The Never Chronicles #1.5
Published March 20th, 2013
Solomon Caw Publishing
Margaret lives in a constant state of fear. Fear of her mother, whose constant state of anger and unwillingness to speak of Margaret's past have long since pushed Margaret away. Fear of disappointing her father should he ever discover the events of that day. Most of all, Margaret lives in fear of her abuser's return. Margaret turns to self-harm to cope with her pain and fear. Only when her self-inflicted injuries bring her near death does she realize she has the power and the support from an unlikely place to stand up to her fears and believe in herself again. Tristis Manor is a novella from The Never Chronicles, an epic fantasy series.
Thanks to J.R. Wagner , book sales made between March 20 and July 20 will go to help support
Author Bio:J. R. Wagner was born in West Chester, Pennsylvania, during a blizzard. The snow made travel by car impossible, so his father called an ambulance when his mother went into labor. The ambulance became stuck at the bottom of their home's driveway, prompting the dispatch of a fire truck, which towed the ambulance to the hospital where he was born. (see the actual newspaper article).
Maybe it was this experience that destined J.R. to love adventure. A competitive cyclist, triathlete, mountain biker, and adventure racer, he once received a medal for saving a woman's life during the kayaking section of an adventure race.
J.R. drafted his first story, a sequel to Return of the Jedi, when he was ten years old. A self-proclaimed Star Wars geek, he had lofty aspirations of working with George Lucas on filming the project. In 1990, he began filming his version of The Lord of the Rings in his parents' basement, but the plug was pulled after he nearly burned down the house. Since then, J.R. has written two full-length screenplays and a thriller novel.
After graduating with a kinesiology degree from Arizona State University, J.R. returned to Pennsylvania, where he took up writing once again.
He began writing The Never Chronicles while vacationing in Maine.
Excerpt From Tristis Manor
Margaret stood, feeling a sudden impulse and made her way to the tree. She crouched and gently brushed the soft pink flowers that surrounded it just as she had during her first visit with her father. They were soft – softer than any fabric she had ever felt. Off to her right was what Margaret believed to be the oddest of the four statues. She rose and moved toward it. It was hard to tell whether it sat upon the stone pedestal or if it was all a single piece of stone. The stone was a dark gray with veins of black – like nothing she had ever seen.
The statue was a bird. An owl. Its great talons gripped the edge of the pedestal as it leaned forward, its wings folded tight against its body – its eyes open wide as if it were tracking prey. All of these attributes Margaret found perfectly normal. It was when, on her last visit with her father, Margaret had looked deep into the creature’s eyes that she had noticed what neither of them had seen before. Behind the stone pupil, carved into the back of the eye socket, was a miniature cityscape of such exacting detail that Margaret believed she could look for hours and not take in every feature.
“Amazing,” her father had said when she pointed it out. “I haven’t the slightest idea how even the greatest of artisans could accomplish such a thing.”
“Father, do you believe in magic?” Margaret had asked.
Her father smiled as he thought of his response.
“There are many things in this world I do not understand, sweet Margaret. Many of the things I did not understand as a child I have grown to understand through the wisdom gained from life experiences. Still, as an adult, there are many things in this world I do not understand. I suspect, however, that if a man were given enough time to have enough experiences, the mysteries of this world would reveal themselves . The problem is, we are not given enough time in this world. To answer your question, Margaret, I will say I believe that what one man calls magic will inevitably be explained by the experiences of another. In short, I do not.”