The date is August 1914. The British Expeditionary Force is in France and You're in the Royal Field Artillery. You're riding alongside one of the battery's gun limbers on its way to the assigned position on the east side of Mons, Belgium. This begins your journey into the Hell they called World War One. To purchase this historical memoir go to https://createspace.com/3649268
Thursday, July 5, 2012
The Book Proof
I contacted Create Space to find out the time frame for wrapping up the book. They responded that they finished the book cover and will be mailing out the printed book proof for me to review and if I approve it, then it could be released for sale within five business days. If I want, I could give them a date for release so that I could plan for it.
How strange it all seems that after working on this project for so long that it is, or at lease the first portion of it is coming to conclusion. I have focused on the one goal of completing the book and getting it published. Now the time is near and the race is only half over. I have to create a new mindset from writing to marketing. If I don't make this transition then my dream of walking into a bookstore and finding my book on their shelf will die.
Perhaps it is because it is my first book, or that it was written out of love for my family, but whatever the reason my grandfather's journal stories will always lie just below the surface. An example of this happened last night while I was watching fireworks. The big ones that spiral towards the heavens and then explode with the sound of an artillery shell, lighting up the sky with all forms of color. My mind made the journey back to WWI and my grandfather's description of standing on a ridge, as the day faded into night, over looking the continuing battle around Mons, Belgium. He said that he stood there in awe, like a kid watching a fireworks display, looking at the shells exploding over the battlefield. Listening to the exploding fireworks I wondered if artillery shells were as loud or louder. Then I began to realize that the sound of bursting shells was only a minor element. I couldn't possibly comprehend the horror that one would experience when shells would strike the ground around you and lift up large sections of earth. This horrific experience would continue for hours until fear would consume one's very soul. I can only imagine.
To read the review of The Great Promise click on this link: Perpetual Chaos of a Wandering Mind: About the Liebster