A Liar In Heaven

Tobias Amos slid the knife into the drawers, stealing a quick look back. He stared at his hands in dismay; it was as red as the sweet chilli sauce Mama bought a day earlier.

‘Where are you, Tobias?’

Mama’s voice bellowed a few yards away. He scanned the room in nanoseconds; saw the red gown Mama loved wearing on special occasions hanging loosely on the sparsely filled wardrobe. He dashed towards it, yanked it off the rails, wrapping it delicately around his crimson fingers, allowing the blood to soak through, his eyes the colour of a limpid pool.

He closed his eyes and was transported to the events of eighty-six thousand four hundred seconds earlier. He could feel the knife ripping through the supple milky flesh, the bones cracked, the gurgles of blood splintered about the basement like the paintings of Michelangelo. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down his long scrawny neck.

Mama entered the tiny room, she took in everything, the deranged look on her son’s face belied the calmness she felt. Tobias Amos stood still like a statue, watching his mother’s reaction.

There was an uneasy silence.

‘What have you done?’ She asked in an icy tone, her hands shaking uncontrollably.

There was no answer. He kept his eyes down, all the feeling of conquest and elation he’d felt had evaporated like a mist in the night.

‘Tobias Amos, what have you done?’ This time, Mama inched closer, towering over her whimpering son, whose bravado had dissipated…

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I haven’t written for quite a while but today, this just came pouring out. I have lots of manuscripts I’m working on, and lumping this with other unfinished projects is a mammoth task. However, I don’t believe in letting a good story plot go to waste. We’ll see how this goes!

I hope you’ll all have a wonderful weekend. I’ve visited several websites and blogs, if I haven’t been to yours, please bear with me, I’ll touch base soon.

Much love friends!

:):)

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Poor, Poor Writers…

 

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I came across this interesting and revealing article from my publisher’s website, Arrow Gate Publishing, and I know I just have to post this. Read on, and when you see a book, or any creative work for that matter, do know that a lot goes into the final work.

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                                                                    Writers And The Unpredictability Of Their Profession!

A new article by Alison Flood of theguardian.com has created divided opinions. She painted a very gloomy picture of the pittance authors make from their trade and she reveals that, ‘figures show the vast majority of authors, both traditionally and self-published, are struggling to make a living from their work.’

Astonishingly, she is right, and as a publisher dedicated to getting the right book out to readers, our roles seems interwoven. Are we taking a gamble in this unpredictable business? Or just doing it because we love the written word? The answer is simple, we love writers and their stories. It is a noble but lonely profession, where writers could hole up in a room for several months trying to put the thoughts in their heads to life.

The words of this article are not necessarily our opinion, however, it is a compelling read at the same time. Please enjoy!

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The publishing industry has never been so sharply divided. In the week when the erotica writer Sylvia Day signed a staggering eight-figure two-book deal with St Martin’s Press, a survey reveals that 54% of traditionally-published authors and almost 80% of go-it-alone writers are making less than $1,000 (£600) a year.

More than 9,000 writers, from aspiring authors to seasoned pros, took part in the 2014 Digital Book World and Writer’s Digest Author Survey, presented at this week’s Digital Book World conference. The survey divided the 9,210 respondents into four camps: aspiring, self-published only, traditionally-published only, and hybrid (both self-published and traditionally-published). More than 65% of those who filled out the survey described themselves as aspiring authors, with 18% self-published, 8% traditionally-published and 6% saying they were pursuing hybrid careers.

Just over 77% of self-published writers make $1,000 or less a year, according to the survey, with a startlingly high 53.9% of traditionally-published authors, and 43.6% of hybrid authors, reporting their earnings are below the same threshold. A tiny proportion – 0.7% of self-published writers, 1.3% of traditionally published, and 5.7% of hybrid writers – reported making more than $100,000 a year from their writing. The profile of the typical author in the sample was “a commercial fiction writer who might also write non-fiction and who had a project in the works that might soon be ready to publish”, according to the report.

Fortunately only a minority of respondents listed making money as “extremely important” – around 20% of self-published writers, and about a quarter of traditionally-published authors. But authors’ top priority was not divorced from commercial concerns, with around 56% of self-pubbers, and almost 60% of traditional authors, judging it “extremely important” to “publish a book that people will buy”.

According to the report’s co-author and Digital Book World editorial director Jeremy Greenfield, the report confirms the finding that “authors of all stripes, but particularly self-published authors, don’t earn huge sums of money doing what they do”.

“Most authors write because they want to share something with the world or gain recognition of some sort,” Greenfield said. “There are, of course, outliers. The top 2% or so of authors make a good living and the most successful authors – including self-published authors – make a tremendous amount of money.”

“The question of money is a tricky one,” agreed Greenfield’s co-author, professor Dana Weinberg. “Publishing a book for sale is a matter of both art and commerce. I would argue that for most writers publishing is not only about money; it’s about a lot of other things including touching readers and sharing stories, but the money is important in a lot of ways.”

The dream of quitting the day job to pursue writing is only a reality for a tiny fraction of writers, she continued. “Writing good books is a big time commitment, as much for many writers in the survey as a part-time job, and income gives writers something to show their family and friends for all of their effort and hard work. Some writers are looking for validation, and in the world of self-publishing, where you don’t have the prestige of being chosen by a press, the money is a tangible and rewarding substitute. While writers aren’t motivated purely by money, the money does matter on many levels. The high royalty rates in self-publishing also give writers higher expectations about their potential income.”

So too, do success stories like that of Day, who originally self-published her erotic novel Bared to You, or the author Hugh Howey, who sold hundreds of thousands of copies of his dystopian novel Wool himself on Amazon before landing a publisher. But according to Howey, the survey casts self-publishing in too gloomy a light.

“This survey does not capture the fact that self-publishing is going through a renaissance,” Howey said. “It expects a group of authors with two or three years of experience and market maturity to line up against the top 1% of authors who have had several generations’ head start. Remember that not all books that go the traditional route are counted here, just the few who get published. Meanwhile, every self-published book is tallied.”

For Howey, self-publishing plays a vital role by allowing writers to “hone” their skills. “I would say the results of this survey cloud how nearly impossible it is to make a single cent through traditional publishing (because only the top 1% who ‘make it’ are tallied). The simple fact is this: getting paid for your writing is not easy. But self-publishing is making it easier. How much easier? We don’t have sufficient data to know. But a conservative estimate would be that five to 10 times as many people are paying bills with their craft today as there was just a few years ago. And that should be celebrated.”

NP: Well done if you managed to read this article, would love to know your thoughts! 🙂 Now, back light-hearted matters, Valentine is around the corner, but my husband says that everyday is supposed to be ‘lovers day,’ and I think he’s right! 🙂 I hope you would have a great time.

Have a pleasant weekend my friends. Much love, always!

🙂 🙂

Here Is It!

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”THE BIG clock in Ilford town centre in East London resounded at seven in the evening. The town centre was still bustling with shoppers when a glittering black GMC 4×4 slid past the shoppers and came to a screeching halt at Cranbrook road, a few miles from the town centre. Three men got out of the jeep and dashed into the Golden Oaks pub, brandishing AK-47 assault rifles.

 The pub was packed full of people that cool Wednesday evening, and the men heralded a tense atmosphere as they barged in. There were muted gasps from everyone. Aaron Cohen was among the throng of people in the pub. Instantly, he knew they were looking for him.

A woman stifled a sob and her whimpering grated on Aaron’s nerves. Slowly, he slipped his face cap down to hide his identity: it would do him good to stay hidden.

There was complete silence.”

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Well friends, here’s the cover of my new supernatural thriller due for release on Dec 16th, I’m spellbound by the cover, and I want to appreciate you all for your love and kindness. I mentioned all my awesome blogger friends on the ‘Acknowledgement section,’ of the book. The novel would be available worldwide, wherever books are sold.

My publisher is ready to release Advance Review Copies (but PDF) at this point in time. Please if you’re on Goodreads or have an amazon account, and you’re interested in reviewing this novel before the launching day, please contact me on this email address: seyisandradavid@gmail.com and I’ll respond with a digital copy.

It’s been hectic on my end (always so), I’ll be moving house in a couple of days… yes, I’m excited but scared of the mammoth work staring me in the face. After all this, I’ll go for a week’s holiday and the only thing I’ll be doing is watching films and blogging.

I love you all and hope you’ll enjoy the rest of this cold week. To my friends who are still battling with that freaky storm in the US, I wish you peace and safety.

Much love, always. 🙂

The Piano

My son came home from school today and told me about this short animation they watched at school. While he recounted the story to me, he had tears in his eyes. I was moved but thought nothing of it. Then before he went to bed, he took my laptop and showed me the animation.

Well, I listened to it and had tears in my eyes too.

It was a very moving story about a man, who lost his wife, friend, son and was only left with his grandson. In all honesty, I couldn’t explain this story using mere words, but I guess if you listen to the music you’ll understand it.

A wise man once said, ”Life is a song – sing it. Life is a game – play it. Life is a challenge –  meet it. Life is a dream – realize it. Life is a sacrifice – offer it. Life is  love – enjoy it.” Sai Baba

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This week, I hope you’ll all sing life’s song, meet life’s challenges, play life’s game, realise your dreams, offer sacrifices of love and above all, love and enjoy your life!!

Have a great week everyone!

Much love, always!

🙂

Stranded At Santum Close (4)

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(Photo credit: jtkunley)

The man fell down with a  heavy swoop, hitting the ground like a bomb, his eyes turned red and Linda screamed, staring at her assailant in shock.

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A day after Linda’s disappearance, Gordon was desperate to find answers and he decided to check his wife’s things. He rummaged through the contents of the drawers in their room as sweat poured from his agitated body in torrents. He threw his wife’s clothes on the floor, looking around with a deranged glint in his eyes and swore softly under his breath. His gaze swept the room clean and he shook his head in despair, he was sure he had checked everywhere.

Eliza appeared at the doorway with arms akimbo and his demeanour spelt trouble but Gordon was not in the mood for his arguments.

‘Dad, what do you think you’re doing?’

Gordon sighed in defeat and answered, ‘I am looking for clues son, anything that could show me what to do!’ Eliza considered that, came inside the room, then sat down on the bed.

‘I found mom’s diary on the table when she left for work yesterday, she must have forgotten it, you might find some answers there.’ ‘Eliza said quietly, his eyes sad. Gordon took the blue diary from him and held it to his heart.

‘Thanks son, I’ll see if I can find anything in it.’

Eliza nodded and left the room and the next thing Gordon heard was a deafening sound as gunshots erupted outside his bedroom, he heard stomping footsteps and his heart broke into a million fragments.  Disregarding his own safety, Gordon bolted out of the room after his son, but it was too late. Eliza was lying on the corridor with blood pouring out of his chest wound.

‘No!!!’ Gordon yelled and held his son close to his chest, weeping uncontrollably. He gently laid him back, ran into his room, yanked open the door of his walk in wardrobe, picked up one of his semi automatic rifles, and strode out of his room, darting downstairs but there was no one around. Minutes later, sounds of siren tore down his street and Gordon finally realized, that  his life was rapidly going downhill.

Three police officers alighted from their cars, their gloomy eyes suggested they hated the sight of the grief ridden man whose house had become accursed.

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I appreciate everyone who has followed this story thus far, the culminating part would be posted next week. Do continue to enjoy the rest of your week!

Much love, always. 🙂

Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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‘What in heaven’s name are you screaming about?’

My dad asked harshly, his eyes going a shade darker, turning blue, then white and finally yellow.

Is my father an enemy? I thought sadly as my insides itched with desperation. I’m consumed with grief, and my days were at an end. I called to Hades but he refused my plea for death.

‘Can’t help you young lady, I am under strict instruction to let you be,’ he said with a certain amount of pity. First time I’d seen him shown any feelings for me.  You see, I had to work with him, since I’ve realised how important, he was to my job.

I bet you don’t know what I’m rambling about but I guess you’ll have to wait a while for Seyi Sandra to tell my story, but I do need help, I don’t want to stay hidden forever…

Seyi  Sandra is playing with my fate, say, can you help?

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Hey dear friends, how are you? I’m terribly busy and out of the blues, I remembered ‘TIME’ the story I whipped up ages ago about a nineteen year old girl fighting against an invisible enemy. Now, I’m at a cross road, I’ve got the gut feeling to self-publish ‘TIME’ as a short story but ArrowGate  (my publisher) is interested in publishing it as a full length novel, (I’m gonna write it first, I’ve written a couple of thousand words now) and not a short story. I have another novel coming out in a couple of months. What should I do?

Here’s a recap of the first draft of the story here: https://seyisandradavid.org/2012/11/21/time/

By the way, I own the rights to that IMAGE and I did the cover myself while playing around with Photoshop.

What think ye?

Much love, always!

Your friend,

Seyi Sandra David. 🙂

Are Writers Seers Or Plain Old Liars?

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It’s strange really, but I do tend to write stories that has a poignantly close resemblance to reality. When I wrote ‘The Feet Of Darkness,’ I wasn’t setting out to save the world but just believed that love can truly work its magic on a vengeful heart. But how some events has played recently, got me thinking – some people would not respond, even if you heap a universe load of love on them.

Someone once called me a liar, in his words,

‘Writers believed they have a complete knowledge of the human psyche, how people behave, what they might do, how they might react, but writers are plain old liars.’

I asked him to expatiate but he scoffed and left me staring hard at his retreating back. I didn’t know what to make of his assertion and I didn’t bother to try. Two days later, I was having my lunch break when my friend wobbled to my side and snatched my sandwich, I was furious.

‘Hey,’ I yelled, ‘bring that back!’

Nope,’ he refused, daring me to charge after him, after weighing my options, I declined and watched open-mouthed as he gobbled it down, belched, and patted his stomach, then left.

When I got home, I wrote a very good story, based on my experience, I didn’t tell my friend that he was the source of my inspiration but his behaviour helped my creative quest. I simply conjure up a character that bore a close resemblance to him. Now, did I lie? No! Spice it up a bit? Oh, I sure did.

My upcoming novel, Cydonia, Rise Of The Fallen was written about four years ago. I just dumped it in my library when I couldn’t get a publisher. That’s all ancient history now, but the events in that book was played out in the Vatican a few months ago. And believe me, I was shocked. When People read ‘Cydonia,’ I’m sure there would be lots of comments about the story line and plot.

In my opinion, I don’t think writers are liars, we just write from deep within, our writings may be significant, or not, but we can’t seem to do any thing else. It’s my pleasure writing this post.

Thanks for reading.

Much love, always!

🙂 🙂