The Frewyn Herald: Home of the Haanta Series

It was an immense year pushing three books, twelve novellas, and countless short stories out the door, and 2018 is already shaping up to be another long publishing year. One non-fiction book and two fiction novellas are already on the way, and a short story anthology is also in the works. So much to write, so little time, but in honour of the holiday, all our 2017 books are ON SALE for half-price until New Year's Day. If you did not have a chance to read Baba Conrridh or Favour of the Gods, now is your chance! All 2017 books are 50% off   And now, a story about celebrating the Frewyn new year:  T he sun ascended its meridial perch, beaming resplendent along the wend of the river, congregants gathered more for the decorating of the tree in the churchyard than they did for the sake of listening to the sermon sighed out over the creaking pews, the last Onne Bennath Aconna was drumbled through in a sonorous drone, and the Gods’ Day before Ailineighdaeth was rung in. The bel

Over the Ailineighdaeth season, we will be doing edits for the next book. Here is an excerpt:  There is one person I know who owns the monopoly on misanthropy. Despite popular opinion, this person is not me. He is a charming man, full of dashed designs and foiled ambition, who is as self-deprecating and and self-sabotaging as he is sardonic, who is capital at complaining and treats anger and vehemence like an Olympic sport. He is all my envy. He will say I win at this, merely because he is afraid of my losing, but out of good faith and a general willingness to be agreeable to anyone but my mailman, I gladly bestow the gold medal of grievances unto him. No, he is not an old grimsir; he is not unlike many: a man severely wronged by the world, shunned by good society and much maligned, his soul is blandished with dented finery, every chip in his spaulders a notch on the sufferance tree, one he uses to good effect to tell everyone exactly what he thinks about them and

While Aoidhe and Borras regularly appear to Frewyns during prayers or holidays, more prudent Gods only appear to some in secret, and when there is a child to be humoured, even the most illusive of Gods will reveal themselves: More of Menor here                 A mongst the bouquet of well-wishers crowding the royal party, who were come to offer their compliments and say their long goodbyes, amidst the examining of watches and passing remarks of the hour’s being later than anyone had expected, though the sun had be gone many hours, amid the pandiculations of feigned fatigue and the heady stagger of inebriety, Brighel looked up at the sky to mark out the scintillating stars and attach herself to her father’s leg. The chief of her evening had been spent in sitting with the children at table, lighting marshmallows on fire and cracking through the charred remains, dancing with her brother and cousins, and tugging on Chune’s flaxen tresses whenever she could. She was a darling chi