This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jonah Kruvant will award a randomly drawn commenter via Rafflecopter a $10 Amazon/BN GC plus a copy of his book. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Alas, I sit on the porch of the cabin, where I wrote my book, and am disturbed by the same thoughts I had then, but at least I have the pages I wrote – but is it enough? I should enjoy the success and not sacrifice happiness, but I must also seek something more, discover hidden truths, and write what I must write, for I can do better, and what do we have but time – should we not try to make the most of it? To make our mark, sure, everyone understands that in our modern career-driven existence, but what about giving to others, helping the sick and the poor, fighting for justice, teaching our youth to have a moral center, and helping the Earth, which we all share? Let us not lose touch, nor forget the many ways we ought to contribute to humanity, and let us learn to recognize that what we do matters, and try to improve this gift we’ve been given, the world, and our ever so precious lives.
And so I write.
READ THE BLURB
In order to prove to the “creators” that he is genuine, Victor writes a manuscript, at great risk to his wife and son. When books are banned and ultimately destroyed, Victor realizes that his book alone has survived. Only then does the reader come to a startling realization in a unique narrative twist.
READ AN EXCERPT
Not long after the Cleansing Act, I was promoted to Detective. I was thirty-four. I had a wife and child to support. A career to pursue. My son wanted things, my wife wanted things; hell, I wanted things. I had worked on the force for thirteen years and it was time I got my detective badge.
That was all I could see back then. I didn’t care about creators.
Then I was assigned to the case. But even before I stepped into the Chief’s office, events began taking shape that marked both the beginning and the end of a new chapter in my life. It was on my way to the police station, wading through the unbearable stench of the dirty human flesh of the Slums, that I began to question things, what I thought I knew about the world … and about myself.
So this is where I start my story. This is where I begin my book.
That day, for whatever reason, I felt conscious of my surroundings. The beggars were pushing each other out of the way to get under awnings and balconies of restaurants and apartments as it started to rain. The restaurants were filled with shattered glass, moldy kitchens. The strongest beggars lived in cramped apartments with cockroaches and termites. The ones that couldn’t find shelter that morning just lay there, shivering from the cold. Some would let raindrops fall from the sky into their open mouths. Two naïve children were chasing each other around bodies and giggling, cleaning dirt out of each other’s hair. The bright lights of the skyscrapers, the swiftness of the skytrain, the convenience of the airpath—all a beggar had to do was look up and he would find himself in a fantastical world of dreams.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
WIN A PRIZE
a Rafflecopter giveaway