Donny Swords's Blog, page 4

News from The Void 2/2/2014

Buy: The Bitter Ends  Buy: Ways of the Stygia-Fallen Song   Like my Author page on FacebookNews from the Void- 2/2/2014 Hello everyone, Donny here... 12 unique stories. January 2014 turned out to be a fantastic month. I have made several new contacts in the writing world, and have several irons in the fire. I have been in talks with publishers- Offers will be presented in the next couple of weeks for signing “Ways of the Stygia” and “The Bitter Ends” as full series! I have some new opportunities to take part in anthologies with other authors.

On a personal note, that love I lost has returned to me, and it is better than ever… Which is great news, because not only do I have Jen back, I have my editor back, hehe. Life is sublime, I am blessed.
"My warhorse has new shoes" Thomas Van PeltThe revision of Ways of the Stygia- Fallen Song turned out better than I ever dreamed. It is a victory for me, and while working on it, I fell in love with the story all over again. As Janet Morris recently told me, “If you don’t love it, no one else will.” This is the truth, and I do think you will enjoy this revision, it reads better than ever, and the new cover just rocks. If you enjoy the read, please post a review. Reviews trigger Amazon’s algorithms, and at 50, they market your books for you. By posting reviews on my own, I know the joy they can bring to an author, and the power they have to encourage. There is nothing better than seeing a favorable review. Being an author is not as simple as it seems, most of us do not have heaping piles of cash about. When I was a singer/guitarist in bands, I could see the impact of my effort firsthand. Writing is often like tossing a rock out of a jet plane, you can only guess where it lands. Feedback, even negative, is a measure to know how you are doing, and it can inspire. I would encourage you, the reader, to support all the artists you enjoy, let them know how you feel, it goes a long way.
Now, I will step down from my pulpit. Of course, the main thing I want is for you to read, and enjoy it. Reviews or not. Besides getting the stories out of my head, this is my goal. When I write, I make sure I am staying true to the story, while making the pages I write as easy, exciting and painless, to my readers as I can. I will not lie; the story does come first… It should. I never sit there trying to write a hit, I could not stomach that when I composed songs, and still can’t when I write stories. I have to want to write what I write.
Let’s talk about The Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone… work is midway, and going so well that sometimes I have to pinch myself when proofing it, to know those are really my words there. The tension between Faus and her enemies is palpable. I feel she has the perfect combination of traits, making her fascinating and fun to write about. She is beautiful, but due to her affliction, she can also be hideous. She has a huge heart, but when it is required of her, she is heartless. She is vulnerable, but tough as nails. Faus is smart, and still she makes foolish errors… Her world is anything but kind to her. Nevertheless, she can be quite fair… The mix of Ways of the Stygia lore and real world history, not actual accountings mind you, is a potent mix. I can already see two more novels from writing this one… And one of them will not have Faus in it at all, I hope to start that one, simply entitled Van Pelt, next year.
I have a short story planned for one of the anthologies I am submitting to, which I may call “Birat versus The Great Wyrm”starring you guessed it, Franco Biratoni and Saverus, of Fallen Song fame… So much writing, so little time.
I am planning to interview more authors on my blog, hopefully one or two per month. I have done two interviews so far with Matthew Keith and Walter Rhein… I enjoyed doing these interviews immensely. As an author myself, I found it exhilarating to get a peek inside their processes, and to see their reactions to my questions. This is definitely something I want to keep doing. Both authored books I thoroughly enjoyed, Matthew’s “Sway”and Walter’s “Reader of Acheron” are both highly recommended. Do check them out.

In closing, I am excited to say that the promotion I ran over the weekend for Ways of the Stygia- Fallen Song was a resounding success. Many readers took advantage of the promotion, lifting my revision up to #5 in the Dark Fantasy category and as high as #9 in sword and sorcery. It is exciting to see this book is getting some, in my opinion at least, much deserved attention. The Bitter Ends moved some units as well, and this is awesome, because as zombie apocalypse novels go, I feel it is a real winner.
That’s all for now folks… As always, thanks for reading.
I love you all,Donny Swords
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Interviews from the Void- Walter Rhein

Interviews from the Void- Walter Rhein

Hello, Donny here. Today I am super excited to bring you another interview. This time Walter Rhien sheds some light on himself, his novels, and his thoughts behind creating them. Walter is the kind of author that really turns heads… not away from the pages he writes, heavens no. I recently read his novel “The Reader of Acheron” in around a week. It is a page-turner start to finish. I usually read in my down time, so this novel cost me sleep. I did not care. It is that good. You can read my review here. But I talk too much, so without further ado…
Meet Walter Rhein:   Walter, could you tell us about yourself?
I was born in northern Wisconsin, which I suppose led to my joy of cross-country skiing.  To date, my most popular novel has been “Beyond Birkie Fever” which is a humorous travel memoir about skiing adventures.  I graduated with a degree in English Literature and a minor in Physics.  After graduating, I moved to Lima, Peru where I had to teach myself Spanish.  I lived there for ten years working as a teacher, writer, and translator.  These days I’m back in Wisconsin raising my two beautiful daughters helping to promote CyclovaXC.  My latest novel was published with Perseid Press which is owned by Janet Morris of Thieves’ World fame.  If anyone wants to chat about fantasy writing, they should swing by my Heroic Fantasy Facebook group.  There’s probably a review copy of a novel or two to be found!
In your newest novel, “ The Reader of Acheron ” there are several dynamics, the one that struck me was the undertone, the sometimes unspoken, but heart-wrenching societal system, which endorsed slavery, controlling the masses to such a brutal severity that reading was outlawed. You made this work remarkably well, could you shed some light on your thought processes?
I actually conceived of that aspect fairly late in the writing process.  Initially my focus was to write about an escaped slave who becomes an assassin.  I needed for him to exist within a corrupt society, and so I thought of outlawing the ability to read.  That idea presented a lot of problems, the biggest one being to avoid the themes that had already been addressed in ‘Fahrenheit 451’ (thisand thisreviewer both comment on my effectiveness there).  As you can tell from the title, although reading is outlawed there are still people who practice the skill.  It’s not like there is a police force that goes from door to door testing people for reading aptitude, the ruling structure is pretty lazy actually.  But they like to have a “catch-all” excuse for executing people whenever they feel like it.  It’s been fun dealing with the problems that arise from a reading ban, it’s an endless well of inspiration.
The slave Kikkan was my favorite character. I have occasionally felt like he did, oppressed, and knowing what was happening to me was wrong, I rebelled. Maybe not with a metal pipe, though I have. Did anything occur in your life that inspired you to create Kikkan? Or are you just that good?
Whew...that’s a tough question.  Well, nothing has ever happened to me that is as intense as what Kikkan goes through, but I think all people have been in a situation where they knew something wasn’t quite right, but they couldn’t articulate what it was.  We’ve all been in bad relationships, or in bad work environments.  We’ve all had somebody tell us, “yes, this is painful, but it’s for your own good” when the truth is that “it” wasn’t for your own good at all.  If people don’t have an experience that makes them identify with Kikkan a little bit, I don’t think they’ll enjoy the character.Something interesting to note is that Janet Morris told me that Kikkan is the hero of the book (I thought it was Quillion).  I’m kind of fascinated by that.  Based on the response so far, it sounds like she’s correct, although I don’t think I will allow that to change how I feel about Kikkan.  I’m concerned that if I start writing Kikkan as if he’s the hero, I might lose whatever it is about him that is drawing people.  The second book is going to focus a lot on the tensions between Quillion and Kikkan.  They want the same things, but they go about getting them in radically different ways.
Cassius was fascinating to me, I could not see his motives. Was this to show that we never truly can understand the intentions of those who assert authority over us?
Well, Cassius is pretty strategically advanced.  If you run around declaring what your intentions are, people can put obstacles in your way.  Cassius is so disciplined, he doesn’t let his mask slip even when he’s around people who are not in a position to do anything to him.  A lot of what might make Cassius confusing is that he’s obeying a set of social rules that are higher up on the ladder than anything Kikkan or Quillion can comprehend.  Cassius might start making more sense the more you learn about Erafor.
Who is your favorite character that you have created and why?
I’m partial to Quillion, he’s a survivor and he’s very pragmatic.  Kikkan has a very strong sense of what’s right and wrong, but Quillion sees only gray.  As I said before, it’s going to be fun to have these two get on each other’s nerves.
When you write a novel, do you write an outline, or keep the word count in mind?
I usually conceive of a couple scenes that I think would be pretty cool, all within the context of a larger theme, and then try to figure out ways to connect them.  When writing, sometimes an author finds himself or herself bored with a chapter because s/he really wants to be working on something that happens later on.  When that happens to me, I just skip ahead and write the later chapter.  The way I see it, if you were bored writing it, people are going to be bored reading it.  Above all, I think it’s important that people can tear through your book at a frantic pace...no lagging plot moments.I usually end up with a dozen or so short stories that I then have to connect.  Assembling the book is like putting together a puzzle.  However, I’ve been inclined to rely on outlines a little bit more lately.  This series is getting complicated (after only one volume) and there’s a lot of ground that has to be covered, and things to be kept straight.
What are you working on now?
I have a lot of projects: Another humorous travel memoir about my ten years living in Peru.  A collection of short stories from authors on my Heroic Fantasy Group.  A sequel to my first published novel “The Bone Sword” (soon to be re-released with Harren press).  A compilation project with Shane Porteous of “The Battle of Ebulon” (you can download that one for free, my story is the second in the compilation).  There’s also a sequel to “Reader” coming!
I want more. When is the next book for the “Slaves of Erafor” arriving?
Click to Buy
I’ve got about 15 pages written and a general idea for how the story progresses.  I should have it done around November, and hopefully we will release it in January of 2015. Click to buy
Tell us about your other novels.
Visit Page“Beyond Birkie Fever” was selected for the Chippewa Valley book festival a couple years ago.  That was a nice experience.  It’s quite a bit different than my fantasy writing.  “The Bone Sword” is an action fantasy that has only found a small, but dedicated following.  I’ll be looking for some new reviewers when Harren publishes the new version (it needs a better cover, which Harren will provide).




I noticed you split your residency between Peru and the USA, would you like to tell us about it?
Click here to learn moreWell, these days I spend more of my time in the US just because it’s getting harder to stay mobile with the kids.  However, we do have to go down there with relative frequency because grandma lives in Peru.  My wife is Peruvian, and you can’t separate grandma from her grand kids for all that long!     Click to BuyPeru is awesome, but maybe the best thing about it is that my cell phone plan doesn’t work down there, so I get some time off from the constant ringing! Click to Buy
What inspires you? My kids.
Why do you write?
It’s a compulsion I suppose.  Most people who write have no other choice in the matter (or why would they do it?).  I find that if I don’t make the effort to express myself I get a headache, that only gets worse the longer I don’t write.  Too many thoughts piling up I guess, it’s like draining a wound.
Do you ever get to the point where a project is not working? What do you do about it?That used to happen, I have a bunch of things that I started and got about twenty pages into only to stop and never go back.  Although, sometimes those “sprouts” do turn into novels later on.  I started “Birkie” about four or five times before I finally got it right.  Likewise with this Peru book I’ve almost finished up.  I guess the best thing to do is to just put a project on the shelf when it starts to become a struggle.  The answers might come to you while you’re working on another project.
How many novels do you have floating around in your head?
I’m so busy with the four or five that I’m currently working on that I can’t imagine any more.  But I suppose once I start finishing those off, some new ideas will jump in to take their place.  You never get completely caught up, which is good!
Here’s the toughest question. If you could say one thing to convince people to read or review your books, what would it be?
First and foremost I believe a book should be an easy read and very entertaining.  Lately I’ve been trying to layer my work with some stuff that will make you stop and think a bit if you want to, but never at the expense of being entertaining.  It takes a lot of time to read a book, and I would never ask that time of somebody unless I thought I could make it worthwhile.  Time is precious, and I respect my readers’ time above all things!That being said, it's time to wrap up the interview. Thanks for having me!
Wow! Walter’s responses were fantastic… I want to thank him for taking the time to share his experiences here. Walter Rhein is not only a great author he is an awesome person. If you have not read his work, please do so. As he mentioned at one point in the review, he has a few review copies of “Reader of Acheron” available. You can message him through his Heroic Fantasypage. I hope you enjoyed this interview, I know I did.
In closing, let me thank you, my beloved readers. You make this all possible!
Yours truly,Donny Swords

Interviews from the Void- Matthew Keith

Interviews from the Void
Meet Matthew Keith.   Hello, Donny here. From now on, I will be interviewing fellow authors who I feel have something great to offer you, the reader. Matthew Keith has the distinction of being the first. I plan to read at least one novel by each author so that I can get a better impression of their writing and have something other than generic questions to ask them. Matthew has tons of talent, and a great personality. When I read his novel “Sway” I was definitely impressed. I think you would be too. Sway is a dark tale which often takes place inside the main character’s dream, a dream he wants to control. I really enjoyed it. You can read my review of Sway on Amazon.com.
Now for Matthew…
Can you tell us a little about yourself?
I’m a small-town guy, originally from Brighton, Michigan but moved to Kentucky in 2005 to start a business. I’ve been married for 18 years to the same wonderful woman and have two children, one in high school and the other attending the University of Kentucky on a music scholarship—they’re both, of course, amazing. I sing and write music with a group of friends in my spare time (nothing serious… garage music), I’m a bit of a “foodie”, and I’m a sucker for Latino women. But don’t tell my wife… she’s a redhead.
Sway on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Sway-Matthew-Keith-ebook/dp/B00H6Y7I2G/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1391043890&sr=1-3&keywords=matthew+keith
The main character in Sway does not have a name, how come?
I don’t know, honestly. After I wrote and did a re-read the first chapter, that’swhen I realized he’d never been named. It wasn’t intentional, but as I continued into further chapters it just felt right. The book is surreal and minimalistic—not naming him seemed a better fit and ironically it felt to me like it made it easier to identify with him. He could be anyone. Your next door neighbor… the guy in line at the grocery store.

I particularly enjoyed reading your novel, what was your creative process?
I had a ball writing Sway. It was a victory for me, big time. That may sound weird, but let me explain… I used to have a recurring nightmare as a child. Sometimes I have it every night for days in a row, sometimes it would be months in between. No rhyme or reason to the pattern. I’d be standing in the hallway of a house that I knew was haunted. There were no doors out, only small, floor-level windows with bars over them. Arms would be reaching from those windows trying to pull me down. The arms never got me, but that’s how I would wake up every time—terrified those arms would get me. I was 6 when the dream began. In Sway, I wanted to incorporate my nightmare. I wanted to feel like I beat it. I knew the hallway was in a house, so I tried to envision the kind of place a house like that would be… that’s where the town came from. I stuck a guy in the town and began to free-associate with anything that came to mind. I let him enter into what absolutely had to be a place filled with people who did things and acted in ways that would never be socially accepted in “the real world.” Notice I say “the real world” in quotes…
What were you trying to show the reader?
In the end, I wanted the reader to recognize the way the actions of people in their lives sway the course of who they are, what they see as “acceptable”, and the limits to which they’re willing to go in order to get what they want out of life. “The Kid” might very well have been a fine, upstanding citizen of the world if not for the actions of his father, his mother, Dr. Stine, the kids and the workers at the orphanage… to my readers I ask: who holds sway over your life? Do you even realize it? Whose lives do you hold sway over?
Watchers in the night on Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Watchers-Night-Matthew-Keith-ebook/dp/B00CP7Z72W/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1391044908&sr=1-1
Tell us about your series.
I currently have two other novels, both part of a series. Watchers of the Night and Indicium Rising are the first two installments in a trilogy about a young man who has the ability to walk the night in his dreams (astral travel). When the story opens he believes his ability is nothing more than a sleep disorder until he is recruited by a government organization that uses people with his ability as spies. The organization provides him with a home and new friends, but he soon finds that it is an agency under siege from within, and he becomes the center-piece in the battle for control.

What inspires you?
Wow. What a question. Seriously… ask me the same thing in an hour and I’ll probably answer differently. A good song, a pretty woman, a great movie or book, a strong cup of coffee, a terrible nightmare, a crazy dream, my kids, my friends, a good conversation, a day alone, snow, the woods, the mountains… honestly—you name it, it has the potential to inspire. You have to remember, inspiration can be both positive and negative. Either way, taken to extremes they make for great stories.
When you start a novel, do you start with an outline and word count in mind?

Word count—no, never. The story is over when it has been told. Outline—normally, yes. With the Watchers series I outlined the chapters and then did outlines within the chapters. I was very detailed and specific. I never deviated from my original plan and it worked—it kept me on track whenever I felt like I was “losing my way” in the story. Alternatively, with Sway I just started writing. Whatever came to mind as I was writing, I added it—and it worked, too. To say I prefer one way or the other I can’t say for sure because although writing Sway was a lot of fun and I thought I would write everything the same way after that book, I’m working on Book 3 of the Watchers series and I’m working from an outline again. In my defense… I wrote the outline for the entire Watchers trilogy over two years ago. Seems like a waste to just toss it aside.
Do you ever reach the point in a writing project that things are not working?
Yup. All the time. That’s when I stop working on it and start working on a different one. I give it a day, a week, a month—however long it takes until I’ve regained the “spark” for the characters and the story. Then I re-read what I’ve already written, even if it spans 100k words, and continue where I left off. Works every time.
Which character out of all your novels is your favorite and why?
“Twitch” in Sway. I absolutely loved him because there were no rules to his behavior. His overwhelming personality trait was that you count on him never reacting or doing anything that would be considered normal. Through Twitch, I was able to be the quintessential fruit-loop.

Why do you write?
For the money!!! (lol) Any author reading this knows that’s not true. For any non-authors reading this I ask you—how many times have you read a book and said, “Man that was dumb…” or watched a movie and said, “That ending sucked!”? Write a book. It’s “Choose Your Own Adventure” at its finest.
What is the hardest part of being an author?
Worrying about whether people will like what I’ve read. I’m not the kind of gushy guy that reads and re-reads every negative comment, clutching the sides of my laptop screaming “why oh why, tell me WHY”, but I do put a lot of myself into my stories. The gratification that comes from someone relating to something I’ve written or saying how much they like one of the characters I’ve created—it’s like they’re saying they’re relating to me, that they like me. It’s a great feeling to be able to reach people on an emotional level that you’ve never actually met. It’s an indescribable connection.
If you could tell us one thing to convince us to read and review your novels, what would you say? You’re putting me the spot. You should be ashamed of yourself, Donny. Why should you and all your readers choose to read (and review!) my novels? Because I believe in the power of dreams, and anyone who shares that sentiment will love my books. Cheesy? You bet. But I don’t mean it the way you probably took it. What I mean is that every book I write, in some way, revolves around some aspect of dreaming. Dreams are such a mystery to us. We really don’t know why we have them or what they mean… if they mean anything at all. We take them for granted, the same way we take eating or sleeping or breathing for granted. We have them, we can’t stop them… that’s just the way it is. But I believe they mean more. I believe that if we paid more attention to them we’d learn more about ourselves and each other. And I believe there are people who can do things through their dreams as I’ve described in my books like astral travel or see the future. Maybe that sounds a little hokey, but anyone who’s ever paid attention to their dreams knows exactly what I’m talking about. I can say unequivocally: if you find the same romance in dreams that I do, you’ll love my books.
The Void:A great interview. I loved Matthew's responses to the hard questions. Very honest and authentic. Following and contacting Matthew Keith is easy. Just click the links below:
Website and blog: www.matthewkeith.netFacebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormatthewkeithTwitter: @AuthorMatthewK
In closing, let me say how fun it was to read "Sway" and to get a chance to interview Matthew Keith. Thank you Matthew for getting everything to me so promptly, and for your candid responses. 
And as always, thank you to my readers, I love you all.-
Donny Swords

News from the Void 12/31/13

News From the Void 12/31 Happy New Year!
This year has had its share of vicissitudes and its fair share of awesome moments. I published two books, huge milestones for me. I fell in love, and lost that love. I have never known love before. I thought I had, but I know differently now. I gained many friends and readers. Throughout 2013, I learned some very valuable lessons about life. I am grateful for it all, even the things that have seared my soul. Yin and Yang. What doesn’t kill you makes you a better writer…I am at the brink of life changing things, and going into 2014, I remain hopeful. With good reason. I have a great novel to release in 2014, “Cult of Morgod.” I believe in Morgod more than all the books I have completed.  Even more, I have found a new love, Faus. My vampire heroine, has such an abominable will, a kind heart, and a rough one, that she leaves me awestruck and inspired. You will get to meet her in 2014, within the pages of “The Vampire Faus- Dragon Stone.” This enthralling character, who got her start within Cult of Morgod, is like a female Conan with teeth, but so much more. I love Faus. Perhaps she is the only woman I will ever need… Dragon Stone will not be her only tale. Faus will appear annually, until there is no more to tell, or until my heart quits beating. Nearing the halfway mark, I estimate Dragon Stone will be completed before spring, at which time I will begin work on the next novel in line, “Kuln the Berserker.” Expect to be amazed by Kuln and his dark universe…I admit it. I have been away for a while… Rest assured, I am back now, at my keyboard. If it were not for writing, I would have nothing of my own. Material possessions mean little to me. Sure, I like having things like everyone else. I would rather have what my heart wants. I am not unique. I know that- Except for the stories that are, for better or worse trapped inside my brain. Only I can create them. While I love my readers, I would still write- even if no one was reading. Writers must also edit. I am currently doing a full revision of “Fallen Song.” I am so excited over the changes in format, and the overall presentation, the readability of this new version. So very soon, I will be updating the file on Amazon. Hold on now! Do not get too excited, it is time consuming.For the moment, I have decided to put Fallen Song’s sequel, “The Last Son” on hiatus, until I work out whether it will arrive as one or two books. Don’t fret, Thomas, Henry, and Franco shall return to face their worst threat yet… If you have not read “The Bitter Ends,” give it a chance. It is not just another zombie book. It is not really about zombies. It is about the characters. Serial killers, cops, ambulance drivers, schoolteachers, children, veterans… with each character placed in their own standalone story. I managed to make lives touch, while showing a broader view of the fictional town, Gateway. The Bitter Ends is a fun, chilling, and revealing novel that was a pleasure to write. I am sure you will enjoy it…If you have read and enjoyed my novels, please post a review. You would be helping more than you know. Thank you for all your support throughout the year- go strong!                                                          Anyways, that’s the news folks.Love you all,Donny   

Only a dream away

Only a dream away What was it about her? Edwin did know, though as intoxicated as he was cognizance was the furthest thing from his mind. A pressing need brought him here. So low. How could God love him now? Clearly, he was too far astray. The pieces did not fit. Nothing he was before her was the same. Where had he gone? Where was the debonair Franklin Taft he once was?Shattered. In remnants, lying alongside the empty bottles and glasses, the trash, the soiled undergarments of Sharon’s party guests. What in God’s name brought him to be such a fool? “Oh Lord, forgive me.” He muttered as he stepped over a young girl, nude, with her oversize artificial mammary glands standing tall, saluting the sun. This was not his scene. He left her lying there, feeling not at all proper either. Who was he to judge? The things he had done…He did not find Sharon in the backyard, where he woke. Fragments were all he could recall. Bits. He remembered the orgies, the wanton abandonment. All morality stripped itself from him. He was no longer an agent of God. The Lord could not forgive him, and he knew he would never forget. The prior night washed itself away, though he still knew enough.He had sinned.Of the commandments, he must have broken them all. God might forgive him for such deeds, even though his sins ran deep… He remembered Sharon squishing his will- until he became putty in her hands. It had not taken long. One smile on her sweet lips disarmed him. Resistance was a word stricken from not just the mind, rather it emanated in his heart, places the soul breathes. Those pieces inside a person usually locks away, driven by fears their lovers might actually know them. If the debauchery brought him anything slightly positive, it was that she knew him. Every tick of his heart, every breath he took was privy to her scrutiny, her judgment. God help him, even still he did not care. No amount of shame would dissuade him. He belonged to her now. Her wiles were indefensible. No one resisted. She took whatever pleased her, and she never apologized for it. Why would she? No one wanted anything other than to adore her, to touch her. Lie with her… Lies. Sharon told them sweetly. Seduction came naturally for her. One bat of her lashes, one feigned look of sadness, and people groveled before her…The first day he met her there was a rehearsal at church. Standing at the podium while reading his sermon, he did not notice the woman in the blue dress slip into the pew. The memories of their meeting came richly whenever he recalled them. His tired eyes stung after he removed his reading glasses, tired, and emotionally spent from three trying days spent at the hospital where a member of the flock spent his last days. It was the last unselfish act he committed.Looking up, he saw her wide brimmed sun hat first, a lacy black. Her eyes met his, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Sharon. She made it all real, viable… love, pain, sin. Franklin always believed he was beyond such deviance, his will, and the Lord’s grace gave him immunity.Whose sins are greater? Or rather, who will judge such matters fairly? None but God… Not anymore, the devil won. Sharon would milk him, suck him… bleed him dry, discarding him to despair and abrupt death. She took lives as freely as carnal pleasures, wine, drugs, money and souls.  Crossroads are a peculiar thing, and not as literal as one might imagine. There are places, ages hallowed, which can carve away the soul. Often, maps cannot reveal such locations. Rather we find them within the minds and spirits of people. Forces orchestrate our path. Perhaps this is God’s will. Maybe not. Sharon, she was a force from Hell. The prior week proved this in irreproachable, undeniable terms.  Satan had him now. He offered his soul freely. His crossroads? Middle age. Regrets. An empty hole straight through his heart. It was an emptiness faith did not fill. The rubble and decaying decadence defied logic. A girl and boy curled up here and there troubled him less than men doing the same did. Edwin often worked on the flaw. Prayed over it, nonetheless, it held on. No matter what he read, no matter what he did, he could not shake his fear of homosexuals. He did not hate them; they scared him. Over the past few days, he certainly had not acted as if he was afraid of gays…All his life, he also feared murder. His actions betrayed that opposition as well. Edwin was himself no longer… and his world, well it had turned upside down. The scene slowly gave way to darker sights. Such a debacle, such a malevolent landscape of sin fell around him, that he wept. At first, he cried over the grim ruination, the death, but then the scene’s beauty moved his tears. He did not know why. Recollections came far and few between. These tidbits of information, coming hazily in spurts, did nothing if not horrify him. All he wanted was Sharon. Finally to have her, to know her flesh. Again, as he did that first day… “What was that?” He muttered.Daydreaming and deluded, Edwin began to sober. It was not as if the drugs were gone from his system. God no. He should be dead, like… His eyes began to scan the patio, where he presently stood and revelations came crashing in. He stopped, stooping low, his stomach on fire, and his sides about to burst. Foam spewed forth, the sight of it pained him. He dropped, retching violently. The foam came in sticky fonts, mixing with the debris, worse still than his offering.Putrid as it was, vomit was clean in comparison to that before him. Near his feet, a nude woman, no less than thirty, lay on her side. Her throat was gaped, where blackened clots hung, sticky and stiff. Blood spread outwards, in a deep crimson-brown pool. To his eyes there was no beyond the puddles, intersecting like rivers to the sea. No way around the bodies. He had no reason to count them, to mourn. Nevertheless, he took the scene in. Men and women- all bearing the mark- Sharon’s mark. He was no longer disturbed. She deserved them. Sinners- the lot of them.Is a sinner worse lying on his back in his own blood? Edwin asked himself that same question. He doubted it. As he busied himself judging, he grew weary. Their faces undistorted as if before a torturous death. Rapture. That is what he saw. Heaven would not have them, and this pleased him. Staring at the wall nearest the sliding door, he picked his way over the cadavers. Memories passed by, with the lifeless faces. Fearful he might break under the strain, knowledge best left tucked away, he looked upwards. Choosing instead to stare at the wall, rather than face the memories… They came anyway. His dirty member certainly was a busy beast. How many of them had he taken? All? That man and the girl beside him… the ones scattered nearby, in fact, mostly everyone. They were gone now. His seed still inside a few of them… The moment they died. No. He did not need this. Owning up was inevitable. This just was not the time for it. He knew anyways. Now he could not forget. He could not have avoided the debacle if he tried. It was true. As apparent as the letters, written in coppery crimsons and blacks on the wall before him. “Bleed for me” the message said, and he had. Sharon was demanding. Before her, God had been his cloak against trial, a shield to defend, a voice of reason. Those days were behind him. Sprawled about him, now that the memories sought to tell him, was the only evidence required to tell of how far he had fallen. As a preacher, he had never liked the term. To fall meant you were lofty, higher in station than others. He strove for modesty. Alas, he felt humbled now.His mouth went slack, his feet leaden, his heart sinking, his soul barking from the pits of his private hell. The imagery was no longer detached. The grim setting fully sunk in, as he remembered:Seeing a brunette snapped his brain into high gear. Lovely Allison. Oh God. She was no longer lovely, no need for pretense any longer. Had she been crying? Yes, she had. He went to her then, stoned on ether, flat out destroyed. He fucked her callously… and when she begged…“Lord help me.”It was just like him. Hippo critic as he was. A fool. Selfishness. His truest, largest flaw. He thought only of himself- with her… them all. Denial might save him. At the frayed ends of sanity, he dangled, sliding into the pit again. With Sharon, the pits grew deeper each day. He was not as interested in valleys as he fascinated over peaks. Not at first. Not after his life, his former pulpit. Last night- he-“Jesus save me.”“When will you ever learn Edwin? It is not selfishness; not indifference that has brought you low. It was pride. You thought you could take her. Make her yours. My sister is untamable, remorseless, she will only give you sorrow. The pleasures will fade. You have not strayed so far. Trust in me. You can be saved, leave now, before she finds you.”The voice rang heavily in his brain, bell-like, darkly musical. The voice of an angel. Why would an angel talk to him? Perhaps it was Sharon, playing her games. She liked to lead him to the unwilling, forcing him on them in offensive ways. It pleased her. Putty. Edwin was mold-able, malleable. Still standing, his bare feet deep under the blood- He faced up. He wanted to bite them, screw them and kill them. Sharon just made it easier. There had always been this voice. Sometimes it was small. It whispered. He hardly heard it at all. Other times, it grew. It shouted. It begged…Therefore, he had turned to God. It had not been enough. He confessed it to no one. He was sick. Somewhere. Somehow. He prattled about salvation, but the parish was often half empty on Sundays. They knew too. The flock. He lacked conviction. Floating behind the shell, the wall he created to contain the monster he was inside…. The bastard he really wanted to be. The devil’s son…Sharon allowed it, endorsed his every sickness, and she repaid him… Cold kisses, full of ripe, chilling passion… Her eyes… Edwin stirred, trying to wrestle himself into action. He hemmed and hawed. Dreaming. Something kept him there, reading the scrawl, written in blood repeatedly.“Bleed for me.”“Bleed for me.”“Bleed for me.”“Bleed for me.”“Bleed for me.”Disillusion. Revolution. Sinful flesh- fetishes. They wanted such things more than he did, than she did. Their pleas were as open as their throats. Their mouths as wanting of his sex as was Sharon to drain them…  He did not want to remember. It was too late. No avoiding it. Now he saw it all, and it did not sicken him. Lord help him, it pleased him sweetly. Touched him tenderly. The departed ones were all bare skinned. He was nude too- not lifeless; blood still warmed him, stirred him… It aroused him. Wrapped up in his pleasure, he did not hear the padded footfalls coming down the sidewalk. Unconsciously, his hand found his erection, and before the inscription, among the bodies and pooling blood, he began to pleasure himself. It set him free. No one else would dare! Finally, he was defiant. Strength might betray, but weakness fails absolutely. He had no time to fail, as God had him do…“If this is how well you listen you will not last long.” Edwin heard the voice, it was the same, though now… he reeled, cock still in hand, to turn and face his visitor. He nearly slipped in the slick blood, and there, dappled in sunlight…“Who are you?”The impossibly gorgeous woman just smiled. Kindly, unflinching. Her gesture was only brief, her raven tresses drooping seductively over her porcelain features. Her beauty tore his heart out. Absurdly, regret came. Sharon seemed dim… distant…“So she has not mentioned me? Did she even say who she is? What is she calling herself?”The woman was stern, bright. Not to toy with… impossibly magnificent… Putty again, Edwin responded:“No, Sharon has not mentioned you, though you have not told me who you are… I am sure I would know you if she spoke of you at all…”  Lament… hungry to feed on him, a tidal wave of guilt- agony. Tears welled within his eyes.“Sharon? Makes her sound like a bitch- concise… As for who I am, unhand yourself and come over and introduce yourself properly. Good graces Taft, have you lost everything? Wise up- have some manners when you meet a woman.”Shamed, Edwin cast his eyes downward. He stared at the drying pools, humiliated. His cock shrunk backwards before his hand even came away, symbolic of his shrinking convictions, his declining belief in Sharon. This woman was more powerful, shockingly gorgeous, not cruel… He cried. Not crocodile tears, pure ones, tapped from the deepest recesses. Places he buried memories alive, dark holes he dared to hope were too deep for them to crawl out from- pits of ruin.Edwin Taft sunk to his knees, the blood splashing him in thick splotches, the dead closer by. Symbolic once more. Through it all, the hole denied him peace. God could not fill it. Possessions made it seem deeper. Love denied him. He could not fill the gash, his purgatory. Tears fell like rain, exciting the blood where a film of separated plasma jiggled in ripples. “You cry only for yourself. I cry for you all. You are pitiful. Rise up fool!”Taft did not budge. However, his soul begged him to… The bodies… he knew. Like a suicide, they volunteered… He remembered. Raising his eyes, he saw her, ghostly pale under the bright golden sun, her hair stark in contrast. Regal. His member swelled again, dripping slightly, as pre-semen pulsed from its tip…“I fear I have had misplaced hopes in your case. You are abhorrent. I cannot aid you. I must be going Edwin. Remember, it is your selfishness, your pride, ego- keeping you pinned down. I have no choice but to leave you to my sister. You must change- kill the monster. You know what I speak of… If you change your mind, if you repent… I will know. Do not follow Jezebel- If she asks- tell her that Lilith told you not to. Mind you- this is not to help you. She will be angry, but she will leave you alone after you say my name. You might also know- and it is nothing personal… All of my sister’s followers have this nasty habit of dying. I am unsure if you will be different. If you are, you have your work cut out for you. Best get started.” Lilith turned, her eyes cold, yet not cruel. Seductively swaying her hips, she sighed musically. Edwin stared after her in devastated awe, feeling regretful loss, abandonment… he panicked. Having stood, his feet like concrete blocks, he moved not at all, while sorrow filled his vessel. Stubbornly, he still refused to hear her message. Uninterested in the truth, Edwin watched her go, until at last she was beyond sight.He felt so alone, desperate. Hollowed, he yearned to weep. He could not. The well was dry…Reality, brutal and incriminating as it was, did nothing to put him in action. Quite the opposite, he turned only enough to read the inscriptions anew…“Bleed for me.”There were so many ways. To bleed, letting life seep away. Edwin knew many parishioners who felt dead inside, animate only by pretense. He had always doubted them, life was a gift, yet they could not see the light before their eyes. Instantly, he was changed.“Yes. I see now...” The tears came. She meant so much to him, and now he feared he would not find her, fearing her touch the same. Conflicted, confused in a muddled haze, Edwin felt limp. His body obeyed. He fell face down, amid the muck, ripe with copper scent and carnage. Fleetingly, he flailed his arms outward, in effort to break his fall and he suffered for the effort. Impact came hard, stiff as stone. He felt his jaw crack, as splintered teeth spewed forth to join the grisly pools below. His heart raced, as raw nerves delivered painful signals to his frantic brain.Jerkily, he halfway attempted to stand, but midway upwards the pain in his jaw put him low, forcing him to plop backwards onto his bare buttocks. Unconcerned over the fate of the many dead about him, nor the sickening scene, the pain, anything, Edwin clawed his way towards the door, hands and feet slipping in puddles of blood. No thought of empathy entered his brain, not a trace of dignity was his.If only they could see him now.Frankly demoralized, Edwin was beyond caring. Sharon was all that mattered. What sanctity in life did he have but her? Devoid of grace, he crawled slowly at first, then quicker, as if he was reptile… Finally reaching the door, he willed his legs to cooperate, and stood to check the handle.Locked.No doubt, Sharon locked it, to punish him. She liked to do that, to rub his nose in impurity. However, nothing denied him. Weak no longer, with adrenaline coursing throughout his entire body, he punched the door. He heard a crack, but the window held only a smudge. Not even a finite line shown on its gleaming surface. Laughter drifted downwards, and this enraged Edwin, who threw himself headlong at the door. Stars before a fading reality were his only reward.The door remained the same, unmerciful, unyielding. He lay there for a time, contemplating the stabbing slivers in his jaw and hand. Fractured in four places, the fingers swelled urgently, purpling, fat, and along the backside, it ballooned outwards, a ghastly sight, equaled by the pain it provided. The physical trauma was nothing in comparison to his mental state. Wounds of the soul sometimes never heal.Why was she keeping him out? All he wanted was she, to smell her hair, to be inside her heart. What a crippled love it had been. From the start, he knew it was a long game, and one with low odds for success. He went to her anyway. He had to know, presently he still did.His soul had already told him the truth, but he wanted to deny it. Yes, denial might save him. Lilith’s warning lost, Edwin left the patio, surer now. Sharon would be his, someday. He turned his back to the scrawl, and the death. Dappled sunspots covered him, but they never took away the shadows. As he went along the path to the laundry door, hope found his troubled mind. “Maybe this one isn’t locked?” He dared to want it, for it to be true. “The door will open.” He knew it. She needed him too. Such thoughts consumed him, as he passed carelessly along, unperturbed by the decay of decadence assaulting his eyes from every direction. He began to rush, his legs energized by his sense of hope. It did not take long before he stood before another door, a second chance. Reaching out, his hand shaking, he tried the doorknob.It was not meant to be. Turmoil. He fell harshly, opening up his knees with vicious scrapes, his skin completely pulled away. Oblivious, he broke. The well was full now; there would be no denying his haunting sorrow. Of all things, why did God keep her away? He jerked reflexively; it was not God doing anything. It was Sharon. Even so, the tears came… Perhaps it was not intentional, her hurting him so. He tried to find reason. Nothing came, no revelations, zilch. There was only one way to be sure, he had to see her. To hold her.Her eyes would tell him the truth, even if her actions betrayed it. Again, Edwin stood, acting unaware of his condition. His hand, jaw, and knees forgotten, he went forward. For love.
Frazzled and unstable, Edwin found another chance for love…“Another door- on the side of the house- two doors there.” One of them would open, bringing him back to his lover. He wished that he had stayed beside her, through all of it. She would have known his love then. Who could have seen such dark times ahead? He had of course, and this was what wrecked him. He had known all along…Just because you want something, does not make it yours.If she could see him now, beating himself up for love, that would show her. Would it not? He knew the answer. No. Sharon did not need him. She had other needs, ones to be denied her if she stayed with him. It was practical, her shutting him out like this. Distraught, feeling rejected, he thought little about himself. He dreamt only of Sharon, her happiness over his… such a lonely feeling… and so tragic. He paid no attention to the man passing beside him, headed towards the pool. His desperate eyes saw only one thing. Her. She would complete him. She could do it- fill that gap she left behind in his Godless heart. If Edwin had been paying attention he would have seen the man’s striking resemblance to him, not then, but a week prior, headed expectantly towards the woman he also desired.Things change, Edwin did not know it but even the wind had. He left everything in his life behind the day he met her. Quickly, she became his reason to be. Nothing could cure him, he was sick, broken, doomed to go on wanting her forever. What other woman was there that made him feel like Sharon did? None.So he trudged onward, not even dimly aware of who he really was anymore, wanting what he would never have. Destiny repeated his mistakes for him. He had not needed to do it for himself, his life was a circle, always leading him here… To loss. This, an emptiness like no other, was unique to him. Mirroring only remotely the vast scope of loss, its damage to the human condition. Loss was everywhere that day, but Edwin only felt his. Loss- in all its confounding, terrible ways- ripping apart lovers, eroding security, destroying homes, values, beliefs, it was lost to him. No one suffered as he did. In his mind, he was the only one. Edwin could not feel empathy; in fact, he felt only the hole beckoning him to Sharon… Still he did not dread her.Ah dread, an emotion built on the foundations of loss...He felt it when he checked the first side door, and then the other. He was out of doors, so he sat down, weeping inconsolably, knowing she was gone forever, stuck in a moment so painful it bent his soul. He cried, knowing that he had to let her go. Time melted away with the bitter tears, renting agony as they passed through him and fell indifferently to the paving below his huddled body. Oblivious to anything, all he could do was cry. For himself, not her, and he did not feel selfish… not at first. He could not hear the soft footfalls approaching, or sense the seductive gait of the traveler. It was not until she seated herself before him, her hand in his, that he saw her at all. He looked into her eyes, feeling less dread, less loss…“I am sorry Edwin, I have to go back. You know it…”The pathway, the trees, the house, but more despairingly, Sharon’s face, began to lose validity. The pain throughout him began to lift with the decaying scene, as colors devouring others turned themselves and his heart inside out, until that reality was no more. He stood, where he had been a week prior, his hands resting serenely on the podium. To the outsider, nothing had changed. Though forever altered… his eyes still found hers, even after it all. She sat where she had the day they met, and a sinking realization came even as she spoke the last words he would ever hear from her tender lips…“I am leaving you here, where I found you. Nothing has really changed… start over. There is one way you can still have it all Edwin, but to have it, I require your soul. Call on me when you are ready. I am only a dream away.”Sharon’s countenance, sweet, and saddened, eroded like dust, floating away in a swirl of dark smoke… She was gone.Forever.Edwin looked around, realizing he did have a chance at a new life, that his could continue as it had if he wished. None of it seemed worthwhile, nor did he think it could fulfill him, there was no solace in a life without her… Even knowing that he had not done those terrible things was no consolation, it had been a dream, and despite its darkness, or the pain it brought him, hurting for love, he still missed the hope it brought, and her.“What will I do?” It was a question only his soul could answer- it did not. A chasm was all he found inside himself… Love, it conquers all, even hope.

News from The Void 11/13/2013

News From the Void 11/13/2013
Hello all. It has been awhile since my last post, so there is plenty of news.
The Bitter Ends is now available on Amazon and Smashwords. Regarding Smashwords, there may be changes to The Bitter Ends availability on that site… I really hope that you will give The Bitter Ends a read, I am confident you will enjoy it. In the meantime, here is another sample…                     An excerpt from The Bitter Ends;Taken from “Rad”                                       Rad’s eyes flew open, “Oh shit dude, I thought you weren’t coming… did you get it?” “Yeah man, I have it.” Mark said, stepping fully into view. Rad’s eyes must have been playing tricks on him, because now he was seeing green, and it was not because he had been smoking it. Mark’s cheek was full of trauma, His face…“What happened to your face?”“I gave some ass-wad the bird, and we had a scrap… The fucker bit me man.”“Wow, you okay?”                 “Yeah, sort of, this being the worst day of my life and all. Let’s fix, I’ll tell you about it later.”“Sounds righteous to me bro.”Mark pulled out his kit and went to work. Using water from the jug, and performing the ritual like a seasoned hall of famer. When he pulled out the bag Eddie had given him, with the Heroin pressed into a tin foil wrapper, Rad’s eyes widened. Rad wanted to ask how Mark had so much, but the need outweighed his ability. He watched as Mark took away a piece, and heated the spoon, swirling the tar in the water after it bubbled, and drawing it in the syringe. “Tie off man; you first.” Rad said.Mark eagerly complied, feeling the prick of the needle and the rush of serenity that came when Rad depressed the plunger. Then it was Rad’s turn. Mark gave him a nice dose; Rad felt better right away. He was not even worried about sharing the needle. He and Mark always did, and sometimes they even swapped blowjobs, so who cared? Rad slipped off into opiate nirvana, his thoughts sliding away. It was silent for a time, before each of the young men found a measure of control over their rampant states of euphoria. “I did something horrible Rad...”
Click your preferred link to get The Bitter Ends for your desired device. The Amazon link is for Kindle and Smashwords covers all other devices… Kindle:http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=sr_kk_1?rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Athe+bitter+ends+donny+swords&keywords=the+bitter+ends+donny+swords&ie=UTF8&qid=1384396978
Smashwords:
http://www.smashwords.com/books/search?query=The+Bitter+Ends
Jennifer Thomas and I have been reworking Fallen Song, to give the novel a higher level of readability and a new look. We are addressing the format. Fallen Song is a lengthy book, so some cuts are taking place, reducing wordiness. The plot will not be altered, nor the events within. Rather, the first Ways of the Stygia novel will match its fellows within the series and read far better than before!When the Amazon Edition of Fallen Song is completed, editing will begin on The Cult of Morgod, the next release in the Ways of the Stygia series.
An excerpt from Fallen Song;
It seemed more than some hazy memory, more than mere recall. I smelled the peasants alongside of the street beside me. I marveled at the feeling of the rough cloth on my skin. I could feel something solid in my hand. Sand blew about mildly. I sensed the sun on my back. There were men dressed in metal armor, holding the crowd back. On some instinctive level, I knew they were Romans. Did I fall asleep? I thought wildly. I knew it was not possible, that no dream provided a sense of smell. In a dream, one cannot feel sand below their feet, or the breeze. No dream possessed this much clarity, this was something more.I struggled with the whole event; my consciousness attempted to dismiss it, to call it a lie, to make it go away. It was not leaving. On a profound level, I sensed the importance of what I was seeing. I am unsure of how long my resistance lasted, but soon enough my inner struggle became acceptance. For whatever purpose, the truth was showing itself. There was great importance there, something I needed to know. I allowed it to come. Let it show me, I thought. I noticed many people were cheering, and even more openly weeping. All wore basic tunics and the like, with dirty-matted hair, and sunken weathered faces peering from beneath their hoods or hair. Many were toothless and many more smelled, in fact, they all did. I looked down in my hand and saw a crude iron spike in my fist. I could not move voluntarily. The spike lay slightly concealed on my right hip…Click  the link below to get Fallen Song for Kindle.
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=fallen+song+donny+swords&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3Afallen+song+donny+swords

I have not gotten to spend as much time writing for the past month, as I would have liked. Nevertheless, The Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone has been progressing well. I enjoy spending time with Faus; she is one of my fondest characters. Writing is not a chore to me. I love the worlds I create, though the characters make these places and the events within them believable. Faus’ tale is set in 219 BC. I based many of the events and characters on actual history. It is fun to have Faus exist in such a period, governed by the Ways of the Stygia… The thing that brought her into the night… While she is a vampire, vampirism is not the driving design behind the plot. There is more to Faus than the old myths…
An excerpt from the Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone;
Of numbers, the thieving scum still held the advantage. Faus was not in the mood to kill her own crew, as well as the pirates. She could not very well sail into Porto Carthage on empty vessels, with blood-soaked decks and two vampires aboard. Her powers could aid her on a dead, cloudy night, where eyes deceive, and questions are more prevalent than the truth… but in the bright morning air? She tightened her grip on her blade, charging the fifteen or so Spaniards nearest the railing. Their short rapiers and light shields were no match for Faus’ great sword, one plucked from a distant battlefield where gods fought alongside angels and the demonic. The blade’s weight alone, combined with the arching angle of the assault killed two and sent three into the drink, where the weight of their boots and helms, coupled with the stiffness of their leather jerkins caused them to sink. As a spear thrust at her side, Faus palmed it into the railing, splintering the thick handle like a twig. Then she saw red murder, and all became lost for the would-be aggressors. Heads rolled like spilled grapes on the deck, hearts were torn free, entrails, slick and grotesque spilled from open cavities, eyes were plucked and squashed under boot and heel, bones and skulls the same. Under normal circumstances, the pirate attack might have succeeded, and Turgor’s vessel seized, his men gutted, his head taken…Not on that day, the ship had a new protector…Standing amidst the carnage of twisted, limbless bodies, Faus gave out a hearty bellow. “You men, get a plank and come across, half of you stand guard… the rest of you will pitch these knaves into the sea. I will go below decks, and see to any rebels.”
I will post another News from the Void soon… until then, enjoy yourselves. If you have read either The Bitter Ends or Fallen Song, please post a review if you can. It is the little things that help an upcoming author, reviews, sharing posts, liking pages that make a huge difference in spreading the word… anything you can do is greatly appreciated.
Thanks again for your support. I love you all.-Donny

News from ...

            News from the Void 10/26/2013             Just for fun, I have posted excerpts from four of my novels. Two are available now, The Bitter Ends and Fallen Song. Cult of Morgod (pending release) and The Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone (still in progress).            Click below to get The Bitter Ends. Apple, Kobo, Sony, Epub, PDF, iPad, and many more formats. Available at Smashwordswww.smashwords.com/books/search?query=Donny+Swords
Amazon                                                                                       http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_1?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=Donny+Swords&sprefix=Donny%2Caps&rh=i%3Aaps%2Ck%3ADonny+Swords

An excerpt from The Bitter Ends            Taken from “Palo”“Hurry mister, they’re coming.”“Who?”                                    “…”The young man had just begun to reply when the first of them crashed through the brush. It was a case of defilement and desperation to be sure. Innards dangling like ruby roots, wild eyes, and sub-human growls. Palo did not ask.“Move aside.”Raising his sidearm, he fired, cutting the early arriver’s pursuit off with one round. A howl, gutting and booming cut the night in two. From that cry, near the side of the bathhouse, Palo saw a cluster of the things, running rickety while their slavering jaws foamed, and they were closing.
            Palo spent the clip on them, but three remained.“Get inside!”The visitor did as told. Palo bolted the door behind them, and went into the hall, telling the visitor to follow suit. The zombies were already at the glass in his study, five or more. He gathered his weapons, an Ak-47, a .45, and a raging bull, which stood in his fist presently. “Do you know how to use a gun?”There was no reply.“DO YOU KNOW HOW TO USE A GUN?”Palo had his back turned to the visitor, and was eyeing the windows, where the zombies bit and hissed at the glass. He had no way of knowing what the man was doing, or experiencing. As it was, the visitor had slid down the hallway wall, his heart ceasing to beat abruptly. Death had arrived in a nanosecond, a fluke really, though it did lay claim to the visitor’s life. The man’s ticker had a fatal flaw, and his panic had been too much for his overworked heart to bear. Another death meant little to Palo. However, what came after… Expecting an answer he whirled about, his heated reply falling halfway from his lips as he turned, then it cut off… “Hey! I’m talking to…”The man’s formerly overheated countenance had gone stone cold. Gone were the ripe cheeks and streaming sweat. The brown of his irises tucked firmly below his upper eyelids and gone too, any semblance of sanity. In seeing him, the visitor vaulted in manic fury, moving faster than Palo expected. He still found precious seconds to avoid the strike… Palo spun away and in that instant, the raging bull exploded like dynamite. Brains flew onto the windowpane, the pinkish grey goo and fluids exciting the zombies through the glass.
An excerpt from Fallen SongThe next thing Henry knew, he was sailing through the air, and clattering to the ground. Before him a vampire appeared, with approximately twenty wolves circling his feet. The wolves flew at Henry, they landed, all sliced in two. The last few fell faster than the first. Henry’s blade whistled through the air, and at points in the dark, one could see black fonts of blood misting the crisp night.
Suddenly a burst of silenced rounds smashed into the vampire, taking it to the ground. Henry lunged at it. He raised his sword in an arc, stabbing downward towards the vampire’s heart. Then he was tossed through the air again. He rolled, and got to his feet. He turned towards the nemesis.Fallen Song tore through the night as a silver streak. Henry watched the vampire’s head leave its shoulders and roll shakily across the ground. As Fallen Song rose at speed, Henry caught a glimpse of it. It plunged into a third vampire’s chest, tearing its torso in two. Thomas turned and waved slightly… he wanted Franco and Henry to stay down…
Click here for your copy of Fallen Song for Kindle.
http://www.amazon.com/Fallen-Song--Stygia-Donny-Swords-ebook/dp/B00CWTQM68/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382838932&sr=8-1&keywords=Donny+Swords

An excerpt from Cult of Morgod  The Duo In the identical moment Henry was full of thought, Secord stood on a deck full of enemies. Piron was fighting on the stern and Secord on the bow, when they encircled him. Their eyes were hollow, other
than the hostility they held. They were only Scouts, the last of them, and this the final ship to liberate. A few vessels brimmed with Demon-Mor in such large numbers that it was impossible to count them, or for two to kill them all. Piron sacrificed the ships and the demons they held to the Black Sea and concentrated on claiming the others. Piron and Secord had altered the plan drastically, scrapping the hand-boat altogether. Piron dropped Secord from ship to ship and cleared the masts and cannons of whatever manned them. Secord just fought, killing with anything he found along the way, or his sword. He had lost his dagger, or rather, he had been forced to abandon it under the eardrum of a Dharma Vici and his skin still burned from the exchange. The mist dragon had screamed and wrestled Secord to the rail. The ranger held his dagger by the hilt, yanking all the while to free it. A decision was needed, to follow the Dharma into The Black Sea, or live. That dagger had been his since childhood, and it meant more to him than any woman, song, or possession, so he missed it.
Currently the Demon-Mor stared at him, their slatted and reprehensible eyes melded their sizable and dripping jaws into a mask of horror. Secord was beyond caring. He held the same weapon as they, a rather large axe. Secord had his short-sword hung on his side. “The Lady in White will never forsake me,” Secord thought, as he took the first seven or so like a juggernaut. Skulls split, torsos cut in two, and the Demon-Mors jumped him. Even as he fell, Kon came clear into Secord’s mind, shooting like ribbons through his veins. The axe was gone now. Out came his short blade and he slashed a few throats… even as he hit hard on the deck. Secord rolled, slicing legs and tendons as he went and then he was upon the last of them, hacking them to bits. In the end, the demons at Secord’s outer reaches died by Piron, who came from the starboard side, his white wings dripping a crimson black. It was over in seconds, the duo decimated the remainder of the Demon-Mors. Piron kicked the last one so hard it broke at the waist on the railing, before it vaporized the rail, going over, flip-flopping in the air before the dark waves ate its shattered remains.Secord went to his new brother’s side, “That was the finest kick ever. I must say all this was entirely worth it to see you shatter that fucker.” He grinned and Piron did the same, but not for long. “Send the victory signal.” He said, “Let them all know that Quantanost and The Suttgar stand as one.”
An excerpt from The Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone
A Numidian had led the charge, flanked at the wings by the outlaws of several nations, Spaniards, with bronze skin and slatted eyes. Numidians, with ebony skin and broad muscles. The regal and grizzled countenances of Roman renegades… Berbers with curved blades like that of a crescent moon. “You would do well to bow and then sail away dogs!” Faus shouted her words gravelly and firm. This remark brought a rattling and dark cackle from the Numidian at the center of the advancing mob. “A woman boys! She thinks she out warrior’s men!” The giant carried a pole spear, with a thick handle tipped with a single point and a curved hook, made to stick into shields or to tear organs free from soft underbellies. “Aye! And such a woman as you have never seen!” The jab at her sex had stung, as it always had, for men to think less of a woman because she possessed the one thing they wanted most between their legs- it never ceased to make her blood boil. Her preternatural instincts, and her barbaric origins were having their way with her bloodlust, she had no more time for words. These men would add to the lakes of bodies already harvested, prey the light god did not see.“Cronos be dammed!” She cried, and leapt like a great cat in the midst of a rat’s nest. The morning air grew scarlet as her blade met the Numidians shoulder, cutting through his bulky chest to the heart. She wrenched the blade free, back kicking the corpse to rail, where it hung like a sack of half-full of grain. Her blade hissed through the air like a bag of cobras, leaving a crimson mist sparkling like a million tiny rubies floating on the wind. Bodies dropped, cut down by her mighty blade, wielded now with two hands, before the pirates were able to respond to the assault that claimed them. They lay quivering, split of skull, or slit at the throat, their heads hanging limply from flaps of skin and shattered vertebrae.
 In closing, I would like to thank everyone for their support of all my novels. 
Best regards,
Donny Swords

News from the Void 10/21/2013

News from the Void 10/21/13Exciting news! The Bitter Ends is already available on Kindle!It will arrive on the other formats by or before the Oct. 25th as well… I am very excited to share this novel with you, and just in time for Halloween. Here is a link for the Kindle version. I will post the rest when they are available.
http://www.amazon.com/The-Bitter-Ends-Donny-Swords-ebook/dp/B00G1JLBTI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1382398648&sr=8-1&keywords=The+Bitter+Ends+Donny+Swords

News from The Void 10/9/13

    News From the Void- 10/9/13
 Hello all,
Exciting news for this author! The Bitter Ends is almost through its final edit!  Although I love to write, I have my limitations. I type like I have broken fingers and while lost in imagination, I make mistakes… So, I am very grateful to Jennifer Thomas for sitting down with me and helping me find the things I missed. It has been a Godsend to have her help. If you are not fully aware of what The Bitter Ends is about, let me fill you in…There are twelve short stories based on the main character within them. All of the stories occur in the same timeline and within the fictional town of Gateway, Missouri. My approach to this novel was to make each story about the characters themselves and the town in general. I wanted to try to answer the infamous question, “What would people do in a zombie apocalypse?” I am not sure anyone could ever truly answer such a question, but I gave it as much attention as I could. This book is not just about zombies, it is about the characters, and what would happen to their lives after dead brains ruled the world. But don’t worry, there is plenty of zombie action.
Note: the photo above may or may not be the final cover. I might change the color of the lettering, or not... hope you like it. 
I am very pleased with the Bitter Ends, it is my hope that you will be too.

Until next time,Donny

News from the Void 10/2/2013

News from the Void 10/2/2013
I apologize for being silent for so long. I have been quite busy. All I want to do is write. But alas, there is much work to get done before The Bitter Ends  arrives on e-book on October 25th... I've done a bunch of things to get the ball rolling and a friend, Jennifer Thomas, is proofing the final copy. Then, I will correct any errors and ready the e-book launch and begin the printing process. 
But it's all worth it. I believe in The Bitter Ends. I am so excited about this book!
Meanwhile, after its worldwide release Fallen Song is gaining momentum. After the Bitter Ends is ready, I plan on turning my attention to Fallen Song, re-formatting it, and correcting the errors I've found- and then hopefully set it to print as well. Either way, Fallen Song will be launched on every e-reader in 90 days.
Jennifer has also agreed to proof and edit Cult of Morgod before its release... stay tuned...
My new novel The Vampire Faus, Dragon Stone is thrilling to write. The mix of real world history, set in the brutal period of 217 BC, where Carthage is involved in war with Rome, combined with Ways of the Stygia lore and a dash of Conan works amazingly well.
Anyhow, I have kept you long enough.Until next time,Donny