Sunday, July 31, 2011
Friday, July 29, 2011
So if you were a publisher--or if you are one--what would be your approach? Mark it higher so that everyone makes something from the sale or bring the price down in hopes you'll sell more books and be compensated for the drop in price?
What do you think is a reasonable price for an e book? And what price do you normally pay for an e?
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Here's his Bio:
David M. Brown was born in Barnsley in 1982 and first conceived the idea of Elenchera in college. His love of history and English led him to read these subjects at Huddersfield University. David is inspired by medieval history, Norse mythology and Japanese role-playing video games and anime films. He lives in Huddersfield with his wife Donna and their six rescue cats.
A little bit about: Fezariu the Mercenary
Fezariu first turned to the Merelax Mercenaries at the tender age of eleven, his childhood having very nearly ruined him. The promise of untold riches, fame and the chance to see the world were too great a lure for the young boy but his main motivation in enlisting as a mercenary was the chance to escape his past and, over time, perhaps bury it for good.
The Merelax Mercenaries dictated that recruits had to be sixteen years old before they would be considered for military training. Rather than turn Fezariu away, he was accepted at Archangel University and placed under the guardianship of General Bayard, an esteemed mercenary veteran with an impeccable military career. General Bayard’s five years as Fezariu’s tutor were motivated by a desire to break the boy and make him give up his dream. It didn’t work.
Fezariu was given menial tasks such as cleaning weapons, collecting glasses at the university tavern and running the full length of Merelax Island delivering messages. He never wavered. General Bayard’s education wasn’t all about the body though. Having Fezariu visit the library daily, General Bayard pushed the boy hard with his reading, writing, arithmetic and history. For every lesson a test followed within a week. Fezariu prevailed on every occasion and General Bayard came to accept there would be no ridding Archangel University of this boy.
At sixteen Fezariu began his training as a mercenary and once again found himself under the tutelage of General Bayard. Fezariu’s three years of mercenary training saw him master the sword and build up his strength and stamina through a series of obstacle courses engineered by General Bayard himself. By nineteen Fezariu had achieved his dream, eight years after he first set out on the lonely path.
As a mercenary, Fezariu shared in the hopes of his peers by dreaming of lucrative assignments out in the western colonies. Colonialism, spearheaded by Eligantiar and Odrica in the Twelfth Shard, had seen the majority of the lands in West Elenchera subdued and their native races bound in chains to make way for families from the east dreaming of new and lucrative lives overseas. Though slaves, the native races of West Elenchera had insurgent spirits that could overcome any chains and revolts and attempted revolutions were commonplace during this turbulent period of history. It was into this vortex of mayhem that Fezariu wished to be assigned.
Fezariu fought with distinction in Emeraldon against the dangerous valkayan insurgents before returning to Merelax Island as a decorated hero. His final assignment came when the bulk of the Merelax Mercenaries were sent across the sea to assist Odrica in an ambitious invasion of Himordia. Against such accomplished and brilliant warriors, the Odricans and Merelax Mercenaries were always going to struggle and so it proved. Fezariu swapped the glory of crushing rebellions in Emeraldon for a desperate struggle for survival in Himordia. It is the aftermath of this devastating defeat in Himordia that forms the opening of Fezariu’s Epiphany.
Now for the excerpt:
Across the street from the White Oak, Fezariu stood with one hand resting on the wall of a derelict house, his eyes were locked on the door of the White Oak and his mind was reliving that fateful day when he had seen his mother entertaining the patrons. She had pushed him aside then, defined the worthlessness that had consumed his very essence until he stumbled upon the path of salvation that led him to Merelax Island and to the mercenaries.
The last time Fezariu had seen the White Oak he had been nothing to his mother, nothing to anyone, but now things were different. He had changed his life around, he was successful now, respected by his peers and finally of some value. With the weight of achievement supporting him, Fezariu finally had the reason and purpose to come back to the White Oak, to prove to his mother what he had done with his life; that he had thrived without her love and without her help. Today he would dictate the exchange between them, show Wild Jessamine that she was just another whore to him and not his mother. As a child, Jessamine had looked down on Fezariu and cast him aside as she would stained garments, but now Fezariu would tower above her and make her feel the same worthlessness he had.
Want to learn more about David and Fezariu's Epiphany? Or buy the book?
The Elencheran Chronicles: http://elenchera.com
The World According to Dave: http://blog.elenchera.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/elenchera http://www.facebook.com/fezariu
Book Video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPgcNNLMBvY
RRP: £9.99/$14.99 (paperback), $4.99 (ebook)
David will be giving away a $25 Amazon gift certificate. To enter the contest just leave a comment. To increase your chances of winning, just follow David's tour: http://goddessfishpromotions.blogspot.com/2011/06/virtual-book-tour-fezarius-epiphany-by.html
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Now add into the mix that the editor is both author and editor. This is always a yellow caution sign for me. Are you going to get a supportive professional editor or an editor who imposes her or his writing style on you? I've had both sides of the spectrum. On the positive side of the equation, one of the best editors I've ever had was an author/editor.
But regardless of whether an editor writes for a living and edits on the side or is a full time editor, that person has a responsibility to treat his/her authors in a professional manner. And vice versa. As authors, when interacting with our editors and publishers, we need to show them the same professional courtesy that we expect them to show us.
Authors, what do you think? When does an editor go too far?
Monday, July 25, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Thursday, July 21, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Still as a shadow, I concentrated on the night. Extended branches, like bony fingers, reached out, outlined against the dark. A sharp wind whipped thin twigs that bent then sprang back. One cracked loud as a pistol shot. Waves pounded a rocky shore with merciless intensity and flung gray plumes of water high in the air.
Over the harsh night sounds, I heard a snake-like hiss. The hair on my neck rose. My grip on my sword tightened.
“Zoe, look out!”
I pivoted on my heel in time to see Uncle’s gleaming saber swing wide.
“Eeeee!” The vampire shrieked just before her head flew off. The unearthly sound set my teeth on edge. Spider like chills ran up my spine. The next moment the head, along with the separated body, burst into flame. The long black hair, on the skull, crackled and curled. Then it disintegrated with a ‘pop’. Phosphorus ash floated to the ground and left a sickly green glow in the dark.
A shriek of unleashed rage echoed through the night and turned my blood to ice.
I spun around and stared in disbelief. My body went cold. “What the—?” The vamp my uncle had just killed raced toward us. “How could she come back?” I could barely force the words past my stiff lips.
“It’s her twin, Zoe.” Uncle’s shout, broke my paralysis.
A woman with that same thick mane of black hair and scarlet lipstick slashed across her mouth—or maybe it was blood from a recent kill—soared forward in a blur of motion. “Murderers,” she screamed her fangs extended.
As she leaped for me, I thrust out my sword. The weight of contact vibrated in my hand as the blade buried in her heart. “Like you’ve never taken a life,” I snarled back.
She erupted in a ball of fire that lit the dark night then disappeared into a pile of ash.
Available at Amazon.com
Monday, July 18, 2011
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
My name is Zoe Tempest. Don’t let this blonde-haired, blue-eyed Barbie Doll exterior fool you. I’m a vampire hunter. I have been ever since Dere, the king of bad-ass vamps murdered my parents and I went to live with my uncle, Julian Kilmer. Maybe you’ve heard of him. He’s a renowned paranormal metaphysical author. But in the world of the undead, he’s known and feared as a vampire slayer. Besides slaughtering my parents, Dere destroyed everyone that Uncle Julian ever loved. In doing so, Dere forged a bond between us thicker than the blood that binds us. After I moved in with Uncle Julian and learned to fight, I got my revenge and turned Dere’s butt to dust. At least, I think I did. Since Uncle Julian and I came to Vampire Bay on a vamp hunting expedition I’ve begun to wonder…
Available at Amazon.com
CONTEST IN AUGUST
Monday, July 11, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Its a fascinating city. We stayed in the historic district on Bay Street a block over from the riverfront, which is lined with shops and restaurants and teaming with nightlife. The riverfront sits lower than Bay Street so every time we visited the riverfront there where stairs involved.
The first night, we ate at The Pirate House. In 1753, The Pirate House was an inn, used regularly by sailors and pirates alike that roamed the high seas.
The next night we took a ghost tour. Savannah is famous for its hauntings. In 2005, the Halloween Special, TAPS investigated the Moon River Brewery and the Sorrel Weed House.
The Sorrel Weed House was built in 1838. Legend has it that an African-American slave was murdered by a member of the family in the carriage house.
The legend of the Brewery is that slaves were locked in the basement and attic when a fire broke out and no one came to let them out.
On a more upbeat note, while there I learned the meaning of the term Sluts.
SLUTS: Southern ladies under tremendous stress.