Recently I had the pleasure of being interviewed by Justin from IAT: Indie Author Tactics, who does indie author interviews, cover reveals, and more on The Novels network. Justin asked some great new questions that I hadn’t been asked before, so there’s some info you haven’t learned about Anatomy of a Darkened Heart and me as an author. Come find out just how much research AoDH took, the genres I don’t read or write, the difference in my own experience between writing a story and writing poetry, and more. Read it here!
The time is drawing close. My debut novel, Anatomy of a Darkened Heart, has an official launch date of October 1, so let’s celebrate the impending pub date with a cover reveal! Here’s the ebook version:
And here’s the print version:
Every single thing on the cover has meaning, and as you read the book, you’ll recognize the significance of each one. The key, the mirror, the Amaranthus flower, the wallpaper, the dress, even the stairs! They all have a major place in the story.
I sincerely hope you like the cover as much as I do. I think it fits the mood of the novel exactly. I worked with Ebook Launch on it, and I would highly recommend them. I’ll do a separate post on my experience with them and how the cover evolved from the first draft of the cover to the final version – you’d never believe how it started out!
Anatomy of a Darkened Heart (AoDH) is the first book in the Dark Victoriana Collection; there are 4 more books to come: three novelettes (releasing throughout 2016) and one more novel (releasing in 2017). In addition to that, I have a five-year publishing plan that is quickly expanding, so there’s lots more to come!
Even though the official launch date for Anatomy is in October, the Kindle version of this book is already available! Click here to take a look. Or add it to your Goodreads to-read list!
As you may have seen in my Inspirational Objects video, I LOVE old keys. They are immensely inspirational to me. Not only does my NaNoWriMo novel take place in Victorian times, but keys are going to play a large part in the storyline. I promised to show my collection, so here is some of it:
I don’t have any particular favorite thing about keys. I love the character they carry, the stories they tell just by their shapes, their size, and their weight. I can picture so many different storylines for each one. I love how tiny they can be, tiny enough to hide up your sleeve. Some of them are so thin, I can’t imagine how they could be strong enough to turn in a lock. The horizontal-lying one towards the bottom is the one that happens to fit into the keyhole on my notebook (so cool!).
For my book, I’ll be sketching my own key creations to create something original and fitting since they play such an integral part in the story.
Here is my response to Thoughts on Toast‘s writing prompt: “If you could bookmark life”. It took its own turns, as writing prompts are meant to do, and doesn’t actually include any bookmarks. Hope you enjoy it!
My finger slides from one book to the next in a library of hard and soft covers, new and old. This place is my haven, my core. Spiraling books as high as the eye can see. But I can’t reach them all. My ladder is only so tall, and so much is out of my reach. Beautiful old books with secrets I may never know, too far away, and yet right within eyesight, within yearning’s distance.
I settle for what I can reach.
A faded red book, hard cover made softer from constant use, threads protruding from the edges. The pages are thick, their corners crinkled and fuzzy. The words say things I already know. The font and spacing is irrelevant. But the fact that it’s there, that I can open that red book any time…it’s priceless.
A black book with a lime green border, soft cover. The glossy front is new and seemingly untouched, and yet I understand every nuance of what it offers. I have read it and will read it until the day I die, and its contents will still be relevant and necessary.
I roll the ladder to another section of books. I can reach five shelves without the ladder, ten shelves with it. But there are enumerable shelves above the ones I can reach, the volumes of books thicker, taller, more detailed. The depths of their contents are not things I can understand from their spines; their titles are virtually unreadable to me. I am a novice, an eager learner of all these waiting shelves have to offer. And the only way to reach the books I yearn for is to write my own and rewrite my own based on what I’ve read until I just barely touch on what it takes to understand the next shelf. And when I get there, there is a book with which to start and a book with which to finish. There is a page on which I must begin and an epilogue with which I must end. And each and every book is just the beginning of the next and the next.
I am eager to begin.
And begin again.