Hey, Kids! Free Novel!

This was one of the images that developed into the cover for the first issue of Swill. It's assembled entirely out of inkblots. Gonna do a series of these as prints and I'm gonna call them Rorschach Dreams.

So I'm looking for a few brave readers. I've been turning it over in my mind and I've decided that it would be a good idea for me to try and get the opinions of a few fresh readers before I launch into the next revision of the book. I'm not going to be doing a serious, major rewrite -- but I need a fresh set of eyes to make sure that things are entertaining, understandable, consistent, etc, etc.

If you'd be interested let me know and I'll send you a copy of the manuscript. Of course if dozens and dozens of people express an interest I won't be able to send out copies to everyone -- but the first five people who are willing to at least try and read the book will get a bound hardcopy.

Here's how it starts out.

Far overhead millions of souls swarm in incandescent clouds that drift and cast a light that shifts and wanders, one moment so bright that I feel the heat of it, the next so dark I can’t see my fingers on the fretboard of my bass. Their voices, massed and distant, form a hum that throbs and makes my bones itch. The sound is faint but penetrating; I can hear it through the music in my headphones, hear it all through me.

Beyond the clouds the sky is a dead black membrane stretched tight as a ripe boil. I can feel it as though it’s part of my own body, taut and heavy and delicate. Every so often a ripple runs through it and nausea twists my belly as a painful sweat breaks out on my forehead.

The van, a bronze Econoline, is parked deep in the canyons. A few souls have drifted away from the clouds and found us. They drift around the van in slow loops, occasionally swirling close, drawn by the music. For safety’s sake Lulu has us plugged directly into the laptop, bass and guitar with no amplification at all, so it isn’t the sound of the music that’s pulled them – it’s the music itself, the act of playing. They hear it transmitted through our souls, the souls of the living.

We’ve set up where we can’t be seen from a distance, where whatever sound we make won’t carry. My work boots are planted in ground made of tiny bones that crunch like gravel underfoot. Around us are great skulls both human and animal, ranging from waist-high domes nosing up from the surface like sprouting mushrooms to foothills and then mountains rising until they frame canyons with cliffs that sweep up for thousands of feet.

This is the Limbus and these are the Bonelands and we came here to rock.

If anyone's interested, let me know. This offer will run through December; I intend to begin the rewrite in February.

To receive a copy of this novel, go to my profile to find my email contact information. Send me a request for a copy and your preferred file format (.doc, .rtf, PDF) and I'll shoot it off to you; I'll send hard copies to the first five people who request them.

For more information on the novel, go here.