It’s officially one week until the release of my werewolf series, Refining Sylver, on Channillo! So I thought I’d take a moment to tell you a little about Channillo, in case you’re curious. (I’ve only been on the site a few months, but this is what I’ve figured out, so far.)
Channillo is a writing site that specializes in serial fiction and non-fiction. Once your story-proposal is accepted, you can release the segments as frequently as you wish. It’s also a great place to meet other writers. Thanks to Channillo, I’ve followed and received new followers on Twitter, as well as on my Channillo account.
There are different types of memberships you can purchase that allow you to subscribe to different numbers of stories. I’ve got the basic one, and it gives me plenty of stories to choose from.
And finally, I don’t know all the details, but it appears that there are awards given every year for the best series in each of the various categories–so I would consider that a cred for your writerly resume, should you win.
Anywho, give Channillo a try, and if you join, find me on the site, and drop a line!
I hope you will stop by Channillo on September 2 to read the first chapter of Refining Sylver!
Here’s another excerpt: (Please excuse the formatting as I’m having issues getting everything straight in WordPress.)
…As I step outside, onto the cobblestones, the hairs on my neck stand on end. It’s sunny out. Humid. Belvidere is alive with reckless drivers, but the windows are dark in this neighborhood.
We’re being watched, and it feels like spiders crawling down my spine.
“Luna,” I whisper, “can I have the pepper spray?”
She walks nonchalantly to her car and dips into the passenger seat. While she’s rummaging in the glovebox, I visually search each window. There! A curtain moved. The window’s shut, so it’s not a breeze. I’m walking as soon as Luna hands me the spray.
The window is on the second story. The house’s trim is flaking and the whole place could use a good power-wash. I test the doorknob. It turns.
Luna grabs my shoulder, but I shrug her off. Whoever’s in here may know what’s really going on. Luna sighs, but still follows me in.
This house is in much worse shape than Dire’s hideout. The floorboards are actually broken in several places and it looks like the house itself is teetering off-balance. There’s a creaking noise overhead. I scurry for the stairs and climb them in gentle leaps, hoping my feet don’t plunge through the soggy boards.
I stop at the top, and listen. It’s silent. Too silent. Houses this old breathe; they have a life. There are ticks and groans and a certain heaviness that comes with something that’s a hundred-and-fifty years old. It’s like shadows of the past still live in these ancient structures.
I scan the hallway. The architecture sings of the days when women wore long dresses and hid beneath dainty parasols; of the days when men smoked cigars in public and horses clopped noisily down the streets.
But this house has been shushed, like it’s a child and its mother has held up the foreboding finger of silence before her pursed lips.
A thin hand emerges from behind a cracked door, followed by a pale blue eye. I don’t move the pepper spray from its ready position. I’m not taking any chances.
The child surveys me in silence before pulling the door back to reveal his dirty face and disheveled clothes…
Thank you for stopping by! Please leave a comment. I’d love to chat!