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The Magical Tree

Finally, after many months of juggling work, writing and life in general, The Magical Tree is available. You can find it on both amazon.com and SmashWords:

The Magical Tree – Kindle Edition

The Magical Tree – SmashWords Edition

The cover was done by my cousin (a few times removed, I’m still not sure how all that works) Jackie Reid, she’s a freelance designer (mostly web stuff) and you can catch her here to see her portfolio.

Free read Friday!

Free read Friday! That’s right. In the coming weeks, my next short story will be released as a standalone e-book. It’s a story based on the mystical magical tree that lay, powerful and waiting, in my childhood neighbourhood. The story is first person, told by a boy of perhaps 7 or 8. Sound exciting? You bet! For a bit of a teaser, I’ve put a snippet of the first draft below for a free Friday read:

“Where?” Ty begged, breathless.
“I don’t know, can you see a tree?” I searched, my hand in a salute blocking out the sun.
“What does a magical tree look like anyway?” We craned our necks and scanned their yard for what seemed like hours, when eventually a voice got our attention from below. I looked down: Mothuzi was watching us.
“What are you guys looking at?” He asked. He still had some marmite on his face from lunch.
“Have you heard about the magical tree?” I asked. The look on his face made us clamber down to hear his story. Mothuzi always had a story.

“Do you guys know the truth about the tree?” He looked at us with big, important eyes, and we knew he was about to give us a massive piece of gossip that no-one else knew. Mothuzi knew things: he was Thabang’s older brother, and he had been on K-TV and he could do karate and he had a Sega 16 bit, with the Michael Jackson game on it. “Let me tell you about the tree. Come, let’s go to my house.” We followed Mothuzi reverently; everyone knew he was going to be famous one day. He even knew the answers to those questions on “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego”.

He led us into his house and went straight into his bedroom. We waited in the passage outside; nobody went into Mothuzi’s room without him inviting you in. We stood at the door and looked at his TV and Sega 16 bit and the poster of Jurassic Park on his cupboard door, and waited. Eventually he came out and pointed us to the living room, where we sat on the two-seater couch opposite his chair. He didn’t say why he went to his room, and we didn’t ask. You didn’t ask questions like that when you were with Mothuzi; you listened carefully to every word he said so that you could soak up his coolness and maybe one day people would say you were going to be famous.

Enjoy, and share with your friends if you do.

Brett