If you saw my tweets last night, you know I was getting busy making mock covers to better match Sinner Sharpe’s dark story. (And while not always ‘dark’ thematically, the over-arching story is pretty depressing for anyone who has had their heritage taken from them, fair warning).
Whilst getting busy, I made three mock covers, the first and third of which had everyone’s attention. That’s when I got the idea:
I didnt want to change the 1st book’s mock cover because it felt right to be focused on the Cursed Land of Mooria, but I still wanted to use that third mock AI-Generated image. So I decided there has to be another book:
You probably hadn’t noticed since the first three mock covers I made got the most attention and two of them looked the same.
Except for the words at the bottom denoting it’s a second book!
I had a moment of ‘what have I done',’ but I’d been ruminating over whether or not there would be another book in Sinner’s story and the more I write, the more it just feels as though there must be.
So prepare yourself my friends, Sinner Sharpe is not going to be your suave, level-headed protagonist in any of these books (not that he ever really was). I made it a point to start the story right when his sense of self and ideas about the world are being challenged as we’ve all read the stories of the in-control, levelheaded protagonists who have to ‘save the world.’
I always love exploring the uncertainty in life and then my characters have to make life-changing, world-shattering choices under the weight of that uncertainty because I feel as though I do. Guess it’s my way of coping?
Either way, not to leave you empty-handed, here’s a latest excerpt:
When I awoke, all was dark.
It took me far too long a second to realize I was submerged in the water completely.
I started with a foolish gasp, swallowing teems of it.
I kicked as fast as my still-burning legs would allow toward what I hoped was the surface.
I moved slower than before. My muscles ached beyond comprehension. But I moved, eager to find air, to remove the water that filled my lungs, that made them burn horribly.
I don’t think I ever made it to the surface of my own volition.
The next thing I remembered, I awoke on a painfully jagged surface that, the more I became aware of my surroundings, stretched on in front of me and on either side of me.
I coughed and water left my chest and throat. It spilled across my hands. I lifted myself as much as I could for my arms still burned and pain, dreadful pain was my constant companion now for it never seemed to end.
I looked around quickly before my arms could give way, searching blindly for any sign of a road or a ruined city’s outline in the sky to give me some idea of where to begin my travels.
The land before me was just as black and jagged as the shore I’d washed upon. There were parts where the jagged rock ascended into the sky as high as those that lined the narrow passageway behind me. These were balanced by smaller sharp peaks. Indeed, there wasn’t a road, only this rough black terrain to stumble, climb, and be impaled upon if my footing was only slightly wrong.
I lamented my coming journey, unsure if my limbs would obey me to traverse this maddening labyrinth of black rock. I looked to my right and there, jammed into the surface I lay atop was an old, water-worn wooden sign. It could hardly make out the wording upon it. My vision blurred.
I dug my nails against the dirt and pulled myself toward it to better see what message was carved into its face:
There lay darkness—North, th—nds cast in shadow. Away,—raveler, from these lands, lest you—to the blood de—upon. Heed these words, for they be your warning true—from Mooria, lest ye become a —
I stared at it, willing the red words faded deep into the wood to spring to life so that I could discern this warning fully.
I ran through every filler word I could think of, my wish to see the message complete compelling me.
For I felt, as I looked upon the worn wood, that the message was for me. Foretelling the dangers of this place.
This cursed land.
‘Till Next Time,
With Blood and Love,
S.C. Parris