Hello Friends
Hey Campers,
I just wanted to shoot out a quick update to tell you that there is nothing new to report. I’ve sent the manuscript to Inkshares, and I should have a release date to announce sometime next month. Until then, keep spreading the word!
People can still preorder Sunshine is Forever at this link: https://www.inkshares.com/books/sunshine-is-forever/
If you haven’t preordered, PLEASE PREORDER!
Thanks again for all the support! I am so excited about this publishing deal! Can’t wait to get the book into your hands.
Kyle T. Cowan
Dear friends and followers,
First, allow me to introduce another one of the characters from "Murder at the Veterans’ Club": William Mainwaring, brother of Oscar Mainwaring. Not a member of the club himself, since he never fought, but intimately linked to it through his brother.
Next, I want to introduce to (some of ) you another book on Inkshares that has caught my attention: "Manifesto", by Daniel Poort. It’s classed as "horror", but there’s a strong mystery/crime/thriller element as well, dealing as it does with a serial killer and the small town sheriff investigating the crimes. It’s a reminder that you really don’t need supernatural shenanigans to make a horror story: the mind of an ordinary person can be a terrifying place.
And now I must run. It is, as I’ve mentioned before, IFcomp season, and there is a ton of interactive fiction in this year’s crop. Anyone who’s stopped by my blog will know that it is completely taken over by my ongoing reviews. So I’m busy! So until next time, keep busy, keep reading, and make sure you’re having fun while you’re at it. Ciao!
The Britannia Club stood on King Street, a respectable limestone facade among respectable limestone facades, with a brass plaque that nobody had looked at in decades; if you had to stop to check the address, you were clearly in the wrong place.
This was St. James. “Clubland.”
The men traversing these streets walked with that air of self-assurance that comes from belonging to a privileged set. In bookish Bloomsbury, the Londoners drifted around the British Museum in the wake of lit. . .
The Britannia Club stood on King Street, a respectable limestone facade among respectable limestone facades, with a brass plaque that nobody had looked at in decades; if you had to stop to check the address, you were clearly in the wrong place.
This was St. James. “Clubland.”
The men traversing these streets walked with that air of self-assurance that comes from belonging to a privileged set. In bookish Bloomsbury, the Londoners drifted around the British Museum in the wake of lit. . .