The world is barren and lost. Only the buildings that cast tall shadows remain as the street stand silent, ridden of all human life. But one man still walks, with no knowledge to what happened to the world, the people in it or him. To find the answers he is searching for, the Wanderer must walk a Path that will determine his own fate. One night, while seeking shelter in an abandoned house, the last man on Earth gets a knock on his door.
Is evil just evil? Is good merely good? Or are those sides just a matter of perspective? All people have an agenda, all people search for hope, but only the few have the strength to live it!
The Path exacts a heavy toll, be careful as the price of walking it may be your soul.
We have 3 days and counting and for today’s countdown as promised I am making a giveaway.
The Lonesome Road is my first novel. Far from it, it’s not perfect, nether was my intention to revolutionise the genre. But it is more then you see on the first glance, so don’t trust your eyes when reading the lines in between, but listen to your heart. It starts as a tale of a man, casted into a barren world which looks so familiar, yet so different. Alone he walks the empty streets, trying hard to remember his life before, how he came there or where his fellow humans are. Lost in the world, ridden of all hope, our hero seeks shelter one night in an abandoned house. While he prepares a fire for the cold night, the last man on Earth gets a knock on his door.
Behind those doors lies destiny. Filled with hope and underneath it, misery, fear and long lost forgotten curse of a heart. Will he trust his senses and logic or will he come to peace with his pain? One thing is for sure, his Path he will walk and it’s a treacherous one, filled with secrets that break the mind and twist the already broken heart. As behind those doors, behind the truth of this world is a menacing evil that knows his true name.
But as the adventure goes on, we will see the book is much more then that, it speaks about important issues such as depression, humanity and how we act as a species, is there still good in us and is the world there just to mock someone else’s misery while they suffer themselves?
Two lucky ones will get the book. How can you enter? Like and comment, share here on the blog, or twitter or Instagram, you can enter the giveaway on any of those three places. The giveaway will be on for a week so you have plenty of time to enter and I will announce the winner next Saturday! So enter now, share, like and comment, what you have to lose? Maybe few hours while reading a good book that you may win? Sounds like a win to me! Have a great weekend and love to you all you beautiful people!
👉 About The Lonesome Road: Earth became a wasteland, stripped of all life. Broken, confused, and in a desperate search for answers, one person still roams its desolate remains.
The Wanderer has no memories, no recollection of the events that led to the end of the world. All he sees are deserted buildings and the smoke that covers the sun. While taking shelter in an abandoned house one night, the last man on Earth gets a knock on his door. He finds an unexpected guide in a woman who feels familiar.
Will he choose to keep traversing these lands, lost as before, or will he take her guidance to find the answers his heart so deeply desires? Are we truly free, or is destiny pulling the strings of our life choices?
A big thanks to 5310publishing for making it all possible!
While I am working on new poems and projects that I will bring to this blog, right now words could not describe the happiness I feel, as I am proud to announce and reveal the cover for my upcoming book “The Lonesome Road ” .
Thanks to the amazing people at 5310 Publishing, this dream of mine is becoming a reality. The moment I laid my eyes on the cover I was speechless, you know the feeling like you are not really aware something is happening until it really happens?
This really lifted my spirits, especially after the ending of the last year which was soul crushing ( another blog post is coming about that so stay tuned) , so starting the year with this really warmed my heart. I couldn’t be more happy to share the story of the Lone Wanderer with you, for you all to see his journey and growth.
What is the “Lonesome Road” about?
I will try to be less vague and spoiler free. “The Lonesome Road ” follows the last man on Earth, as the world is barren and abandoned, ridden of all life, one man remains, roaming through the remains. He has no memory of the events that led to the end of his home, what happened to his fellow humans or even the basic knowledge of himself. So it is up to him to find the answers that wish to remain hidden, tackle with the questions that led to the world’s demise and find the hidden truth that his heart desires. But he must be careful, as the answers he seeks, the price might be his soul.
So what is next?
If you are interested, I would like to ask you to follow the great people at 5310 Publishing, stay tuned for more information and be ready when the book goes for pre-order. I would like to use this opportunity to say a huge thank you to the amazing people at 5310 Publishing, for making my dream a reality, thank you for giving me a voice to speak the words that lingered in my head and heart for ages. Thank you to the beautiful people who supported me, read the blog and posts, commented and liked the poems that started as a way of letting some steam out and turned into a proper passion. Being a writer is something I dreamt from an early age and right now thanks to you all, it is becoming a reality. Thank you and love to all.
For more information follow and check out 5310 Publishing:
Recently someone told me I take this too seriously, that I post too much stuff, work too hard on new material. Perhaps they are right. Perhaps in this new and still very uncharted waters I foolishly try to overcompensate the lack of my experience by doing more, always more. I push myself to the extreme, because when in that rare occurrence when I invest myself I always go to the far extreme, writing till early hours on the new book, preparing new materials for the site and getting the lack of sleep and energy for it after I push myself to the breaking point just to be sometimes disappointed by the lack of even response. When did I start to do things for the occasional like? I forgot the very essence of writing, the one rule, THE rule… don’t write for people, write for yourself. But not saying in some kind of manner that I am not enjoying my writing or that I do not agree with my written words. No! I am merely saying is it OK to push yourself to that ledge just because we feel or tend to think we would be more happier if we immediately “make it”? Why is it that we push that burden of stress on our back that we have to be cemented in a new endeavour as soon as we set sail in it? Is it just fear? Or perhaps is it more? Fear of failure? Perhaps… Or our own shame that we won’t be just good enough as we would like. Perhaps I tend to do things bit more extremely just because I feel like if I don’t do all at once, push myself to the max, I won’t be good. But in the process of burning out I feel like losing the one unique strain every writer leaves in his work that makes it special.
The one in the friend group
Ever been that one person in the friend group who just want to talk about writing and books? And when you do they look at your like OK weirdo don’t be boring and they immediately switch the topic? Damn I need some new mates… But all jokes aside I love them, but there are instant moments of hate, especially when they introduce me to new people. Mind you I am an introvert, true and true, but what makes the situation more difficult is when they say something in the line of “Yea, he is writing stuff…” Whoever was introduced to someone as any form of a writer you know the question that comes after. “Nice, so what do you write about?” No one, and I mean no one, in their sane mind is standing there while you narrate your whole WIP. They expect a quick summary of two sentences where you have to jam in the twist, total character motivation and growth, getting them hooked in right in those two minutes. Honestly when put in that situation I feel like I am live querying. If they don’t think I am weird by that point they will when I start blabbering about my work for a hour.
All fantasy based on real life?
One of the things I heard and a thing I am told a lot is that the fantasy I write Is based on real life. Then is it fantasy at all? Sure my mates recognise themselves in some aspects of my work, be it in a character I described (and killed off early) or be it in a plot that is very similar to something that occurred in our life. But let’s be honest, every work, be it even a fragment of it, is based on us, on our life, it is the unique piece of us that we put in our work that makes it unique, that makes it distinctively different from other authors.
I feel like no one is listening
Like I pointed out last week, I am beginning to feel like no one is out there. True, the introvert in me always pulled the brakes on most of things I want to post or reply to people. Ever saw someone’s post, thought of a funny reply, wrote it and just stood there watching the words you typed and thought “Did I really think this would be funny?” And like most of my replies it ends up being deleted. So just so you know there were many funny and witty responses you were deprived of. But even when I get the courage to post something, ask a thing or trying to be witty, all I get is well… crickets. I swear you can feel the empty space of vacuum that fills the silence when I try to reach out. OK perhaps I am overreacting a bit, but you have to admit it, that sometimes most of us haven’t thought that writing would be about these things. Reaching out to an audience that isn’t mostly there, promoting your work that a lot of people won’t even see. Whoever said that writing a book would be the easiest part really was onto something. It just makes you doubt, about you, about your own ability and I would lie if I said I don’t have moments thinking of giving up. It’s one thing creating your own world and characters and an other facing the real one.
Still out here
I am trying. Like most of you I assume. I know, we all have problems to face, battles to fight and you think your struggle is unique and special, as no one feels like you, but when you look more closely and see that there are million people who feel like you do, it takes away a bit from your own battle as now you know the fight you face is not that special. Bit in that shattering realisation you gain strength, knowledge that you ain’t alone. I am still trying, still fighting the notion of giving up, just wishing my words don’t end up in the emptiness of the void, wishing that at least the only response I get ain’t the echo of my own voice. Still somehow here,
Sometimes I think it is all a bit too much. With anxiety and depression, I often ask myself have I bit more then I can chew. I became a friend of inconsistency and doubt. But lately, one exercise helped to ease my mind. Only forward. That’s what I keep telling myself. Whenever a panic attack occurs, whenever anxiety gets the better of me, I just repeat in my mind, “Only forward.”
What it can be and what it should
Why do we always put the burden of what it can be? Throughout our life, every decision even before it’s made, is presented by our mind running all viable possibilities. How often we don’t even make the first step in our journey because we tend to overthink and focus on the 14th step of that same journey? Do we plan for the future too much that we neglect the present, our time to act? Like the stories we write, isn’t it better to focus on our current process, never focusing on the whole structure, caging the narrative, but knowing the basics of it, tucked somewhere in the back of our mind and let the story flow through its natural course? For life, for writing and for pretty much everything, shouldn’t we jump in the river and let the current do its thing, rather then overthinking what could happen and find ourselves left behind on the shore?
Why to write?
This is something I often ask myself. The doubt is always there, but somehow is the self criticism that gets the final nail. After writing “The Lonesome Road” (coming 2022) I found it hard not to “not” write, but to get behind what I wrote. Maybe it sounds crazy, I really don’t know (not overly sane myself so how should I know) but I wrote 5 WIP all to chapter 4 or 5, after I “temporarily” abandoned them. It’s not they are not good, but I found them lacking that “something” that kept me writing the damn 90k+ words for “The Lonesome Road” and to be honest it pisses me off. But I am grateful for it, as all of those attempts were 5 times I learned something new and started a WIP that I am passionate about.
“The Lonesome Road”
Like I said before, I never started writing because I wanted to become a writer. All of this was a project to fight depression that somehow ended with two written books and a blog filled with poems. Strange is how life turned out sometimes… (that’s kinda the letting go for the flow thing) But my first work is special. Not just
it’s my first and like some writer-mom I find the first always special (love all of your books equally, that’s what my mom always said for us kids even if we knew she loves the youngest the most), but yea the first one started as a commemoration of sorts. A book that is fantasy, that depicts a tale of a man who finds himself in a barren wasteland, alone, in a world that is ridden of all life, but yet looks so familiar. He seeks the remnants of his kind, faced with solitude and the heavy questions is he the really the last human left alive… But this man does not remember anything. Not his name, not how he got here or how the world ended. So this journey really is about finding himself, finding answers to hard questions of mortality and life most of us don’t dare to even ask. But one night, while taking shelter from the in an abandoned house, the last man on Earth gets a knock on the door. But like I said, it’s not just a fantasy book with good storytelling, unpredictable twist and a bleak yet beautiful world filled with memories and secrets. It’s a tale of depression, meaning of life and love, quest of finding ones humanity and inner strength that can make you stand on your own two feet when the world abandoned you. I wrote it for the sole intent that whoever felt or is feeling like me, broken, misunderstood and alone sees there are still us who fight the hard battles within ourselves, that even though these wars are hard, they are not always lost. That for the thousands of those who don’t understand, who tell you to just be damn happy, stop being sad, it will pass and all that crap, there is at least one of us who is going through the same thing you are. And trust me friend, one person who understands what you are going through, is worth a lot more then a thousand fools who don’t.
The inevitable process of writing
I am making a habit of sharing the advices I got and passing them on here, so why disappoint this week? For us as writers to grow we should do two thing: Read, keep on reading, because that’s how ideas get born, by fuelling the creative furnace and to learn how to write in the first place. And to learn how to write I want to share what one of my fellow writers said to me.
“Just write. Each day. Each week. Each month. It doesn’t matter how often or how much. But just start. Don’t be afraid to suck at the beginning. We all had a beginning and sucked. But to get further and progress, don’t be afraid to start what can be a magnificent journey!”
My friend J
Yea, even though it pains me to admit, because of his ego, he is right. We all have a beginning. We shouldn’t burden ourselves with things that can be or what will become. If we don’t focus on the moment, we might just lose it. Till next week,
I remember her hand caressing the black gold hair, The sun as it reflected from her deep brown eyes, And the look of love, the look of wanting, The sight pointed towards me, Rarity and unity I felt, As one look ignited the heart.
But my pain she decided to carry, Taking a part of the unwanted curse…
I remember… Her laugh echoes still through my thoughts, The constant reminder of what I lost, The forgotten pain that resurfaces in the slightest moment of clarity.
I remember… Even if I choose to forget… As my mind, my soul clings, On the unsung pieces of the forgotten song, Wishing, yearning, contemplating… When her song was my own…
Heavy is the burden of thoughts, The eternal crown that lays, On the shoulders of the mending heart. It twists and turns, The perception of time. What once was good, Now is gone… As this is sorrow’s domain, Kingdom of unjust retribution, Where mistakes are eternal, Where redemption evens with retribution…
But what sorrow fears, It still remains, Hidden in secret, Beneath all doubt and pain, Kindness kisses the broken heart…
Getting through the huge cracks in the external barrier made Hellnar think even more about what could had caused that kind of damage. Was the Bone Crusher right all along? Did the gods punish them, exiling them from Midgard? The walls were huge, it would make one think only giants could manage to build such monstrosities. But whoever did put them there, what happened to them? Where are they now? Did someone kill them all? Perhaps whoever could brake these fortifications proved to be more then a match. Whatever dwells here now might be their reckoning.
The land beyond the wall was different. Even if it was mostly covered in snow, it reeked of death. The chilling embrace was not caused by the falling temperatures, but rather by the dreary feeling that enveloped these lands. It was filled with questions that they did not know how to answer. The high snow fell on most of the structures that were beyond the wall, burying them down, creating a graveyard of a once great nation. What little that was left, stuck out from the white dust, soaring into the air. It seemed no matter how harsh were the elements in their effort to erase this place, it still fought back, as some structures were intact from the snow, still accessible from land. The group looked in awe to the sunken city of ice. Beyond the wall, as far as the eye could reach, a clear view that this was no mere city, but a proud and advance nation that held this area. Strange pillars with spikes and cords struck out of the ground, soaring high into the air. Surrounding the group as they followed their curiosity inland, were these massive rubbles of steel and all sorts of unknown metal. Feki, allowing his curiosity to get the better of him, broke off from them, running away towards the few buildings that they could get in. “Where does this fool go now?”, Orm said getting the attentionof the party as everyone turned towards Feki who got lost beyond the metal pillars that stood in front of a giant building that was half sunk into the snow, but still revealing its door to all. “We shouldn’t split up. Not now. Aldur! Stay with your idiot of a brother and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed. Yet… Rest of you lets move on forward, perhaps we will find some luck and some supplies. Night is bound to find this place as well. No matter how much this land is lost. Shelter would be nice too. And don’t touch anything, for Odin’s sake!” Hellnar shouted at the Bone Crusher, who laid his hand on a metal chunk that fell to the ground, but as soon as Hellnar raised his voice, the mountain of a man pulled his hand back to himself, as if he wasn’t twice the size of his leader, rather feeling like a small child scolded as if his mother caught him eating her fresh apple pie.
While others were bickering about what to do next, Feki marveled in the architecture of this place, daydreaming what wonders lived here, how this place was in its prime. He strayed far enough, finding a perfectly preserved ruin. With half of it missing, the other half was in pristine condition, allowing the young warrior to enter. He found it strange, as there was no furniture, the half building that was missing resembled a sword cut, as if a humongous blade cut it in half. As Feki dwelled further in, all he could find was a big white boulder just sitting in the middle of one room. The stone was strange, as it was cold on touch, feeling more like a cold metal than if you would put your hand in snow. On it just a small black curricular mirror in which Feki saw his reflection. It amused the young pup, as he watched himself in it. As he touched it, the black mirror suddenly turned bright red, the boulder released a dreadful sound, as if someone blew the war horn and it moved. The stone was alive, it stretched and four legs came out of it and before Feki a metal beast with legs and a mouth appeared.
It was hard to explain, a wolf in metal armor was the closest thought that went to his mind, as firstly it moved its head, observing him. Feki pulled his sword forth ready to defend himself, but the iron wolf just stood there, moving only his head back and forth. Feki’s heart punted so fast, as calm left him, being replaced by panic and fear. His left foot fumbled, making him almost fall on his back as he wanted to gain distance from the beast. As his leg suddenly went down, the wolf moved with astonishing speed.
A loud cry could be heard through, filling the chilling air. “What was that?”, Orm asked as he looked around for the source of the cry. “Where is Feki?” As soon as Helnar asked, Aldur rushed sprinting. The rest followed closely behind and as they made just few yards from where they originally were, a gruesome shight greeted them. The metal beast, with a glowing red eye, bright as the sun itself, slowly stepped forth, holding the top of Feki’s mutilated body. The blood was still fresh, dripping on the cold snow below. Aldur’s eyes filled with rage and tears, seeing his brother’s body desecrated. He released a piercing battle cry and without thought, with his axe held high, charged the beast.
As he lunged forward, the beast without too much effort evaded him, quickly moving to the side. It dropped its trophy, as the torso rolled down its mouth, now with all focus on Aldur, it circled around him. The rest just watched in shock, not understanding what has happened. The beast was something from stories, but no moment was wasted as they all went to aid their comrade. Aldur went forth once again, now successfully hitting the beast. But as his axe touched its cold skin, it just broke in pieces. The iron of the wolf was much harder then their steel, rendering their weapons unless. The beast tried to bite Aldur, but before it could even reach him, the others engaged, just to be greeted by the same outcome. Their blades cracked and broke as the wolf pushed Orm away, sending him flying into the air. Its sole focus was on Aldur, as it slowly stepped forward to his pray. But the giant of a man he was, the Bone Crusher clenched the beast, grabbing its jaw. But it knocked Olaf down to the ground and bit off his hand. As it came to finish the job, it bit the stump of the bleeding arm, holding it and while it was in the wolf’s jaws, Olaf with all his might punched the red eye, embedding his fist into it, pulling the strings that were inside.
As he retracted his fist, the wolf released again the sound of a horn, tumbling to the side and withering away, becoming lifeless and motionless. Olaf held his bleeding wound, where once his arm was, as the others came. Helnar quickly made a fire, commanding his men to hold the Bone Crusher as he burned the stump, stopping the bleeding. Olaf didn’t even flinch as his breath was deep.
Aldur mourned and cried over his dead brothers body, or what was left of it. Orm grabbed him, trying to pull him away. “NO! Let me be with him! Let me be with my brother!”, he shouted, fighting the old man se he tried to escape his grasp. “It’s all right lad… He is gone… Your brother is gone..” Orm tried to condole the young warrior. But he just knleeded on the bloodied snow, crying. Fear filled Helnar’s heart, as he was now sure… This is not Midgard, only death awaits him and his men here.
As the men gathered around, lifting Olaf and Aldur, through the land a sorrowful sound pierced the air. Same as the wolf’s, as if someone blew a horn, but now louder and bigger. One after the other it continued to blow, shaking the ground, vibrating it, moving the very snow beneath the Vikings feet. As the fearful sound came closer with every other horn, there, in the distance, a big shape could be seen, a shadow beneath the fog.
Now all poetry and later down the line the collection of short stories that I am currently working on (Live, Die, Repeat) will be available all on one place on Wattpad. Right now you can go check out “Restful Night” the poetry collection! Tomorrow as promised the second part of the short story is coming here! Hope you are all having a great day!