Here are my covers with the BRAND NEW LETTERING!
Thank you to Sharon Brownlie for her lovely work on the new wording on my book covers. Lilith and Fateless looked dull and tired and not very eye catching at all. It is amazing what a big difference wording, font and colour can do. Thank you very much and I urge others to seek her help. Very friendly, quick service. I had input at every stage! Thank you again! Here are my covers with the BRAND NEW LETTERING! Below you can check out the covers with their old, boring wording. It amazes me how new, better wording can change the whole cover! I Love it.
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God of the Darklands is my epic fantasy WIP about Gods, Gifted mortals, Elementals and monstrous creatures. Below is the first chapter. Tell me what you think so far.....
‘In the beginning we were but a thought, a fantasy, a vision, of our true Creator, the Es Soulla, and breathed in to life, in to being.’ - Ameris, Scroll of Beginnings 1 Wrapped from head to toe in black, he became a shadow, showing only his shimmering storm-grey eyes, flashing every time a crack of lightening ravaged the grim sky. His skin ran pale, almost as grey as his irises, visible in the narrow strip of his dark mask. He pulled his cloak tight across a lean, muscled body, stopping it from flapping wildly in the wind and lowered his hood against the storm. He could smell the rotting odour of decomposing bodies and old sweat. Unwashed bodies had a sickeningly sweet smell that hung on the air, invaded the nostrils and seemed to seep in to his very pores. It was a smell he had become accustomed to over the passing months and, in truth, in all his years living in Aria it was not the worst smell he had come across. The dark clad man lowered in to a crouch and moved in a predatory crawl to the edge of the steep hillside. Darkland demons thundered far below him on a beaten trail leading away from the town of Dirra in to The Plains, their deformed, monstrous bodies encased in metal armour. A town, he thought coldly, they had devastated and destroyed. He had watched them burn poorly made huts with flickering torches, forcing families out on to the streets where they were cut down with no remorse. The men were slaughtered, children torn apart, the women raped and tormented before they were slain. The bloodbath had not lasted long. No more than a few hours. From bloodcurdling screams to heavy silence. He knew none had been left alive, there was no need to search Dirra for survivors, but he would wait until the armoured demons were a safe distance away and do what was required of him. Keeping to the shadows, the dark man walked steadily down the hill and disappeared through the smoke and fire. He checked every house, every throat of every corpse still intact, even some that were not. Once satisfied none had survived to tell the grisly tale he moved fast to pick up the stinking trail of the deformed monsters. The demons had already destroyed Meresa and Throm, and before them they had slaughtered the people of Corus and Midere. Soon all the border towns would be nothing but blackened, poisoned land. The demons would make their way to the Citadel of Morenna and the Humans, as diminished as they were, would fall easily. The demons were easy to find. The odour they left in their wake could be smelled for miles. The dark man followed them to a camp where they were resting after battle, where they feasted on the limbs of men. He watched as one tore the fingers from a hand it had brought with it from the slaughters. Blood spurted in a bright red stream across its face and a forked tongue greedily flicked out to lap it up, not wasting a single drop. Disgusted, he turned away and found a place nearby to wait. He was not allowed to end their pitiful lives, and nor did he care to expend the effort to do so. He would follow his orders, and that was all. He would watch and wait until he found survivors. That was his only mission. Finding a damp patch of grass beneath a shelter of fallen rocks, he rested, sighing at his seemingly meaningless task. In the three seasons he had been following the beasts they had left none alive. They were careful, thorough, and lusted for the slaughter. Sighing once more, he stared up at the roiling sky. Watching the way the lightening travelled across the purple-blue clouds, brightening the land in rapid bursts, and then leaving it in murky darkness. He longed to follow the storm, to chase the wind wherever it may lead. He wished for it to take him far from this poor, barren land. A place where there were lush green forests, the hum of animal life and the silken skin of women. Elf women. He preferred their willowy bodies, rich scented hair and strange coloured eyes, but in this moment he would settle for a hardened Tiberian woman, or a brash speaking Alac-Narian. Any woman to love for a few hours, to pass away the long, dark nights. The dark man closed his eyes and filled his mind with memories of the many women he had lain with over the years. He breathed in the spices of perfume and soap, remembered the feel of satin clothes slipping through his fingers as they fell to the floor. He was so immersed in his dream he nearly missed the delicate thud outside his shelter.Most would not have heard it. He did not stir. This was a sound familiar to him and he felt a small, uncommon smile twitch at the corners of his lips. “One day I will care enough to ask how you always seem to find me, Nikira.” His voice was soft, with only a slight growl at the edge of his words. “Come. Stay here with me. The night is much too cold for you to be running around alone.” Thank you for reading. If you wish to comment you can do so via the comments option or go to the contact form on the 'Contact Me!' page at the top of my website. Hope you enjoyed this piece. This is the finalized and edited opening chapter of my book Myst of Aria, the first novel in an epic-fantasy trilogy I am currently working on! I really hope you like it and would appreciate any comments/opinions. ENJOY! Wrapped from head to toe, he became a shadow, showing only his shimmering storm-grey eyes, flashing every time a crack of lightening ravaged the grim sky. His skin ran pale, almost as grey as his irises, visible in the narrow strip of his dark mask. He pulled his black cloak tight across a lean, muscled body, stopping it from flapping wildly in the wind and lowered his hood against the storm. He could smell the rotting odour of decomposing bodies and old sweat. Unwashed bodies had a sickeningly sweet smell that hung on the air, invaded the nostrils and seemed to seep in to his very pores. It was a smell he had become accustomed to over the passing months and, in truth, in all his years living in Aria it was not the worst smell he had come across. The darkly clad man lowered in to a crouch and moved in a predatory crawl to the edge of the steep hillside. Armoured demons thundered far below him on a beaten trail leading away from the town of Dirra in to The Plains. A town, he thought coldly, they had devastated and destroyed. He had watched them burn poorly made huts with flickering torches, forcing families out on to the streets where they were cut down with no remorse. The men were slaughtered, children torn apart, the women raped and tortured and slain. The bloodbath had not lasted long. No more than a few hours. From bloodcurdling screams to heavy silence. He knew none had been left alive, there was no need to search Dirra for survivors, but he would wait until the armoured demons were a safe distance away and do what was required of him. Keeping to the shadows, the dark man walked steadily down the hill and disappeared through the smoke and fire. He checked every house, every throat of every corpse still intact, even some that were not. Once satisfied none had survived to tell the grisly tale he moved fast to pick up the stinking trail of the deformed monsters. The demons had already destroyed Meresa and Throm, and before them they had slaughtered the people of Corus and Midere. Soon all the border towns would be nothing but blackened, poisoned land. The demons would make their way to the Citadel of Morenna and the Humans, as diminished as they were, would fall. The demons were easy to find. The odour they left in their wake could be smelled for miles. The dark man followed them to a camp where they were resting after battle, where they feasted on the limbs of men. He watched as one tore the fingers from a hand it had brought with it from the slaughters. Blood spurted in a bright red stream across its face and a forked tongue greedily flicked out to lap it up, not wasting a single drop. Disgusted, he turned away and found a place nearby to wait. He was not allowed to end their pitiful lives, and nor did he care to expend the effort to do so. He would follow his orders, and that was all. He would watch and wait until he found survivors. That was his only mission. Finding a damp patch of grass beneath a shelter of fallen rocks, he rested, sighing at his seemingly meaningless task. In the three seasons he had been following the beasts they had left none alive. They were careful, thorough, and lusted for the slaughter. Sighing once more, he stared up at the roiling sky. Watching the way the lightening travelled across the purple-blue clouds, brightening the land in rapid bursts, and then leaving it in murky darkness. He longed to follow the storm, to chase the wind wherever it may lead. He wished for it to take him far from this poor, barren land. To a place where there were lush green forests, the hum of animal life and the silken skin of women. Elf women. He preferred their willowy bodies, rich scented hair and strange coloured eyes, but in this moment he would settle for a hardened Tiberian woman, or a brash speaking Alac-Narian. Any woman to love for a few hours, to pass away the long, dark nights. The dark man closed his eyes and filled his mind with memories of the many women he had lain with over the years. He breathed in the spices of perfume and soap, remembered the feel of satin clothes falling to the floor. He was so immersed in his dream he nearly missed the delicate thud outside his shelter. Most would not have heard it. He did not stir. This was a sound familiar to him and he felt a small, uncommon smile twitch at the corners of his lips. “One day I will care enough to ask how you always seem to find me, Nikira,” he said. His voice was soft, with only a slight growl at the edge of his words. “Come. Stay here with me. The night is much too cold for you to be running around alone.” I love being a writer and everything that comes with it. The vacant expression on your face while a scene plays out behind your eyes, staring at that poor bugger opposite you on the bus because he has interesting features you would love to describe and use for a character in a book, constantly missing the last few words of every sentence when someone is talking to you because you are too busy thinking about your next plotline but....there is one thing that leaves a definate love/hate feeling deep inside my stomach... The INSISTANT calling of another book while you are fighting to finish your most recent creation! I love that my mind is swimming with ideas, plots, characters, worlds, magical powers, terrifying monsters and many, many more things, but I WISH I had a little compartment I could store them in while I finish the project I am working on. A soundproof compartment preferably. Normally I would follow my heart and listen to the screaming voice telling me to work on that new idea, that new character, that new romance scene, but I am planning the release of my second Twin Souls Novel for the end of March! 4 weeks! anyone who writes knows the pressure of an upcoming deadline. There is Beta reading, edits, contacting bloggers and a range of readers to review the book and thats not even close to what is left to do on the list! I am known for having many projects on the go, sift through my website and you will find The God of the Darklands, a trilogy I have been working on over the years (feel free to check out the excerps) I give it my spare time between work, Twin Souls, my family and my friends. I am good at multi-tasking and taking on stress, I love that feeling of nerves and excitement and fear as the deadline draws near to the release of a new book. But...there is a book I recently started working on because the idea would not shake loose. Harmlessly, I breathed life to a plot that I was sure I could put aside and work on later when I had finished Fateless, the second book in the Twin Soul Series. I was foolish! How could I have not known what I was getting in to?! And so I have been working on a story that has consumed far more of my time then I ever intended and I want to share with you a short excerpt to find out what you think. The few people I have shown snippets to are very excited. So meet Jade... "I was born Jade Heartbearer, daughter of Enya and Anick, but that was before my life was torn to shreds" I stared at my reflection in the mirror and wondered if light would ever shine in my eyes the way it once did. As my mother's did before she was murdered and taken from this world. The chestnut brown of my irises had glittered with flecks of green. Now they were dull and dark, emotionless. The smile at my full lips appeared genuine; it hid the sorrow that punished me night and day. Dark hair was piled on my head in irksome curls, cascading down my shoulders to flow over the silk that wrapped around my body. The little flowers woven in to my hair insisted on grazing my ears irritatingly. I resisted the urge to scratch them, or rip them from my head. This evening I had a part to play. It wasn’t the usual type of Assassin work I was accustomed to but it was a means to an end. The end of a life. |
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