As I mentioned in my afterword, I had estimated a need for $6,000 and so I held my Kickstarter for $3,000 (one-half coming from me and one-half from my readership). As it turned out they funded the project at more than 1000 percent, so when all was said and done, not only did I have money to hire the talented professionals that I had picked out, but I also ended up with what was essentially an advance. This is exactly the way traditional publishing works, but instead of getting the advance from a publisher, I got it from the readers. This really has made me think about the changes in the industry. I know several authors who have shelved projects that they felt strongly about but were either turned down or offered too little to sign. Since these are previously published authors, they already have fan bases and I’m hoping that they’ll see Hollow World as an example of how they can continue to pursue their dreams by writing the stories they want and finding an audience on their own. So not only did the backers of this Kickstarter make Hollow World possible, hopefully it’ll provide a template for other authors to follow for their own works.
I thanked each person by name in the Kickstarter edition, but I wanted to once again give them all my heartfelt thanks for their belief in the project, their financial support, and all the amazing reviews and comments they have provided since getting their books. This book belongs to you just as much as it does to those that participated in the production of the book, and I’m humbled by all that you have done for Hollow World.
— Michael J. Sullivan
October 2013
About the Author
After finding a manual typewriter in the basement of a friend’s house, Michael inserted a blank piece of paper and typed: It was a dark and stormy night and a shot rang out. Well, he was just eight years old at the time, so we’ll forgive him that trespass. But the desire to fill the blank page and see what doors the typewriter keys would unlock wouldn’t let him go. For ten years Michael developed his craft by studying authors such as Stephen King, Ayn Rand, and John Steinbeck. During that time, he wrote twelve novels, and after finding no traction in publishing, he gave up and vowed never to write creatively again.
Michael discovered that never is a very long time, and he ended his writing hiatus after a decade. The itch returned when he decided to create a series of books for his then thirteen-year-old daughter, who was struggling in school due to dyslexia. Intrigued by the idea of writing a series with an overarching story line, he created the Riyria Revelations. Each of the six books was written as an individual episode but also included intertwining elements and mysteries that develop over time. Michael describes this endeavor as something he did “just for fun with no intention of publishing.” After presenting the first manuscript to his daughter, he was chagrined that she declared, “I can’t read it like this, can’t you get it published?”
So began his second adventure on the road to publication, which included: drafting his wife to be his business manager; signing with an independent press; and later creating a small press. After two and a half years, the first five books sold more than 70,000 copies and ranked in the top twenty of multiple Amazon fantasy lists. In November 2010, he leveraged his success and received his first commercial publishing contract for three novels from Orbit Books (the fantasy imprint of Hachette Book Group, USA). In addition, Michael reached international status with more than fifteen foreign rights translations including France, Spain, Russia, and Germany, just to name a few.
Michael’s work has been well received by critics and readers alike, earning him thousands of positive ratings/reviews, interviews, and articles. He has attributed much of his success to the fantasy book blogging community. Dubbed “the little indie that could” he found his books pitted as the only independent in major competitions such as the 2010 and 2012 Goodreads Choice Award Nominee for Fantasy and the 2009 Book Spot Central’s Fantasy Tournament of Books, which he won. His traditionally published edition of Theft of Swords was short-listed for the 2013 Audie Award for Fantasy.
Today, Michael continues to fill blank pages and is working on his third series tentatively titled The First Empire.
Contact Information
Website/blog: www.riyria.com
Twitter: @author_sullivan
Email: [email protected]
Facebook Author | Riyria
Theft of Swords
If you enjoyed Hollow World and would like to read more of Michael’s work, you might like Theft of Swords.
They killed the king. They pinned it on two men. They chose poorly.
There’s no ancient evil to defeat, no orphan destined for greatness, just two guys in the wrong place at the wrong time…Royce Melborn, a skilled thief, and his mercenary partner, Hadrian Blackwater make a profitable living carrying out dangerous assignments for conspiring nobles until they become the unwitting scapegoats in a plot to murder the king.
Stolen Letters
Hadrian could see little in the darkness, but he could hear them—the snapping of twigs, the crush of leaves, and the brush of grass. There were more than one, more than three, and they were closing in.
“Don’t neither of you move,” a harsh voice ordered from the shadows. “We’ve got arrows aimed at your backs, and we’ll drop you in your saddles if you try to run.” The speaker was still in the dark eaves of the forest, just a vague movement among the naked branches. “We’re just gonna lighten your load a bit. No one needs to get hurt. Do as I say and you’ll keep your lives. Don’t—and we’ll take those, too.”
Hadrian felt his stomach sink, knowing this was his fault. He glanced over at Royce, who sat beside him on his dirty gray mare with his hood up, his face hidden. His friend’s head was bowed and shook slightly. Hadrian did not need to see his expression to know what it looked like.
“Sorry,” he offered.
Royce said nothing and just continued to shake his head.
Before them stood a wall of fresh-cut brush blocking their way. Behind lay the long moonlit corridor of empty road. Mist pooled in the dips and gullies, and somewhere an unseen stream trickled over rocks. They were deep in the forest on the old southern road, engulfed in a long tunnel of oaks and ash whose slender branches reached out over the road, quivering and clacking in the cold autumn wind. Almost a day’s ride from any town, Hadrian could not recall passing so much as a farmhouse in hours. They were on their own, in the middle of nowhere—the kind of place people never found bodies.
The crush of leaves grew louder until at last the thieves stepped into the narrow band of moonlight. Hadrian counted four men with unshaven faces and drawn swords. They wore rough clothes, leather and wool, stained, worn, and filthy. With them was a girl wielding a bow, an arrow notched and aimed. She was dressed like the rest in pants and boots, her hair a tangled mess. Each was covered in mud, a ground-in grime, as if the whole lot slept in a dirt burrow.
“They don’t look like they got much money,” a man with a flat nose said. An inch or two taller than Hadrian, he was the largest of the party, a stocky brute with a thick neck and large hands. His lower lip looked to have been split about the same time his nose was broken.
“But they’ve got bags of gear,” the girl said. Her voice surprised him. She was young, and—despite the dirt—cute, and almost childlike, but her tone was aggressive, even vicious. “Look at all this stuff they’re carrying. What’s with all the rope?”
Hadrian was uncertain if she was asking him or her fellows. Either way, he was not about to answer. He considered making a joke, but she did not look like the type he could charm with a compliment and a smile. On top of that, she was pointing the arrow at him and it looked like her arm might be growing tired.
“I claim the big sword that fella has on his back,” flat-nose said. “Looks right about my size.”
“I’ll take the other two he’s carrying.” This came from one with a scar that divided his face at a slight angle, crossing the bridge of his nose just high enough to save his eye.
The girl aimed the point of her arrow at Royce. “I want the little one’s cloak. I’d look good in a fine black hood like that.”
With deep-set eyes and sunbaked skin, the man closest to Hadrian appeared to be the oldest. He took a step closer and grabbed hold of Hadrian’s horse by the bit. “Be real careful now. We’ve killed plenty of folks along this road. Stupid folks who didn’t listen. You don’t want to be stupid, do you?”
Hadrian shook his head.
“Good. Now drop them weapons,” the thief said. “And then climb down.”
“What do you say, Royce?” Hadrian asked. “We give them a bit of coin so nobody gets hurt.”
Royce looked over. Two eyes peered out from the hood with a withering glare.