This is me, I know you won’t want to read this because it will make you sad but I can’t be a coward. And that doesn’t make you one. But it does make some. And I won’t be. I want to make you promises but the risks are huge, you know that and I know that. I have to raise Lazarus from the deep and when I do everyone will benefit from it and that makes me proud. I know you have said it before but I can’t lie to you. I
Hi, this is me. I’ll be home later tonight! Love, John
Rolling through, what seems to be, time. All that is, all that was, are particles in time of visit. In time travel, we tend to wonder about each decision we made, each choice for shame. And the point is, here in this ship, everything moves, everything changes. Bringing Sal back to life will change everything, I mean this ship might just s-
Here’s a really great article about the 5 Key Book Publishing Paths that provides a clear and well-thought out distinction between many different forms of publishing that first novel.
Beautifully put together in a infographic, Jane Friedman gives us a glimpse at the publishing path establishing writers might take.
Read the rest of the article here.
What methods of publishing have you considered?
Scowls as I enter into the marble-decked hall I call my ‘second living room’. Jealousy maybe, or its more vicious brother Envy. As a man who has ever uttered the phrase, ‘I think I have too much money’, I have become used to the twisted faces of the people who were once humble. Strange to think, those in a less wealthy place would look at me with such demeaning distaste, fueled by the thought that chance (and not hard work) should have put them in the place of me. Well, I’m never inviting THESE people to my holiday mansion ever again.
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He woke. It was sunrise. The sun peaked gently over the horizon. The bus hummed along a road skirting the Black Sea. Everyone else was sleeping. Pink light bounced neatly across the blue-black water which turned, churned, reflected in a frenzied mixing of color and light and shadow.
I should grab my camera, he thought. He didn’t. This, he decided, would be his alone. He made a silent promise that this memory would remain pure and perfect and true.
Three years on, he was shocked that he could no longer recall it with any kind of clarity.
– posted by Walleyed via Reddit
Under the scorching heat. Where to go, where to turn. The heat penetrates my very skin from every direction, the one layer I cannot shed. Where water has escaped into the sky, I cannot follow. As I walk the dry asphalt that seems to flake, thin crisps like feathers in convection dance around my red and blistering feet. Where am I trying to go? My clothes have long burned and my skin soon to follow as the first pop and smoke of my hair ignites in red flames. I turn to see my doom as the mushroom cloud rises.
A boy meets a girl. But the girl is a cat, a little feathery long light-grey haired critter. It looks at him with big jade green eyes and says, ‘dude, I thought you like bitches’. The boy looks at him, confused. Is love only reserved for humans? No, love is for everyone and everything! ‘I mean like bitches. Like. Dogs. Swag.’ The cat meows. ‘oh’, the boy says as he turns to see his dog beside him, keeping him company as always. ‘yeah what the hell man’ the dog barks.
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