So what's the latest in the world of Jeffrey Aaron Miller? Oh, numerous things. Let's see. I've got an editor and a publication date for Children of the Mechanism. February 13, 2014 is the date on which you will be able to read about Bik, Hen, Kuo and Ekir and their various harrowing adventures with Watchers, the Grong, the Master and mysterious purple stones. Doesn't that sound fascinating and vague? I've included a few unedited opening paragraphs below for your perusal.
October is set to be a busy month for me. I've got a few school gigs going on around the state. Writing workshops and book readings, mostly. I will also be participating in the Northwest Arkansas Author Book Fair at the Springdale Library on Saturday, October 5 from 2-4pm, so head on over if you can. Also, I might be heading to Chicago for some training related to another job about which I daren't yet speak.
In other news, I am filling in the financial gaps with SEO content writing. Since I have the ability to churn out thousands of words a day, I figured I might as well put it to use while the momentum continues to build for my novels.
Anywho, for those of you who are curious about Children of the Mechanism, here are the opening paragraphs to wet your whistle:
The blare of the morning alarm always started in his
dreams, sometimes as a monster screaming, sometimes as a boy talking to him,
sometimes as a strange noise rising up out of the Refuse Hole like a siren
song. Then it followed him through the stages of waking and finally, as he
opened his eyes in the dim, red light, he heard it echoing off the metal walls,
a singular note, high and harsh.
On that particular morning, the morning when everything first
went wrong, Bik’s limbs felt sore, so he dared to linger for a few seconds,
gazing up at the ceiling. He had rolled off his bed mat in the night, and the
cold floor was beneath him. He heard boys moving all around, stifling yawns,
stretching, moaning and sniffing and coughing.
The rumble of the Watcher’s wheels finally roused him,
and he sat up. Bik saw it out of the corner of his eye, that lumbering shape.
The Watcher entered the Sleeping Room through the archway, returning from
whatever strange errand it had been about, and stopped in a corner near the Refuse
Hole. A boy relieving himself quickly finished and dashed away.
The Watcher had
a shiny, cylindrical body, fat wheels for feet, a flat, circular head with dead
eyes, but it was the arms that mattered most, long
segmented arms made of polished metal rods with cloth bulbs for hands. Those
were the killing hands, and they were ever poised, ready to strike.
“One minute until work,” the Watcher said. “One minute.”
There you go. That's your only tender sampling for now. More to follow in the coming months.
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