What a feeling: -2 days till the release of Children of Little Might

I stare at my screen, not really believing I’m typing this. 2 more days and my book is here – a dream at least 40 years in the making.

No. Children of Little Might is not my first book. It’s number 46. The first 45 were non-fiction books, about computers. And while computers are mentioned , they are far from the essence of this story.

Today, my ‘first real book’ is about to be released. In 2 days. I sdtill remember that class room. I was teaching adults about computers and wanted to use one of my books. One of my students then asked me when my first ‘real’ book would appear. I smiled, and promised her it would, one day.

And that day is almost upon me. My heart beats like crazy and part of me still can’t believe it’s happening, scared something will go wrong. I sit quietly and wonder what will happen in 2 days.

Will people love the book? Ignore it? Maybe they don’t even know it exists. I have a number of things in place that – hopefully – help me grow an audience. But we’ll see. I’m not very good at marketing (though I studied it, which probably says a lot about me), so I take this one day at a time.

The doorbell rings. I press my lips together and inhale through my nose, but the fear doesn’t settle in my stomach as usual. It dissolves as Aislinn’s hand rests on my arm until she, too, rises. I snatch the paper and rush into the hallway.

My hand trembles when I reach for the door. Through its smoked glass I spot one shadow. Royal’s. I halt and turn my head, but Aislinn disappeared behind the door to the kitchen.

The doorbell rings for a second time. More urgent. I inhale before I suppress a slight tremor.

“Good morning, Montaqu,” he says the exact same way he always does when no one witnesses it.

He wears a dark blue raincoat that reaches halfway his legs and he combed his hair as perfect as always. I ignore his remark and instead offer him the piece of paper that contains the Manuscript’s key sentence.

“Lost your tongue?”

He tears it from my hand and reads it before he tosses it aside. Finished, he sighs and grabs my hand.

“So, you did translate it.”

With my lips pressed together, I fight to free myself, but find that impossible. Suddenly, Royal worms himself inside my mind. His prying eyes turn to every thought I try to hide even as I scatter around others for him to find. On a whim, I even inject my fear of what lies beyond the One Door and feed him the memory of that loud roar. It makes him chuckle and that’s when I catch a flash of his thoughts. Dad again but multiplied by six.

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