Olivier Delaye's Blog - Posts Tagged "olivier"
COUNTDOWN DEAL
THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS by yours truly will be available on Kindle for $0.99 on Amazon.com and £0.99 on Amazon.co.uk from September 30 to October 7. So if you haven't already, grab yourself a copy!
Let me know if you enjoyed it, and don't forget to leave a review on Goodreads and/or Amazon!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DZSC1B4
99 CENT DEAL ON KINDLE
THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS is now available for .99 cents on Amazon for a week. Knock yourself out!https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DZSC1B4
NEW COVER REVEAL
The Forgotten Goddess, book 1 in the Sebasten of Atlantis series, has a new cover which now screams "YA Fantasy" much louder than the previous one. So what do you guys think?
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DZSC1B4
BLACK FRIDAY & CYBER MONDAY
Hey, everybody! The Forgotten Goddess will be available on Kindle for .99 cents on Amazon from November 23 to 30. Thought you should know;-)https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DZSC1B4
GIVEAWAY
Hey, everyone! I just listed a giveaway for 2 copies of The Forgotten Goddess, book 1 in the Sebasten of Atlantis series. It will start on February 12 and end on March 12. So if you're interested, don't hesitate to enter!
KINDLE COUNTDOWN DEAL
THE FORGOTTEN GODDESS will be available for $0.99 on Amazon from March 13 to 20. Happy reading!
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4
https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B01DZSC1B4
This one is pretty dark...
Here’s a very short story I wrote a few years ago that in no way resembles my first YA Fantasy book, Sebasten of Atlantis and The Forgotten Goddess (https://www.amazon.com/dp/B01DZSC1B4).
Still, I wanted to share it with you. So here it is.
ABUSE
It happened! Oh God, why did it happen? Cynthia couldn’t tell. And now, as the purple rose on her son’s face, so did her guilt in her mother’s heart. How could she have done it? Hadn’t she always told herself that she’d never hit her child? That she’d never be like her father? That she was made of different stuff?
And now look at her. Just look at her. Like father like daughter, they say. And maybe they were right.
But no, she wasn’t like him, may he rest in peace—–although, come to think of it, he probably didn’t deserve peace. Not after what he’d done to her.
Look who’s talking, said a voice in her head. This is no time to act high and mighty, Ms. Holier-Than-Thou. Look what you’ve done to your son. The flesh of your flesh. The blood of your blood. You’re no better than the old man. No better at all.
It’s not the same! she thought, almost pleaded. Besides, I didn’t hit him hard. I know I didn’t. It was… just a little slap.”
But the purple on Nathan’s face sang a different tune. Cynthia could barely look at it now as she found herself drowning in memories and guilt.
Purple, she thought. Oh, how she hated the color! It was the color of pain. It was the color of shame. It was the color of abuse.
Instinctively she put her hand to her neck—–there had lain a nasty piece of jewelry that had left its mark much beyond the purple…
When she was but a little girl, Cynthia’s father had done something to her that no grownup should ever do to a child. As he was doing it, he had tried to muffle her cries by pressing both of his giant hands around her neck. Even now Cynthia couldn’t tell whether she’d passed out because of the pressure or because of the pain. When she’d come to, the first thing she had done was go to the bathroom to shower over and over again. How filthy and sullied she had felt! How polluted!
But neither soap nor water had done much to make her feel any less tainted. For the filth was in her now, and it would stay there forever. Finally she’d found the strength to step out of the shower and look at herself in the mirror. There, in her hateful reflection, she had seen it—–the “little souvenir” her father had given her to adorn her frail shoulders and neck: a purple choker of interlocked bruises.
Enough! Cynthia shouted in the silence of her mind. It’s in the past now. It’s all in the past. So enough already!
Falling to her knees, she took her six-year-old in her arms and kissed him repeatedly. Nathan didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t back away either. Thank God for that.
She whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry, honey, please forgive me. It will never happen again, I promise. I love you. Mama loves you. More than anything in the world.”
As the words passed her lips, her father’s own apology came knocking at a door she had thought shut and locked forever. After each abuse, he would tell her the very same things she was now telling her son—–that he was sorry, that it would never happen again, that he loved her so much. Then she would tell him that it was all right, that she loved him anyway. Only in thought would she add: You monster! You vile, evil monster! I hate you!
Cynthia hugged Nathan tighter and said, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you so much.”
“It’s all right, Mommy,” Nathan said. “I love you anyway.”
Still, I wanted to share it with you. So here it is.
ABUSE
It happened! Oh God, why did it happen? Cynthia couldn’t tell. And now, as the purple rose on her son’s face, so did her guilt in her mother’s heart. How could she have done it? Hadn’t she always told herself that she’d never hit her child? That she’d never be like her father? That she was made of different stuff?
And now look at her. Just look at her. Like father like daughter, they say. And maybe they were right.
But no, she wasn’t like him, may he rest in peace—–although, come to think of it, he probably didn’t deserve peace. Not after what he’d done to her.
Look who’s talking, said a voice in her head. This is no time to act high and mighty, Ms. Holier-Than-Thou. Look what you’ve done to your son. The flesh of your flesh. The blood of your blood. You’re no better than the old man. No better at all.
It’s not the same! she thought, almost pleaded. Besides, I didn’t hit him hard. I know I didn’t. It was… just a little slap.”
But the purple on Nathan’s face sang a different tune. Cynthia could barely look at it now as she found herself drowning in memories and guilt.
Purple, she thought. Oh, how she hated the color! It was the color of pain. It was the color of shame. It was the color of abuse.
Instinctively she put her hand to her neck—–there had lain a nasty piece of jewelry that had left its mark much beyond the purple…
When she was but a little girl, Cynthia’s father had done something to her that no grownup should ever do to a child. As he was doing it, he had tried to muffle her cries by pressing both of his giant hands around her neck. Even now Cynthia couldn’t tell whether she’d passed out because of the pressure or because of the pain. When she’d come to, the first thing she had done was go to the bathroom to shower over and over again. How filthy and sullied she had felt! How polluted!
But neither soap nor water had done much to make her feel any less tainted. For the filth was in her now, and it would stay there forever. Finally she’d found the strength to step out of the shower and look at herself in the mirror. There, in her hateful reflection, she had seen it—–the “little souvenir” her father had given her to adorn her frail shoulders and neck: a purple choker of interlocked bruises.
Enough! Cynthia shouted in the silence of her mind. It’s in the past now. It’s all in the past. So enough already!
Falling to her knees, she took her six-year-old in her arms and kissed him repeatedly. Nathan didn’t kiss her back, but he didn’t back away either. Thank God for that.
She whispered in his ear, “I’m so sorry, honey, please forgive me. It will never happen again, I promise. I love you. Mama loves you. More than anything in the world.”
As the words passed her lips, her father’s own apology came knocking at a door she had thought shut and locked forever. After each abuse, he would tell her the very same things she was now telling her son—–that he was sorry, that it would never happen again, that he loved her so much. Then she would tell him that it was all right, that she loved him anyway. Only in thought would she add: You monster! You vile, evil monster! I hate you!
Cynthia hugged Nathan tighter and said, “I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I love you so much.”
“It’s all right, Mommy,” Nathan said. “I love you anyway.”
YOURS FOR THE ENTERING
This Fall Giveaway will start on August 20 and end on September 20!
ON WRITING
I learned at an early age the power of words. And yes, it’s true—once on paper, fears and doubts tend to stay there, as if exorcised by the very act of writing them down. Sounds crazy, I know, but it works. For a while, at least.
FAKE DOVES
Evening falls on the garden of hope
And there she is, all clad in brown
Even the birds on branches mope
Soon the heavens will come down.
Her twin is never far behind
Dragging legions in her wake
A fell procession of the blind
In which the demons partake.
He stands trembling behind a tree
Hearing the fake doves’ elegy
Their lament will be his doom
And this place his very tomb.
Now the end is taking shape
Out of time and out of breath
Neither awakening nor escape
Sister Despair, sister Death.
Not very cheerful, perhaps, but I wrote this a long time ago. I was in a dark place then. I’m in a much happier place now. Also, the concept of metrics was virtually unknown to me at the time. Still is, actually.
FAKE DOVES
Evening falls on the garden of hope
And there she is, all clad in brown
Even the birds on branches mope
Soon the heavens will come down.
Her twin is never far behind
Dragging legions in her wake
A fell procession of the blind
In which the demons partake.
He stands trembling behind a tree
Hearing the fake doves’ elegy
Their lament will be his doom
And this place his very tomb.
Now the end is taking shape
Out of time and out of breath
Neither awakening nor escape
Sister Despair, sister Death.
Not very cheerful, perhaps, but I wrote this a long time ago. I was in a dark place then. I’m in a much happier place now. Also, the concept of metrics was virtually unknown to me at the time. Still is, actually.
TO ALL MY READERS
Many of you have been asking me about book 2 and whether I was still working on it. Yes, I am. Although to be completely honest, life has been getting in the way big time since the release of The Forgotten Goddess and to say that I’m behind schedule is putting it mildly. However, there’s light on the horizon and I’m seeing lots of writing time ahead. Provided all goes well, book 2 should be out by the end of the year or beginning of 2019. I can only ask for your patience and understanding. I love you, guys!
