Mildly obsessed with quill pens, pirates, leather journals, knee-high socks and parchment. Perhaps ...
Evening Ladies and Gents!
Just wanted to thank you all for your support of my debut novel After the Ruin! I have 54 more days to reach my goal so I'm reaching out to the 24 most important people I know - you the reader - to help me get the word out. Share the link to your Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram accounts, or send homing pigeons with notes tied to their ankles to your friends and family. Every pre-order matters.
As far as the novel goes, I'm plugging away steadily, delving deeper and deeper into the world of Lykoreia. There's loss and love, intrigue and surprise in every turn. If you want to know more, get me 26 more readers and I'll post Chapter 2!
Have a great evening and I'll talk to you soon!
Night Night,
Suraya
Desmond Harriet was certain he was not a coward. Why should a man, and a godly one at that, have any compunction whatsoever to the martial calling? War was an ugly, brutish thing. Desmond was not himself beautiful, but was certainly not ugly, certainly not brutish. Commerce, however, industry, this was Godly enterprise. Wanting to make paper instead of war was no cause to be called a coward. If only the rest of the town agreed.
His quill tip scratched at a parchment, affi. . .
Desmond Harriet was certain he was not a coward. Why should a man, and a godly one at that, have any compunction whatsoever to the martial calling? War was an ugly, brutish thing. Desmond was not himself beautiful, but was certainly not ugly, certainly not brutish. Commerce, however, industry, this was Godly enterprise. Wanting to make paper instead of war was no cause to be called a coward. If only the rest of the town agreed.
His quill tip scratched at a parchment, affi. . .
