You can’t unsee it.
Today, on my eldest sister’s birthday, another firstborn entered the cold light of day amid the Human collective of genetic wildcards.
I’m talking about my first novel in a twisted, anthropomorphic way.
Why not read a chapter or two?
It has also been serialised on Medium, but to own a copy, order it on Amazon, in Kindle or paperback — and if you’re so inclined, a short Amazon review would be most kind and helpful.
For now, take a good look at the cover, the combination of startling yet soothing colours and moody black background. Now look away and try not to think about it. Can’t be done.
Likewise, when you see the designer flaw you can’t not see it. Don’t worry, it’s not the production cover — it was subsequently fixed.
Is it a good title? Try to say it out loud with a straight face. Not that easy, is it?
I doubt you’d even want to write it out more than once (while reviewing it, duh). You’d have to abbreviate it, like my reader did. ILYWS. But the world is a hostile place for acronyms. You’d feel pretty damn foolish. Not Dr Carver, though. Dr Carver is my reader. Details on the back page.
So no, it’s not the sort of title you say out loud or write out in full without a flash of anger or abbreviate without a twinge of shame. It’s the kind you say to yourself, softly, turning it over in your mouth. Ivanka. What does it mean? And if you’re the sort of person to do that—well, you may just be curious enough to see if I can sustain my signature brand of whatever the hell it is I do when I write over the course of a full-length novel.
Here’s an extract.
‘Can I show you what I’ve written so far?’ he asked. ‘It would mean a lot to me.’
‘Sure,’ I said. I had a terrible premonition.
