Month: February 2017

I’ll send you Neil Gaiman’s “Norse Mythology”

 

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Disclaimer: This promotion is not in any way affiliated with Neil Gaiman or the publisher W. W. Norton & Company.

Last week, I made an offer to my mailing list and got a fantastic response. I now want to extend that same offer to my social media friends and to also give those who missed that first email another opportunity.

The idea is simple. If you pledge to my Patreon at the $2 level or above, I’ll send you a free hardcover copy of Neil Gaiman’s Norse Mythology. I had a great time reading it, and I think you will too.

If you change your mind after I’ve sent you the book, you’re free to cancel your pledge, no questions asked. I believe most people are kind and won’t take advantage.

Your pledge also entitles you to other perks. The $2 level gives you access to rough drafts of every novel, novella and short story I write. The $5 level lets you decide which of my flash fiction pieces I should turn into a longer story. Whatever you can give, it will help me immensely on my journey toward becoming a full-time writer.

There are only two rules.

1. You have to have an address in the United States to be eligible (I’m working on the legalities and logistics of offering a similar giveaway to residents of Canada.)

2. You must become a patron at or above the $2 level on or before Monday, February 27, 11:59 PM Pacific Standard Time.

That’s it. Once you become a patron, I’ll send you an email to request your shipping address, and once I get it, I’ll order the book through Amazon and send it to you as a gift. I may or may not do a similar giveaway in the future. This is an experiment. Let’s see how it goes 🙂

To become a patron and get your free hardcover copy of Norse Mythology, click the “Become a patron” button below.

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The Stone

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A special shout out to my new patrons, Buffy, Melody, Sandy and Jenn! If you want to read early drafts of every novel, novella and short story I write, as well as receive free copies of all my books in the digital format of your choice, become a patron by clicking here.

“Psst, boy.”

Adrian glanced toward the alley, where an old man stood hunched against a brick wall.

“Boy,” he repeated. “Come here. I have something for you.”

Curious and heedless of potential danger, Adrian did as he was told. When he was close enough to get a good look at his soiled rags, and to smell that he hadn’t bathed in weeks, the man glanced sideways, as if nervous he was being watched.

“Take this.”

Adrian looked down at the man’s closed fist.

“A gift,” he said, shoving a smooth round object into Adrian’s left hand. A moment later, he darted off into the shadows.

Adrian examined his prize.

A stone.

Brow furrowed, he continued home and placed it atop a shelf. He didn’t think about it anymore that day.

Meanwhile, the stone waited.

That night, when Adrian returned to his room to sleep, he found the stone where he’d left it. He picked it up and carried it with him to bed. Beneath the moonlight spilling through the window, it seemed almost to glow. Suddenly, his imagination went wild, and he was certain this simple object could reveal the universe’s deepest secrets.

When exhaustion overtook him and he finally fell asleep, the stone was still clutched between his fingers.

He dreamed that night.

He was tumbling through the stars, falling, floating, jets like cosmic sparks shooting through space. Galaxies spiraled in the distance, galaxies of every shape and size, whirling, colliding, bursting in blinding coruscating flashes.

Adrian felt lost, but he was not afraid because he held the stone.

“The cosmos are yours now,” said the voice of the man he’d met in the alley. The universe shook with the force of his words. They were a binding, the oldest and most powerful kind.

And then he was opening his eyes, and all he could see or hear was the pale light of the moon and the chirping of crickets outside. He glanced at the ordinary-looking stone, still firmly grasped in his left hand. It felt warm.

Adrian smiled.

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The Music Within

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The music called to him, and Steve skipped work early to follow after it.

He rushed home, head down, walking back to his apartment. All the while that spectral, otherworldly tune twined through him, shooting feelers into his heart, penetrating the darkest corners of his soul. He bolted up the stairs, dug through his pockets for his key, opened the door and slipped inside.

The room was dark, with only a sliver of late-afternoon sun seeping through the shuttered window. But he didn’t turn on the light. Instead, he sat beside the coffee table where his violin lay, the polished surface catching the minuscule light from the window so that it seemed almost to glow.

He took the instrument into his hands, and the music within swirled, coalesced. He ran a finger along the smooth, wood-grain surface. An electric charge surged down his spine. The music was pounding at his skull now, demanding to have its way with him, and he was ready to oblige.

It was going to sweep him away, he thought, carry him to that other world once more, a world where music was the language of creation, a world under siege, a world that needed his help if it was going to survive. He was afraid, but the music had embraced him like a lover, and Steve was powerless to resist.

He held the bow above the strings. Paused. Sighed.

He began to play.

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