Tuesday, December 20, 2011

The Dark World, a bright world, and blogging.

Just gonna keep this one short...ish.

That's my lovely friend with her copy of THE DARK WORLD. Been promoting it like crazy on Tumblr and Facebook, been getting a lot of interested responses, which is all but good. Asked my friend to write an honest review once she's done. Also, a lot of people are suddenly asking me about the publishing process. Having used CreateSpace and Smashwords, myself, I'm not sure I have any real advice to give. :) But I do my best.
And this, my friends, is a little excerpt from the book, that's been floating around the web for a while:

Excerpt from The Dark World: A Delacroix Novel - Chapter Three: Letters

And all at once he heard the whispers of excited voices as they trilled through the thick walls and nestled inside his heightened ears, drawing him out of his mind.

“Warn the Master,” an elderly woman’s voice sounded urgently somewhere farther down the hallway, one he recognized as the Head Maid’s. “The woman’s awake!”

And he did not slow in rising from the chair, Victor’s letter falling quickly out of his hand as the flame dispersed and darkness consumed the room once more.

He moved from the chair and stepped swiftly toward the silken red wallpaper just beside the desk and he placed a hand upon it at once, not blinking as the wall disappeared and he stared down a long dark stone tunnel, terribly narrow as scarce torches along the high walls lit them-selves the longer he stared.

She’s awake, he thought, taking his first step into the narrow passage, she’s awake – but is she truly Dracula’s relative?

The torches’ light threw great relief over the stone passage as it stretched further onwards, Damion not slowing in his steps as he moved closer toward the stone wall where the passage ended.

He waved a hand as he drew level with the cold stone at last and it disappeared as well, and in its place the familiar room began to show itself.

He stopped just near the entrance into the room for he heard voices on the other side, and he allowed his urgency to see this woman die as he listened intently.

“D’you need anything, Miss?” a young woman’s voice sounded clearly then.

“Nothing, no,” a quiet, slightly shaking voice answered, and this voice sent Damion’s eyes to widen at its sheer sweetness. “I just wish to know…where I am?”

“Oh,” the young woman said uncertainly, “the Master has been called…he shall arrive shortly…. If you’ll excuse me, Miss….”

And he heard the woman step quickly from the room, but he did not step forward until he heard the large door close.

She remained atop the large bed, the canopy curtains drawn to their tall posts, her pleasant face still staring toward the door the woman had left through allowing him more time to eye her now clean frame, the red gown she now wore and he realized the maids must have cleaned and changed her during the morning.

He stepped further into the room then, and waved a few fingers causing the secret passage behind himself to become nothing but wall once more. “You must be flustered,” he said quietly, “waking up in a strange place.”

Her head turned so fast, he was rather surprised her neck did not snap from the movement. She gasped at once, her brilliant brown-green eyes widening as she stared upon him in bewilderment, and without thought she drew the white covers to her chest, hiding the red night gown from view.

“I – I – who on Earth are you?” she whispered, her breathless voice sending him to marvel at the sound. “Where did you come from?”

Damion stepped further into the room, suddenly aware he could not smell her fear, although her brilliant eyes were terribly wide, her chest heaving with apprehension, surely. It was at this that he gently grazed the golden ring upon a finger. Perhaps the bloody rings were doing their job after all, he thought with slight amusement.

“I am Damion Nicodemeus,” he said quietly, “you are in my home.”

Her gaze seemed to soften at his words but her hands were still tense as they gripped tight the covers. “Damion…Nico—?”

“It hardly matters,” he said quickly, desiring to save the woman the difficulty of pronouncing his last name. “What is more important, surely, is yours, Miss….”

“Stone,” she said curtly. “Alexandria Stone.”

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