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Query
If immortality has taught Conner anything, it’s that getting attached sucks. When he runs into Ronnie – the woman he loved and watched die three thousand years ago – in an L.A. coffee house, he remembers how much it hurts to give a damn.
It devours Conner's soul to find out Ronnie doesn’t know him from a nymph, or anything else about her past, including the fact she assassinated a powerful deity. He's determined to help her figure out why she’s back before he loses her again, but the gods aren’t so patient for her to regain her memory. They believe securing her loyalty means she won’t destroy them, and they won’t hesitate to obliterate anyone who stands in the way of recruiting Ronnie.
Sheltering her from all of Elysium gnaws at Conner’s decision to care as the cut-throat headhunting leaves a trail of casualties in its wake. When Conner realizes how far the conspiracy reaches that made Ronnie’s improbable return possible, he’ll have to choose between sanity, love, and the lives of the people around him, knowing the consequences will haunt him for eternity.
APATHY’S HERO is a 100,000 word contemporary fantasy that will appeal to fans of Neil Gaiman, Margaret Atwood, and Richelle Mead.
First 250 Words
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. Flowery smoke filled Conner’s lungs. The mantra repeated in his head, set to the rhythm of his measured breathing. He’d liked it twenty-five-hundred years ago when Socrates first said it and was still one of the truest things he knew.
A pleasant array of red, gold, and orange silk draped the bamboo walls of the Tibetan monastery, adding to his calm. His meditation was mirrored by the three-dozen or so monks in the shrine room. A pond of dark heads surrounded him, black fuzz decorating every scalp.
He ran his fingers through his own white hair. It had been almost three months since he’d shaved his head, and he kept putting it off. That probably meant it was time to think about going home.
A deafening crack echoed through the shrine and everyone jerked toward the noise. Conner’s eyes grew wide as soldiers flooded through the now shattered doors. His fingers twitched and he considered summoning his bow from the ether. He needed to do something. Buddha certainly wasn’t going to. No god would these days. Followers were renewable resources when they were martyred.
SKS semi-automatics swept the room, barrels pointing at everyone and frantic Chinese filling the space left by the obliterated peace. Conner had picked up a lot of languages over the centuries, but the Mongolian the monks spoke was different enough from the rapid-fire Mandarin of the soldiers that he had a hard time keeping up.
Query
If immortality has taught Conner anything, it’s that getting attached sucks. When he runs into Ronnie – the woman he loved and watched die three thousand years ago – in an L.A. coffee house, he remembers how much it hurts to give a damn.
It devours Conner's soul to find out Ronnie doesn’t know him from a nymph, or anything else about her past, including the fact she assassinated a powerful deity. He's determined to help her figure out why she’s back before he loses her again, but the gods aren’t so patient for her to regain her memory. They believe securing her loyalty means she won’t destroy them, and they won’t hesitate to obliterate anyone who stands in the way of recruiting Ronnie.
Sheltering her from all of Elysium gnaws at Conner’s decision to care as the cut-throat headhunting leaves a trail of casualties in its wake. When Conner realizes how far the conspiracy reaches that made Ronnie’s improbable return possible, he’ll have to choose between sanity, love, and the lives of the people around him, knowing the consequences will haunt him for eternity.
APATHY’S HERO is a 100,000 word contemporary fantasy that will appeal to fans of Neil Gaiman, Margaret Atwood, and Richelle Mead.
First 250 Words
The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing. Flowery smoke filled Conner’s lungs. The mantra repeated in his head, set to the rhythm of his measured breathing. He’d liked it twenty-five-hundred years ago when Socrates first said it and was still one of the truest things he knew.
A pleasant array of red, gold, and orange silk draped the bamboo walls of the Tibetan monastery, adding to his calm. His meditation was mirrored by the three-dozen or so monks in the shrine room. A pond of dark heads surrounded him, black fuzz decorating every scalp.
He ran his fingers through his own white hair. It had been almost three months since he’d shaved his head, and he kept putting it off. That probably meant it was time to think about going home.
A deafening crack echoed through the shrine and everyone jerked toward the noise. Conner’s eyes grew wide as soldiers flooded through the now shattered doors. His fingers twitched and he considered summoning his bow from the ether. He needed to do something. Buddha certainly wasn’t going to. No god would these days. Followers were renewable resources when they were martyred.
SKS semi-automatics swept the room, barrels pointing at everyone and frantic Chinese filling the space left by the obliterated peace. Conner had picked up a lot of languages over the centuries, but the Mongolian the monks spoke was different enough from the rapid-fire Mandarin of the soldiers that he had a hard time keeping up.
