Yes, it’s my birthday today. I’m turning thirty-eight. According to an ex-workmate of mine, that means I have two years left to live, because everyone over forty is dead. Needless to say, he’s over fifty now and still very much alive, so there’s reason to doubt his theory.
Ah, whatever. I, like every other person on the planet, want presents for my birthday. And the biggest present you can make a writer, is to go and buy their books (and read them of course and leave a review later on). So I thought, to raise the chances of anyone actually doing that – I’m mighty realistic when it comes to my sales figures – I’ll be a good sport and drop the price to 99 cents each.
Six books for 99 cents each. Not the worst deal ever, huh?
To remind you just what you’d be missing out on if you don’t take me up on my offer, here’s a brief overview of all the fabulous books I’ve written.
Let’s start with my latest, My Name is not Alice. A YA urban fantasy, it’s the story of a teenage girl who starts out as your usual high schol princess – blonde, beautiful and shallow. Only when she finds herself in one of the tightest possible corners, does she realize there’s more – more to the odd things happening around her, more to the people inhabiting her world, and more to herself. The book has witches and werebears, unusual forms of dieting, murderous teenage hassle, canvas shoes, carving knives, and Trouble, capital T. Oh, and fluffy toy rabbits.
Then there’s my trilogy, the Tales of Istonnia, consisting of Ratpaths, A Rat for a Rat, and Once a Rat. It’s a renaissance style fantasy series, with more than a little touch of mafia feeling. The books revolve around the exploits of Nivvo, a young thief, who may just be a little more than he seems, even as he just wants to be who he is. The rats from the titles are as human as you or me. They are the city’s scum, the flotsam and jetsam of a post-medieval society, trying in their morally questionable way to get by, bowing their heads to no ruler or regent, save one: Vicco Cambrosi. There are no elves, no dragons, no magic on the streets of Istonnia.
The Girl on the Red Pillow is a novella, and an attempt to explain depression by way of fantastical means. Walled off from the world by a dwarf only she can see, Annalee fights to break free, with only a closet skeleton for help.
You Used to Hurry Home is also a novella, and complete and utter nonsense back to front and back again. It features a failed writer, a useless muse, guys with guns, a forced wedding, a woman with a pig, and God himself. Trying to get rid of his wife, Francis accidentally brings about the apocalypse. The question is, can he stop it?
This birthday offer of 99 cents stands for a week, or until I remember to fix the prices again. Hope you’ll enjoy reading, and happy birthday to me! 😀
thank you ❤
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