Publicity!

We’ve got a new team member around here.  Daniel Braithwaite has joined us as Director of Publicity.  If you’re a school principal, book reviewer, or library director, you may hear from him; if you’re a con goer at one of the conventions I participate in or a Black Blazer Irregular, you’re likely to see more of Daniel too.

If you have publicity opportunities, you can reach Daniel about them at publicity-at-davidjohnbutler.com.

Daniel’s a writer.  By way of lifting up the curtain a little bit, here’s a snippet from the prolog of his WIP (with all the appropriate caveats about early draft, etc.):

Mahk followed Skip down the hall. Bloam was alive. Maybe his efforts of harvesting his own rotting flesh weren’t wasted after all. After what seemed like an eternity of walking through dank halls past cells that reeked of sewage they finally reached the guard room, and the way out. The room was windowless like the rest of the dungeon, but it had a fire place where the guards burnt scented herbs to keep the stench out. Across the room stood the guard with Mahk’s room key and Bloam, a greasy smile smeared across his jowly face.

“Ah, I am losing my pretty Mahk again.” His crooked stained teeth poked out at odd angles as he leered. “Shame, I hain’t had a chance to visit since Kinnen blasted-out.” He scratched his groin and continued, “But I didn’t want to give you the opportunity your friend missed.”

Skip walked over to the other guard and retrieved the key while Mahk faced his personal demon and tormentor. “You shoulda beat me dead, Bloam.”

“Nah, what’s the fun’in that?” He winked a pale eye lewdly, “I like you better alive. But from what I hear, you won’t be that way for long. Mores the shame.”

“Oh?”

“Oh ho! Your little dirt-licker friend dinna tell you your mission, eh?” Glee filled his jiggling face. “Well, I won’t ruin the boss’s fun then. You wanna give me a good bye kiss, since this will be the last time we meet?”

“Naw, naw. I got something else for yah,” Mahk said, then hocked phlegm up into his mouth.

“Oh, go for it, for old-time’s sake. Dragon’s dung! I won’t even beat yah for it,” Bloam stated as he leaned his face forward to give Mahk a clear target. Fool.

Mahk spat his phlegm out in a tight stream and suddenly, a moment before it touched Bloam’s face, it solidified into ice and accelerated and blasted its way through Bloam’s head like an arrow through an overripe melon.

About David

I'm a writer. This is my blog.
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