A book of contrasts

Book review

Empyreal Illusions by Jake Bonsignore (book one of the Inferno Unleashed series)

Jake Bonsignore has diligently created a world that blends mythologies together and creates new ones. His ideas are innovative and imaginative, and the imagery within this book is beautifully vivid.

The protagonist is a convincingly cynical 14 year old girl by the name of Breena Taljain, who is a down on her luck miscreant living in a broken, drug addicted city. In Breena’s town, you are either a junkie, or being beaten up by one. She is left despairing of life, forced to grow up too soon.

When a traumatic event destroys her body, she is thrust into a heady drug-induced coma world. Here, she discovers an amazing paradise where her dreams can come true.

But there is a darker side to this perfect world, and it won’t rest until it finds her.

In contrast to his main character, Bonsignore introduces us to Galbrecht Atalir, a drunkard doctor with a secret past.

In the search for his own redemption, Galbrecht inflicts horrific violence against the regime of the shadowy Patriarch. Bonsignore does not shy away from these graphic depictions. Indeed, this is some of his most evocative work. 

This debut epic fantasy creates horror and splendour in equal measure, contrasting fantasy and reality until the reader no longer realises which is which. Bonsignore leaves his readers asking ‘what happens next?’

Winter's ghosts

They roam the platforms

Ghostly shadows of those that

Once worked here before

Running for trains

Long since gone

The wind’s inertia

Sculpting shaped from

The drifting snow flakes

They dance on the rooftops

Phantom snow ghosts

Cursed forever to drift

Drift, drift.

 

Image from www.wunderground.com

07/06/2013

SJ Menary

Falling

My dreams fore sore

The night before

That I was alone

My castle is not my own

The trees and fields

Are not my home

Devils in dresses

And daemons at Masses

If the world’s a stage

And us upon it players

Then the world is ending

And we fall with it

The bodies will tumble

Into ditches and divots

Horsemen clutching at your heels

But you will never see it

In the Hollywood Reels

That sell sex, starvation,

And rock n roll,

Gucci, Prada, Maripol

Prince Charming will not

Slay the dragons

Or climb the tower

To rescue you

He’s too busy at home

Playing Call of Duty 2

Fake heroes

For an imaginary war

Asleep

When North Korea

Comes knocking at your door

We, the deluded ones

Fake hair, fake bodies, fake guns

Crying out for someone to save us

When the time comes

The have forsaken us

The brave ones

So pray to your God of science

Of hate, of injustice

As the missiles come to burn us

Sincerity is out of fashion.

The world is falling

And we fall with it.

07/06/2013

SJ Menary

I am not a number

 I am not a number

37-23-36?

48-40-49

My worth

Is not measured by

My dress size

Those delicate girls

Tiny little bodies

Skinny little legs

Flawless hair

Flawless stilettos

Pouting pretty lipstick

I don’t wear lipstick

I wear Doc Martens

I don’t think about One Direction

Boys and dates

I think about the Russian Revolution

And Ice cream.

07/06/2013

SJ Menary

Writer's Block

He lived on a diet of coca cola
And skittles

He called himself a vampire
The writer

Bags under his eyes, grey against
The blood-shot pink
He did not sleep

Stories whirring in his head
Colliding with exploding dervishes

But worse
The writer’s block

Pens chewed to the wick
Hair ripped out, brains wracked

And his victim, the computer
Defenestrated

16/07/2013
SJ Menary

The Indie Community

I was always a bit of a sceptic when it came to the ‘indie community’. That is, independent writers and artists who come together for support and networking. Many meet through digital forums these days – twitter, facebook and various blogging sites.

To be honest, I believed that this type of social interaction was really only prevalent for musicians and artists. Writers, being of a rather solitary persuasion, I just assumed were not included.

I cannot believe how wrong I was! In the course of a few short weeks, I have met so many writers through facebook groups, by blogging and through friends of friends. We seem to turn up everywhere!!

Self-published, e-published, not yet published and traditionally published authors have welcomed me into what really does feel like a community. It is very supportive, and allows for writers to support each other and promote both themselves and others through the extensive network. I have found myself building links with writers from all over the globe, including North America, Europe and further afield.

Through digital groups, I have also been able to meet other authors who are editing, and in the same position as I am. By sharing skills, critical feedback and contacts, I have started to really gain confidence as an author.

This confidence has allowed me to set up my own author’s facebook page at www.facebook.co.uk/SJMenary, and I am thrilled to have received 54 likes in two days!

Of course, I have a long way to go before I can stand toe to toe with bestselling authors. But, considering that a few months ago, I did not even refer to myself as a writer, I think I have come quite a long way! And it is all thanks to the support of my friends and the indie community.

If you are an aspiring writer, I urge you to go and check out some local groups or digital forums. You never know where you might end up!

The Blood Gate - Chapter 4 extract

They had come in the night. When no one was watching. Out of that dark place that he had been building. Dug too deep, some said. Meddling in bad magic. Little did he know the implications of his folly, and the consequences it would have on his children.

His children. A source of eternal pride and constant disappointment to him. He was a brilliant man, he knew. But a flawed one, also. He had no wish to despise his daughter. He tried to hide it. But she had always known.

The mother of his twins had been a venomous reptile. Such terrible beauty. Such an evil heart to betray him. That slut.

And all daughters turn out just like their mothers, didn’t they?

The girl knew. He was certain. And she was growing to hate him viciously. It was all his doing. But he couldn’t stop it. He was turning his own daughter into a monster. It was a crime. She had always been the brightest of the twins, the most likely to be a worthy successor to his empire. She was the stronger warrior. A superior leader. She outstripped her brother in every way. But he had no choice in the matter. Martinez would succeed him. Martinez was the child he loved more.

As he paced before his creation in that subterranean chamber below the deep lagoon, he wished for a different legacy. He was too old now. Too old to change anything. And for a sorcerer of his calibre to have survived this long, it was nothing short of a miracle. Some younger magician should have killed him by now. Those ambitious new comers seemed so eager to prove themselves these days.

His construction was almost complete. Not even the inner circle at the palace knew the truth about his work. Mortaris preferred it that way. They did not need to know what he was doing. Watching his workmen chiselling away at the sycamore panels for his great door, he observed with a critical eye the standard of the craftsmanship. It had to be perfect. It had a lot to withstand. The silver bands would be here soon, and then the frankincense resins. It would be beautiful when it was done.        

His door to the Underworld. 

The Gates of Hell, The Kunsthaus Zürich, Zurich - image courtesy of www.wikipedia.org.uk