Update on Print Books of Soulwoven: Exile

Hello, dearest readers!

I know many of you are waiting for the print version of Soulwoven: Exile, so I wanted to give you a quick update. There have been delays at the printer and delays on account of holiday shipping, so the books are going to be late. I'm as disappointed about it as you are, but there it is.

The book should be ready next week, but it won't be available in time for Christmas, and there's a chance it won't be available until the end of the year.

In the meantime, you can get the e-book now! I know it's small consolation for those of you who wanted to get or give a big, beautiful, paper book this year, but it's the best I've got to offer.

Yours in ink and chocolate,
Jeff

Why Wattpad?

I get a lot of questions from other authors about why I have work up on Wattpad. The most common is, "What do you get out of it?"

I've answered that in bits and pieces before. I get encouragement and feedback. I get to test stories before I decide what kind of a budget to set when I publish them. I get fans.

But Wattpad recently rolled out a new feature that will let me show you the primary thing I get in a way I haven't been able to before.

This is a map that shows where the Wattpad readers of Soulwoven are from. Darker countries have contributed a greater share of readers. White countries have contributed none.

And this is what I get.

Not the map. Bla bla business intelligence, yes, there's some information that's economically useful there, but it's not important.

The darkest country on this map is a place I can (and do) reach by self-publishing. But there are also a lot of countries on this map that I can't reach that way. Maybe most importantly, there aren't that many countries on this map with no shading.

Think about that for a second. Someone has read my writing in almost every country on Earth.

How many people in human history have ever been able to say that?

So the next time someone asks me, "Why Wattpad?" I will point them here with great happiness.

Soulwoven: Exile is OUT!

Ta-da! Today is LAUNCH day! Soulwoven: Exile is out in e-book form. The print version is nearly complete as well; I expect it to be ready next week.

In the meantime, a quick rundown of some of the launch-time fun things you can enjoy.

• The Speculative Post gave it a fantastic review and hosted a guest post from yours truly on why it's a problem when the black guy dies.
• Susan Spann let me take over her blog for a day to talk about why mystery and fantasy get along so well together.
• The launch contest is in full effect, so get reading and reviewing for a chance at that hand-annotated copy!
• The first book has had its price dropped to $0.99 so new readers can get up to speed quickly.

I'll add more to this post as they crop up. There are some other guest-posty type things coming down the pipe.

One more time: you can buy it here. Tell your friends! Leave reviews! Share it on social media! Buy everyone a copy for Christmas! It's a Soulwoven spectacular!

And more seriously, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy it.

The Soulwoven: Exile KICK-ASS COPY Contest!

Alright, dearest readers. It's time for a post of BIG NEWS!

Namely, I'm running a book launch contest for Soulwoven: Exile!

One of the most popular rewards among my Kickstarter backers was a kick-ass personalized copy of SOULWOVEN. These books were signed, and they had doodles and notes in them written and drawn by yours truly---one-of-a-kind additions to the text that were completely unique. Notes about the creation of scenes and where they came from, little scribbles of the way things look in my brain, that kind of thing.

They looked like this (click to embiggen):

I'm going to make one of these copies of Soulwoven: Exile and offer it as a reward to one of the first people to read and review the e-book.

Here's how you can get your hands on it:

1.) Pre-order the e-book of Soulwoven: Exile on Amazon.com (or buy it before Dec. 31).

2.) Read it.

3.) Leave a review of the book on Amazon that includes the words "I received a chance at a free print copy of the book in return for leaving an unbiased review."

That's it. I'll contact the winning reviewer via a response to their Amazon review in January, after the contest ends. Cool contest image below (share it far and wide!). Legalese at the bottom of the post.

I hope you guys enjoy! I love making these one-off books for people, and I can't wait to hear what you all think of Exile!

-Jeff


Legalese:

To be eligible to win, you must be at least 18 years old and live or have a mailing address in the US or Canada. No purchase necessary to win. To enter without purchasing, e-mail pr@jeff-seymour.com to receive a five-chapter electronic sample of Soulwoven: Exile for review. Other entry requirements apply. Odds of winning vary with entries received. One entry per household. One winner will be drawn at random from eligible reviews.

All Hallow's Write 2014 - Horrid Little Nocturnes

So this year I thought I'd try something different for All Hallow's Write. I didn't have anything long and harrowing, like What Lies in Darkness, in me again, for a variety of reasons. Once you read the end of Soulwoven: Exile, you might understand why. I'm also in the middle of a campaign of Getting Enough Sleep that has done wonders for my mental health, and I judged that staying on that horse was more important than staying up all night tonight.

So, something different.

I haven't written poetry with the intent of sharing it since college, and I'm not much of a poet. I've got a vague idea of what the tools are, but little worked out in terms of how to use them.

Nevertheless, I have an imagination, and it can be wicked, and I have done my best to let it loose tonight.

So enjoy. Here are several short poems, some horrid little nocturnes, the result of my All Hallow's Write 2014.

Night Terrors

They come at night.

All these little horrors.

Broken-glass knives peeling

open my scalp, coercing my mind.

I shiver, scratch

and wait and wake

and toss and turn

and flail and gnash

while the darkness grows deeper

and the turn-bottle nasties turn over the graves

of dead dreads

and birth them anew.

In the morning they’re gone.

But each leaves new scars.

Deeper.

And deeper.

Like dead flesh on a stained-purple heart

after cardiac arrest.

The Blue People

They say it’s cold after death, but

the blue people know they’re wrong.

It’s not your warmth they want.

It’s breath they need, vitality,

and so they choose to stay.

Hover over you dreamers,

suck life from your lips,

eyes shut in ecstatic aspiration.

You never see them.

But when you wake, they scream.

Under the Ice

There are things (they are waiting)

Down under the ice.

Goggle-eyed

Frog-toed.

While you slide along they float,

suspended in timeless misery,

aching for a moment’s touch.

Their fingers track you, carefully,

slip along the too-smooth ceiling of their world.

One crack, dear child, one crack.

And you’ll be down to join them.

Behind the Stars

There are watchers out behind the stars.

And not the ones you’d think.

No green men in shining ships,

with beams or rays or probes.

These are much worse.

The things out there are eldritch terrors

hid beyond the sky.

That dome of black is paper-thin.

Beyond it? Crawling, awful things.

The stars their eyes,

their grasping fingers made of gravitons.

And the dark sky-shards

that burn between the clouds?

Slivers of their fingernails,

breaking as they claw the night.

At the Heart of the Machine

No one knows what lies

at the heart of the machine.

We make our theorems, call them true,

but truth lies out of reach.

A misplaced variable.

One coefficient, slightly warped.

In these things lives the machine’s soul,

a broke-faced golem, shattered eyeballs of black

gaping nothing.

And inside the heart of that machine?

We run, little rats on moebius treadmills.

Devils behind us, urging.

Whipping.

Flaying our backs if we fall.

Imagine now.

One slip.

One trip.

And the cat o’ nine tails rips your back

with long-stick needles of rusted-nail teeth.

Leaving you,

bleeding,

at the heart of the machine.

--

Happy Halloween, everybody!

For the Locker: Maggie Gyllenhaal on Performing Ourselves

There are a number of reasons my blog posts have been sporadic lately. I've been wrestling with demons, and that takes up a lot of time and head space. It's tough to blog in the face of that.

So here's a little snippet for the locker. It's from an interview TIME Magazine did with Maggie Gyllenhaal.

"I relate to panic sometimes. One of the things that's happening to [my character] is that she's going from being somebody who performs all the time and feels that she has to be extraordinary to somebody is actually a human being. [...] I think it's something all human beings can relate to---performing themselves, thinking they're supposed to be what they imagined they were going to be when they were 20."

I found it comforting. I hope you do as well.

Soulwoven: Exile is Up for Pre-Order!

Hello, dearest readers!

tl;dr Soulwoven: Exile up for pre-order on Amazon, releases 12/12/14; Survey up about creating Soulwoven audiobook.

Two news items for you today folks, and they’re big ones!

FIRST!

Soulwoven: Exile is up on Amazon for pre-order! E-book only for now, but it will launch in that format on December 12, 2014. Hopefully the paper book will be available on the same day, but I won’t know for a little while longer.

Just in time for Christmas! Hope you guys enjoy. And for your pleasure below: cover, blurb, and sneak peek.

Blurb:

Darkness is falling.

The dragon Sherduan is free, and the fate of the world balances on its claws. The Jin brothers and their friends are separated. Alone, they face shadows deeper even than those in their dreams.

Litnig wrestles with his heritage. Cole and Dil cling to shards of happiness as the world crumbles. Quay finds that, in the end, his weakness may outweigh his determination. Ryse and Leramis find in their homecomings not solace but soul-crushing ordeal.

And others enter the stage. Len Heramsun’s daughter follows Tsu’min as he tries to summon a force to oppose Sherduan. A prophet offers guidance to those he can find. In Nutharion, a boy of great power plots to reunite those spared by the dragon. And elsewhere, a ghost and a necromancer contend with the wages of sin.

Those who stood before the black wall when Sherduan was summoned were chosen. But by whom? And for what?

And will their courage create enough light to break through the darkness?

Sneak Peak!

ONE

One hundred days before the destruction of Nutharion City

The black rocks rose.

The black rocks fell.

The black rocks rose.

The black rocks fell.

“It’s not working,” Cole muttered into his sleeves.

He leaned on the railing of an old Aleani fishing vessel. The sea frothed and heaved. A wide, taut sail snapped and creaked over his head. In front of him, a series of flat rocks bobbed in the waves.

His stomach tumbled and rolled and dropped until he could barely pick out which direction was up anymore.

“Just hang in there,” Dil said. Her hand rubbed slow, gentle circles on his back.

His stomach tried to throw up, but there was nothing in it. He dug his fingernails into the railing and grimaced.

The fit passed, and he let his head slump again.

“I thought they said we’d see land by now.”

“They did.” Dil’s fingers continued their circling. “It’s out beyond the rocks, hidden in the fog.”

Cole raised his head. There was a heavy bank of clouds beyond the flat-topped rocks. He couldn’t see anything inside it other than spots of lighter and darker gray.

“Ugh,” he said.

He put his back against the rail and slid down until he reached the deck. Aleani sailors bustled in front of him in flashes of blue and brown and white. He shut his eyes and pressed his fingers against his temples.

“Do you want some water?” Dil asked.

He nodded, and her feet danced away.

The Aleani had sent a ship, but it hadn’t exactly been what he was hoping for.

The Skellup was maybe forty feet long and ten wide. It was crewed by seven tanned, bearded fishermen from some town in the Aleani borderlands that Cole had never heard of. The ship seemed seaworthy, but it was slow, the area belowdecks was crammed and stank of fish, and there almost always seemed to be somebody working its bilge pump.

Only the captain spoke any Eldanian. When Quay asked why the Skellup had been sent to find them, the red-capped Aleani had spit over the side of the ship and muttered about crimes and judgment.

Cole wondered what sort of welcome they’d get when they reached Du Fenlan.

The wind raced over his neck, and he shivered.

He felt squashed and adrift, as if all the months of pent-up change that had started with Litnig’s dream were crashing down on him all at once. He no longer had a mother, no longer had a home, no longer had the thieves who’d been his adopted family for so long.

All he had left was Litnig, Dil, and Quay, and Litnig was changing too. There were times that Cole looked in his eyes and couldn’t find the brother he’d grown up with.

Those times scared him.

A lot.

Thunder grumbled in the northern sky. Cole felt a storm coming, even over his pulsing nausea. The air was getting heavier. The wind ripped like a wild beast out of the endless ocean.

Dil’s footsteps returned.

“Here,” she said.

Cole took a cup of water from her and sipped it. He hadn’t been able to keep more than the thinnest broth down at sea, and his body was starting to feel weak and jittery.

The wind picked up again, and a curtain of frigid spray blew into his face.

“You sure you don’t want to head below?” Dil asked.

Cole stifled the urge to shake his head—doing that would set it spinning for minutes.

“No,” he said. “It’s better out here.”

He looked up. Dil’s eyes glowed golden against the gray river of clouds behind her. Her dark hair, matted and caked with sea salt and dirt, swirled in the wind.

“You know,” he said with a smile, “your head looks like a charging octopus.”

Dil grinned and rubbed his arm. “Yeah? Well your face looks like a dead one.”

Cole laughed. Behind Dil, three Aleani sailors and the captain broke into a shouting match. A gust of wind shook the sail and spattered him with water.

“How’re the others?” Cole asked.

Dil shrugged and settled down next to him. “Same as they’ve been. Litnig’s grumpy. Leramis and Ryse are whispering. Quay’s a million miles away. Tsu’min isn’t talking to anybody.”

Cole finished off the water in his cup and sighed. “How far are we from Du Nordt?”

“Still a few days, if the wind holds. Quay says we’re passing between Patch’s Fingers and the Bay of Reeds.”

Great, Cole thought. He’d heard stories about the Aleani expedition to colonize the Bay of Reeds. All lost but a few. Famine. Cannibalism. Disease. He shivered and stood up to look back over the rail. This time he spotted hazy strips of land swimming in the clouds—a stripe of light colors that might signify a beach, a darker line that was probably forest beyond, and mountains disappearing into the gray cotton of the sky to the southwest.

We’re too close, he thought.

As if he’d called it, a gust of wind hit the ship and knocked it toward the rocks. His stomach leaped into his throat. More shouting erupted from the Aleani.

Cole’s cup clattered to the deck, and he braced himself against the railing with both hands.

After a moment, the ship stopped pitching any more than usual. His stomach settled and he turned back around. Next to him, Dil peered into the wind, her nose high in the air like she was sniffing for something.

Cole thought he might be able to see the storm. A line of cloud darker than the rest masked the northern horizon. Rain, probably. Lots of it, falling hard. It was moving toward them.

“Yenor’s balls,” he muttered.

The wind got worse, and the ship rolled sickeningly to port. Cole clutched the railing and stared at the horizon, willing his guts to calm down.

Voices speaking Eldanian broke the air behind him.

“—don’t really care right now, Lit. I want to find out what the heck—”

“How long did you keep it from me, Ryse? Who else did you tell?”

The second voice was his brother’s, and it sounded angry.

Cole followed the sound and found Litnig, Ryse, Quay, and Leramis exiting the staircase that led belowdecks. Quay strode to the aft castle of the ship, where the Aleani captain was standing next to his pilot at the wheel, looking nervously at the rocks to portside and the storm to starboard.

Ryse made to follow him, but Litnig held her back. “Who else knew, Ryse? Who else did you tell?” The wind picked up, but his voice cut through it. His face was getting flushed. His eyes flashed.

Nine-tailed, stepdancing hells, Cole thought. He stumbled his way across the deck.

“Did you tell him?” Litnig thundered. He jerked a thumb toward Leramis.

Ryse looked at her feet.

That seemed to say enough for Litnig.

“Yenor’s eyes, Ryse!” He ran a hand through his hair and grabbed a tuft of it. “Why didn’t you trust me? Why didn’t you—”

The ship rolled to port again, and Litnig stumbled into Cole.

Litnig outweighed him by a solid eighty pounds, but Cole had always been good at leveraging his weight. Even the sea couldn’t take that from him. He caught Litnig and wrapped his arms around him.

“Easy, Lit,” he said. The ship righted and his head tried to turn a somersault, but he controlled it. “Calm down, all right? Just calm…”

Litnig turned his head. His hair had grown long and shaggy, and his cloud-colored eyes were red-rimmed and underlined with shadows. “Cole,” he growled, “stay out of this.”

Cole squeezed. It was the same thing Litnig had done to their father at least a dozen times.

He hoped Lit would get the message.

“Cole—”

Cole squeezed tighter.

“I’m warning you, Cole. Don’t—”

A few fat drops of rain struck Cole across the face. The storm clouds were growing closer. The rain began to drum against the deck. The wind shoved them toward the rocks.

None of that mattered. He couldn’t control it. He couldn’t even affect it. All he could do was hold on to his brother, and if he was very lucky, make him listen. “Lit,” Cole said as quietly as he could, “do you remember when ’Ta would get mad?”

Litnig’s muscles bunched underneath Cole’s fingertips. “Don’t talk to me about ’Ta,” he growled. “You don’t understand, Cole. You don’t…”

“So tell me,” Cole said. His arms were starting to get tired.

Litnig mumbled something.

“What?”

“I said, ‘I can’t!’” Litnig roared. He lowered his hips and broke free of Cole’s grip. His elbow slammed into Cole’s gut and sent him stumbling backward.

As he did, the ship rolled to port again, deeper than it had before.

Cole scrambled to keep his balance. His arms wheeled. The ship rolled deeper, and he found himself staring upward and northward into the darkening sky. Litnig reached for him, but he was too far away, and Cole was falling toward the portside rail, falling toward the sea—

He crashed into something warm. Something just about his size. Something that grabbed at his arm and yelped as it was knocked into the ocean in his place.

The Skellup righted itself and began to climb another swell. The wind screamed. Cole turned in a slow circle.

Dil was gone.

It took a second for him to register the fact.

Dil was gone.

There was a warm place on his shoulder where he’d crashed into her. He craned his head over the side of the ship, but the swells were so high he couldn’t spot her.

Gone, he thought again. The word didn’t seem real.

He faced his brother. Litnig’s eyes shone wide and panicked. His face had gone from flushed to ghastly pale.

The Aleani shouted and heaved and pulled at things. The storm grew fiercer. Another wave struck the ship.

Cole shivered in the wind and the rain, and then he began to move.

He spotted a coil of unused rope hanging by the stairs to the aft castle. Not too heavy, not too light. Enough to hold his weight but not drag him down. He picked up one end. It felt old and coarse.

Everyone was talking, but he didn’t care.

Dil was gone.

He fumbled numbly to tie the rope around his waist.

He used good knots. Climbing knots that had borne his weight as he scrambled up stone walls in Thieves’ Rise. He handed Litnig the other end of the rope.

“Cole…” said Litnig.

Cole stepped toward the portside railing. His body still felt shaky and weak, but that hardly mattered anymore.

Litnig’s hand landed on his shoulder, pulling him back, keeping him on the ship, keeping him from Dil.

Something inside Cole snapped.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” he shouted. He whirled around, elbow first, harder than he meant to, harder than he’d hit Lit since they were kids. There was a heavy crack. A dark red welt formed under Litnig’s left eye.

Litnig let go and reached for his injured cheek. Cole spun around. The ship rolled and heaved. His stomach tried to jump out of his throat.

Cole ran forward, planted one foot on top of the railing, and leaped into the sea.

It was an ugly dive, and his face hit the water with a cold, wet slap. His chest contracted, but he’d spent enough time in thrice-damned freezing water not to lose his breath or his head anymore. He didn’t sink too deep, and soon he was back on top of the salty swells, treading water and sucking in breath while the wind sent drops of spray skittering along the heaving ocean surface.

“Dil!” he screamed into the storm. The Skellup’s low, rolling gait had already taken it past him. He took a few strokes away from the ship, keeping the rocks to his right. The swells pulled at him more strongly than he’d expected them to. He bobbed six or eight feet up and down with every one. The cold sapped what strength was left in his arms and legs.

“Dil!” he screamed again.

The water churned in dark, angry mountains. The rope around his waist played out foot by foot. He kicked and pulled and spat and shouted.

“Dil!”

A voice called out in return, far to his right. Toward the rocks. The water swelled, and for a moment he was on top of everything.

He spotted a dot in the water near one of the rocks.

Cole’s legs scissored, and he swam as fast and as hard as his numbing body would take him. The line stretched out. The rock drew closer, even as his face lost feeling and the outsides of his arms and legs grew rubbery. When he was on the crests of the waves, he saw that the dot was coming out to meet him. It grew closer, closer, larger, larger. No longer a dot but a person. No longer a person but Dil.

He’d almost reached her when the line caught around his hips and dragged him backward.

He cursed and shoved down on the rope belt as it took him underwater. It didn’t budge. His knots were strong.

Cole rolled over. His head broke the surface again, but he was on his back, not swimming but trolling through the water like a worm on the end of a fishing line. The cold, briny sea filled his mouth. He spat it out and spotted Dil in front of him. She was just out of reach, struggling through the chop. She looked worried, and she was getting farther away. She wouldn’t catch him, couldn’t catch him—

His fingers closed around the handle of his knife.

Cold, confused calculations ran drunkenly through his brain. He pulled the knife.

He cut the rope.

It didn’t take much. He slid the blade back and forth twice, and then he was free—no longer being dragged anywhere but with the current. The frayed end of the rope skimmed across the tops of the waves and flew beyond his reach.

Arms grasped his shoulders. Legs kicked next to his in the waves. He turned to face them.

Dil wrapped her arms around him. Her eyes shone a bright, lustrous gold. “Cole—why?” she whispered.

Cole kicked to stay above the churning surf. The wind whipped sheets of spray into his eyes. A sheet of lightning forked across the bottoms of the clouds.

“I love you,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

As if it solved everything. As if it solved anything.

They floated together, a mile or more offshore, a mile or more from safety, surrounded by wind and water and black, jagged rocks.

And filled by desperate, flickering love.

Thanks for reading! Pre-order here!

SECOND bit of news!

I’m going to make an audiobook of Soulwoven. I’ve gotten a lot of interest from people I talk to at signings and conferences, but I also want to poll you the hardcore fans so that I can make sure you get what you want. To that end, I’ve put together a quick survey about your audiobook preferences. If you’ve got a minute, fill it out and let me know what you’re after!

That’s all for now, friends and readers. Thanks as always for being the wind in my sails. I am so, so excited about Exile. It’s the best thing I’ve ever written, hands-down. It’s tighter, deeper, darker, and more beautiful than the first book was. Early readers have been excited about it, and I hope you will be too. I can’t wait to get it to you. :-)

Yours in sweat and ink as always,

Jeff