Steven Novak's Blog, page 3

TRAILERS, TEACHERS, CHOCOLATE AND SOME RANDOM BABBLING

It's been a busy week around here and because of it I haven't had a whole heck of a lot of time to write.

Which pretty much sucks.

For anyone that doesn't know, my wife is a sixth grade teacher and her school year is winding down. If you, yourself happen to be a teacher or perhaps you're married to one, I'm sure you're well aware of the fact that things can get a bit – crazy – around this time of year.

When I say crazy, I really mean testy.

When I say testy, I guess I actually mean wackadoo.

When I say wackadoo, I'm actually just taking the opportunity to type a silly word.

Anyway, the wife is pretty much bonkers at the moment and it's basically my job to keep a safe distance and offer up a steady stream of chocolate whenever she starts to freak out.

Despite the wackiness of both work and home, I did manage to find the time to get Fathers and Sons into the hands of a few quality bloggers (reviews should start rolling in next month – hopefully good), record another podcast with one of my good friends and fellow LitU author, Nina Perez, and whip up a little teaser trailer for the finale of the series.

Speaking of the finale of the series – I guess I should finish writing it.

That's sort of an important part to the whole process, isn't it?

I Suck at Promotion

I'm a terrible promoter.

I really am.

The problem isn't that I'm lazy, or that I don't put forth the effort, or that I'm unwilling to put in the time. It's none of that stuff.

I'm actually not the least bit lazy, my effort-abilities are second to none and I have nothing but time on my hands.

The actual issue is that my personal persona and my business persona get mixed up a lot. A whole lot, actually.

I say stuff I shouldn't. I put things out there that I should have locked a safe, wrapped in a chain and tossed into the ocean.

As much as it pains me to admit, I'm an idiot.

The fact that I'm writing these very words at this very moment proves I'm an absolute dolt and that I'll never learn.

Do the followers on Twitter that are interested in my YA novel or my artwork really need to know that I spent the night bent over the toilet due to a nasty bout of food poisoning? Probably not.

Did I tell them? Yep.

Was it necessary to let them know that because of it I spent the entire next day breaking wind like Chris Brown breaks ladies' faces? Most definitely not.

Was that Chris Brown joke a massive mistake?

You better believe it.

I'm a goof-ball and I don't know when to stop.

I spend so much time cracking wise and making you feel uncomfortable with awkward-delicious nuggets about my personal life that I sometimes forget I'm trying to sell you something.

Then the bill collectors come calling. Then my wife shakes her head and I pull out the lining of my pockets and shrug my shoulders. Then she hops on-line and types the words "divorce attorney" into Google.

It's a vicious cycle.

So how do I plan on solving this little problem of mine?

I have to get serious. I have to get more professional.

I'll need a briefcase of some sort . Maybe some papers to put in it.

Wait, wait, wait - maybe I don't need the papers at all. I mean, what are the chances anyone will actually ask to see what's inside, right?

Combing my hair, putting on a suit and brushing my teeth more than once every other day just isn't going to cut it anymore. It's not enough. I have to take things to the next level. I'm going to have to make some drastic lifestyle changes.

I'll need to straighten that hunch in my back and smear that sloppy-creepy grin off my face.

Maybe I'll even shave.

I'll have to mind my P's and Q's while making sure my F's and U's are never allowed in the same sentence together.

I'll need to be better than the sum of my parts and better than the sum of the sum of those parts.

I'll have to blog about books and writing, and the writing process and the process of writing.

Speaking of my blog, I'll need to maintain it a bit more diligently. I guess I should watch that I don't accept a friend request from anyone and everyone on Facebook. I should also try and make sure current and prospective clients don't catch wind of my uncontrollable post-puke wind breaking in one of my many unnecessary status updates.

Breath mints will be important.

New shoes too. New shoes are a given. Shoes are the first thing people look at. I heard that somewhere.

No more gobbling on burgers so stuffed with goop the juices leave stains on my shirts. Nope – gonna have to put the kibosh on that one.

I'll need some new shirts as well.

Maybe I should change my name? It might be smart to change it to something a little more professional sounding.

Max Hardcopy?

How about, Patrick Gitstuffdun?

No, wait…Stephen Nowack.

No one commands respect like a Nowack.

Or maybe I shouldn't do any of this nonsense.

Stephen Nowack? Seriously? That's just silly.

Breath mints? That's even sillier.

Maybe I'll just do what I do, be who I am, and let the chips fall where they may. I have a hard enough time just being myself. Trying to be someone else is a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe I am my own worst enemy, but so what?

I guess there are worse things I could be.

Like, Chris Brown.

~Steven


I recently discussed Forts, writing, and a bunch of stuff I shouldn't have discussed on an episode of the Lit-Pod Podcast. If you're bored, have a listen.

Second Editions and E-Books

The second edition print version of Forts is now available!

It's been a long and frustrating process getting to this point, but I'm pretty happy with the direction things are headed these days. It's starting to feel like everything is back on track. If you've already purchased the first book, there's not any REAL reason you need to pick up this new one - you know, unless you're just a really nice guy.

There isn't anything "new" added to the story, but he printing is better, the editing is sharper, the price is cheaper, and the cover is a lot crisper looking.

All in all, it's a far better experience.

Just click the picture below.



For those that have lost interest in all things print, there's also versions available for the Kindle.



And of course Nook



Book 2 should be arriving in the next couple months. There's some last minute editing being done on it as I type, and based on the incredible amount of errors in this blog post, you can understand what a difficult task it is for my poor editor.

I want to thank everyone out there for sticking with me through this. It's been a rough year or so since the book was first released and things went south with the original publisher.

Everything happens for a reason though, right?

Despite the craziness, I couldn't be happier with the people I'm working now and the direction the series is headed.

Steven

SAMPLE CHAPTER - BOOK TWO - CHAPTER TWO

Liars and Thieves will hit in both e-book and print editions in the next couple months. In my eternal attempt to keep you interested, I'm going to be offering up some chapters leading up to to the release.

If you want to get caught up before Book 2 becomes available, the cheapest method is to snag yourself a copy the Fathers and Sons "Special Edition" for Nook or Kindle at the link below.

CLICK HERE

Okey dokey, enough with the babble.

Enjoy Chapter 2!




2. Family Visits
"Boys?" Edna Williamson called out from the bottom of the stairs. "Your father and the chaperone should be here soon! Why don't you come downstairs?"
Both Tommy Jarvis and his younger brother Nicky clearly heard her words, yet neither made a movement toward the bedroom door. It had been months since either boy had been in the same room with their father. The abuse allegations, and subsequent investigation proving them to be true, resulted in their removal from his care and placement with a foster family. For almost half a year they lived with a couple of retirees named Ed and Edna Williamson. In spite of their comically similar first names, the Williamsons proved to be decent, caring people — not perfect people by any means, but good people — the kind of people Tommy and Nicky barely believed existed anymore. Neither boy had forgotten about their father, yet at the same time they were only now beginning to settle in to their new life with the Williamsons. Things were easier for them here, quieter and certainly a lot less painful. The truth of the matter was that neither boy found the idea of introducing their father back into their lives even remotely appetizing. A week and a half before, a social worker for the state sat the pair down, telling them that Chris had been attending his meetings, that he was sober, and remorseful, that he was making great strides, and was anxious to see them again. Of the two, Nicky was slightly more open to the idea of reuniting with their father, but then Nicky's past experiences with the old man were quite different from Tommy's.
The memories – the awful, stinging memories –just recently began melting away for the fourteen year old Tommy Jarvis. What would happen now though? What would happen, when after all these months, Tommy came face to face with his father? Would the very old, very thick anger boil up from wherever he'd managed to shove it down deep inside his belly? Would the pain attached to those memories like a nasty parasite feeding off a half-starved host prove too much to bear? There were some questions in life for which one simply didn't want answers. For Tommy Jarvis, these were those very questions.
"Boys? Come on now, don't dawdle . . .get your behinds down here." Edna yelled out a bit more forcefully from downstairs.
Propped up on his elbows, Nicky reluctantly slid his feet over the side of his bed, sighing deeply. Across the room Tommy remained on his back, staring blankly up at the ceiling. His eyes were closed, his chest rising and sinking patiently with each breath. Tommy didn't want to forgive his father, and he couldn't understand why everyone seemed to expect him to. Even if the old man had changed – even if he never again laid a hand on him, or screamed at his little brother – so what? The damage had been done.
Some things, once done, can never be undone. It was as simple as that.
Things were by no means perfect with the Williamsons, but they were certainly better than anything the Jarvis brothers had experienced in a very long time. Tommy understood completely that he and Nicky's time with the Ed and Edna was limited - a temporary solution at best. Temporary or not, it was something he wasn't ready to let go of. Nicky was speaking again and doing better in school. Last week Tommy spotted his little brother talking to another boy outside the building after school ended. Nicky had a friend - a real, living and breathing friend. Things were getting better. For the first time in years, happiness – even on the tiniest of levels – seemed attainable. It could all go away with the snap of the fingers — or the stinging crack of a backhand across the face if they were forced to move back in with their father. Only recently, Tommy had experienced, for the very first time, the wonderful sensation of going to bed without a welt on his leg, a scratch on his arm, or a fractured bone inside his chest. Lately his sleep had been deep and comfortable and warm, his dreams non-existent. How utterly amazing it had been to simply sleep, free of nightmares and without worry. It was luxury he had forgotten existed. What did a life with his father have to offer? Why did he deserve a second chance? He didn't.
"Are you coming down?" Nicky asked Tommy while standing next to his bed staring at his older brother from across the room.
Tommy breathed deeply, turning his head slightly in Nicky's direction. "No . . .and neither should you."
"We have to."
"We don't have to do anything Nicky . . .especially not for him." Twisting his body sideways while pulling his knees to his chest and curling into a half-fetal position, Tommy turned away from the confused face of his little brother and toward the opposite wall.
At the bottom of the stairs, Edna Williamson was a moment away from calling to the boys again when she noticed Nicky slowly making his way toward her. Tommy, though, was nowhere to be found.
"Where's your brother?" She asked the youngest Jarvis boy as he passed her on his way into the kitchen."He doesn't want to come down," Nicky responded softly, never turning in her direction.
From the opposite end of the room, Ed Williamson sighed with a deep, noticeable frustration while tugging his aching body up from a very comfortable position on the couch.
"I'll go have a talk with him," he grumbled, slowly beginning the long journey up the stairs.
"Don't you go flying off the handle, Ed . . .this isn't easy on the boy."
"I know Edna, I know. Give me a little credit will you. I'm just going to have a little chat with him, that's all.""If he's not ready to come down, the social worker said we shouldn't push too hard . . .especially not for the first meeting."
Ed was near the top of the stairs now, his chest straining, his aged knees aching from the journey.
Stopping momentarily to catch his breath he looked down at his wife of so many years while rolling his eyes, "I remember what she said . . .I remember. If there's anyone in this house that knows what he's going through, it's me. Relax. I'm not going to push the boy, trust me."
The wrinkled, slightly more crooked than it was twenty years ago smile on her husband's face instantly reassured Edna Williamson. She loved Ed. She loved him as much as the day they were married, though for entirely different reasons. Love is funny like that, having the uncanny ability to morph into something completely foreign while still holding onto the things that made it so unique, wonderful, and safe in the first place. The sixty-three year old Edward Williamson was a good deal different from the twenty-four year old version. In his heart though, despite the changes brought on by age and experience, he was still the same man she fell in love with and still a comfortably perfect fit for her.
Reaching the door to the boy's bedroom, Ed stopped for a moment to collect his thoughts. Rubbing his hand across his balding head covered sparsely with stringy gray hair, he sighed deeply. His mind wandered back many, many years to his own father, to the unresolved issues he allowed to remain unresolved until the day his father died. As frustrated as young Tommy Jarvis had occasionally made him over the last six months, he cared about the boy. In fact, he cared about the boy so deeply that it surprised him. When Edna suggested they become a foster family, the one thing Ed never counted on was forming any real, serious feelings for the children sent to live with them. After his own son's untimely death so many years ago, he simply didn't think he was capable of such a thing anymore. Having loved a child so deeply only to have that love taken away – he always believed it left him hollow and incapable of reaching that peak again.
The appearance of the Jarvis boys had proved him wrong.
After mustering up a bit of courage, he pushed the bedroom door open gently, "Hey pal, why don't you . . ." Ed's voice quickly trailed off.
The room was empty. Tommy was gone. The window on the opposite wall was wide open, loose drapes flapping softly in the fall breeze.
Shaking his head, Ed calmly called out to his wife from the top of the stairs, "I think Tommy is going to sit this one out, dear."

SAMPLE CHAPTER - BOOK 2 - CHAPTER ONE

The released of Liars and Thieves is just around the corner, as is the Re-Release (Special Edition) of Fathers and Sons! Because I'm a really nice guy, I've decided to post a few sample chapters to wet your whistle. (Which is sort of a gross saying, but whatever.)

I figured it best to start with Chapter One.

Enjoy!



1. Traitor to the Cause
"Tell me what you've done with it, and I will consider sparing your life."
For him, time ceased to have meaning long ago. How many days had he spent shackled in the king's dungeon? Could it be weeks? Months even? Long enough that the heavy chains around his ankles sliced into his skin, merging with the muscle underneath and forcing the flesh to heal grotesquely around them. How often was he dragged from his cell and beaten? How many times had he teetered through a wobbly haze, barely conscious on the razor-thin line between life and death? Two hundred? Three hundred? Maybe four? His body no longer resembled the one he'd spent a lifetime becoming familiar with. Quite adept in the dealing of punishment, the guard's fists had changed him into something else. Like a reflection in a broken mirror, he was shattered, distorted, and barely recognizable. Busted numerous times, his jaw dangled from his face, useless. All but a few of his teeth had been removed — some ripped out during hour-long torture sessions, others knocked loose during any one of the regular beatings. His skin, once a healthy dark green, had become a disgusting, blotchy mess of purples, blues, and deep grayish-blacks. Even the most minute of movements on his part brought forth worlds of agony. The gentle breeze from a window nearby instantly reduced him to tears. His limbs had long since ceased functioning, devolving his form a million years and making upright movement impossible. Having suffered through things no creature should ever be forced to feel, he found himself crumpled in a garish heap at the feet of the massive, stone-faced tyrant king of Ocha. A small part of him wondered if he'd made the right choice. This pain could have been avoided. He brought this on himself.
Gently nudging the broken, tangled body of the creature sprawled before him, the massive king sighed deeply. "How sad it is to see you like this, Krystoph. I had such high hopes for you. You were so very talented in the art of killing … so frighteningly, wonderfully talented. There was a time, not too long ago, when my opinion of you approached admiration."
Shaking his head while flashing a disgusted look at the broken lump, the king turned swiftly, pacing back to his throne before reclining with yet another heavy sigh. "I gave you everything, and what did you offer in return — deceit, lies, and thievery? You've shamed your king. You've shamed your country and all those calling it home. You've shamed yourself."
His ears smashed and barely of use, the broken lump of flesh that once answered to the name Krystoph was able only to make out half the king's words, and even they seemed distant and jumbled. Despite this fact, his clouded brain managed to put the pieces together well enough to get a general idea of the point the ruler of Ocha was trying to make. Doing his best to ignore the unbelievable amount of pain shooting through every centimeter of his body, Krystoph lifted his weary, half-conscious face with a shaky defiance to the creature he once admired beyond all others.
While using a hand consisting mostly of broken fingers to hold his jaw in place, he grumbled, "Y-you … ki-killed m-my … my … family."
Quietly the tyrant King Kragamel chuckled. "You are mistaken old friend. Long ago you gave you life to me, and in return I allowed you the privilege of serving as a general in the greatest army the world has ever known and will ever know. In doing so, your family became my family. You see, unlike what you've stolen from me, their lives were mine to do with as I pleased. They were mine to kill."
In direct response to the words, Kristoph's distorted excuse for a body lurched forward angrily. His broken legs awkwardly thrust the mass of wrecked bones and torn muscles in the king's direction. Something more a guttural noise than a fully imagined word rose up from his belly, exploding from his mouth like searing magma. Despite the fact that his fingers had been shattered beyond the point of usefulness, Krystoph reached for the king's foot, clawing at his thick leather boot. The rabid, snarling growl did little to frighten Kragamel though. His expression remained stoic. Many times in the past Kristoph had proven the most capable, the most willing, and the most vicious soldier his army ever produced. The snarling, sniveling mass of bloody flesh kneeling before him now – this was not Krystoph. Nothing remained of Ochas's most feared general, and the revolting thing he'd become was of no threat. Placing his foot on top of Krystoph's head, the king easily shoved the broken lump of flesh away as two beefy guards rushed in, pulling Krystoph further still from Ocha's benevolent leader. The flow of adrenaline having passed, Krystoph began at last to feel the result of his outburst. His body was in no shape for such an act. Now he found himself struggling not only to reclaim his escaping breath but also to deal with the flashes of deep, searing pain tearing him apart from within.
"I will give you one more chance old friend." The king offered sternly from atop his throne. "Tell me where you've hidden it. End this nonsense. You know I will locate it eventually; you will have suffered for nothing. Why take your misguided hatred for me out on the Ochan race? Should this great nation suffer because of your random loss of common sense? Tell me where it is … tell me where it is and this all comes to an end. Tell me where it is, and I assure you I will make your death quick and painless."
Though one of his lungs was punctured months ago, Krystoph breathed in deeply, managing to momentarily gain control of the pain pouring over him like molten steel. His brain was on fire, his head on the brink of an explosion. Grimacing through eyes drowning in blood, he attempted for the first time in weeks to pull his twisted, mangled body upright. Seeing this, the two guards hovering nearby immediately moved close and shoved him back to the floor. With a flip of his wrist and a slight gesture of his fingers, King Kragamel ordered them to stand down. Managing successfully to maneuver himself to one knee, Krystoph bit down on his lower lip with the few reaming teeth in his mouth and grunted deeply, eventually hoisting his tattered, starved, frail body upward. Teetering atop wobbly, useless legs, he raised his shaky head, staring defiantly into the eyes of Ocha's most feared king.
With a voice of whispered rage he choked out only a single word, "No."
Overcome with the undeniable urge to rip the head from his former general's shoulders and place it on a pike in the center of the castle courtyard for all to see, the king instead shoved his emotions down, successfully centering his rapidly expanding rage.
Krystoph would have loved nothing more than to see him frazzled, and because of this, frazzled was by no means an option. Calmly looking past Krystoph's unsteady form, Kragamel called out to the back of the room: "Gragor!"
From the opposite side of the massive throne room, the then newly-appointed, still young, fresh, and anxious to please general of the king's armies moved across the floor in long, determined strides. Stopping alongside Krystoph, the massive Ochan dropped to a knee, bowing his head in reverence of his king. "Yes sire?"
"We could torture this traitor until the end of our days, and it is unlikely he will ever tell us what we need to know; he has been trained too well. He has outworn his usefulness. I shall waste no more time on him. I want you personally to take him to the fire caves, open his throat, and watch the life bleed from his sad excuse for body. Do not burn his corpse though … let the combustion beetles make a meal of him instead. This fool is undeserving of a proper torching."
Though barely noticeable to most in the room, Gragor grinned ever so slightly. "Of course sire. Consider it done."
Still wobbling, his body shaking violently as a jolt of pain traveled up his spine, Krystoph managed to remain standing, his steely gaze never once moving from the king. Even after hearing the words from Kragamel's mouth, at no point would his expression falter.
The king would have loved nothing more than to see him weakened and because of this weakness was simply not an option.
Gragor locked his muscular arms around Krystoph's torso, tugging his busted, useless form backward across the cold stone floor. From his throne the tyrant king of Ocha watched intently until his former general was pulled from sight. He allowed himself only a moment to dwell on his choice before moving to the next order of business. The king had ordered many to die during his tenure. Krystoph was no different than any of the others.
Once dead they are gone and once gone they never come back – this was the way of things.

NEWS AND NOTES

Gah...

It's bee a while since I updated, hasn't it?

The difference between this time and all the others is that I actually have an excuse. I've been busy - really busy - so busy that busy people look at me and say, "wow, that dude's pretty damn busy."



First and foremost the first issue of THE BAD GUYS has finally found its way to e-readers everywhere! (Click the picture above for purchase details)

It's a decent little read at a decent little price and I PROMISE you that if you stick with the series you'll like what you see. I've wrapped up the second issue, and not only does the book really pick up, but it ends with a surprise that you won't see coming.

Unless you're me - then you might have seen it.

Also, for those of you out there that read my stuff back in the day when I was blogging on a regular basis, I posted a guest blog over at litUnderground.com

You can find it here: The Business of Art

While you're there check out the LitUnderground site. I'm going to be working closely with them to get out the final two Forts books, as well as a special edition of the first one.

Good people.

Scratch that - great people.

It's an honor to have my name alongside any of them.

Lastly, I am going to make a REAL attempt to update this place a bit more - especially considering all the stuff going on right now. If I don't toss up (at the very LEAST) a sketch sometime this week, I'm giving you permission to punch me in the face.

Full power.

You can wind up.

Steve

THE STATE OF FORTS ADDRESS

The Forts series has found a new home!

More than likely you're silently saying to yourself, "Oh that's too bad. It must not have sold well. That poor, poor man."

Let me assure you, that's not the case – far from it in fact. The choice to continue the series with someone else was actually mine and mine alone. I never signed a contract for the series as a whole and after my experience with the first book there was no way that was going to happen. It wouldn't have been the right choice.

I don't see any reason to go into the details of the "breakup" (for now), but I will say that Forts is moving to greener, less frustrating, and far more professional pastures.

So what does this all mean to you?

Well, it means that the copy of "Fathers and Sons" you no doubt have sitting in a place of prominence on your bookshelf – or next to the crapper, either way. That copy of Forts will very soon be an out of print collectors edition!

That's right, I said collectors edition and I meant it!

Will you be able to sell it on ebay to pay the rent? Eh, I wouldn't count on that.

Will you be able to trade it for a pack of gum and maybe a Butterfinger bar? Yep, I think you might be able to pull that off.

Still, your copy is special now. It's unique. If you sent it to me to get autographed it's even more unique. You own it, some other people own it, but no one else is ever going to own it – ever. That's pretty cool, no?

For those of you that haven't got your hands on a copy yet, a second edition print version of the book will be arriving with a brand new cover before you know it. (Probably within the next few months in fact.) Along with the print version, the book will FINALLY make its way to e-readers everywhere! (This is long overdue.)

Oh, all those editing flubs the original publisher left in – you know, the ones that caused the sentence "This could have been a fantastic book if it had a good editor" to appear in nearly every review. Thankfully those are going to be fixed up for the second edition.

For those of you waiting patiently for "Liars and Thieves," right around the time the second edition arrives book two is going to hit the shelves! It's a heck of a lot later than was originally planned, but I'm hoping it'll be worth the wait.

The nonsense of the past is in the past and hopefully that's where it's going to stay. Writing has officially picked up again on the final book in the series and I'm probably only 40,000 words or so from finishing it up.

Forts has a new home, and this is a good thing.

Scratch that and revise: Forts has a new home, and it's a giggity-great thing.

It's better than a steaming hot pizza and a tub of ice cream served to you by Rosario Dawson in a French maid's outfit.

Okay, maybe it's not that good…

It's still pretty fantastic though.

Steven

WORK IN PROGRESS - FORTS THREE COVER

The basic art for the Book 3 cover has been worked out! This is a spoiler-heavy image as you're getting a look at a few new characters.

That's how I roll.

Steven

WORK IN PROGRESS - FORTS THREE COVER

Progress on the cover for Forts 3 continues to putter forward. It feels pretty good to be woking on these characters again. I took too much time away.

Art has always been therapy for me and this has been a rough year.

Steven

WORK IN PROGRESS - FORTS THREE COVER

I decided to get to work on the cover for the third book in the Forts series over the weekend. I will of course, keep you updated.

I have a good feeling about this one.