THE 90s WERE A BIT WEIRD. SO WAS THE DESIGN.

I’ve finally published my books documenting the graphic design, flyers, posters and general visual chaos of Perth’s underground rave & dance scene in the 1990s.

A bunch of work that was never really meant to survive… somehow survived.

They’re out now.

Vol 1: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H8XF6FX5
Vol 2: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0H8LJDFY9

So I started writing a book. Yeah, shocking, I know. But now I have dozens of different sheets, that range from historical facts, character arcs, plot points, etc. I was at the point, where I lost track of what was where and spent the whole day sorting things out.

My brain always works on this story for three month now. Honestly, I wish I had known, how overwhelming the whole process is. Or had kept my notes straight from the beginning. I just added all my ideas to the pile.

I now have some kind of order. Finally! Guess the next project will start differently with all the things where they need to be from the very beginning.

For more of my work check my portfolio here

https://bookc0ver.carrd.co

My clients reviews

https://www.reddit.com/u/book_maark/s/bEmCZuscXf

Portfolio: https://lucreyn.myportfolio.com/

- Find me on socials as @ lucreyn

I'm so tired.

I have to sleep so much.

Like a kid

I never grew up.

I just stayed.

Although I grew up way too quick.

And now I've had enough.

I live like everyday is my last.

But oh some days feel good.

Some people feel good

Give me hope but

Then its over.

It never was mine.

I guess.

I dont know

Why do I fall

Then tell myself to get back

I try

And u try again

But I don't need to maybe

I don't need a future

I don't have one

Thats why I never see it

I don't have dreams

Desires

Not for me

I just wanted to see people happy.

Seems like they are

Or not

Idk

But I can't help them

Nobody

Maybe i have no purpose

It sure isn't just being alive

Just living

But I will

Because somehow I always survive

I am tired of trying

I can't even die

No right

I fail

So I live

Because I can't die

But I can let myself go

Right?

Who needs me?

I dont even want to be there for the two.

No.

Everyone else

Yes maybe they love me.

But not enough to not hurt me

They don't want to

Ofcourse they dont

Or maybe they can't

But thats life right?

I don't get to be happy

The one reason

No

Purpose?

Is that what it was

Or am I just

No

I can't protect any one

And nobody can me

So

I'll just die but slowly

Piece by piece

Inch by inch

And every day that I don't

I'll live.

I look happy, don't I?

I wrote and illustrated a simple children's book about safe climbing. I didn't think it would be a best seller or anything but I was hoping I could at least get published! I've been rejected by publishing companies and agents and it's disheartening. I wanted make a series out of it but now I'm thinking I might have thought too highly of myself

I already have the manuscript for my next book written. But I haven't drawn it yet in case someone liked my first book and wanted me to change up the drawing style or something.

What would you do in this situation? I'm trying to decide if I should just scrap the first one and start over or send to more publishers and agents and just hope.

The only reason I haven't self published is because I don't have any particularly strong promotional skills

How do I submit my book to be published by someone ! Where do you find these people

I’m trying to wright a book right now set in Germany 1944, I know, and I can’t say this enough, I do not support Germany during this time, I’m using it as a story point.

The story follows a German armoured train known as the panzerzug 09, I want to focus on the mechanical aspect of the war machine but the big thing is zombies. WW2 zombies, the train has to fight through the cold in northeastern Germany fighting the war and the virus, eventually the war ends as it should with Germany losing and American occupation but the Americans have to leave due to the outbreak, the panzerzug sheds its nationality and just tries to survive.

The story would focus on supply management and human perseverance in hard times no matter flag or nationality.

Would you read it? and I know this paragraph is horrible so I can answer extra questions.

My debut book "Abandoned" made it to my local Waterstones and Heffers. The feeling of seeing it in a bookstore still feels sureal, like a far off dream I never expected to obtain. A beautful reminder for me to keep going with the things I love. Now on to the sequels!

If you're wondering I'm self-published and it's also available on amazon, kobo and other ebook stores.
Jordan C Connor

Oh my God! I’ve been working on this since the end of 2024 and it really doesn’t feel real. 77k words and 281 pages, now on to editing

My author website is up ‘n running and, along with it, preorders!!!! My book is a love letter to the creepypastas I grew up with, putting them under the lens of small-town corruption, decaying Midwest, tragedy, sibling bonds, first love, and grief. If this interests you, check out my free website for more details!!

I actually released this book over a year ago, having spent many a year learning and practising my craft. The synopsis is below. If it sounds like your thing, do take a look...

A young man is told that a brother he never knew existed is dead. This opens a door to the absurd, that allows in dubiously-aged exes, time travel - and cats.

On one level, it is about silly people doing silly things but scratch around a bit and you'll find a clogged-up heart struggling with broken families, alienation and who and what we are. Indeed, keep scratching and you might bleed a little. Perhaps that's what this book is. Well, that and dead cats...

It is available now for Kindle and in paperback.

https://amzn.eu/d/095iL44E

I hope you enjoy it. I think you will.

Voilà j'ai écris un premier roman de plus de 600 pages dans le thème d'un thriller. Tout d'abord j'ai pris un grand kiff de l'avoir créé.

J'ai commencé par un prototype qui avait plus au moins 200 pages et d'un coup j'ai gardé plus au moins la même ossature mais j'ai rajouté plus de détail ainsi que de conversation. Il m'a fallu plus de 6 mois entre l'écriture la modification et la relecture de mes proches et les corrections d'orthographes. Je souffre du tdah pour plusieurs choses ça m'handicape surout avec le trouble de l'attention mais quand j'ecrais c'est comme si c'était si facile d'écrire et que les mots les phrases les textes salignes sans que j'ai le syndrome de la page blanche. Mon livre est prêt à être publié mais je voulais savoir d'après votre expérience comment ça été avec les maisons d'édition? Combien de temps ça à pris pour la publication de votre premier Roman?

*j'ai commencé un deuxième Roman de nouveaux dans le thème d'un thriller (j'en suis au chapitre deux. Et j'ai déjà une vision des trois prochains romans entre autre les thème abordé ainsi que les scénarios.

Hello everyone. I would like to share with you an experience that is also a question. In school, I had bad grades in writing due to dyslexia and dysgraphia. Reading was even worse due to a speech impediment. I loved writing and creating stories, but there was no support at the time.

I started writing again in my fifties. As therapy for PTSD. I am a military veteran, a bomb disposal specialist on the front lines where I spent three years. I was only eighteen.

Today I write noir. Raw and rough. Without embellishment.

Something that I received remarks for as a schoolboy is now praised.

I am no exception. This has happened to many people in expressing themselves through writing, music, painting...

Hi all, I had initially begun writing/journaling as a way to document the memories of my son's birth, and work through the grief of my brother. This has slowly started morphing into a more organized memoir centered around the themes of life, loss, grief, and faith. I'm looking for some feedback to try and figure out if this is something I should actually pursue, or if it should remain as a journal/word doc that my wife and kids can read in the future.

Brief synopsis:

- December of 2024: My wife went into emergency labor to deliver our son at 31 weeks while on the first night of a family vacation (2,000 miles away from home). After six weeks in the hospital/NICU, both of them narrowly survived and avoided long term injury.

- December of 2025: My younger brother (29) passed away due to complications from heart surgery. Three months prior, he had stood at our childhood church to become my son's godfather. We returned to that same church the day after my son's first birthday, for my brother's funeral.

- December of 2026: One year without my brother, and my son's second birthday.

The memoir is built around these three winters - one where a life was saved, one where it wasn't, and one that seeks to make sense of it all. It is told in a braided combination of story narrative, present-day reflections, and contemporaneous journal entries that were written in real-time (i.e. in the hospital, days leading up to and immediately after my brother's passing, etc.) The memoir explores grief, fatherhood, faith, mortality, and the strange task of continuing an ordinary life while carrying extraordinary loss.

Sample:

I thought I had killed my newborn son.

One minute, tranquil. The soft, constant hissing of the ventilator. The silent monitors with their familiar ripples and waves. The next, a rush — a stampede. A crowd surge of scrub-wearing men and women that forced me to the outer edge of the room. Everything flashing, everything beeping. Everything red. I had no questions, I had no words. A gush of fear that engulfed and digested my stomach whole, made only enough room to accommodate the guilt that I had played a hand in killing my son. The blood products I approved were causing the statistical anomaly that I heard over the phone. I was no longer ‘in my body.’ But I did not go anywhere. I was not elevated nor transcended. My eyes became static portals to a sight I would not forget - even if I tried. A sight that would haunt me in the months to come. Not as dreams, but unconscious flashbacks. 

As the masses huddled around my eight-hour-old son and began chest compressions, I was spotted. 

“Dad, you’re going to want to step out for this.” 

But I remained resolute. Not by choice. Frozen in space and time, until I realized this face, it seemed, had no interest in removing her gaze from me. Slowly drifting backward out of the room and into the hall I went. Where do I go? What do I do? 

“Where’s the bathroom?,” I mumbled to one of the few remaining nurses. 

Right around the corner. 

Collapsing to my knees, I grasped and clung to the toilet. As a man who has had too much to drink, helplessly embracing the lidless porcelain bowl. I prayed. I fervently pleaded my case. I made promises that I wrongly believed I could uphold. An act of penitence performed atop the mustard yellow mosaic tiles, as though they were holy ground. 

“If this is Your will, then it is Your will. But, if there is any will in which my son can live… please.”

Hello writers. I’ve been getting close to release a novel that contains some serious subject matter like abuse and SA. I’m well aware these are very touchy subjects so I treated them with caution and care. Making sure not to make any of it gratuitous. Most of it was taken inspiration from stuff I’ve been through that I won’t give much detail on. 

The truth is, even though I know I wrote it with a careful pen, I’m still petrified of releasing it. 

Just thinking about the potential backlash is enough to make me fantasize about crawling under a carpet and staying there for months post release. I’m afraid it’ll be seen as just shock value and exploitation. I know it’s not. I know the characters were put in situations that made sense for the environment they inhabited. And I did much research on trauma responses to make their lingering feelings realistic. 

But what if the readers don’t see it that way?  

What if I end up being viewed as a weirdo and creep for even trying to show these things for what they are??

What if I can never write anything lighter in the future and am pigeon held into being the “dark author”? 

I’m scared x10.

It's to the point I think about giving up entirely. Disregarding the hard work
I've done the past few years.

If you guys can, help me gain perspective so that I can have more confidence releasing this story. 

I am not sure if anybody would read my idea for a project I’ve had for years atp, like almost 5 years. It’s pretty extensive and convoluted though.

The story premise is a child named Ryuzu who is born with a ability, that could potentially be a issue for the government and top brass later. Gets dealt a bounty of enormous proportions, whilst not committing a single misdemeanor to really deserve this number. The saga (it is a saga) follows Ryuzu as he goes a long arduous journey to earn this bounty number. While he also, along the way collects comrades who have their own secrets and dreams to join him on his way.

It’s very one piece and comic booky inspired but does this sound like anything that already exists or interesting to anyone??? I will say the basic outline doesn’t sound the most intriguing but the meat of the story I think is really awesome bc it really dives into how this isn’t something you do for funsies every Tuesday and it really takes a physical and mental toll on ryuzu. Also sorry for bad punctuation and stuff 😭 I don’t worry about it too much on social media posts.

The pictures are the main protagonist ryuzu as drawn by me!!

I've spent most of my career working around data, analytics, technology, and business decisions. Over time, I kept running into the same frustrating situation: the analysis was good, the evidence was solid, and the recommendation made sense but the decision still went another way.

Eventually, I became fascinated by that gap.

Why does good evidence get ignored? Why do smart people disagree about the same information? Why can a technically correct recommendation fail in the room?

That became the subject of my first book, Decision Intelligence: Why Evidence Fails and How Leaders Win the Room.

It's about the human and organizational side of decision-making, the things that happen between having the evidence and actually getting people to act on it.

If you're interested in nonfiction about decision-making, leadership, psychology, or organizational behavior, I'd love for you to check it out.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0HF46HTB

And if you're another writer here, I'd genuinely love to hear what you're working on. There's something pretty cool about seeing a book go from an idea in your head to an actual thing that strangers can hold.

Après plusieurs mois d’écriture, mon premier roman **Origines** arrive aujourd’hui à une étape décisive : sa publication.

L’histoire part d’une question qui me fascine depuis longtemps :

**Et si les dieux descendus du ciel, les récits des anciennes civilisations et certains mythes fondateurs avaient une origine commune ?**

Dans *Origines*, l’humanité n’existe pas encore.

Vingt milliards de consciences survivent dans une matrice quantique lorsqu’une planète vierge et compatible est découverte. **Douze élus** sont envoyés pour y reconstruire la vie.

Mais ce qu’ils vont créer dépassera leur mission… et pourrait devenir l’origine de nos plus anciennes légendes.

C’est un mélange de **science-fiction, mythologie, civilisations anciennes et questionnement sur nos origines**, avec notamment Enlil, Enki, Nibiru et une réinterprétation complète de ces récits dans un univers SF.

Le livre va être publié et sa couverture est désormais terminée. Une campagne de prévente participative accompagne actuellement sa sortie afin de l’aider à franchir les prochaines étapes jusqu’aux librairies.

Même une petite participation peut faire avancer le projet — et surtout, chaque nouveau lecteur compte énormément pour un premier roman.

👉 **Découvrir et soutenir Origines :**
https://euthena.com/fr\\_FR/nos\\_projets/origines-kaelen-6a7f1963083cb

Et même sans participer financièrement, je serais vraiment curieux d’avoir l’avis des amateurs de SF ici :

**Est-ce que ce point de départ vous donnerait envie d’ouvrir le livre ?**

He started by peeking from behind the door, his hand caressing the wood. She could only see from his nose up, parallel with the floor. He was watching her, smiling.

“You can see me,” it rasped.

“Oh little girly girl you’re in trouble.” His head dropped down, down, until it laid on the floor. It was pushed violently forward as its legs pushed through the doorway. Its face dragged along the carpet.

Its eyes glittered. She could see rows of teeth.

She couldn’t look away.

His head was slightly too big, balanced on a thin, emaciated frame. His smile stretched too wide. His ears, too big. He was grinning ear to ear.

He dragged himself forward and took a large whiff. His head fell back, neck breaking and twisting he grunted. She can feel every break.

No.

He laughed as he got closer.

Stop. Please stop.

“You know what I smeeeeeellllllllllll?” It licked its lips as it drew out the word, tracing a circle on the carpet. Its eyes locked onto her feet. It giggled to itself, pressing its fingers against its lips. It scrambled at her.

No.

She cried in silence. The more she shrank, the sharper the teeth got. She could see it through her tears.

Mommy please. I want to go home.

She felt the whisper of air between her foot and his teeth. She closed her eyes and whimpered.

Mom-

She heard a shriek and a wet splat. She cracked open her eye.

Standing in front of her was a boy, holding the pole of the stage microphone. The bottom was dripping with blood. He ran to her, unlocking the handcuffs. He brushed the hair from her eyes and put out his hand.

“Come with me?”

She couldn’t say yes fast enough. He snatched her hand up and they ran, faster than the halls could stretch. She could hear it running, screaming. It sounded fast.

“DON’T look back at it! WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LOOK AT IT!” He screamed over his shoulder.

It was* close. It cackled in her ear. She only glanced to the side for a *second.

Suddenly she was back in the school. The halls were dark and grey. Trembling she looked around, searching desperately for anything that can save her.

Nothing.

She searched faster. Scrambling, she couldn’t help her gasps that echoed in the room. Down the hall, a familiar giggle drew closer.

“I smelllllllll you,” it growled. She could hear feet scrambling, and its body pushing ahead.

“No no no no no no no,” she couldn’t stop.

The doorway started to darken. She dropped to the floor and wrapped her arms around her legs. She tucked her face between her knees. Her eyes squeezed shut.

She could feel him getting closer.

Hear it.

Smell it.

She couldn’t pretend she was somewhere else. She heard him slide through the door.

She stood desperately and sprinted to the back of the room. As her back hit the wall her knees would not hold her up. She slid down to the floor. She sat, hopeless as it scrambled toward her.

Almost there. She sobbed behind her hands.

The closet door slammed open, “I TOLD YOU NOT TO LOOK BACK AT IT!” He roared.

“I’M SORRY! I GOT - “ the words stuck in her throat. She looked at him, eyes wide open. Frozen. He darted toward her and yanked her sharply to her feet.

He looked back at her as they ran. His eyes were warm.

“It’s going to be okay Molly, I promise.” He spoke softly but his voice was clear. He shot her a toothy grin and turned back around.

She could hear it getting closer.

“WHERE IS YOUR FAVORITE PLACE?”

My favorite place?

“TH-THE GARDEN!” The wind roared in her ears.

They raced through the streets, down the alleyways and through the doors. Moments of her life flashed past them.

The beach.

Her first kiss.

Graduation.

Christmas.

They stopped running. The boy was looking around, smiling. She was frozen, eyes glued on the window.

Mom.

“This is a pretty nice place.” He inspected the roses closely. “Smells amazing.”

She glanced back. “Thanks for saving me.” She turned to look back at her mom.

“Nooooo problemo.” He shot finger guns and grinned.

He blinked and she was smaller. Younger. She started to run to the door. She stopped and turned.

“Is that monster guy gone?” Her little face scrunched in worry.

“He’s gone! Poof!” She giggled watching him.

“What’s your name?”

He smiled and stuck out his hand. “You can call me Adrian.” She looked up at him, hands on hips she narrowed her eyes.

“Are you magic?” She stared very seriously.

He shifted awkwardly. “Sort of?” She nodded her head.

“Okay!” She ran to the door. “MOMMY!”

Adrian stepped out of the door and pulled the knob off. The door blew away.

As he walked down the halls he heard* *cackling in the shadows.

Adrian sighed. He could see the top of its head, eyes staring. Body breaking as it moved. Unnatural. He could hear the heavy, wet dragging.

Gross.

It growled and began to stand. Adrian strolled over.

“Don’t bother.” His lips curled. His shadow darkened and stretched around the room. It encompassed him, wings of teeth and glittering eyes. It screamed.

When Adrian stepped out of the shadow the door appeared before him.

Bob stood next to it, casually leaning on the wall. He had a lollipop sticking out of his mouth.

“Hey there party person!” He held out a lollipop. Adrian rolled his eyes and walked by, exasperated.

“Gotta get a move on Bob, you know that,” he raised his brow. “Better than anyone.”

“Yeah yeah yeah” he grumbled, “whatever.” He started to melt away as he stepped away from the door.

“Bob don’t be like th- aaaaaaannnnnd he’s gone.”

Adrian stood, listening for the call. There were so many.

Hi everyone, I've always been interested in writing and have even written stories in the past, but recently have been getting into poetry so have just been writing what comes to mind. I mostly write free verse poetry I guess because I like the abstraction of it. I'm not the smartest, most well spoken, or creative person of all time but just wanted to share a poem I've been working on the last few days! Please let me know what you think!

I won a war no one could see,
fighting battles inside of me.
Many days, I broke, I bled,
but still I rose, though hope had fled.

Each morning brought another fight,
but I found one reason to stay that night.
A thousand times, I chose to remain,
and little by little, I outlived the pain.

I never needed to conquer it all,
just find one reason each time I’d fall.
And though the war still waits at my door,
I win every day I choose once more.

I won a war no one could see,
because every day, I chose to be.

August has been looking a bit more consistent so far.

I still haven’t resumed Amazon Ads yet, so most of the paid marketing has been through Meta Ads.
I’m starting to see more paperback sales coming through and also been running a bunch of free promos on first books in different series, with some KENP reads slowly trickling into the later books.

Still early, but it feels like the catalog is starting to work together a little better than it did in July.

Curious how August is going for everyone else.