her. “Cooper, get back here!”

Amber smiled as he barked at a bug crawling toward the water, batting it with his paw before the next distraction drew him away.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jaclyn, Amber’s friend, snapped her attention back to their gossip. “I asked if you saw what Bethany is wearing.”

Mild curiosity grabbed Amber as she picked up the perfect stone to toss into the lake. Meanwhile, Jaclyn huffed in frustration as she struggled over a tree trunk. They had been coming to this beach all their lives, yet Jaclyn still had trouble navigating nature.

Feeling unusually gracious, Amber decided to humor her. “No, what?”

“It’s the sluttiest bikini I’ve ever seen!” Jaclyn threw her arms into the air, her body exploding with the news. She often made comments like that, and Amber picked out a slight twinge of jealousy in her tone.

“Sounds about right for Bethany.” Amber tried to stifle a chuckle, grabbing at Jaclyn’s mouth to bring her volume down. Jaclyn tended to shout her opinions, and while Amber loved her candor, she didn’t want anyone overhearing what they really thought of their mutual friend.



Amber could appreciate a good slutty bikini, but wearing one was an art form and Bethany was no artist. She didn’t understand that deciding
when to wear a swimsuit was almost as crucial as the choice of swimsuit itself. For Bethany to wear something like that at Whittler’s Cove, at night, was a bold statement.

“Bethany’s probably still trying to ride Abigail’s brother. I saw them there too.” Jaclyn rolled her eyes at how obvious Bethany was being. She was normally too savvy to do something as stupid as wearing a string bikini in early summer.

“Probably. She’s gone into whore hyperdrive since graduation. Abigail’s brother is pretty hot, though.”

“Oh, is he? I guess so…”

Amber squawked with realization. “So that’s why you’re being bitchy about Bethany’s bikini! You’re jealous that she’s out-whoring you, is that it?” She poked Jaclyn’s ribs and grinned.

Jaclyn threatened to shove Bethany’s head into the sand, and they had a good long laugh until Amber noticed Cooper standing in the lake, snapping at the water.

“Cooper!” Amber shouted, determined to get her wayward dog’s attention. “Get out of there! You’re going to be a mess!”

“What is he doing this time?”

“God knows. Cooper has dog ADD—he probably saw a fish or something.” Amber shrugged. “Cooper!”

Finally heeding his owner’s warning, Cooper loped back to Amber, splashing water over the two girls. She leaned down and playfully grabbed him by the ears, scratching them as he tried his hardest to lick her face.

“You’re lucky you’re so cute.” Amber’s heart burst a little against her chest when Cooper barked in response, his tongue flopping out. “Or I might be tempted to leave you out here.”

Cooper wagged his tail and darted into the forest that bordered the beach, weaving his way in and out of needly trees. Amber groaned, but secretly, she loved how he always reacted to her half-hearted threats by immediately running away to get into more trouble, as if he understood she was full of shit.

“Speaking of people not knowing what they’re doing…” Jaclyn quirked an eyebrow. “Did you see Tina?”

“As if I’d ever give Tina my attention. What did she do?”

“She was trying to spike in the sand. Like an idiot. And Coach picked her to replace Elsie as libero?”

Amber scoffed, feeling her nose wrinkle up. “Whatever. Harborside isn’t our problem anymore. If Coach wants some idiot playing libero, that’s on him.”

“I swear we’re the only reason that asshole still has a job.”

As they walked along in silence for a few moments, Jaclyn’s gaze drifted toward Whittler’s Cove, the last place they had seen Elsie before she’d taken off. Amber knew the question was coming. It was the same one Jaclyn asked every time anyone so much as mentioned their friend’s name.

“Have you heard from her at all?”

“From Elsie?”

Jaclyn nodded. “Where do you think she ran off to?”

Amber hated playing the guessing game about Elsie’s departure. Part of her was still upset that Elsie hadn’t told her what she was planning, whatever it was. They had known each other their whole lives and shared most of their secrets, so why had she disappeared with no explanation? What was so big that she couldn’t tell her oldest friends about it?

“Who the fuck knows,” Amber sighed, unable to hide her resentment. “She could be anywhere by now.”

In the meantime, Cooper had found a squirrel, chased it up a tree at the edge of the woods, and was barking at the base of the trunk.

“Cooper!” Amber yelled. “Leave it alone!”

The dog let out one last growl, as if to teach the squirrel a lesson, then darted after some unseen creature.

“Maybe she finally ran off? To—I don’t know—Canada or something?”

“Canada? You’re kidding, right?”

“Maybe, maybe not. I mean, you don’t need a passport for that. Maybe she got fed up with living at home and just took off.”

“Maybe,” Amber conceded. “I wouldn’t blame her if she did. Her dad’s a no-show and Holden wasn’t going to stop breaking her heart over and over again.”

“So… Canada?”

“I guess. Or maybe she’s just blowing off some steam in Chicago, bouncing from party to party the past few days.”

“Without telling you? I doubt it, Amber.”

As the gathering at the beach drifted farther and farther away, something subtle changed between the two of them. It was as if a weight had lifted, enabling them to escape the prying eyes and ears of Harborside. Amber stopped and looked out at the lake, letting her toes dig into the sand. Jaclyn stood next to her. She knew when to just shut up and let a moment happen, and Amber always appreciated it.

“I’m not sure who Elsie is anymore, Jaclyn. I keep playing that night over and over in my head, but I come up with nothing.”

“She didn’t say anything about taking off?”

“No. I was off grabbing us drinks after listening to her bitch and moan about Holden, and when I got back, she was gone.”

“Oh, wait a second!” Jaclyn chuckled under her breath, but this time, it sounded cruel. “You know why she ditched us, right?”

“Why?” Amber wasn’t used to being out of the loop.

“Because the rumors are probably right.”

“What rumors?”

He probably showed up.”

“Holden?”

Jaclyn arched an eyebrow at her as if she’d cracked the code.

“I don’t think he would’ve talked to her. Elsie said they broke up again.”

“Well, Ray’s friend, Nick, told Bethany that his brother’s girlfriend thought she saw Holden driving out of the party that night. It was dark and she couldn’t make out who was behind the wheel, but she swore it was Holden’s car pulling out of the woods. And someone was with him.”

“That’s just a rumor.” Amber couldn’t believe it—not after the way he’d treated Elsie. Just thinking about their latest breakup was enough to make her heart leap so far up her throat it hit the back of her tongue. “He… wouldn’t have. I mean, how could he show his face after their last fight?”

“Right?” Jaclyn blurted. She seemed to realize it was too loud a second too late and snapped her chin around, studying the shapes of beachgoers playing in the distance. Satisfied that no one had overheard her, she went on. “Everyone saw their shitshow on full display. They’d been fighting all week, so why would he even show up at the party?”

Why, indeed. Amber swallowed her heart back down, reeling in her emotions. Jaclyn was the last person alive who needed to see her freak out about Elsie and her fucked-up fascination with Holden O’Hara.

“So you think they took off together?” Amber had to consciously unset her jaw as she listened to Jaclyn speak. “I hope not, for Elsie’s sake. She should’ve known better.”

Amber loved Elsie—always would—but the girl was dumb as mud when it came to Holden. That trumped-up pretty boy was way out of her league, and Amber had tried her hardest to warn Elsie away for her own good. Holden needed a ruthless girl, not a gullible one. He needed someone who wouldn’t let her heart break. But Elsie insisted he was misunderstood.

“So do you think they got back together?” Amber asked, clearing her throat to disguise her shaky voice.

Jaclyn shrugged, visibly bit the inside of her cheek, and chewed. “They always do.” 

“I don’t know. I really thought this was the last time. I mean, they were going to different colleges. How did she think that was going to work? And why did he even—damn it, Cooper!”

The lovable lunk had ventured back toward the shore and was digging sloppily in the sand. Probably obsessed with some defenseless water flea trying to burrow away from him. It took Amber a few jerks on his collar to get Cooper to give it up. He finally stuck by her side, tongue slipping from a goofy grin as he gazed up at her.

“I do think that Holden’s been off over the last few weeks,” Jaclyn said, releasing her lip from her teeth as Cooper trotted ahead.

“He has? I didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, I’d say so. First, he blew up at Elsie right after graduation. And he’s been real cagey since.” Jaclyn stuck her thumbnail into her mouth to gnaw it off. “I just hope she didn’t do anything stupid, like elope with him or something.”

“Even Elsie Caldwell isn’t that stupid.” Amber forced a dry laugh that hurt her throat. “But I get your point. I don’t think she was in her right mind, you know? Getting shut down like that, who knows what she did or where she went? Here’s hoping she just got some shitty tattoo or something.”

“Yeah, maybe. Coming to that party, though…” Jaclyn frowned. “He still played her.”

The crackle of broken sticks in the surrounding trees caught Amber’s attention. It was Cooper again—he’d wandered much farther away than usual. She clapped loudly and whistled to rein him back in, but the mangy mutt just whined and hurtled off into the woods. The underbrush was thick here, and if he raced off too far, it would take forever to find him again. Amber dashed after him, Jaclyn close behind her.

“Cooper, you walking sack of ticks! What are you doing?” Amber shouted as he halted in front of a dirt mound and began to furiously excavate it.

“He probably found a rat,” Jaclyn offered, grimacing. But Amber hardly heard her. She knew how Cooper acted when he caught a whiff of wild animal, like opossum or raccoon, and this wasn’t that. She looked at the mound of dirt and a sense of dread overtook her, made all the worse because she couldn’t tell why.

Amber glanced at Jaclyn in a useless search for answers, but she was clearly just as confused. They leaned in for a better look while Cooper desperately burrowed deeper.

Before long, the sound of shifting earth slowly gave way to something else. Cooper’s claws started pawing at wood—a plank or slat of some kind. Jaclyn grabbed the wood’s dirt-encrusted edge, a single tug pulling it loose from the pile.

“It’s a sign,” Jaclyn observed.

“Saying?”

“‘I’m a slut,’” she read aloud. “What the hell is this?”

A pit tunneled into Amber’s gut—she knew something was deeply wrong. Without thinking, she lunged at the pile and started shoveling the dirt with her bare hands while Cooper nosed at the growing hole. After a frantic moment, she uncovered a handful of something strange. Something soft. Something terribly, chillingly familiar.

She wiped off a little remaining dirt, revealing black fabric emblazoned with the Harborside High logo and the word Caldwell stenciled underneath.

“Get out of the way,” Jaclyn snapped as if she’d awoken from a trance, breaking Amber’s daze. She swooped in like a crow, swatting her fingers away, and grabbed the jacket, giving it a hard tug to dislodge it from the earth. It wouldn’t budge.

“Oh my god,” Jaclyn breathed.

Cooper stood behind them in the freshly turned soil, still wagging his tail, barking urgently over the rush of the surf.

“Don’t just stand there, Amber! Help me!” Jaclyn choked, covered in dirt. “Amber, wake the fuck up!”

But Amber didn’t want to wake up. She didn’t want to know what any of this was—not what was in the mound, not whatever the hell the sign was about, not why the jacket wouldn’t move.

But she couldn’t stop Jaclyn, who stuck her cupped hands deep into the soil, clawing and clawing just like a dog, leaving Amber to watch mutely as her heart threatened to jump all the way out of her body. She was crying, she realized, though she had no idea when she started. She knew something awful, something unforgettable, was only seconds away.

She knew the jacket wouldn’t move because Elsie Caldwell was still wearing it.

Images are Amazon affiliate links to the book

Guest Post: 3 Tips for Increasing Your Exposure as an Artist by Ian Garza

3 Tips for Increasing Your Exposure as an Artist

Guest Post by Ian Garza of Big On Balance


Getting your work discovered is a life-changing experience, but boosting the visibility of your art can often feel like an uphill battle. Exposure is vital to your future success, whether you’re a painter, fashion designer, or crafter. Being proactive, investing in marketing, and expanding your network lets you show more people what you can offer. Follow these tips to boost your profile and attract more clients to your work.

1. Develop a Plan


According to experts, having a clear business plan contributes to your brand’s future growth and success. When developing your business plan, it’s a good idea to include information about your products or services, target market demographics, and financial needs.

If you are a fashion designer or craft maker, determining how to source materials and whether to sell your work on an e-commerce platform or in a brick-and-mortar store can help you anticipate initial costs. In addition to details regarding your business’s finances, your plan should include its operational structure.

There are several options when selecting a business entity, but most artists form either sole proprietorships or LLCs. Each of these offers unique benefits, but the rules and regulations governing them can vary depending on your state, so you should do your research before making a decision. Find out how to start a business with ZenBusiness for the ease they offer.


2. Invest in Marketing


As an artist, marketing your brand should be a top priority. A unique and recognizable logo allows customers and potential clients to distinguish your products from others on the market. Consider utilizing some of these marketing channels to boost your visibility effectively:

• Social media

• Email marketing

• Paid advertisements

• Content marketing

• Posters

Market yourself by engaging with your followers on social media or creating online content that expresses your style and personality.

One way to leverage your artistic skills is to design a banner ad using an online banner maker. When customizing your ad with fonts, colors, and animations, personalize it to represent your brand. You can then display it on Facebook, YouTube, or other popular platforms.

Ensure your advertising message reflects your personal and artistic style. You can include examples of your work on your business cards or write a blog to discuss your process and the inspiration behind your work.


3. Participate in Your Community


Networking is a powerful tool for an artist, regardless of the type of art you create. Expand your network by participating in public events, such as art or fashion shows, craft fairs, and other community gatherings, which can provide a platform to showcase your work. Mingling in the crowd at events like these can help you meet new people who might be interested in what you have to offer.

Another way to engage with your local community is to sign up for local art or maker competitions. These events benefit you by putting your work in front of a large audience while providing an opportunity to build your professional reputation. You can also leverage your existing social network by collaborating with other artists to shoot videos or create content.


~


Pursuing a career as an artist is rewarding, but it comes with some unique challenges. One of the major obstacles you will likely face is getting your work seen. Fortunately, there are many ways to attract people to your work. Have a plan for success and be assertive. The more people you engage with, the larger the audience for your work.


Image via Pexels

For more, visit the website Big on Balance

GUEST POST: The Jackdaw and the Doll by John Biscello (Illustrations by Izumi Yokoyama)

 

“K. leads a double life. Timid office clerk by day, storyteller by night. But not just any storyteller. Transforming into a jackdaw, K. takes secret night-flights around the city, collecting moments of inspiration. Confronted by sickness, and “The Shroud” which has haunted him since childhood, K., joined by his new love, Dora, moves away from home to The City of Birds. It is there that he will meet a young girl, heartbroken over her lost doll, and be given a golden chance to share the healing magic of storytelling.  A fable about love, compassion and creativity, inspired by a story about the writer, Franz Kafka.”

IZUMI YOKOYAMA: Izumi Yokoyama is a multi-media artist who lives and works in Taos, New Mexico. Born in Niigata, Japan, in 1980, Yokoyama graduated with an MFA from San Francisco Art Institute and moved to the high desert. Yokoyama’s artwork, which has been presented locally and nationally, spotlights apparitional motifs while celebrating the juxtapositions of living and dying. The Japanese culture and desert stories significantly influence her creative process. She works in ink pen drawings, installations, murals, calligraphy, and interactive community projects. 


JOHN BISCELLO: Originally from Brooklyn, NY, novelist, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has called Taos, New Mexico home since 2001. He is the author of three novels: Broken Land, Raking the Dust, and Nocturne Variations; a collection of stories, Freeze Tag; two books of poetry, Arclight and Moonglow on Mercy Street, and an adaptation of classic folk tales, Once Upon a Time: Classic Folktales Reimagined.

  

PURCHASE:

The Jackdaw and the Doll by John Biscello on Amazon

AUTHOR’S WEBSITE:

ILLUSTRATOR’S WEBSITE:

GUEST POST: How to Always be on the Lookout for New Inspiration by Kelvyn Fernandes

Hi, my name is Kelvyn Fernandes, author of The Many Adventures of Peter and Fi. As a writer of a fantastical journey, filled with peculiar characters and wondrous creatures, I’m often asked where do I get the ideas for my tales. Where do I pull my inspiration from? And the long and short answer is: everywhere at once.

The book I sought to write was based on snippets and extracts from memorable moments throughout my life. It is a compilation of every book I wanted to tell my way. Every movie I felt was missing something more. And every song whose lyrics stoked my imagination. A spark of an idea would start, based on a chance encounter or new set of information. And in my mind it would snowball through my backlog of interactions with the world; picking up bits and pieces to form a full character, a full setting, a full scene.

I take detailed notes on the thoughts that gain the most steam. From there I flesh out the narrative and over-arching plot. As such, I’ve formed a few tenets I try to live life by. These tenets help push me towards new, creative revelations. Therefore–in doing so–I keep my ideas fresh and interesting for the reader. More so, for myself.

It’s important to embrace new experiences, even if you’re not interested or think they might suck. It’s almost never a bad idea to try something once. And if your bias is confirmed, a bad experience will likely make a great story.

Break away from your genre. Strong stories are found in strong characters. And strong characters can be found anywhere. If you’re writing a fantasy novel, don’t just look for ideas in other fantasy novels. It’s definitely good to familiarize yourself with fellow fantasy authors–and build on their stories. But sometimes if you’re stuck (anywhere within your writing), it’s refreshing to look somewhere outside your chosen genre.

For example, I read Last Chance to See by Douglas Adams as part of my friends’ book club. It follows a documented and real-life wildlife adventure the author took to see endangered species throughout the world. I wasn’t expecting to get so engrossed in a journal of his trip, but it really opened my eyes to the amazing places that exist in the world.

Most importantly, it gave me ideas for amazing places I could incorporate into my own writer’s world.

Use lessons meant for other media. A past-time I enjoy is analyzing media. Be it films, tv shows, comics, or music; I like to break media down and discover what makes them work. I look for what notes (musical or otherwise) hit hard, as well as why did they have that effect. Furthermore, I look for what the creator did to achieve such a result.

One example is the way director Christopher Nolan frames his shots in movies. Or the way Japanese manga artist, Eiichiro Oda, organizes his panels. Similarly, the way actor Steve Carrell delivers his lines as Michael Scott on the television show The Office. Each of these are examples of methods that can provide lessons for re-interpreting various forms of media to fit your narrative.

Think to yourself, why am I enjoying this? And how can I use it to create something others will enjoy?

Don’t be afraid to steal ideas. Seriously, it’s 2019. There isn’t really such a thing as an original idea. Still, what you can do is show the world your own original take on established ideas. Take from other authors, take from famous works, take from an idea your buddy mentioned and
make it your own.

Obviously I’m not advocating plagiarism. Yet, if you see an idea you’re interested in exploring, don’t turn away just because the cavern is already so deep. The world is vast. While countless people may have ventured into the forest, no one has explored it in the unique way you would.

With these thoughts in mind, I strove to learn something new every day. To experience as many unique works as I could, and branch out to discover things I never would have thought of. And it was the culmination of this mindset, as well as many other factors that make me, that resulted in the creation of The Many Adventures of Peter and Fi. It’s a story that I put a lot of myself into, and one that is based on countless people before me. So I encourage you to check it out, and maybe I can be a source of inspiration for your journey.

“She emerged within a dark sea of green, shielding her eyes against the crescent moon’s pale blaze. The twinkling stars hummed softly, discordant against the chattering birds below. The lush leaves rippled in the breeze, tempting Fi to dip her toes in for a swim. The wind blew at her back and she turned east to face it. The fresh air carried the salty spray of the Shimmering Sea. Although she could not see it, she knew it was right there. Her ears caught the distant waves crashing against the shore. One last step, she thought.”


Follow Peter and Fi as they work together, each searching for something uniquely special to them through the four kingdoms of their known world. It’s a tale of fantastical beasts, peculiar characters, remarkable settings, and a unique brand of biochemistry-based magic. A story that focuses on meaningful character interactions, delicate world building, and intense action battles.

Kelvyn Fernandes decided to follow his dream of becoming an author after graduating from McMaster University with a degree in Biochemistry. He enjoys travelling and going on adventures, with his favourite pastime being back-country canoeing in Algonquin Park. He uses both his experiences with nature and education in the sciences to shape the world of the stories he writes.

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GUEST POST ~ The Perfect Idiot by Frank Iodice

The Perfect Idiot by Frank Iodice


Title: The Perfect Idiot
Author: Frank Iodice
Genre: Fiction
Release Date: Winter 2019
List Price: TBA 
Publisher: Articoli Liberi
Synopsis: A Perfect Idiot is a poetic, tender novel. Odette is a six years old girl. She is living in a foster home in the south of France when she meets the narrator, a night custodian, and decides he should be her father. To look for him, Odette escapes with the help of an old Argentinian prostitute, Signorina Rosario Rossi, who has quite an original philosophy of life, and her ex-boyfriend, don Vito Palladino, an irreverent parish priest…

Frank Iodice created a series of marginal, eccentic characters trapped in a story full of delicate and yet bitter regrets.  With his sense of humor and his humanity, he was albe to help them find meaning in their unfulfilled lives.

Uno. 
Meli Montreux was always tired every morning she arrived. She gave me the impression that someone hadn’t let her sleep. I imagined that a big hairy brute forced her to stay up all night. When she walked in, she sat down placing her chin on the palm of her hand. Her honest face, framed by her short, disheveled hair, didn’t show the traces of violence that I found in the other social workers. It couldn’t be described like any other face; probably it came very close to what I would call now perfection. Meli often wore long skirts with flowers, and smiled with her lips closed. 
Up there in Sospel we had a big black cat found on the street. That night, he was waiting for the fat from my ham; he stared at me from the sill of a window so low that it could also work as a door if you had long legs. I ate without looking outside and didn’t share my ham with the cat. I didn’t have the time because, a few days later, I died. 
On the hill across the way, there was the white building where the General lived. He was explaining to the cleaning woman how to wash his balcony, one tile at a time. The cypresses with a few branches out of place swayed, imitating the clouds. A beetle came in and began to beat against the wrong wall. It’s going to end up killing itself, I thought. In the meantime, I listed the scenes I had seen in the previous days. 
I very much enjoyed making lists.
Uno. A mother thanks cars while crossing the street: her daughter imitates her and thanks the cars. Another mother doesn’t thank the cars: her daughter imitates her and doesn’t thank. Heredity of civility.
Due. The hairdresser complains about the stink from the public toilets. There’s pee everywhere, she screams, but the pee is perfumed by anise, so that the hairdresser hopes no one has heard her.
Tre. This morning the girls were playing with the cat, which, at least apparently, didn’t smile at them. From the back of the garden came the deep chirps of the blackbirds and the pleasant cold of the land. 
I liked the cat, too. Early in the morning, we were the only ones in the garden. We kept each other company while waiting for the others. I felt the calm of the green, old estate. The caretakers arrived at seven in the morning. On the weekend at seven-thirty. 
I was the custodian. I’ve always been a custodian. At night I was the only one to watch over the children. I brought books and sweets with me. I had been reading almost a book a day ever since my own childhood. As for the pastries, the kids and I ate them in secret, at least a couple each. The ones with a lot of cream were the hardest to hide. 
In that place on the edge of Nice, I could imagine the city any way I wanted because I didn’t hear its noise. When I left in the morning, after my night shift, I felt my legs heavy and lazy. I had time to see details that, otherwise, I wouldn’t have noticed: like the noise the hairdresser made when she placed nail polish in the window (the hairdresser was also the beautician of the town) the little bottles clattered against each other or hit the glass and made the same sound of pebbles on the beach, a liquid pleasing knocking. There was also the girl with the long neck, who left home with a bunch of flowers in her hand. She might have been the daughter of the florist, a woman with the same neck, whose shop was a little down the street, but I enjoyed imagining that she received a fresh bunch every evening, and that the next morning she passed them on to someone else.
‘A child who doesn’t read is a child who doesn’t dream.’
Articoli Liberi is based in the south of France. We are a nonprofit organization born to diffuse free books to schools all over the world. We distribute for free and we use the proceeds from the online sales to print extra copies. The objective is to join as more students as we can and pass down the importance of reading to the new generation.

We are a group of friends, all different from each other, but united by a unique big passion: reading. We believe that a book keeps in its pages the ideas of the person who wrote it, but also those of the person who reads and will speak about it. And for this exchange of ideas, we started exchanging books.
We decided to collaborate with Frank Iodice and publish his amazing novel because (as it was with his ‘Brief Dialogue on Happiness with Pepe Mujica’) it contains all the messages that we ourselves try to leave to the young: the importance of personal freedom; love for reading and for a simple life; rebellion against the modern politics of hate and obsessive competition.
‘A Perfect Idiot’ was originally published in Italian as ‘Un perfetto idiota’, by Edizioni Il Foglio, in February 2017. An excerpt from the first version of this translation project appeared in Trafika Europe 14 – Italian Piazza, in July 2018. Then the author reworked the whole novel and turned it into a new novel, as he himself explained to us:

‘I had to change the structure of every sentence, cutting almost 50 pages in total. Many paragraphs from the original version simply didn’t work in English. So, I adapted my story to an English-speaker readership. And I must admit that I prefer it now. The story goes right where I want it to go’.

The English version will be distributed for free to schools (starting with a conference plan across France, Italy, and the UK50 copies to each school).

It will be also presented at the Writers Weekend, Augusta University, in March 2019, by the author and Giada Biasetti, one of the professors that collaborated on this wonderful project.
If you want to know more about our future encounters with the students or our nice books, follow us at articoliliberi.blog.

Diffusing books for free has turned out to be our vocation, but we constantly need your support if we want to succeed.

We are proud of the cover art. It was realized by Gary Taxali, an acclaimed, award-winning fine artist and illustrator, known for his retro stylized art in the realm of pop. Gary was glad to participate in our project and offered his terrific artwork wishing us the best with this mission. Find out more about Gary Taxali at garytaxali.com.


Frank Iodice is an Italian freelance journalist and writer. He is the author of numerous novels, like ‘La meccanica dei sentimenti’ (Eretica Edizioni 2018), ‘Matroneum’ (Il Foglio 2018), ‘Un perfetto idiota’ (Il Foglio 2017) and many more. 10.000 copies of his ‘Brief Dialogue on Happiness with Pepe Mujica’ have been distributed for free to French and Italian high schools.
He lives between Paris and Lyon.  His blog is frankiodice.it


GUEST POST: Nocturne Variations by John Biscello

Unsolicited Press 

PRESENTS

Nocturne Variations by John Biscello


Genre: Fiction
Release Date: November 30, 2018 (Available for Pre-Order HERE)
List Price: $18.00 
Publisher: Unsolicited Press
Synopsis: Dystopic Peter Pan meets surrealist noir in this cinemythical tale about love, loss and the illusions of shadow-play.

Los Angeles, December, 1989, is when we first meet the seventeen-year-old Piers, a runaway and a savant puppeteer.  Addicted to Sike, an experimental drug which promises a surrogate return to Childhood, Piers, in an act of revenge, robs a briefcase full of Sike from her dealer and flees L.A., pursued by two hit men.  Hiding out in the Southwestern town of Redline, where she meets and is taken in by a man named Henry Hook, Piers is soon confronted by the buried trauma of her past.

Comprising a jigsaw synthesis of narrative, journal entries, letters, monologues, film footage, poems, photographs, and press clippings; Noturne renders an interior world of fragments and parallels, and casts a tinted light on the neverland between dreaming and waking.

EXCERPT

They were spinning slowly, ever so slowly.
  Do you want to go faster, Piers reached down for the dial. I can make us go faster.
  No, Anya smiled. I like the speed. We’re moving so slow it’s like we’re not moving at all.
  Piers and Anya sat in the Amusement Seats, across from one another.
  Piers drew the cloth to her face, huffed, then passed it to Anya.
  Piers stared at Anya, half her face masked in cloth, an asthmatic bandit in the throes of huffing.
  Piers stared and stared,
  and her vision dissimulated into small birds,
  winging across the painted winter of Anya’s face,
  and into the rabbitpink of her eyes, a dying sun
  or lighted prehistory.
  And then, like a slow-motion dream in reverse,
  Piers found herself earlier in the night:
  Anya, on stage, a glacial Venus, dancing with the other Winter’s Brides,
  dancing to invoke snow, which came in the form of electro audio fuzz.
  Can you hear the snow falling, Piers elated to Trink,
  who nodded—Yea yea I can hear it babygirl, I can hear it.
  The Brides, rejoicing in prayer, intensified the frenzy of their dancing,
  as the snowfalling amped into a blizzard of white noise,
  that raged and raged and then
  Silence.
  A ribbed, cathedral silence,
  freezing the Brides into a penitent tableaux.

  And then, the frizzy feel of cloth in hand, returning Piers to Anya who was now sitting across from her, Anya has handed me the cloth and I have just huffed, and I am now saying to Anya—Remember when you were a kid and you’d spin and spin and spin as fast as you could until you fell down and it was like the greatest thing in the world? Did you do that?
  Anya laughed—Yes I did that. I think kids everywhere do that, no matter where they grew up.
  Where did you grow up?
  In the Ukraine. In a small village. Where did you grow up?
  I didn’t.
  Piers laughed, as did Anya.
  No, I grew up in South Dakota. In this town called Belle Fourche.
  Belle Fourche, ah. What does Belle Fourche mean?
  It means Beautiful Fork. Not for me though. It was more like Ugly Knife Twisting In My Side. How was it growing up in a small village and being different?
  Different? Because I’m albino?
  Yes.
  It was sometimes hard. People could be cruel. But I learned how to tune out the negative stuff.
  Now you’re a beautiful ice fairy in L.A. you are made of ice and snow and magic, you know that right?
  Yes, Anya played along, and even though it’s past midnight I haven’t melted yet, the spell hasn’t worn off. I get to be an ice fairy for a little while longer, and then—
  And then?
  And then I don’t know.
  Anya laughed.
  Piers placed her hand over Anya’s.
  Anya’s hand is warm. She is an ice fairy with warm hands, Piers thought.
  Anya stared at the small pink offering astride her hand and said nothing.
  It was almost two hours into the new year, and the new decade.
  Piers and Trink opened the evening with Straddling Lizzy, which had been followed by Winter’s Brides. The show comprised albino-only performers. DeLeon, himself albino, had imagined transforming Tabanid into a winter’s dream, which is exactly what he had done. An ice sculpture of Botticelli’s Venus had been the centerpiece of the refashioned setting.
  Anya, like the other performers, was made of white and blue and pink. All other tones and colors had been abolished, a calculated extinction in composing a Winter’s Bride.
  How do you feel, Piers squeezed Anya’s hand.
  I feel fucking amazing. Anya scrunched her bare shoulders toward her ears. I feel like that little girl who spins around and around and falls down and is happy. I feel just like her.
  You are her.
  I am?
  Yes. Deepdeep in your eyes I can see it, I can see her. Or maybe her ghost.
  Anya’s lighted face dimmed to solemn. She bowed her head and began to cry.
  Piers expected that the tears of an ice fairy would instantly freeze, but they didn’t. They filigreed silver, like slash-marks in snow.
  Piers kissed the back of Anya’s hand, and then her wrist. She feathered her lips against the ridges of Anya’s knuckles.
  Trink, in full gale mode, blasted in.
  He placed one hand on Anya’s shoulder, one on the back of Piers’s head, and intoned a benediction—I hereby absolve thee of all sins accumulated in the year previous. You are free to to sin anew, and may your Innocence multiply at the speed of first and last kisses.
  Trink withdrew his hands from Piers and Anya—I shoulda been a priest, huh?
  Anya laughed and wiped at her tears with the back of her hand.
  Piers lifted her head and turned to Trink, who was staring at Anya.
  You crying sweetheart? Trink gentled his fingers through Anya’s frosted hair. What did Piers do to you?
  Piers didn’t do anything, Anya said. It’s just, I remembered something and then I started crying.
  Ain’t that always the way, Trink maternally cradled Anya’s head.
  When it comes to memories, Trink continued, there ain’t no bigger crybaby than yours truly. As for our little Peersy here, she ain’t much of a crier. I think all her tears go into her puppets. They do all her crying for her. Show us your hands.
  Piers, smiling, displayed her hands, palms down.
  The other side, Trink asserted.
  Piers flipped her hands, palms up.
  See right here, Trink traced several lines etched into Piers’s palm. If you look real closely you’ll notice that these lines got a bluish tinge. That’s from the tears she cries through her hands. When her hands start weeping she closes em like this—
  Trink folded Piers’s fingers and thumb inward
—And she sends the tears back. She banishes them like bad kittens, like . . . you ever see a river reverse its course? Ever see it run backwards?
  No, Anya said, I don’t think so—
  Well the river runs backwards in the case of our curious specimen Pierangela—
  Pierangela’s your real name, that’s beautiful—
  Thanks—
  And Pierangela’s backward river of tears becomes a shadow show, right Pierangela—
  Right Trink—
  You two are funny—
  Then come to the beach with us—
  The beach—
  Yea that’s why I came over, a bunch of us, including your Winter’s Bridesmates, are gonna go to the beach and keep the party going till the sun comes up—
  And then what happens, we melt—
  Yea you and the ice fairies melt and me and Trink we . . . what happens to us Trink—
  We fall into a thousand year sleep—
  Yea a long deep sleep for me and Trink but I’ll remember you Anya, I’ll dream of you—
  And will you cry through your hands and reverse the river, for me, the memory of me—
  I will—
  Okay sounds like fun let’s go.


AUTHOR BIO 

Originally from Brooklyn, NY, writer, poet, performer, and playwright, John Biscello, has lived in the high-desert grunge-wonderland of Taos, New Mexico since 2001.

He is the author of two novels, Broken Land, a Brooklyn Tale and Raking the Dust, and a collection of stories, Freeze Tag. Broken Land was named Underground Book Reviews 2014 Book of the Year. His third novel, Nocturne Variations, is due out November 2018 (Unsolicited Press).

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GUEST POST: The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) by Jean Nicole Rivers

JNR Publishing Presents

The Unwanted (Black Water Tales Book 2) 
by Jean Nicole Rivers

Genre: New Adult Horror & Psychological Thriller
Length: 306
Release Date: OUT NOW (Ebook & Paperback)
ISBN: 978-0692549926
Synopsis:  In the remote, eastern European town of Borslav there is St. Sebastian orphanage, a place where people discard their unwanted children. For the American, Blaire Baker, it’s the perfect place to volunteer her services. Paired with a cheerful volunteer nurse, Blaire is enthusiastic about the possibilities, but is quickly discouraged when she encounters the nefarious nature of the staff and the deplorable conditions of the facility and the children.

Upon arrival, one of the children informs Blaire, “There’s something in the basement.” It isn’t long before strange things begin happening, including Blaire’s flashbacks of the accident that killed her parents. The children soon suffer injuries that Blaire, first, fears may be the deeds of the callous workers but she soon thinks the abuse may originate from a source that is less than human, something unwanted. 
The unwanted is coming but in order for Blaire to fight it, she must dig into St. Sebastian and herself in search of truth. Blaire wants nothing more than to help the children, but when she discovers the tragedy that happened in the basement and learns that the same evil forces are still at work, it will be Blaire who needs help…There’s something in the basement.

That fall was one of the coldest Black Water had ever seen. Blaire could not have been more than eleven years old. Sabrina Langford had asked her if she wanted to go walking up to the Grammercy Bridge. Grammercy had once taken trains safely from one side of the river to the other and on through the picturesque town of Black Water, but that was long ago. It was a place of little interest to two young girls and, from what Blaire had known at her innocent age, it was, at most, a place where the older kids went to kiss on Friday nights. When Sabrina suggested it as a play place that day, Blaire wanted to object, but hesitated at the thought of turning off her newfound friend.

Long ago the bridge had become lifeless, but it still gave an endless series of death breaths as the girls walked along it. The water flowed rapidly, and the sound of the swishing and churning made Blaire shiver. After throwing a couple of rocks into the river, a series of familiar faces emerged. Lacey Wright, Sharla Hig, Kiana James, and Elizabeth Morrow claimed territory on the bridge, creating a poignant image that Blaire would never forget. A pang of fear sliced through Blaire’s stomach: seppuku. Nothing involving Lacey, Sharla, Kiana and Elizabeth could be good for her because the Frightening Four were perpetrators of horrendous kiddie crimes. Just the week before they surrounded a girl on the playground, who they teased relentlessly until she cried and admitted she was a “slut” as they kept calling her. It was a word that Blaire knew vaguely from hearing it in R-rated movies that she snuck to catch glimpses of from time to time, although she would have been hard pressed to define the word if asked. 

Against her better judgment, Blaire stepped into the circle of doom on the playground and screamed at all of them to leave the helpless girl alone. Within seconds of hearing the commotion, Mrs. Bennett, infiltrated the mob of minors with a series of inquiries and instructions that made Lacey roll her eyes. The kids scattered but not before Blaire received a malevolent glare from the hellion gang’s little hierarch. The four of them were relentlessly brutal BFFs, who stopped at nothing when they craved the blood of another in the form of utter humiliation and in the name of pure adolescent wickedness. 


Your Black Water Tales series operates with two of my beloved literary elements: mystery and the female sleuth. Additionally, you have the two elements soaked in the horror genre. So I have to ask, what spoke to you to take on and blend these specific genres? Also, knowing there’s an interesting history you’ve drawn upon, what were your early writing/book inspirations?

Jean Nicole Rivers: Mystery is a natural foundation of most horror genres, therefore, unless you are writing a slasher or something similar, there must be some mystery, that is part of what keeps the audience on edge, they have to be wondering, why? Females are my leads because I am a female, so I know females, I understand them, how they think, what they want and why they want it. Using female heroines is just a matter of “writing what you know”.
As I child I was a voracious reader and soon became a writer. I wrote short stories and poems and I always aspired to write a book, but in my younger years I simply lacked the necessary discipline to complete a novel. A couple of years ago, I found that I was ready and that it was time.
Your setting of the fictional town of Black Water sounds ominous and dark–just from the name alone.  Having conceptualized this atmosphere that readers will explore with your sleuths, were there any areas in your personal environment that found itself reflected in Black Water?
Jean Nicole Rivers: Absolutely, I grew up in a small town called Centralia, IL, therefore, once again this was a matter of writing about things I know and understand. In Centralia everyone knew everyone, but with my imagination I always wondered, what if we didn’t know as much about our close neighbors as we thought we knew. What if that banging in Mr. Wilkens’ basement wasn’t just the pipes?
Black Water Tales (Book 1)

With two books in your Black Water Tales series comes two different female leads.  The first Tales follows Regina Dean’s investigation uncovering the death of her best friend.  Your second book follows Blaire Baker investigation into an orphanage with a stream of missing children.  Both women have their hands full in her respective cases and circumstances.  What would you say make the two different, as well as the same?  Were there any difficulties expressing the differences in their individual voices?  And what would you say is something you have most in common with one of the two?

Jean Nicole Rivers: Regina and Blaire are similar in that they really want what is best. They are working to an end that they sincerely hope is good, but what makes them different are their histories, their environment (people and setting) and their motivations which are at vastly different ends of the spectrum. To get to where you are going, you have to know where you have been and these two women though they are both Black Water natives have a completely different story to tell. What I have in common with both women is the aspiration to do what is good, but as the saying goes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” And it certainly is for these two women.
Let’s talk writing. Do you have any unique or peculiar writing habits? Is there a certain writing space or ritual you find helps give momentum to your writing sessions?
Jean Nicole Rivers: Sure, though I really try not to ritualize or habitualize (yes, I think I just created this word) my writing too much because I feel that if I do that, then when those particular rituals are not in place I will feel that I “can’t” write and I never want to be dependent on habits and rituals in order to be able to perform my craft. With that being said, I like to write in the morning as my brain gets a little mushy after lunch. Usually, all I need is a cup of coffee and I can write anywhere.
Let’s talk future projects.  Will there be a third Black Water Tales book coming?  And do you have plans on writing outside of the series, or exploring other genres of writing?
Jean Nicole Rivers: I have just started working on what I call the “Master Edit” for my 3rd book which is a Black Water Tale, The Sandman (working title) and I hope to complete it early next year. Right now, horror is at the forefront of my brain though I could see myself writing cozy mysteries later in life.
Tell us one interesting thing you’ve learned stepping into the publishing world?  Any surprises or revelations you’d like to share with inspiring writers and the readers of your series?
Jean Nicole Rivers: One of the things that I learned is whether you are with a major publisher or you self-publish, you will be conducting most of the marketing for your book on your own and the creative side of writing a book is a completely different animal than the business side of marketing your book. I have had to learn so much about book marketing and it is an ongoing process. 



Jean Nicole Rivers is a great lover of reading and writing. Although she loves varied genres, the horror/thriller genre is her favorite. Jean Nicole has been writing poetry and short stories since she was a child, but has always aspired to master the art of storytelling through novels. The Unwanted is the second story in her series of Black Water Tales, following The Secret Keepers.

Jean Nicole was awarded 3rd place in the National Black Book Festival’s 2013 Best New Author competition and she enjoys the honor of having written featured articles for popular reader websites and blogs, such as Digital Book Today and The Masquerade Crew.
Jean Nicole Rivers graduated from Florida International University with a bachelor of arts in philosophy, and she lives in Houston, Texas. 
Become friends with Jean Nicole Rivers on:
Buy Black Water Tales on Amazon:

Black Water Tales: The Secret Keepers (Volume 1)

Black Water Tales: The Unwanted (Volume 2)

A special Black Water Tales video trailer…

GUEST POST: Tales of Blood and Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor by J. G. Clay

Tales of Blood and Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor Volume 1 by J. G. Clay

Author: J. G. Clay
Genre: Horror
Length: 212
Release Date: July 20, 2015
ISBN: 978-1513701998
Synopsis: Eleven Tales steeped in Blood and reeking of Sulphur

J.G Clay takes you on a journey through the voids of Reality and into dark places where demons, mutants and inter-dimensional creatures taunt, taint and corrupt Humanity. Survival is not guaranteed, sanity is not assured and death lurks in every corner. These are the Tales of Blood and Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor; eleven twisted tales of terror and mayhem……
There are cracks in the skin of Reality. Some are microscopic, others are as wide as a four-lane motorway. As the fault lines increase and widen, the door to our world shines like a beacon in the darkness, a warm and inviting sight to others beyond our understanding. When They cross over into our realm, The Tales begin……
A gambler taking one last desperate throw of the dice. A struggling writer making an unholy alliance. An eternal being fighting to stay alive in the financial capital of India. A man burdened with a terrible town secret. The Law Enforcers who must never cry. The End of Days live and direct from the rural heartland of England.
The blood is warm, the sulphur is burning, the tales will be told, the Apocalypse Minor is imminent.

Bozo Nightmares? Get Real: A Very Short History of Tales of Blood and Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor
My name is J.G Clay. Rather, my pen name is J.G Clay. I like it. It’s snappy, stylish and a bit mysterious. I wrote and released a book called Tales of Blood And Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor. Again with the snappy stylish thing. It’s a great title. It could have been so different. Somewhere out there in an alternative Universe, it could have been ‘Bozo Nightmares’ by Steven Singh. I’m glad it wasn’t but this is one of those little stories woven into the backstory of ‘Tales of Blood and Sulphur
There are (probably) a hundred more anecdotes but to be honest, I can’t remember them all. Tracing the origins of a novel is pretty easy. Get an idea. Sketch out idea. Write idea. Rinse and repeat. Nice, neat and infinitely easier to write about when someone asks for a guest blog on the history of your book. A short story collection is a different matter altogether. For instance, I can tell you that ‘On The Beach’, the first of the Tales, was originally written in 1998, that ‘God Bless George A. Romero’ started life as the day to day blog of a zombie holocaust and that one of the stories I dropped for what would become my debut was a rather pleasantly titled piece called ‘F**k Art, Let’s Dance’. But the exact dates of what happened where and with who are a bit elusive. SO, a potted history is all I can manage.
Four of the original seven stories that made up Tales of Blood and Sulphur were pieces that had been hanging around in one form or another since my late twenties. I’ve been writing since I was about thirteen; not very well admittedly but writing nonetheless. The idea of dusting some ‘Golden Oldies’ and retooling for a forty year old had a lot of appeal (mainly because it didn’t involve having to think up new stuff). I got to work polishing and honing this old stuff around February 2015 with the vague idea of expanding on the sparse pieces I had. But, as ever with this writing thing, something happened. Not only did I enjoy what I was doing, but new ideas reared their head. The floodgates were opening. They haven’t stopped since. The newbies (as I like to call them) – ‘Legally Dead’, ‘LLTC (Lucifer Loves The Clash)’ and the aforementioned ‘The Writer’s Friend’ – were all finished in about two weeks. Some other stories also cropped up but they were put to one side for a rainy day, a decision which I’ve always been happy with. One of those bonus tracks eventually went on to become the Doctor Who-ish ‘The World Stops When The Smiling Men Cry’. ‘F*ck Art, Let’s Dance’ and a story exploring colonial mind-sets and racism called ‘Mizungo’ were also born during this time. At the time of writing, neither one had has appeared in print. I’m sure that one day they will.
Stories in hand, I put the book on Amazon and Createspace and released ‘Tales of Blood and Sulphur’ on 13th May, 2014. It sold a few copies, got some great reviews and also attracted the interest of a publishing company called Booktrope, the same publisher I am still with. Now the fun starts. Armed with an editor, proof-reader, cover designer and Dane Cobain, my book manager, ‘Tales’ was ready for a new lease of life. With two pairs of fresh eyes on the case, the original seven stories expanded to ten plus a ‘wraparound story’ to pin everything together. The ‘wraparound’ was suggested by my editor Christopher Nelson and it was a master stroke. Not only did it give the stories a framework to hang from but it also gave me a new character to play with in the form of Null, the mystic and not quite human storyteller. He’s my crypt-keeper, the man (ish) who will bring you a new ‘Tales’ every year as well as taking payment in souls.
With a stunning cover, fantastic editing and proofreading, work was completed in short order and ‘Tales of Blood And Sulphur: Apocalypse Minor’ was unleashed onto the public in July 2015. Sales have been moderate but the reaction has been fantastic. More importantly, that first release has given me back the passion and hunger for storytelling, something that I’d lost in the years previous.
I wonder whether the passion would have stayed the same if I had gone with the original title. Somehow I doubt it.
Author Information & Links
J.G Clay is definitely a Man of Horror. There can be no doubt. Putting aside the reverence he has for the horror greats, such as King, Barker, Herbert, Carpenter, Romero and Argento, there is another fact that defines his claim for the title of the ‘Duke of Spook’. He was born on Halloween night. By a quirk fate, it was also a full moon that night. Co-incidence?
Here at Clay Towers, we don’t believe in coincidences.
The 41 year old hails from the Midlands in the United Kingdom, is married with one step child and two dogs that bear a strong resemblance to Ewoks. Beyond the page and the written word, he is music mad and can hold down a tune on a bass guitar pretty well. He is an avid reader and also has an enduring love of British sci-fi, from the pages of the ‘2000A.D’ comic to the televised wanderings of Gallifrey’s most famous physician. Clay is also a long-time fan of the mighty Birmingham City Football Club and endures a lot of flak from his friends for it.
Connect with J. G. Clay
Purchase Tales of Blood and Sulphur Apocalypse Minor Vol. 1 

GUEST POST: No Rest for the Wicked by Dane Cobain

No Rest for the Wicked by Dane Cobain

Author: Dane Cobain
Genre: Supernatural Thriller
Length: 127
Release Date: May 22, 2015
ISBN: 978-1620159026
Imprint: Forsaken
Synopsis: Father Montgomery, an elderly priest with a secret past, begins an investigation after his parishioners come under attack by Angels.  And with the help of Robert Jones, a young businessman with an estranged child, Montgomery begins to track down the origin of the Angels.  Naked and androgynous, the Angels speak in a dreadful harmony with no clear leader.  They aren’t biblical cherubs, tasked with protecting the righteous person.  Instead, these are deadly creatures of light with the power to eradicate the living.  When Jones himself is attacked, Father Montgomery knows he has to act fast. He speaks to the Angels and organizes a final showdown where he’s asked to make the ultimate sacrifice.


A Brief History of No Rest for the Wicked

Hi, folks! My name’s Dane, and I’m the author of the supernatural thriller, No Rest for the Wicked. Today I’m stopping by to tell you a little bit more about my book–big thanks to Troi for having me here! Let’s get started.
No Rest for the Wicked grew out of a nightmare I had during my first year of university. I woke up in the middle of the night, climbed out of bed, and started to make notes about its key elements; the Angels, characters, and the fact that beings of light were wreaking havoc on the nation and the world.
A couple of months later, I revisited my notes and fleshed them out in more detail.  Adding details for each of the chapters and planning out the timeline. In each chapter I allotted a short paragraph of basic notes about what needed to happen.  I also worked on a short list of character bios.
Once that was in place, I was able to start writing the book.  It’s the bit most people think of when they think of what a writer does. It’s also one of the most fun parts.  In the case of No Rest for the Wicked, it took me about three months to finish the first draft.
After that, I had to work on my edits.  I usually make two passes over my work, so I can give it a conceptual edit and then a copy edit. The difference between the two is a conceptual edit focuses on the actual story line.  Whilst a copy edit just ensures the spelling and grammar are correct. Both are necessary, to put out a good book.
And then, I left the book on the shelf for a while. I did actually get a limited run of copies printed for friends and family.  But it wasn’t released properly for another five years, when it was picked up by Booktrope Publishing’s Forsaken imprint. That’s another story entirely.  The short version is I reviewed some of Booktrope’s releases on my book blog.  So when I submitted No Rest for the Wicked for publication, they were already aware of me.
But the hard work didn’t end there.  Once accepted for publication, there was still a long road ahead of me. First the book had to be edited, which involved multiple rounds of amends by both myself and my editor, Laura Bartha. Then, it went through a couple of rounds of proofreading with Jennifer Farwell.
While all this was going on, I was working on getting the cover design just right with my designer, Ashley Ruggirello. Ashley did a great job, and really rounded things off.  Once the final round of proofing was out of the way, the layout team started building the actual book.  Before providing Ashley with the final dimensions of the book so she could finalize the covers.
Even then, the hard work wasn’t over.  Once all that’s sorted, you need to fill out a form called a publication fact sheet.  This sheet provides all the information that retailers need to list the book. Fill that out and then it’s just a waiting game – you need to give it a week or so before the book’s finally online and for sale.
After that I had to start thinking about marketing, which involved an online and offline party; as well as a video teaser, a quiz, and some other promotional material. I could write a whole blog post just about that, but I’m not going to – unless you ask me nicely.
So there you have it – that’s a brief history of No Rest for the Wicked. Thanks a lot for reading, and be sure to check out No Rest for the Wicked on Amazon if you want to find out more. I’m also around on Facebook and Twitter! I’ll see you soon.
Author Information & Links
Dane Cobain is a writer, poet, and musician from a place you’ve probably never heard of somewhere in England. 
When he’s not writing books, he’s reading and reviewing them on his book blog–SocialBookshelves.com.  Or working at his day job in social media marketing. 
Find him at Facebook.com/DaneCobainMusic or follow @DaneCobain on Twitter.

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