Ravven White's Blog

Hello and welcome to the last Substack entry from The Quaint and Curious. Due to the the fact that Substack seems to think it’s okay to let hate speech be monotized, we’re leaving.

Yeah, yeah free speech blah blah blah. We don’t want to hear it. Our brand has always been about uplifting underrepresented voices and creating a space for healthy conversation and debate.

Not let hate run rampant and free.

So where are we going? To be honest I’m not quite sure but I promise to take you all with me. I might go back to Wix for emails like I was doing before. Maybe I’ll find something better.

To say I’m disappointed is an understatement. I really liked the setup here and the connection to other news letters.

But whatever, I existed before here and I will exist after.

Thanks for coming for the ride, you’ll be hearing from me very, very soon.

-R

Lately I’ve seen a trend in the indie world where authors are posting snapshots of their KDP distribution celebrating hundreds or even thousands of ‘sales’. Besides popping up on my own social media timelines, a few of my authors have sent me the posts asking why their book isn’t doing as well and how they are failing as authors. I tell them all the same thing: sometimes numbers lie.

It’s well established that indie authors have to work ridiculously hard to carve out a space in the literary world. When it comes down to it, indie authors have to do all the gritty work that a trad author would have a whole team for. Thousands of hours are put into a book and usually the return does not equal or come close to the investment. It’s daunting. It’s exhausting. It’s eternal.

Refer a friend

Because of that, we often look for things to validate our experience and energy. We compare ourselves to each other and to trad authors, and often we try to mimic what the trad authors and publishers are doing. I think this can lead to disappointment and is a disservice to our work and ourselves. What works for the trad doesn’t always pan out for the indie press and very rarely for the self-published. We just don’t have the resources that the big houses have. It is what it is.

But we have a lot of other things going for us that should be celebrated: our creativity, our independence and freedom, our weirdness, and our passion. Those are the things we should lean into.

So let’s talk about the conflation of sales numbers and distribution numbers.

They are not the same.

Almost every time I see the posts of hundreds or thousands of sales it is because the author has run a free ebook promotion that resulted in a whole lot of downloads. Scrolling a few posts back, I typically find the free ebook announcement. Even if there isn’t an announcement, a quick look at thier audience engagement and their rankings on amazon will tell me that it was likely a free promotion - not hundreds and thousands of sales.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with free ebook promotions. If you’re looking to bulk distribute and get lots of downloads fast, or host a giveaway, it’s a great resource. I myself have done free ebook promotions in the past because it gave my ebook a much higher chance of hitting #1 in multiple categories and I wanted the bragging rights and sweet orange ribbon.

But free downloads and sales are two completely different things and should not be grouped together. I saw a creator on tik tok posting thousands of sales in the first week of release but in the comments wrote that only fifty of them were print copies and the rest were free ebook downloads. It’s misleading to post that you’re selling thousands of books when you simply aren’t.

Now I’m not trying to talk smack on any person who has done this. You do you, boo. I would ask you, though, why you feel the need to exaggerate your numbers and lie to your audience? Why do you feel you have to prove that your work is good enough?

Maybe you haven’t reached hundreds or thousands of physical sales but the book industry is playing the long game and success doesn’t happen overnight.

Can you become a sensation overnight and sell thousands of copies? Of course you can. But that is the exception, not the rule.

A lot of hidden truths about the publishing industry came out during the Penguin Random House/Simon & Schuster antitrust trial. If you never looked into it, you absolutely should. Although the merge was ultimately blocked, the time in trial broke through the illusions of trad publishing with some raw and gritty details. Peep this stat I snagged from Jane Friedman:

Of all the publishing statistics shared at the DOJ-PRH antitrust trial, that top bullet point is the one that really opens people's eyes.

But what does it mean?

It is a little bit misleading, if still a good wake-up call for authors about the realities of book publishing, and how many books don't financially succeed.

The testimony didn't refer to the exact source being used here, but my best guess is they're counting ISBN numbers from Bowker for that 58,000 title count—looking at all traditional publishers who use ISBNs on their books. And as far as sales figures, I assume that's coming from NPD Bookscan, which tracks print retail sales in the United States. It's possible many books sold more than a dozen copies, just not in print and/or not through retail channels (e.g., Amazon, Barnes & Noble, your indie bookstore on the corner, etc). I wouldn't be surprised if scholarly/university presses play a role in keeping the average number low, since a lot of their sales are to libraries, and Bookscan does not track library sales. There are surely other factors as well.

Probably the more defensible figure shared at trial is the 90% one—that 90% sell fewer than 2,000 units. That's definitely from NPD Bookscan.

* sorry for the typo, that should be “trial” in the headline 🙃 - Jane Friedman

If you don’t catch my drift it’s simply this: the numbers don’t equal value and it shouldn’t equal success. You don’t need to compete. You just need to be.

I hope this opens up some conversation and retrospection on the topic of distribution numbers vs. sale numbers. My purpose is not to make anyone feel bad, but rather remind you that numbers are a game and your value as an author is not determined by them.

We hold the traditional publishing world accountable for their transparency. How do we as indie authors apply the same standard to ourselves?

-Ravven

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I’m excited to announce December’s release: The Last Magus; Dragonfire and Steel from award winning author Mark Piggott.

Mark was one of our first early authors and he came with an already established series, loads of self-published books and numerous awards. To say I was intimidated was an understatement. Was I even qualified to publish him when he was already blazing his path?? Mark thought so. He’s been a huge supporter of our house since he joined and he is forever patient and kind.

I think one of things I appreciate most about Mark is his desire to always do better. With each new work he’s creating, Mark strives to be inclusive and caring and learn how to incorporate experiences outside of his own. And if you don’t know Mark, here’s a little bit about him:

Mark Piggott, a native of Phillipsburg, New Jersey, enlisted in the U.S. Navy in 1982, beginning a 23-year career. He served on four aircraft carriers and various duty stations as a Navy Journalist before he attained the rank of Chief Petty Officer. He retired from active duty in 2006. Mark currently works as a writer-editor for the Department of Housing and Urban Development. He and his wife, Georgiene, reside in Alexandria, Virginia. They have three children.

His first novel, Forever Avalon, was published in 2009, followed by his second novel, The Dark Tides, in 2014. The Outlander War: Book Three of the Forever Avalon series from Austin Macauley Publishing was released in 2020. In 2021, The Outlander War won second place for fantasy in the 2021 Firebird Book Awards, and his new fantasy adventure novel, The Last Magus, from Lulu.com, won first place for steampunk. He is currently working on the fourth book in the Forever Avalon series, The Prometheus Engine, and the next book in The Last Magus series, Dragonfire and Steel!

Mark has lived a prolific life and continues to do so, from the books he is constantly writing, to the many, many events he dedicates his time to.

Refer a friend

So, without further ado, here’s the blurb for Mark’s latest book:

The Magus were legendary magic casters/warriors, able to cast spells and wield powerful magical weapons. They were the guardians of magic in Attlain but were cast out and feared for their power. Marcus Gideon was trained by The Last Magus, destined to restore the dignity of the order.

After graduating from the Basilon Magical Academy, Gideon sets off for his master’s homeland. Plodoro was an isolated city in the far north of the Skjem-Tur mountains. Surrounded by giants and blanketed in an endless winter, Gideon traveled to the far-flung region to fulfill a final request of his master and return a sacred weapon to his people. He must finish this task to return to his true love, Wren.

The First Princess of Attlain fell in love with Gideon during their time at Basilon. Now, to win her parents’ approval, Gideon must win the Helios Arcanum Magical Arts Festival. This celebration showcases the best magic casters in Attlain, and Gideon is the first Magus to compete in over a hundred years. As he fights for his life and reputation, the dark shadow looms over him as the Ulbrecht Domo―the Shadow Lord of Ishtar―has other plans for The Last Magus.

CHILLS.

I’m super excited for you all to read this exciting new novel. It’s truly a fun read and perfect for any lover of scifi and fantasy.

You can pre-order The Last Magus; Dragonfire and Steel right here, right now!

And just to entice you a wee little bit more, enjoy this snippet (and then go pre-order)

-Ravven

“The Kingdom of Attlain was a strange world of magic and miracles of modern invention. Humans and demi-humans—alfs, dwarves, catsei, and many other unique races—built cities on the technological might of modern marvels called “Magius Engines.” These engines—powered by magic—lit the darkness through electric lamps and connected the cities and towns in all directions by a network of magius-powered trains and iron-hulled ships. It was a world of endless wonders, as well as many dangers.

Everyone knew Attlain as “the land of eternal magic,” and it rightfully deserved the distinction. Magic was at the heart of Attlain society, with nearly half the population able to use it in some form or fashion. Laws governed the use and misuse of magic under the watchful eye of the Helios Arcanum. The Arcanum researched and protected the secrets of magic, ensuring no one abused it within the four corners of Attlain.

To the west, the desolate iron-sand dunes of the Iron Wasteland led to the shining jewel of Solara and the honored yet ancient traditions of Yamatai. Just north of the vibrance of Algresso Romá, up the winding Messipi River to the majestic mountains of Skjem-Tur, lay the forgotten city of Plodoro. And to the east, from the iron hills of Le’Arun, past the magical forest of Ponshu, into the glory of Celestrium by the Sea.

Yet, in all of Attlain, there lived monsters of all manner and breadth, vicious and evil, threatening everyone. To that end, the people utilized professional adventurers to root out these creatures and keep them safe. The warriors, magic casters, clerics, rangers, and the like kept the ever-changing population at bay. Among these adventurers was a unique group of men and women known as the Magus.

Since time immemorial, the Magus were the protectors of magic, armed with a magic caster’s power and a warrior’s strength. They could summon various magical weapons from specialized caches they wore, known as an Armory of Attlain. They were legendary among the people of Attlain until the Magus Rebellion. When a few Magus decided it was better to rule over the people instead of protecting them, they rebelled, but the insurrection quickly ended from within their ranks. However, the rebellion already did the damage. The remaining Magus were cast out, feared, and outlawed by all accounts, except those few who remained loyal to the crown and lived as adventurers. For generations, they had all but disappeared from the landscape of Attlain.

After decades of unknown absence from the people, a new Magus emerged to reclaim the banner and restore the Magus’ dignity. His name was Marcus Gideon, the Last Magus of Attlain.

Duarté Dartagni sat quietly in his cell. He stared out the solitary window through the bars at the night sky. He could hear the sound of waves crashing against the rocks and smell the salt in the air, although he could not see the sea. He never felt more alone than he did at that moment.

Once, he was the Paladin of Le’Arun, the top adventurer of Attlain and the pride of the kingdom. He wielded Durandal, the Holy Sword of the Archangel. It made him feared by enemies and adored by the people—a true champion—but it was all a façade.

Duarté was, in reality, a power-hungry monster who would do anything for the right price. He ran out on his best friend to get his hands on Durandal and killed hundreds of Magus so his sorceress wife, Selene, could access the magical weapons in their armories. Ultimately, he conspired with their ancient enemy in Ishtar, providing them with many cursed magical weapons to undermine the crown. All this for unimaginable wealth, and yet now it was all gone because of that Magus.

Marcus Gideon, the apprentice of his former friend and Magus, Henri Botàn, discovered his schemes, exposing and challenging him to a duel. A lowly apprentice dared to oppose the Paladin of Le’Arun—it was a joke. And yet, he defeated Dartagni, winning Durandal and sending the former paladin to the dungeon.

Duarté rubbed his face, searching for the little cut that marred him. Weeks later, it still had not healed, but it did not bleed either. It was a reminder from the Magus that he held Dartagni’s life in his hands. In their duel, Gideon used a cursed sword to fight Duarté called BloodOnyx, the Sword of the Vampire Lord. The crystalline blade once belonged to the Vampire Lord Alucard. With just a simple little cut, the monster could drain his victims’ blood from deep within the caverns of Golquieth.

Gideon used the sword on Dartagni, and now he held the paladin’s life in his hands. If Duarté or any of his allies went after the Magus or his friends, he would use the power of BloodOnyx to kill him. There was nothing the former paladin could do. Since his incarceration in the Obsidian Court, his wife had been banished to Ishtar, and his adventuring party disbanded. Duarté was all alone.

Even with all his grumblings and complaints, Duarté accepted his fate. He believed in what he did, taking the magical weapons from the Magus. Giving the Magus these weapons made it impossible for adventurers like him to do his job, but instead of taking his concerns to the king, he took matters into his own hands. That was his mistake, and now he must pay.

I’ll use my trial to tell Attlain why I did what I did, Duarté reminded himself. They will understand why and, in the end, they will love me again!

Duarté lay down on the hard bunk to try to get some rest. He was unaccustomed to the stark nature of his cell, but he had no choice. He was utterly exhausted all the time, and sleep was his only escape from the stone walls and steel bars. Since he arrived in Celestrium, Duarté was regularly interrogated by the Obsidian Court. The court was a magical intelligence organization within Attlain, comprised of wizards, thieves, and assassins answerable directly to the crown. The Obsidian Court kept a watch on potential threats, both internally and externally, to Attlain.

 He promised to reveal everything to the court once they released Selene and assured him of a fair trial before the crown. Even though the sorceress was responsible for breaking into the Magus armories and retrieving the weapons, they were more concerned with the murders and treason, which fell directly on Duarté. Once Selene explained her part in the affair to the Helios Arcanum, the king exiled her to Ishtar.

Over the past few weeks, Duarté took his time spilling his secrets to the court. He wanted to prolong things as much as possible, waiting for word that Selene had arrived in Ishtar. Once there, he hoped she would reach out to their contact and press for his release or perhaps break him out. He wanted to bide his time and wait for as long as possible.

“What’s the matter, Duarté Dartagni? Why so sad?” came a mysterious voice that filled the air, startling the paladin. He sat up, but as he did, he stared into the dark visage of a shadow beast. The monster emerged partway from within a shadow just above his bunk. Dartagni trembled as it leered at him with black eyes as empty as a bottomless pit. The only other thing visible on the shadow beast was its sharp teeth, smiling as drool trickled on the paladin’s head.

“Are . . . Are you here to help me escape?” Duarté asked, stammering with each word.

“Escape, hmm,” the monster said as he pondered the question. “I guess you could say that.” He suddenly reached out and grabbed Duarté by the throat, choking him with his massive hand as he lifted him off the bunk. It tightened its grip around his neck, squeezing the life out of him. “Death is a form of escape, isn’t it?”

“Wait!” the former paladin pleaded as he struggled against the monster’s strength. “Please, let me speak to the Ulbrecht Domo!” The shadow beast paused its assault when Duarté mentioned that name, staring at him curiously.

“And why would my master want to speak with you?”

“I have information about the last Magus,” he sputtered as his voice strained against the monster’s grip. The shadow beast huffed at Dartagni. As much as it wanted to kill Duarté, the Ulbrecht Domo might want to hear this.

“Wait a moment,” it said, releasing Dartagni from its grip as it disappeared into the shadow. Duarté gasped for air as he desperately tried to catch his breath. He quickly gathered his thoughts, ensuring he knew what to say when the shadow beast returned. It may save his life.

Within moments, the monster returned from within the shadow on the ceiling. It held out a conch shell to Duarté, who looked at it suspiciously. A voice then spoke from the conch shell. “This had better be important, or Olaf will ensure you a painful death instead of a quick one.” Duarté knew Ishtar loved the ocean, and much of their magic revolved around it, but this was impressive even to a seasoned adventurer.

“May I first ask about my wife, Selene? Did she arrive in Ishtar?” Duarté inquired. There was nothing but silence from the conch shell. He knew he had to give him something to get an answer from the Ulbrecht Domo.

“The Magus you’re looking for, his name is Marcus Gideon,” Duarté said, anxiously awaiting a response.

“Go on,” the voice in the conch shell said.

“He has more than twenty weapons in his armory. It seems his master, Henri Botàn, was receiving weapons from other Magus trying to get rid of their armories while he lived in Armändis,” he continued. “Killing off the Magus to collect their armories must have driven them to him.”

“And do you know what weapons he has in his armory?”

“Only the weapons people saw him use: Shatterstorm, Bonesaw, Ouroboros, Freya, Will O’ the Wisp, BloodOnyx, and Crimson Sky are the ones I know of at this moment,” Duarté added, hoping it was enough to appease him.

There was silence from the conch for a minute. “Your wife arrived safely in Ishtar, Duarté. She will teach our young nobles magic, at least those with the gift. She will be quite useful to us,” the voice said, bringing a sigh of relief to Duarté. He was happy to know that Selene was alive and well.

“And me, I can be useful to you, Ulbrecht Domo,” Duarté insisted. “I’ve already done so much for you. Haven’t I earned a place in Ishtar?”

Once again, there was silence from the conch shell, which frightened Duarté. He waited patiently, but nothing, absolutely nothing. “Ulbrecht Domo?” he pleaded, trying to save his life.

“Don’t worry, Duarté, you will be of great use to Ishtar,” the voice assured him. Duarté smiled, relieved to hear that until the shadow beast grabbed him by the head with his other hand and violently twisted it. His head spun around like that of a child’s doll. It killed him instantly as his body collapsed on the bunk.

“Your death will send a message to all those who serve the Ulbrecht Domo,” the voice said as the shadow beast disappeared back into the shadows. “Failure is not an option. The only option is death.”

Sir Duarté Dartagni, the Paladin of Le’Arun, was dead. There would be no funeral procession, no statue commemorating his deeds and accomplishments. They would bury him in a pauper’s grave without markings, headstones, or ornamentation. He would be forgotten, lost to the annals of history as a traitor to his country, nothing more. It was something worse than death—being ignored as
if he had never existed.”

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Dracula meets gothic Indiana Jones in this exciting new novel from David E. Grinnell, author of Ashes (CCP), Moonglade (CCP), and Lightwaves (QKP). When I tell you this book is luxxxxx, I’m talking beautiful formatting by Sirius, full page color illustrations by Mitch Green, gorgeous gray digital cloth bound hardcover, intricate journal entries, and an elegant dark acadamia cover, also by Mitch. Yeah, luxxxxx.

And peep this blurb:

The pages of this diary belonged to a young British archeologist, Nicholas Ainsworth, known for his odd curiosity for the morbid and macabre. His expedition for deviant burials and historical artifacts in the Transylvanian Alps abruptly ruined with the approaching Nazi occupation, he seeks refuge in a mysterious old castle. As he settles into the abandoned gothic ruins, strange phenomena cause him to question his sanity...and if he is truly alone.

David’s academic achievments in gothic literature shine brightly in his newest work which, in my humble opinion, is his greatest work to date. David is one of those people who has the smarts to wipe the table in any literature conversation and the humanity and the kindess that make him a truly well rounded and cool person.

In fact, here’s a little blurb about David:

David Grinnell who also goes by the pen name David Edgar Grinnell is a poet, author, and literary scholar from Cleveland, Ohio. He was born 1992 in Norfolk, Virginia, but grew up in the suburb of Bedford. In 2014 he attended Cleveland State University and graduated with his bachelors in English. Grinnell specializes in Romanticism, the Gothic, and draws inspiration from vulnerability. He reflects and portrays love alongside hope, melancholy, and even occasional despair. Currently, he is a funeral director apprentice at St. John Funeral Home.

So yeah, pretty cool dude.

Refer a friend

The Antiquarian arrives November 30th and you can pre-order it right now right here!

Before I go, I’m going to drop the first journal entry here just to entice you into the castle that definitely, probably doesn’t have vampires:

“I’ve never recorded anything in my life. I shall write in this diary for academic, research, and personal use only. It is only fitting to start now since receiving my admission’s letter to attend the University of London. As a British gentleman, I am eager to begin my scholarly ambitions as an inspirational archaeologist. Since I was a young boy growing up in Yorkshire, I’ve always had a curious mind and I would go exploring the countryside. While growing up I became fascinated by Yorkshire’s rich Roman and Viking heritage and explored the many Norman castles, medieval abbeys, and even the national parks.

After my primary education, my father passed away from tuberculosis and my mother sent me to live with my wealthy Uncle Henry. Uncle Henry is my mother’s oldest brother, but he and my father never got along due to their social class differences. My father was always offended by my uncle’s appearance as he always dressed in fine fancy coats and ties and when he came to visit us in Yorkshire during the holidays, he would arrive in his fine Crossley 19.6 modelled car. Living with Uncle Henry in London is enjoyable, however, during my time here, thoughts of my father and mother remain in my mind.

My mother is a grieving widow… She met my father at what is now my uncle’s residence. My mother and uncle hosted a party at the residence to support our military. My father was a soldier. He was drafted in the royal army during the outbreak of the Great War. According to my mother, father was never the same after returning home. He was fighting in the trenches and was returned home after being wounded in action. I imagine the horrid conditions of the trenches triggered his later illness. Father never talked about the war; his hands were always shaking as if he was always tormented by a looming spirit. I am fifteen and just like any young man away from his parents for the first time, I feel homesick. I am an only child. Solitude kept me company while growing up in Yorkshire. Though I was not completely alone, I had a friend named Irene. She was pretty with black hair, soft-hued skin, and brown eyes. She wore a dark bluish grey dress with lace designs upon her chest. Not only was she my friend, but we became much closer than that. We’d go explore ruins such as Whitby Abbey.

Whitby Abbey with its gaunt, imposing remains, is what I believe to be the most romantic ruin. It is set high on a cliff above the Yorkshire seaside town of Whitby. It was founded in 657 by Saint Hilda. Whitby Abbey over the years was a bustling settlement, a kings ’burial place, the setting for a historic meeting between Celtic and Roman clerics, the home of saints including the poet Caedmon, and inspiration for Bram Stoker, author of Dracula. I’ve never been too keen on superstitions, poets, or Victorian authors such as Stoker. That bit of information was given to me by Irene. She loved all the Romantic poets and, in her solitude, would spend time reading Stoker’s novel, while I, was more fascinated by the over two-thousand years of history of the site.

I miss her… We spent so much time together around the Whitby Abbey grounds. Any enthusiasm or discovery I shared with her; she’d giggle at me with her hand pressed against her lips. She would be sitting, leaning against one of the fallen pillars with her book, and say, “Oh, Nicksie… You’re so cute!” She bit her lip at me, “What did you discover?” I’d sit next to her, she’d put her book down, and listen to me rant and rave about everything. She cared; and when those deep brown eyes met mine, it was difficult for me to finish speaking. It was like I was in a trance; mesmerised by her gentleness. She gave me a kiss upon my cheek. I didn’t see it coming because I was too focused on her eyes. The next day, I broke Irene’s heart. I met her at the abbey and told her my mother was sending me to live with my Uncle Henry. The clouds were dark and grey, and a roll of thunder echoed as she stood there comprehending what I told her. We felt raindrops dancing upon our heads. Irene’s breath shallowed; every breath drained her. My eyes strained against the sight of her. It tore my heart; watching her. Irene’s soft skin turned sallow. She was like a ghost or a corpse and darted away. The rain picked up as sheets of water soaked me to the bone. From the distance, my sight lost her amongst the downpour. I haven’t seen her again since…

Irene is always on my mind. Ugh, he’s bloody at it again! Though Uncle Henry can never have any children, he loves me, his only nephew, as his own. Sometimes, Uncle Henry has many birds come to his residence. He is sort of a pig when it comes to women, but yet at the same time, he is a gentleman to them. I don’t know how though… I mean, my uncle can never stay with one bird. I shall write at another time when my brain is not bothered by the rambunctiousness from these thin walls.

Yours Truly,

Nicholas Ainsworth

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Today I’m announcing a brand new addition to my Substack publication: The Quaint and Curious subscriber chat. If it’s not new to you congratulations. I myself am slow and still learning all the deets.

This is a conversation space in the Substack app that I set up exclusively for my subscribers (no I didn’t, Substack did) — kind of like a group chat or live hangout. I’ll post short prompts, thoughts, and updates that come my way, and you can jump into the discussion (if I remember and half the time have vague ambitions that ultimately die a slow and gruesome death).

To join our chat, you’ll need to download the Substack app, now available for both iOS and Android. Chats are sent via the app, not email, so turn on push notifications so you don’t miss conversation as it happens (because we are definitely happening).

Download the app by clicking this link or the button below. Substack Chat is now available on both iOS and Android.

Get app

Open the app and tap the Chat icon. It looks like two bubbles in the bottom bar, and you’ll see a row for my chat inside.

That’s it! Jump into my thread to say hi, and if you have any issues, check out Substack’s FAQ.

Join chat

Thanks for reading The Quaint and Curious! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

Thank you for reading The Quaint and Curious — your support means that more readers have access to our quaint and curious tales and I have to keep on top of these weeklyish newsletters.

Do you like free things? In this economy of course you do. How can you afford not to? You can’t.

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Thank you for helping get the word out about The Quaint and Curious, the up and coming newsletter about rejects and hauntings.

Have a great week and I’ll see you next weekend!

Metaphorically, of course. Unless I’m watching you.

—Ravven

Thanks for reading The Quaint and Curious! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

This past weekend the Curious Corvid squad haunted Richmond, Virginia. In attendance were The Entity Ravven White and their minions Mark Piggott, David Grinnell, Grace Reynolds, Robert Sohl, and Aimee Nicole.

We all had the pleasure of attending Halloween Hangover hosted by Barnes and Noble at Libbie's Place. We were able to peddle our spooky books and hang out with other horror authors including Wendy Dalrymple, Clay McLeod Chapman, Max Booth III, Laurel Hightower, Jessica Leonard, Vaughn Jackson, Jessica McHugh, Hailey Piper, RJ Joseph, Red Lagoe and so many more!

Look at all these beautiful faces!

Something I've truly grown to love about the horror community is that maybe you arrived friendless but you won't leave that way. We have a special gift of connecting with each other and picking up conversations as if we have talked from the beginning of time.

Our adventures took us ghost hunting which, as you will see below, was quite rewarding as I snapped this photo:

You may need to up the brightness but there is 100% a ghost on those stairs.

The tour ended at a bar which is haunted by a pervy ghost who likes to get friendly with the fems. To no one's surprise, I think almost all the attendees ended up at this bar the following night…because is there anywhere else to find a horror author? Sadly the ghost was a no show although Stephanie Pearre and I did attempt to summon him in the bathroom.

Grace and I were on a panel together moderated by Wendy Dalrymple and we talked about Pink Horror and what it means to us as writers. It was my first panel and I was so grateful to be surrounded by strong and empowering people as we talked about the feminine experience and how we embody horror.

Between the panels, the readings, and the companionship, this was an event I will not forget. For me, the best part was being with my friends and making new ones. I've always felt that community makes or breaks me and I stand by that. The people I shared space and time with this weekend are people I'm so grateful for.

Today is Monday and I'm exhausted and everything hurts but I'd do it again. And hopefully I will next year.

And maybe the pervy ghost will actually show up next time, who knows?

Were you at Halloween Hangover?

We've all heard the stories of demons and contracts and the terrible things that come to the poor soul that signs a binding deal with the devil.

And all of that is true.

Most recent media will have you believing that the devil isn't all that bad and that demons are really just misunderstood creatures whose only real crime is being sinfully handsome or tempting you into consuming that second decadent cinnamon roll.

And all of that is a lie.

And I should know, I work here in hell, slaving away beneath stacks and stacks of sticky, improperly filled forms. The only redeeming thing about this job is the surplus of eyeballs, which, must be consumed in a precise manner for the most enjoyable and euphoric experience. There are some rumors that I can be bribed with eyeballs.

While I cannot confirm or deny such accusations, if a pair of eyeballs were to be delivered to me, I would take interest in the deliverer.

Anyway, back to the details.

Be wary of contracts with demons and know that it involves an inordinate amount of red tape that nobody is particularly fond of.

And if you don't believe me, you can read Swallow You Whole which arrives September 17th and follows the wicked trail of wayward demons and tempted souls. You can preorder it now here: www.curiouscorvidpublishing.com

I am in the book also, but do not let your vision of me be clouded by Henry's absurdist behavior.

—Lady

Most of my ideas come to me in fever dreams and this one was no different. There I was, walking the eternal Unknown alone, a murder of crows settled in a dying pine tree cawing beside me. The noise was deafening and simultaneously haunting and beautiful. I felt myself begin to fold, legs and arms bending in foreign angles, my spine contracting and shortening, my brain leeching out through my nose and eyes, coating my now paper sized, neatly folded bones and skin. And I found myself waiting to be read, waiting to be seen.

Waiting for you.

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Curious Corvid Publishing is absolutely stoked to announce that our brand partnership application is officially live and open. Are you a bookstagrammer who loves small indie presses, enjoys uplifting women and queer owned businesses, and indulges in the odd and unusual dark literature?

You're the one I've been dreaming of.

Partners will be expected to post reviews 2 to 3 times a month, share our new releases, and be a totally rad community member. In return, you'll recieve a personal discount code to share with your followers and get free access to all our inhouse ebooks through Bookery (our ebook distribution platform).

If you'd like to save me from my dream (nightmare?) you can apply today right here:

https://tinyurl.com/Bookstagrammer-app

We just had a stunning release of The Witch’s Quickening by Byron Griffin. It's a gothic story of a young woman claiming her power, finding her coven, and taking down men. Oh and it's fully illustrated.

Next month we visit a beaucratic heaven and hell with Sirius’ Swallow You Whole. This delicious victorian gothic horror is both a dark comedy and a gruesome depiction on why you should never make deals with a demon.

Imagine having first (free) access to fun new titles like this?

Its a dream come true.

Join the revolution and apply today! Or don't. I can't guarantee my flesh book self won't show up in your dreams…

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I'll be honest with you, social media and all the trappings has me worn o u t. So when Substack started blowing up I was already tired with the prospect of learning yet another new thing. But here we are and it's not at all because of me but because Grace R. Reynolds, my dear friend and author, set it up for me.

So hey! My name is Ravven and I run Curious Corvid Publishing, a home for the odd and unusual…and the rejects. I started my press because I didn't feel there was a space for me at the time. And lo and behold, a lot of other people felt that way too. Now we birds of a feather publish our weird little stories birthed from our weird little hearts and never mind the piles of reject letters haunting the closets and under the stairs.

I'm just starting out so please forgive my learning curve. In the meantime, you should totes check out Grace's books that are on sale

I'll be back around soon. Behave yourselves. Or don't, I'm not your mother. Or am I?

Subscribe now

Thanks for reading The Quaint and Curious! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.