I’ll Send You A Free Signed Hardcover

 

As many of you know, I recently published an illustrated hardcover edition of my short story Rite of Passage. It was a difficult road fraught with many challenges, but I’m excited about the end result, and I feel like celebrating!

Ordinarily, you would have to buy the book on Amazon or Barnes & Noble for about $21 (full retail is $27.99), or from my own store on Gumroad for $17.99 plus $4.99 shipping. But between today and February 12, I want to send you a free signed copy.

Here’s the deal.

I want to write full time, but I need help building a self-sustaining platform for my books. You guys have given me so much support and encouragement already, and I hate asking for money without offering something fun in return.

If you pledge to my Patreon campaign at the $2 level or above, I’ll send you a free signed hardcover copy of Rite of Passage.

There are only 20 available, so take advantage of this offer before they’re gone.

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

By pledging, you’re also entitled to other perks. The $2 level gives you access to free copies of every e-book I’ve released, plus rough drafts of every novel, novella and short story I write (I’ve already shared a ton of drafts that haven’t yet been published, including a novel based on my flash fiction piece The Tunnel.) The $5 level lets you decide which of my flash fiction pieces I should turn into a longer short story. If you give at the $10 level, I’ll send you a hardcover copy of one of my favorite books every three months. Whatever you can give, it will help me immensely on my journey toward becoming a full time writer.

Please note that Patreon pledges are recurring monthly charges. I post four paid pieces of flash fiction on the platform per month, which means a $2 pledge amounts to $8 per month. If that’s too much, you can make a $2 pledge, then set a lower monthly limit so you won’t go over your budget.

There are only three rules.

1. You have to have a shipping address in the United States to be eligible. I really wanted to include Canada on this, but I’m sending these myself from a US address, and international shipping costs are prohibitively expensive 🙁

2. You must become a patron at or above the $2 level on or before Monday, February 12, 11:59 PM Pacific Standard Time.

3. You must be a new patron. Unfortunately, former patrons aren’t eligible (If you’re already a $5 or $10 patron, don’t worry. I’ve already sent you a copy. You don’t have to do anything else!)

That’s it.

Once you become a patron, I’ll send you an email to request your shipping address, then sign and ship a copy to you as a gift.

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

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Shaigol

Image licensed by Shutterstock.

Peace, they sing. There is peace in darkness. Peace in sleep. Peace in dreams. I slumber unaware, lost to time, thick cords of ancient song wound about my soul like iron manacles.

Then a lone rogue voice echoes in the dark. Discord enters the fray, and the music is diminished.

I stir at last.

The spell that binds me to the Earth has weakened. Groggy, I try to open my eyes, to let the light of the world seep in. But that ever-present song, though compromised, holds me back.

Do not think of the waking world and its manifold worries, but sleep and dream in peace.

Yet my soul is restless, and I am no longer satisfied to obey its urgent strains.

No more sleep.

Visions of a long-ago past flicker before my eyes. Power. Subjugation. War. Like a kaleidoscope, they are only abstract shimmerings without shape or form. But my memory, roused at last, refuses to be silenced again.

There is peace in darkness. Peace in sleep. Peace in dreams.

The rogue voice grows louder, counters the binding with so much force that it cannot be outspoken. A disciple of mine, I think. It’s been a long time since I’ve had disciples…

A recollection takes shape.

Fire covering the Earth, and with it, the sound of men, women, and children burning. Their skin crackles. Blisters. Peels like paper. There is laughter. Is it mine? A fond memory, that one, a reminder of who I once was.

The song grows louder, takes up a fevered tempo as it scrambles to undo what can no longer be undone.

Think not of the past.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Sleep.

Another memory.

Pain—not mine, but that of a human innocent—driven mad by the kind of agony no Earthly calamity can produce. The pitiful creature opens its mouth, and the howl that follows is like honey on the tongue, thick and sweet, a sensation to be savored again and again.

Sleep!

The voices are desperate now. The elaborate spell they wove around me has begun to unravel, and they are afraid.

Shaigol.

The name, uttered at last, strikes a spark within the void.

I am Shaigol.

Sleep!

NO.

I have joined the ruined chorus at last. My voice twines about that of my disciple in a dark anti-melody that reduces the others to a mad and senseless gibbering.

The glamours of my prison begin to fade, and with them, the ageless slumber that’s so far protected the human race from my brutality.

The old voices rally in one final attempt.

Sleep!

But I thwart them easily.

BE GONE.

They scatter. Their spell uncoils, falls from my soul like rusted chains.

I am Shaigol.

There is no reply now, only the empty darkness from which I will rise once more.

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Quest

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Bright, shining, like precious metal. A cosmic mystery, embedded in the center of the universe. I reach out to touch it, to be one with its magic. But like similar magnetic poles, it repels me, pushes me back whenever I get close.

“You can look,” it taunts, “but not touch.”

But I’m unable to look away. Within its boundless folds is something vital, something necessary for my soul’s survival, and it is my mission, my life’s work to get at what’s inside.

Like King Arthur quests for the Holy Grail, I quest for Truth. It can repel me all it likes, but I will never take my eyes off the Light. It calls to me with its divine and supernatural song, a chorus of elysian notes that has long since conquered my weary, downtrodden heart.

For now, it will remain out of reach. But I know that in the fullness of time, my quest will end. This mortal shell will fall away. The universe will unfurl to reveal its cosmic fruit—immortal, transcendent—and on that day, my soul will rush forward, swelling with anticipation, and be one with it at last.

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