Hey there!! I’ve finally completed the re-edit and 2nd edition for Vastian Lore. As I’ve mentioned before, doing an Editing Diploma helped me to clarify mistakes in my own work and enabled me to edit in a precise fashion. I haven’t changed the core of the story, BUT I did add a little extra onto the end of the final chapter. This helped put a ‘full stop’ to the end of the story and also leaving a few questions for the reader that subsequent books should address over time. I’ve cleaned up awkward sentences and deleted pointless words.
HOWEVER, this post isn’t really about editing. It’s about a chance to win a free, signed copy of Vastian Lore. I’ve got five books to give away.
It’s a first come, first served basis and will run until the 7th July to give folks a decent chance of entering.
So, if you’d like a copy, please email me at: email@example.com and send your messages under the title: Vastian Lore Giveaway. Thanks and good luck! 🙂
Here’s a snippet from the book!
Taking his jet-knife, Norarl put a hand to her shoulder. He hesitated. Arius spat blood in his face. She released her grip on the sword stuck in her body and raked her fingernails down the side of his neck, reminding Norarl how close she’d come to butchering him like a common pig. Even now, she fought hard to kill him. She was his sister, but now, she wanted him dead.
Norarl stabbed her. He didn’t mean to. Or maybe he did. It happened, he couldn’t take it back. Arius clung to him like a drowning victim. Her nails gored his skin. Gore off her clothes stuck to his neck like the cold, wet touch of the rain. Norarl plunged the double-edged length of jet deeper into her flesh. Dragged it out and drove it back in. Again and again. He slammed it into her throat. Eyes dark and glowering, Arius fought death in the same way she had when he first struck her with the red-iron sword. She bared her teeth and snarled like a beast in a trap.
No longer would he be a puppet. He had to cut the strings. Norarl tore the blade from her throat, blood spurted out the wound. Arius staggered, she fell. Norarl caught her before she hit the floor. He held her as she weakened. Her skill as a mage fought to keep her alive as the red jasper and iron blade poisoned her blood, thwarting her body’s futile efforts to repair itself.
She gasped a rasping breath and tilted her head, but she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes widened as her gaze drifted to a point over his shoulder.
A flash of bronze snagged his peripheral vision. Norarl dropped Arius, brought up his bloodied knife…
Bladed talons dug into his chest, a second set in his shoulder, flipped him and flung him aside like a doll, dislodging his jet-knife from his hand as he skidded across the polished floor.
Norarl came to rest the base of a statue of N’sumenel by the temple entrance, which for some reason rang odd in his memory. He didn’t remember seeing the great hulking carving on the way in with Leso earlier. He blinked…Swore the statue moved, but when his vision reset, the Goddess of Death’s grim expression was still as cold as the rock from which she was carved.
Thanks for reading!! 🙂