Indie Author Spotlight - William Harlan - Interview & Giveaway

Antioch 

A Fantasy Novel with Zombies!

By William Harlan

"Armageddon is arrived."

Threatened by an unnatural plague that raises the dead, an ancient order of mystics must choose between keeping its secrets and saving humanity.

Kind of like Star Wars with zombies.

You can snag your own copy on:

AMAZON / SMASHWORDS / iTunes 

B&N / KOBO / SONY

William Harlan lives in Houston Texas with his wife, Carrie, and son, Adrian.  He is an “A” ranked Gouken on XBox live Super Street Fighter IV Arcade Edition and is also an unaccomplished songwriter.

Connect with William on:

FACEBOOK / TWITTER / GOODREADS

Welcome to the Spotlight William! Can you tell us your main inspiration behind this novel?

I love role playing games. With "The Circle" series I want to create a place that lets me tell Dungeons and Dragons style adventure stories with my own slant. Antioch basically introduces my version of the paladin class and an undead creature, the bauran. That's a skeletal way of looking at it, of course.

Was self-publishing your first choice? What was the most nerve wracking part of the process?

Yes. I don't like the idea of someone else owning or controlling my work. The worst part of the process has been my self doubt. When I feel like I'm a bad writer and that I shouldn't have tried, that I shouldn't have emptied years of myself into this first book, that's a terrible feeling.

As a self-published author, did you choose to edit your novel yourself? What was the biggest change you made to the story and/or characters?

I do most of the editing myself. I take a lot of advice from my wife as well. She suggested a rearrangement of chapters that I felt made the book stronger. That was probably the biggest change after the first time I let someone read it.

Do you have any unusual writing habits that aide your process and/or character development?

I wore earplugs for the majority of writing this book. My computer was in a small alcove in the hallway between the living room, where my wife tended to watch Real Housewives (Arrgh!), and my son's room, from where "Hey, dad!" came like an alarm every five minutes. My earplugs were indispensable.

Is there one passage or scene from your novel that you are most fond of?

My favorite part is chapter thirteen, but posting that would be a spoiler. I have an excerpt from chapter four if you like (attached).

Excerpt from chapter 4 - Lost Son

A warm, orange fire flickered in the pit. Pockets of sap snapped and hissed. Daniel propped a useless roasting spit against the oak. He hadn’t managed to catch any fish. Sitting on one of those huge roots, thinking about food and his family, hands hurting so badly he hated the rope, Daniel quit. He’d just go home, apologize and eat. By then he’d forgotten why he’d run away in the first place.

That was when he heard footfalls in the forest. He searched and called out, “Pa? Is that you?” There was no answer except for an added urgency in the approach. Horace was coming to the oak. Daniel recognized him through the lowering gloom by the size of his shadow. “Pa!” His father had never come to get him before. Horace always waited for Daniel to break. The boy smiled and thought, not anymore. Now you’re too old! You’re too old and need help with the chores. Ha ha, Pa! Daniel’s smug grin narrowed into suspicion as he studied his father’s stride, a staggering charge.

His eyes went wide. “Drunk on some!” He shimmied up the rope, regardless of his hands. “Oh no you don’t, Pa!”

Horace grabbed the rope below, but it was too late; Daniel had reached the tree house and pulled himself through the opening. The boy tried to bring the rope up too but it stuck in his father’s grip. Daniel scowled down at him. “Fwah! You can’t get up it anyway. Even if you did you couldn’t fit through the hole! You can go on home. I’m never coming back!”

Daniel plopped down, folded his arms and frowned at the rope. Horace’s drunken slant showed in its tension and waver. Over a few silent minutes, the boy started to imagine fishing from a raft, an oak tree for a pole and a sea monster on the line. He narrowed his eyes and decided to wait him out, refusing to speak.

After half an hour, he started to think his father had fallen asleep. Daniel tugged on the rope. Horace still held it tight. The boy went back to frowning.

That night the campfire’s glow came up from the hole and around the edges. The platform was like a lily pad on a pool of light, and Daniel was the toad. His wide, big-eyed frown watched the rope stay tight and wavering. He thought it was very strange. What’s he doing? Is he angry? Is he sorry? He tugged the line again. “Pa?” His father had come and was down there waiting for him. It had to mean something.

Despite the things said in anger, Daniel always planned on going home. Every time he’d run off before, he’d been welcomed back. So, he spent much of his time away thinking about how to word his grievances upon return. Though the circumstances were odd, with his father having come to him rather than Daniel crawling home in defeat, it seemed like the right time. He gave Horace the prepared speech.

“Pa, if you’ve got to give me a wallop, you shouldn’t call it a spanky. That’s disrespectful to me. I’m grown up, or near there, and you shouldn’t shame me like that in front of Becca. You always say to say sir and be respectful, but you should too. I don’t mean calling me sir, but being respectful.”

As Daniel waited for a response, guilt began to replace his draining frustration. He said things before he’d been knocked out of the kitchen that night. Part of him felt he deserved a wallop. “Pa, I’m sorry about what I said the other day, about Ma. I didn’t mean it.” He wanted to see his father’s face. He needed something other than silence. But, descending the rope still felt like a bad idea. He lay down and waited for Horace to speak.

Daniel woke up in the morning, in the forest’s dappled light. The rope was the same, tight and wavering. It wasn’t just strange anymore. It was frightening. “Pa?” He crawled over to the hole and looked down at his father’s blank, smoking stare. A cold weight settled in his stomach.

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