Ask Not For Whom The Crickets Chirp…
… They apparently chirp for the authors.
Just a quickie update for everyone!
We’re currently in second rewrites on Book 2, The Hand of Time, after receiving some excellent feedback from our test readers. We had hoped to get this one out by the end of February, but, alas, as is the case with writing, sometimes you have to go back to the drawing board on a few parts and overhaul the areas that need serious work. We want this one to knock your socks off as much as the first book, so patience is a virtue (or so we keep reminding ourselves!)
At present, we’re hoping for a release sometime by the middle of March. Fear not, dear readers, we will definitely let you know as soon as we’re ready to get this thing out there. We’ve got a wonderful illustrator/artist working on the cover and as SOON as I get the proofs on that, I’ll at least update here so you know what to look for.
As a peace offering, here’s an actual snippet from the book, just to whet your appetites:
The sound of a loud thunderclap shocked me forward into a few wobbly steps, my hand landing heavily on the top of a tan cloth chair back. My body felt as if I’d just been flung down a mountain side, while my head felt like it had been twisted on like a bottle cap. Looking around the room as my eyes began to focus, making it easier to orient myself, details and objects with a familiar feel surrounded me.
Great. Where am I now? I’d about had it with unexpected venue changes for one lifetime. I wondered if I’d have to start carrying a card around that said, “Hi. My name is Dirk. I’ll be conscious shortly. If I seem lost, it’s because I am. Please be sure to let me know where I’ve appeared this time.”
A heavy gust of wind flung cold water against my back and I turned to face the source. An open terrace door tapped against an outside wall leading to a wide terrace, while a lightning outside beckoned for me to approach. I made my way over, stepping out onto the balcony. I was treated to a view of thick pewter storm clouds drenching the streets of the city below with torrents of rain.
In the distance to my right, a large Ferris wheel turned slowly among other pier buildings in a vast marina. To my left, two stadiums towered above clusters of smaller buildings like grand monarchs. Past the pier, a large airship —reminiscent of one of the many built at my father’s factory— drifted drunkenly, buffeted by the winds. Lightning split the sky behind the dirigible followed by a rolling peal of thunder so loud it rattled the door behind me in its casement. I wasn’t on Nemesis Island anymore, which was near Seattle, I was in the city proper.
Gods, why does this keep happening to me?
My recognition spread to my surroundings as the unique architecture drew me back inside. The room itself wasn’t a square. Soft cream painted walls sloped high overhead into a pyramid shape. Built-in bookshelves, crammed to capacity with ancient looking, well-worn tomes, lined each wall about halfway up, broken only by several large triangular windows.
Above the bookcases, metal walkways lined the interior of the room. An elaborate brass work spiral staircase tucked into one corner wound up to the catwalks and also descended into the wooden floor, hinting at another level below me. The entire place would be lit by candlelight with the flameless metal sconces near me as an indicator of that. As it was, the soft crackle of a fire in the hearth across the room lent enough light to the area to combat the darkness from the storm outside.
The rest of the interior looked like a tornado had just blown through. Antique furniture tossed about, broken glass strewn along the floor winking in the firelight. Had that not been the case, the room would’ve been immaculate. Less like a museum, and more like a home that had been well-lived in for a very long time. I groaned as realization crashed over me, reaching up to scrub at my face to counter the wrenching knot that settled in my stomach.
I’m in my father’s tower.
That’s it for now! Keep your eyes peeled for further updates 
~H.R.
