Affiliate Marketing Secrets

– Pro.
When I tell you, you will need to remember. It makes things easier for us that way. Now, it’s me and she and I and her and him and he and they and us. That’s it. That’s the story. At its simplest and most distilled state; packed and compressed. I’ve waved my hand in the clouded room; pushed away the smoke and steam, and have given you the one clear glimpse that you need. There it is, can’t you see it? The conclusion and the coup de grace, the finale and the resolution; sitting and waiting just right here for you. It’s me and she and I and her and him and he and they and us. So now that we’ve begun with the ending, let’s end with the beginning.
Feel it and let the hairs prickle up against the skin.
– 1
Feel it and let the hairs prickle up against the skin. It’s that cold: that chill that comes with a late autumn. With the sweeping and uneven winds that rattle at the trees and grab hold of the branches and leaves. It’s that molded smell, that composted earth and soiled air; the one that crackles and fizzles, sinks, and weighs down the tongue. Taste it. The untouched ground of a thousand years, the unchanging and melancholy of fields and valleys in rural New York; intruded on, defecated by, Hidden Hills. By the white walled, white speckled, white cuttings of its buildings, grounds, and people. This is the hospital. This is the prison. This is the Hell, that houses patient #91912844.
And the gilded light of an early morning contrasted the stark bite of the air. The resonance of snapping leaves; the wisps and curtails of cigarette smoke; the mild, almost hushed, chattering of teeth all did well to fit this morning niche. Her name was Dianus Romme. Her pace was slow and simple: dedicated but not purposeful.
These were her rounds; her routine. These were her grounds; her path. And her fingers trembled as she brought the cigarette to her mouth. With forced deliberation, she inhaled and masked her face with sheets of smoke. Beyond her, through a mesh of crossed wire, was the open and waving grass; the unrestricted and uncontained world. Delicately, she laced her fingers over the links; and pressed her palms to the fence. Her head rested against the post and she felt the soothing touch of metal. Her sighs fogged the air and, in a moment of weakness, closed her eyes and remembered.

– Pro.
When I tell you, you will need to remember. It makes things easier for us that way. Now, it’s me and she and I and her and him and he and they and us. That’s it. That’s the story. At its simplest and most distilled state; packed and compressed. I’ve waved my hand in the clouded room; pushed away the smoke and steam, and have given you the one clear glimpse that you need. There it is, can’t you see it? The conclusion and the coup de grace, the finale and the resolution; sitting and waiting just right here for you. It’s me and she and I and her and him and he and they and us. So now that we’ve begun with the ending, let’s end with the beginning.
Feel it and let the hairs prickle up against the skin.
– 1
Feel it and let the hairs prickle up against the skin. It’s that cold: that chill that comes with a late autumn. With the sweeping and uneven winds that rattle at the trees and grab hold of the branches and leaves. It’s that molded smell, that composted earth and soiled air; the one that crackles and fizzles, sinks, and weighs down the tongue. Taste it. The untouched ground of a thousand years, the unchanging and melancholy of fields and valleys in rural New York; intruded on, defecated by, Hidden Hills. By the white walled, white speckled, white cuttings of its buildings, grounds, and people. This is the hospital. This is the prison. This is the Hell, that houses patient #91912844.
And the gilded light of an early morning contrasted the stark bite of the air. The resonance of snapping leaves; the wisps and curtails of cigarette smoke; the mild, almost hushed, chattering of teeth all did well to fit this morning niche. Her name was Dianus Romme. Her pace was slow and simple: dedicated but not purposeful.
These were her rounds; her routine. These were her grounds; her path. And her fingers trembled as she brought the cigarette to her mouth. With forced deliberation, she inhaled and masked her face with sheets of smoke. Beyond her, through a mesh of crossed wire, was the open and waving grass; the unrestricted and uncontained world. Delicately, she laced her fingers over the links; and pressed her palms to the fence. Her head rested against the post and she felt the soothing touch of metal. Her sighs fogged the air and, in a moment of weakness, closed her eyes and remembered.

This is a book that will be released in a few weeks. It’s called Cinder. I just got an advanced copy of it and can’t wait to read it (makes me really excited, haha). Tell me what you think. Do you think it’ll be something you’d want to read when it publishes in Jan? Or no? The publisher is spending 100k on marketing, so they think it’ll sell well. It’s the first in a four part series and it’s by a new author.
Humans and androids crowd the raucous streets of New Beijing. A deadly plague ravages the population. From space, a ruthless lunar people watch, waiting to make their move. No one knows that Earth’s fate hinges on one girl. . . .
Cinder, a gifted mechanic, is a cyborg. She’s a second-class citizen with a mysterious past, reviled by her stepmother and blamed for her stepsister’s illness. But when her life becomes intertwined with the handsome Prince Kai’s, she suddenly finds herself at the center of an intergalactic struggle, and a forbidden attraction. Caught between duty and freedom, loyalty and betrayal, she must uncover secrets about her past in order to protect her world’s future.

Yes. This is from Rite 1 Burial of the Dead in the 1979 Book of Common Prayer (the current version):
The Consecration of a Grave
If the grave is in a place that has not previously been set apart for Christian burial,
the Priest may use the following prayer, either before the service of Committal or at
some other convenient time
O God, whose blessed Son was laid in a sepulcher in the
garden: Bless, we pray, this grave, and grant that he whose
body is (is to be) buried here may dwell with Christ in
paradise, and may come to thy heavenly kingdom; through
thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

This is from my fantasy/adventure book: The Tree of Light. All comments, tips and ideas for names or the title, are welcome. Thanks in advance!
Inside the cave, it was darker than any dark Avniel had ever seen. Being an outlaw who had a price on his head, Avniel had hidden in some pretty strange and dark places before. This place, however, was different from any other, and that wasn’t a good thing. Soon the pack of bounty hunters would pass, and he would leave.
Avniel was on his way to Astasia, a nearby city full of secrets which was guarded by the most fool-proof system anywhere: a tree. This tree, however, was no ordinary tree. All the legends claimed that it had been fashioned from pure moon-beams and golden sunlight. It was called the Tree of Light and it kept all evil away from Astasia’s gates.
Avniel chanced a look out of the mouth of the cave, and peered into the darkness. When his eyes adjusted he saw about four or five men on horseback who had cruel, hard faces and nasty looking swords and knives strapped onto their backs. They were talking and joking loudly among themselves. As Avniel’s keen eyes regarded the men, one man, he seemed to be the leader, began shouting at the rest of them. His face stayed obscured in the shadows, but his voice was dark and raspy.
“Hurry up you fools. We need to get going.” Avniel started suddenly. He had heard that voice before.
Right on cue, the raspy voiced man stepped out of the shadows and into a patch of moon light. He was a thin, rough looking man, with long grey streaked hair, beetle-black eyes and an evil, crooked smile on his unshaven face. Avniel gasped and sank back into the shadows of the cave, flattening himself against the wall, staying stock still.
“No”, he hissed under his breath.
“He can’t be here. All the way from Argon, he can’t be that desperate. Why would Daniel Salzar come all this way just for me?” Breathing deeply, Avniel peered around the edge of the cave once more. Salzar was looking away, but Avniel still knew that it was him, just from the greasy black hair hanging past his shoulders and the stooped, lazy way in which he walked and rode. Daniel Salzar would do anything to get hold of Avniel and bring him to Argon, dead or alive. However, Avniel had out-witted Salzar many too many times now, and Salzar’s grudge against the outlaw was getting more and more personal.
Suddenly, Salzar turned, and his deathly black eyes seemed to lock with Avniel’s. Avniel jolted backwards with fright and hit a rock. The walls and ceiling of the cave spun around him as whispered, hissing words seemed to fill his mind,
“The tree, I want the tree.” Then, everything went black.
On the same day of Avniel’s misadventure in the cave, a traveler named Barrett walked through the gates of Astasia. It was a market day; the bustling hordes of villagers gave this away. Barrett sighed wearily; he would get something to eat before he tried to do the business that he came here for.
A plump lady with fiery red hair noticed the tall stranger before he saw her. He was thin and had curly dark brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes. He looked intelligent, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. Any other woman would have thought him handsome, but Aaliyah Reevin wasn’t thinking about looks at all when she spotted him. Now he had noticed her and was coming over. Quickly, Aaliyah threw her shawl around her face, and held it tightly there, so only her hard, grey eyes showed. The man, it was Barrett Hale, she knew it, peered at her curiously as if he had seen her before. Then, shaking his head, he walked off into the merry crowd, leaving a bewildered and angry Aaliyah behind him.
Barrett shook his head. He was sure that he’d seen her, but why would she be here? That woman that he’d passed had the same cruel grey eyes, the same countenance, as Aaliyah Reevin. He thought that he even saw a wisp of wiry orange hair, but, it just didn’t make sense. Barrett shook his curly head once more and stalked off towards the castle.

This is the first chapter of my book “The Tree of Light.” Please tell me what you think. This is a rough draft so the spelling and grammar may not be perfect. Also, if you have any suggestions for name changes or a different title, I’d appreciate it!
Inside the cave, it was darker than any dark Avniel had ever seen. Being an outlaw who had a price on his head, Avniel had hidden in some pretty strange and dark places before. This place, however, was different from any other, and that wasn’t a good thing. Soon the pack of bounty hunters would pass, and he would leave.
Avniel was on his way to Astasia, a nearby city full of secrets. The city was guarded by the most fool-proof system anywhere: a tree. This tree, however, was no ordinary tree. All the legends claimed that it had been fashioned from pure moon-beams and golden sunlight. It was called the Tree of Light and it kept all evil away from Astasia’s golden gates.
Avniel chanced a look out of the mouth of the cave that he crouched in, and saw about four or five men on horseback. They all had cruel, hard faces and wicked looking swords and knives strapped onto their backs. They were talking and joking loudly among themselves. As Avniel’s keen eyes regarded the men, one man, with a huge red beard, snatched another’s canteen and gulped down the entire contents. The victim, a scraggly, scrawny man, angrily began speaking very rapidly in a language Avniel did not know, then pulled a wickedly gleaming knife from his belt and held it above the thief’s chest. The man grunted and tossed the canteen back to the furious owner, who stalked away, muttering under his breath and shooting angry looks at the thief.
Avniel’s eyes left the scene and traveled to the front of the surly group. When the outlaw’s eyes fell upon a thin, rough looking man, with long grey streaked hair, beetle-black eyes and an evil, crooked smile on his unshaven face, he gasped and sank back into the shadows of the cave, flattening himself against the wall, staying stock still.
“No”, he hissed under his breath.
“He can’t be here. All the way from Argon, he can’t be that desperate. Why would Daniel Salzar come all this way just for me?” Breathing deeply, Avniel peered around the edge of the cave once more. Salzar was looking away, but Avniel still knew that it was him, just from the greasy black hair hanging past his shoulders and the stooped, lazy way in which he walked and rode. Daniel Salzar would do anything to get hold of Avniel and bring him to Argon, dead or alive. However, Avniel had out-witted Salzar many too many times now, and Salzar’s grudge against the outlaw was getting more and more personal. Suddenly, the skinny man turned, and his deathly black eyes seemed to lock with Avniel’s. Avniel jolted backwards with fright and his head hit a rock. The walls and ceiling of the cave spun around him as whispered, hissing words seemed to fill his mind,
“The tree, I want the tree.” Then, everything went black.
On the same day of Avniel’s misadventure in the cave, a traveler named Barrett walked through the gates of Astasia. It was a market day; the bustling hordes of villagers gave this away. Barrett sighed wearily; he would get something to eat before he tried to do the business that he came here for.
A plump lady with fiery red hair noticed the tall stranger before he saw her. He was thin and had curly dark brown hair, and chocolate brown eyes. He had an intelligent look to him, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. Any other woman would have thought him handsome, but Aaliyah Reevin wasn’t thinking about looks at all when she spotted him. Now he had noticed her and was coming over. Quickly, Aaliyah threw her shawl around her face, and held it tightly there, so only her hard, grey eyes showed. The man, it was Barrett Hale, she knew it, peered at her curiously as if he had seen her before. Then, shaking his head, he walked off into the merry crowd, leaving a bewildered and angry Aaliyah behind him.
Barrett shook his head. He was sure that he’d seen her, but why would she be here? That woman that he’d passed had the same cruel grey eyes, the same countenance, as Aaliyah Reevin. He thought that he even saw a wisp of wiry orange hair, but, it just didn’t make sense. Barrett shook his curly head once more and stalked off towards the castle.