I’m so sorry. That post title is terrible. Terrible. I should not be allowed to continue, I should flog myself here and now, and yet, onward I go, stubborn and spiteful.
What I’m trying to say is, hey, look, The Book of Accidents is, for today, $2.99 for your gently humming, quietly vibrating, reality-enhancing e-book machine. So, for a penny shy of three bucks, you can get your haunted house that isn’t a haunted house, your scary coal mine, your scary THING in the BOTTOM of the coal mine, your serial killer who disappeared decades ago, your cycles of trauma broken and unbroken, your pain passed down through generations, your art that comes alive, your boy that feels too much, your emotional seawall. It’s a book that is truly twenty years in the making, and it means quite a lot to me, so I hope if you haven’t checked it out, this might nudge you into giving it a go. (And if you have the physical copy, this isn’t a bad price to secure a digital backup.)
Please tell others! Chase them with this good news! And a machete! I mean, don’t do that last part. No chasing, no machetes, please. I beg of you. Forget I said anything at all.
Your buy links:
And if you are kind enough to review the book and vote for it in the final round of the Goodreads Choice Awards, I will love you even more than I do now. Which I didn’t even know was possible!
Have fun at Ramble Rocks! It’s a park! It’s a coal mine! It’s an amusement park! So ramble on down and ride the lightning, won’t you?