Scheduling your Posts

When you start a website or a blog, the ultimate goal is to generate traffic. But even though their are so called, “time tested methods” in how to acquire such traffic, it often becomes apparent how shallow they are if they have no passion for what they do.

I want this site to be a place where I can present my stories and to show of the capabilities that the fantasy world “Book of Legacy” have. But to do so, I’m going to have to take the next step in becoming a well visited site; and that is to put a schedule on when and what I publish.

Stories from now on will be posted on Monday’s and Friday’s (The current one you can read here: The Exodus Journal).

I also aim to posts poetry on Wednesdays and maybe a personal blog post on the weekend… Maybe.

So, yeah, lets see if this works out and if I can indeed follow a schedule at all!


The Exodus Journal: A New Series

Vol. 1

The moon shone through the window, revealing many shelves inside the dark room. Only the candle in his hand gleamed in bright orange and yellow, the light moving along the stacks of books on the lower shelf. Some of the books were well used and in tatters, while others were virtually new and easy to recognise. She had a system for organising her books, he knew, but he could never figure it out – not fully. This only made him more excited, feeling as if he was on a grand adventure and explored an old forgotten dungeon. But as the light of the candle fell on a piece of cloth hanging on the wall, the illusion faded, and his mind once again turned to gloom.

The banner was made of red cloth with golden thread-work that depicted a blood moon eclipsed by a curved blade. It was the banner of his family, or rather, his tribe; the rulers of this world.

Fendrael’s eyes glistened in the candle light as he looked, his eyes almost as red as the moon on the banner.

But the banner represented something else to him, a society which he could not fully understand; a family he could not fully be a part of. Sometimes he wondered if he knew his mother at all. At times, she was understanding and warm, in others, she was brisk and secluded. Hiding herself in her library and immersing herself in her many books. Today was one of those days when briskness took control of her; and his father was not far behind in adding to the scolding, for he trusted his wife immensely. There was no such thing as being too strict with his son.

Fendrael felt his punishment to be uncalled for, being locked inside as he was. All he had done was asking an old man about the strange looking ornaments hanging from his beard, and commented on his funny accent…

Bored and bitter, he let out a sigh, blew out the candle, and let himself fall onto the only chair in the room behind him. The chair creaked dangerously under his weight. But instead of checking for damage, he furrowed his brow and remained on the seat, caring not for the scolding he would surely receive later. 

Now, sitting comfortably, he stared at the ceiling that was as black as night itself. They say it is dangerous to look too deeply into the night, lest your mind traps itself in the void. Shuddering from the thought, his eyes drifted down to a table next to him. On it, there was a well worn book, half open and inviting. Curious, he grabbed it, but wrinkled his nose as a pungent smell entered his nostrils. The book was old (really old) and the leather cover seemed to barely hold the yellowed pages together. Holding it far from his face to avoid the smell, he read the title on the cover: “The Exodus Journal.”

There was no author on the cover, only the title. Figuring there was nothing else he could do, he placed the book back on the table, lit the candle again, and carefully turned to the first page. The pages were dry, but they still held, and the smell, that had made his nose wrinkle moments before, no longer affected him as he leaned forward and read the first sentence:


A Fictional Journal Written in Poetic Verse – Writer’s Update

Poems are usually inspired by what you observe, or the emotions that you feel, from real life. But I have discovered, for a while now, that you can create beautiful poems from your imagination, as well. My fantasy world, for instance, is rich in conflict and varied in environments, so I figured I’d create fictional poems about the Universe of ‘The Book of Legacy’.

I experimented at first with regular poems, but it gradually developed into a hybrid between a fictional journal and fiction poetry. Basically, it was a journal written in poetic verse.

I put it up on and people seemed to like it. But they found it hard to read more than a few verses at the time, for such is the nature of poetry, to be read and absorbed one at the time. So, I decided to make it entirely into a fictional journal about an important event from the lore of ‘The book of Legacy’. An event that happened long before the era that my novel takes place in.

However, I very much like my poems, so while I’m polishing the short story journal, I will post some of the verses that are as vague as I could make them – so to not spoil anything.

I purposely left out key facts to add to the mystery and the intrigue of the story, but some things will be explained in the fictional journal once it’s finished – but not everything. I want to leave room for the readers to imagine themselves what really happened without making it confusing and convoluted.

Anyway, I hope that you will enjoy my little experiment and I would appreciate any feedback along the way.

Book of Legacy: Prologue

I just want to say thank you so much for the followers that I have, and to everyone that have either liked or simply viewed one of my post. They all count, and provide some validity to what I do.

The original purpose of this blog was to showcase the progress that I have made with my book, but as it turns out, it is not easy to post something that you feel you can do better, especially on something that you really care about and have spend a lot of time making.

And despite my reservations, I want to post the prologue of my story so that you may get an idea of what the book will be about. I appreciate any comments that you may have, whether it is about the story, or just my general writing style.

The wind chills through her cotton cloths as she traverse the road on the hill. The stone plates that was laid out hundreds of years ago has crumbled and parts of the road has disappeared. As the path becomes more narrow, parts of the plate breaks under her weight and her body leans over the edge. She reaches desperately for something to hold when a man grabs her by the wrist and pulls her back into the fold. Terrified, and breathing intensely, she looks at her saviour. She smiles, thankful for his intervention, but her smile soon disappears when she sees the emptiness of his eyes, eyes of a man that has travled too far and seen too much. Feelings that she is all too familiar with.

As they continue to ascend, loud noise start to erupt that echoes through the hill. She breaks from the crowed and looks nervously to the front of the caravan a few hundred meters above. A crack of smile forms along her face as she sees people weaving. They have reach the top safely. It will take many hours before she will arrive, and many days before the rest is, she thinks as she watches the snake like line created by hundreds of thousands of refugees.

Ominously, the horizon is covered in a strong orange light, with a thick blackness from the smoke the fire creates. The destruction is unimaginable and it’s getting closer. Images of her town, her whole world burning away floods her mind as a tear falls from her eye.

Even in the cold northern climate she can still feel a faint warmth in the air from the westward wind. Her lips tremble. Realising that she is torturing herself she swallows her emotions deep inside and looks away; letting them out now would break her and this is neither the time nor the place to show weakness, she thinks as her people watch her when they pass by. 

The tall grass touches her bare ankles and she cannot resist to stroke the soft green weed as this will be the last patch of green that they, and anyone else will ever see again. She shivers at the though of what would have become of them, hadn’t her brother stepped up as he did.

At the top of the hill the leaders of the different clans gather, discussing the next course of action. Only a decade ago she would not have imagined her people united as they are now. But disaster has a way of putting things into perspective and erode old grievances.

At the cliff below she watches as shattered families prepare their meals and rest for the journey ahead. She raises an eyebrow seeing a blue eyed woman together with a man of red eyed descent, a union that was blasphemous not that long ago. Even though the old society is all but broken, she doesn’t fail to notice such contradiction.

To her left she hears a small child asking his father. “How much longer will we be walking?”

“As long as we need to son.”

“But where are we going?”

The father pauses for a few seconds and then says. “Do you remember back home when we were going to grandmother’s, but we were delayed because of the wind?”


“…and then the ship had mechanical problems and we had to land in a different city but the day turned out well anyway?”

The child nods. 

“Well this is kind of like that, something unexpected happened and now we have to make the best of things.”

Another man grunts a few meters away from the family and says. “Except there is no turning back.” Taken by the intensity of the man’s yellow eyes, she cannot but stare as it reminds her of the fiery destruction happening in the background. Realising that she finds beauty in something so awful she looks away.

She sighs heavily and looks towards her brother who is sitting alone at the top of the hill. Even the clan leaders avoids him. The feats he accomplished seemed god like, and fear rests in things people don’t understand. Shameful to admit it, she can feel it as well.

They say it is a gift only one in a million of their people are granted, though her brother sees it as anything but a gift. The clan leaders looks at her and nods in her brother’s direction. She swallows her fears and walks towards him, knowing that he alone holds the burden of their entire existence. Such responsibility would drive lesser men into madness. He glances at her as she approaches. “You don’t have to come up here,” he says, clenching his hands around his knees, as if in pain.

She doesn’t say anything and kneels down next to him, putting her hand on his shoulder. He grunts loudly as she touches him and his eyes starts to glow red, almost burning. She takes a tight grip around his body, holding his arms together with all her might. She knows his pain is internal because she feels the same way, but somehow his anger, sadness and anxiety is manifested. His body is tense but he doesn’t try to break free. Slowly he relaxes. As she feels tears fall on her head she releases her embrace and looks at him as the glow slowly fades. She’d like to believe that what she does helps, but she also knows that her brother is strong.  

She puts her hands on his face and presses her forehead against his. “We will get through this, brother. Together we will survive, and create a new future for our people.” He nods and stares into the distance with newly found determination. On the far side of the hill a purple glow illuminates the horizon, a presage for the toxic world that awaits them. She whispers to herself. “…Avos help us.”