BookRix

Thanks for this awesome site. for anyone who is interested to share their manuscripts and be heard to other aspiring authors, this is probably would help you to get known and showcase your masterpiece. visit https://www.readersmagnet.com/authors-lounge/ no actions needed cause we are offering this for FREE! try it now! be heard and get known.

This is some cover art. Ignore the text, watch the pictures. ;-)

http://www.bookrix.de/_ebook-andreas-f-cover/

Check it out please!

http://www.bookrix.com/_ebook-s-r-morris-the-dark-moon/#

I love the Night Circus! Thanks for recommending it (I forgot to >.< xxx). Hopefully others will love it just as much as we do!
-H

Going to see the movie this weekend...I hope it lives up to the book.

http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/51XdkwFcedL._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.jpg

http://www.amazon.com/Life-Pi-Yann-Martel/dp/0547848412/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1354242946&sr=8-1&keywords=life+of+pi

"A story to make you believe in the soul-sustaining power of fiction."—Los Angeles Times Book Review

After the sinking of a cargo ship, a solitary lifeboat remains bobbing on the wild blue Pacific. The only survivors from the wreck are a sixteen-year-old boy named Pi, a hyena, a wounded zebra, an orangutan—and a 450-pound royal bengal tiger. The scene is set for one of the most extraordinary and beloved works of fiction in recent years.

Universally acclaimed upon publication, Life of Pi is a modern classic.

It is so strange this was the movie the young girl saw before boarding that fatal bus in which she was gang raped last month by a handful of hooligans.It happened in New Delhi, India. Whereas in the movie, the boy named Pi survives, she did not. She was thrown out of the running bus and died hours later.

I hope there is no connection. In the movie, the ship sinks, here it is the bus that becomes the means to her end. One life saved is great and I love that.

RK :-)

could you help me with my book its called The Soldiers Of The Shadows

The supernatural has always been a part of my life, regardless if I wanted it to be or not. I had convinced myself so much of it was the overactive imagination of a kid who spent too much time in his head in order to cope with all the shit life threw at him. The memory is a fickle thing, a picture book drawn by a bad artist, an unreliable narrator picking away at the important bits while slamming square pegs in round holes to try and make them fit a narrative. It is also something of a benevolent protector, shielding us from what lies just beyond the veil that divides our fragile concepts of reality and the sledgehammer that is the truth. These last few months really showed me that. So, where do I begin talking about the events that became the hammer to the glass that was my hated reality?

*click*

“Really?” I said to the barrel of a six shooter staring at me dead between the eyes, “I’m trying to have a serious introspective monologue.”

The trench coat wearing man dressed like John Wayne taking himself way too seriously, with his one pure as white eye and a hole where the other would have been stood at the other end, looking like something made from the fever dreams of the Duke himself.

“Jusssstice…” he hissed between gums and rotted teeth, proving that America has always had one hell of a health system.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah... fuck you. I’m tired, I’ve been driving for hours now, I can’t remember the last time I slept well, and most importantly, I’m not sure if I mentioned, but fuck you. So what if its gone!? Better for us, you all don’t deserve to be here anyway, you get that?”

I know, I know, this is a weird place to start, but something about having a gun pointed at your head by a homeless looking Wyatt Earp when you haven’t slept well in awhile just gets you thinking. Reflecting on how you got here. In the grand scheme of what’s coming up, this guy is nothing more than a distraction. Hell, if this was a movie, right now we would freeze frame, have some music and I’d say “I bet you’re wondering how I got here!” Here’s the thing, we won't be coming back here, at least not for a long time. Maybe not ever, because what I’m trying to convey here is that life is absurd. This whole damn thing is funny, it is dumb, and then its gets very, very real.

“Jusssti”

“Yeah, I get it! Justice or whatever, fuck you bu..”

*BANG*

I'm only about 6 chapters into my book, so it is not published yet. Here is my first page, though:

October, 1815, Bellona in the Cotswalds

There was a solitary point upon a low hill that saw no footsteps save my own. I came there often to read; embroider; or paint the scene below, which was one of the finest views in Bellona, indeed, in all of the Cotswalds, when not obscured by the heavy mists which frequently hugged the damp hills and yellow towers of my home.
That day in particular, a fierce sun had scolded the haze into abating, and so I had been accorded several hours by the rare halcyon weather in which to do my work. Only when afternoon had begun to wear towards twilight, and I could no longer put off my return home without fear of my governess, Mrs. Davenport, or the maids come to fetch me, did I put my portfolio and brick of colors away.
The silence grew sharp; I became aware of my own breath. There were birds flying in formation above and away, an exultation of wood-larks, but they made no calls to each other in alarm nor warbled with the joy of soaring. A restless mien seized me, and I thought for the briefest moment that I should run.
In the next moment the heavens opened. A glow infused the atmosphere with the warmth of a hundred hearths, ensaffroning the sky. I found my eyes embraced by beauty. Later I thought: perhaps death is worth a glimpse into the divine.
There were two figures who came through the light, dueling as ancient warriors within the evenclouds, indomitable. They carried swords, but the blades never seemed to touch. Instead, they sparred with color; they thrusted with burgundy, warded with tangerine, attacked with rust, parried with gold. The sunset itself was twined and braided into weapons of light.
Slowly, the battle drew closer to the Earth. They took no notice of me, but I could spare no attention from them. The two passed through cloud and skated on the wind. My very breath seemed timed to their dance. How had none of my tutelage prepared me for such a moment, to witness an event as this? How my education had bound me to the Earth! Watching them, I wished for wings.