With my manuscript still in the hands of my reading group, I’ve been taking the week to catch up on my own missed reading time. This weekend has been devoted to George R. R. Martin, and I’ve finally reached the point in Storm of Swords where the story has dove-tailed dramatically from the TV series.
Needless to say, I’m hooked.
Back on topic, though, I’ve also been taking the time to start working on the cover art for Whispers. I’m just brainstorming right now, cycling through ideas and experimenting with some things. I don’t want to get married to one concept too early – in fact, i think it’d be great create three or four finished covers, reveal them a little closer to the launch date, and have my readers vote on what they’d like to see on my next book!
It’s too soon for all that though.
In the meantime, I thought I’d share a couple of my favourite illustrations. Whispers will be an illustrated collection, with a single image to capture each story. I’ve created these illustrations myself, finally combining my two greatest passions. Below are the illustrations for Night Terrors and A Mother’s Love. You’ll have to wait a little longer if you want to see the rest!
I was one of them, a creature of tooth and claw, with thick, heavy blood coursing through my veins. The forest around me stank of wet decay, of damp, growing life, and the wolves at my side smelled like warmth. Like family. We would run together through those night time trees, my brothers and sisters winding like lightning between the sentinel-straight tree trunks. I would snap at their heels with my playful mouth, catching their fur between my teeth and never drawing blood. We hunted those woods. We took claim of what was ours – I remember the chase, running until I was sure my lungs would burst, and the kill, the tearing of flesh and the sticky sweet taste of blood on my tongue. I slept next to my well-fed brethren, my belly swollen, gorged with hot meat. I could feel them all around me, twitching as they rested, their dreams leaking through my skull. We were one in those woods, with the earth soaking into our flesh and the night air deep in our lungs. We were free.
She ate for a long time, savoring her special meal, and I couldn’t make myself move. I watched in mute, wide-eyed horror as she ripped apart the pieces and threw away the bones. I heard Jenna call my name, only once, and I didn’t answer.
When my mother was finished, she tossed the cracked skull at my feet. I looked down; she had plucked free one eye, but the other stared up at me from its nest of bone, green and glazed. My mother staggered to her feet, a long, thin cord of drool trailing from her chin all the way down to the cold stone floor.