Now that I have a few of my short stories up on Kindle/Nook/etc., I’ve been preparing to publish my first fantasy novel, entitled “Heart of the Witch.” This is a fair-sized novel, at 157,000 words, and I’ve been working on it for far too long. The time has come for it to see daylight (and hopefully readers).
If anyone has any suggestions on finding inexpensive copy editing services or a good cover artist, please let me know! This is going to be quite a journey, navigating through the process.
Here is a little teaser snippet:
“We’re too late,” Dellin muttered, worry knotting his brows. His thin lips pressed together as he sought to quicken his pace. Zerrick almost ran to keep up with his taller sibling, passing through the gatehouse at the wall and hurrying towards the center of town.
As they neared the square, bordered by the four most imposing buildings in town: the courthouse, church, gubernatorial lord’s hall, and clock tower, Zerrick realized he was witnessing the gathering of a mob. Zerrick paused, shaken. Farmers stood armed with pitchforks and hoes, while small boys were throwing rocks at the pillories. Women he was used to seeing coddling their children were red in the face from screaming. Mr. Edelson the tailor, a normally quiet man, stood brandishing his scissors and shouting out condemnations in a voice gone hoarse. The only quiet ones in the crowd were the slaves, hanging back, muttering amongst themselves in their strange tongue, dark heads huddled together.
Dellin plunged into the maelstrom, but Zerrick hung back, instead climbing the courthouse steps to get a better view. Directly across from the courthouse, on the top steps of the steepled church of Our Lord Iahmel, stood Zerrick’s father, the town pastor, the Reverend Delwar Dhur. He paced before the crowd, dressed in black silk with a crimson-lined cape, his dark brown hair slicked back to fall unbound down his shoulders.
He called out to the crowd, raising high his silver-studded walking stick, “We cannot let such wickedness continue! I sat before dear Vera Smith, clasping her hand, and prayed to the Almighty to show her salvation, let her confess her heinous ways, and confess them she has! Praise Iahmel, praise the Lord, for He has driven out of her the seed of vilest sin, the contract she made with the evil Angist himself!”
Zerrick shivered, entranced by the sheer power of delivery. Such was the gift of his family: theatrics. Too bad he had long ago stopped believing. Once his father’s speech would have spurned him to go down and join the crowd, raise his voice with the others. Now, it only filled him with dread.