Monday, October 7, 2013

S.M. White, author of The Lonely Man: The Witch's Price

Author Bio:

I'm an Indie author living in Louisville, KY near the banks of the Ohio. I attended Spading University's Creative Writing program, which I have had to halt in light of my writing career.

Title: The Lonely Man: The Witch's Price
Author: S.M. White
ISBN: 1490501444
Page count: 195
Genre: fantasy
Price: $2.99
Tell us about your book:
The book follows a man known as Mhets Sorrowbringer. A man wronged in life, and bitter for being wronged. When the love of his life is kidnapped by an invading army, Mhets sets out gather her ransom. He lights upon a god's treasure, and with the help of six men manages to steal it. Returning to pay the ransom, Mhets find his love has died and, beneath the blackness of his heartache, rallies and army of mercenaries and destroys the nation that took his love. Because of his crimes, thief of both treasure and life, Mhets is hunted by the gods. He takes the help of a witch, and gets pulled into a black plot that could spell the end of all mankind.
How long did it take to write the book?
This book was written fairly quickly, in terms of how I usually write. From conception to completion, it took me a little over three months. This is almost unheard of considering my last two books took me nearly four years to finish.
What inspired you to write the book?
"The Lonely Man: The Witch's Price" grew from the very first line: 'He stepped in corpses.' I was jotting down notes one day and this appeared, striking me. This image, this idea really set something off inside me. I had to know why this man was doing this, where he was, what would could about because of this. Thus was the book born.
Talk about the writing process. Did you have a writing routine? Did you do any research, and if so, what did that involve?
I wrote every day. Whether it was a couple thousand words or a couple hundred, I made an effort to sit down and write. Some days were obviously more productive than others in terms of energy and inspiration. When I wasn't feeling all too up for producing something new, I would go back and edit a bit, change a name here and there. For the research I studied up some on sorcery and the actions involved in dealing with black magic. I wanted the sorcerers in my book to do something unique and unexpected. I hope I managed to achieve that.
What do you hope your readers come away with after reading your book?
The idea that no matter how evil a person might seem, there's always going to be that inkling of goodness inside them. It might take calamity for that goodness to come to the surface, but when evil men play for the right side, it's a very good thing.
Excerpt from book:
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He stepped in corpses.
There was nothing else for it. This underground chamber, with hewn stone columns lifting hundreds of feet, and walls heavy with the long rattling sounds of death, was carpeted in corpses. Twisted, bleeding, broken fresh corpses, covered in maroon rags that were all what was left of heavy wool robes. Many of the fallen had had their skulls cleaved so efficiently that to check their sex you’d have to lift what remained of their hems. The corpses were worthless defenders, as they’d been in life when they thought their mortal meat would stop seven men armed with steel and fury.
Torches burned carefully upon the hulking stone columns, lending the space a cultivated illumination. The pooling blood on the ground glistened and rolled with the flames. The fire light swept over the unmoving bodies, making shadows seem in a desperate spot to wake the dead. The air was still, and the noxious scent of death hung uniform beneath the earth.
Mhets and his six companions, now free of the Mavins, approached the two massive stone doors set into the deep framework of the earth. Inscribed with old runes and markings that were at once beautiful and tragic, the pale doors bulged outward like an engorged belly waiting to be slit and spilled. The warmth of the underground chamber was stifling, made more so by the prior slaying the seven companions had been party to, but the sweat clinging to Mhets’ brow granted him a small shiver. The iron stink of blood filled his nostrils. He inhaled, fighting down the urge to scream.
The world heaved beneath him, a god and his tantrum.
Mhets looked at the men who’d followed him these long years, trying to read what their determined faces weren’t saying. Those faces said nothing Mhets could interpret. Four stood to his right: Allhune, Brown Tom, Bad Roe, and Robin of Tav Dale. The two brothers, Aln and Eln were on his left. He considered his motley group, examining the men in their gory victory.
Allhune was dressed in a fine blue silk shirt. His pants were black and cut to fit. The fabrics had miraculously collected only a smattering of blood stains. His long black hair was pulled back from his kind face, secured in a tail by a silver knot. Where he stood a noble figure, Allhune carried a hidden brutal violence.
Brown Tom wore a conical steel helm over his bald, rounded head. He wore only that helm, a leather vest, and torn breeches above his worn boots. The hardness of his face was made all the more immovable by the coarse black hair of chin and jaw. His hands were clamped tightly around the haft of his mace, now red and heavy with meat and blood. Brown Tom was a blunt man of muscle and fat, and his actions were none the different. Where a man might carefully woo and enchant a woman, Brown Tom would snatch her by the hair and toss her atop a bed.
Bad Roe, though thin and elderly, was an imposing presence. Decked in a simple canvas tunic and tan breeches that were cut at the knees, he looked more like an elderly underfed shepherd rather than the fledgling sorcerer he’d become. Yet he had a formidable aura about him. He could command mysterious forces, call terrible things from the world beyond the living. And still he depended on a saber to do his killing. A small leather bag was tied securely across his chest. His long white hair was wild about his face, streaked and stained in blood.
Robin of Tav Dale looked the merriest of the seven, if joy was to be found in such a horrid lair. His hair was blond and bright, and his green eyes twinkled above the cheerful line of his thin lips. The edges of his mouth curved just so, giving Robin the appearance of a man constantly on the edge of laughter. His motive in this enterprise, above all the others, was considered honorable. Although in the wake of the cruelty he’d just presented the Mavins, honor seemed a distant virtue.
The brothers Aln and Eln were dressed as was appropriate for thievery. Their breeches were black and sharp with blades. Their shirts were thin fabrics molded to their bodies. Matching heads of black hair cut short hinted at their shared blood. As did their eyes, the only things about them not dark. They were two pairs of shimmering blue. Women were said to forsake fathers and husbands after looking into those eyes. They each carried curved swords in hand, the weapons of seafarers.
              Mhets could read not a single man. They were adroit in concealing their emotions, a talent Mhets didn’t think he’d been gifted with. The slaughter of the Mavins—for it had been a slaughter­­­­­—wasn’t sitting right in his stomach. It didn’t help that there was no where to look without seeing the dead. He was no young man anymore, fancying purity. He had seen thirty winters, ten of which had hardened his heart beyond fear. What he was experiencing wasn’t fear, though. It was something else, something akin to how it feels blindfolding an old man before clipping him upside the head with a stick; it should have been a rousing jape, but it felt foul and selfish, and made you crave some kind of reprimand for the crime.
Where can we go to buy your book?
It can be purchased at
Any other links or info you'd like to share?
My personal website:

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