Title
An Empty God
Author
Edward Eaton
Genre
Literary Fantasy
Publisher
Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.
Book Blurb
Dravpruk reigns over his lands, carving out seas, shaping mountain ranges, dallying with nymphs and satyrs, and sometimes chasing off giants or hunting trolls.
It is good to be a god.
When the first humans spread across his lands, Dravpruk's life becomes complicated. Does he antagonize the other gods by making war against these primitive creatures? Or should he try to understand humans? How does a young god survive with so many obstacles in his path?
Excerpt
Chapter I
I.
I am.
I am a God.
That much I can say.
That much I know.
That much I remember.
I have forgotten much more than I could ever remember.
I have forgotten most of my past, though I still have some vivid memories, mental pictures, of my existence so far. Vivid memories but hazy around the edges. There is an order to them, though understanding the order of a God’s memories is much like understanding the order that leaves fall from a tree. There might be a meaning in it, a pattern to it, but there are so many leaves on any given tree that even Gods would not bother trying to figure out the reason they fall as they do.
I am young. I am old. I am older than mountains. I am older than some stars, for I saw many born in the heavens, popping into existence as new pricks of white in a black vacuum. I am certainly younger than some stars, for I was able to watch some of my celestial companions, that were likely old when I came into existence, fizzle and die—or flare out in death as great supernovae. I am older than most seas and younger than the great oceans. I suppose I am younger than many Gods—there were wila and satyrs in my infancy, so there must have been gods before me to have created them.
I have had many children. Children I have fathered, and children I have borne.
Some of them I knew. Some I did not.
Some of them were Gods.
Some…
...were not.
Those that might have been Gods are all gone now, or, at least, as far as I know, they are.
They are gone, as are most of my kind: overrun by civilizations; destroyed by other Gods; slain by giants or other fell beasts who dare to rise up against Gods; killed by happenstance; devoured by time; simply wasted and withered by inaction, lethargy, or, in some cases, indifference; or…well, I’ve known enough talers to know I should not tell the end of my story before I start.
If my divine children are not dead by now, they might as well be. The Age of Gods has ended.
Most of my children were mortal. At least, as far as I can remember. They are certainly dead by now.
Some of them are part of my story and of my memories.
Most are not.
One problem with immortality is that events, seemingly significant at the time, are diminished, subsumed, or forgotten. I might well have loved my children. I am sure I loved some of them some of the time and hated some of them some of the time. That is the nature of parenting among men and wila and satyrs and beasts under the Sun or under the seas. If there is any aspect of parenting the divine have excelled at over man and beast is the ability to fail abjectly.
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Author Biography
In addition to being a writer, Edward Eaton is a stage director and fight choreographer who has worked extensively in the Boston area, regionally, and overseas. He has taught classes and workshops at a number of schools, including Harvard, MIT, and Brown. Currently, he calls MassBay Community College his teaching home, where he takes on classes in English, Literature, Critical Thinking, and Philosophy. As a writer, he is responsible for a number of works including the award-winning Rosi’s Doors series, the Greek verse duology of Hector and Achilles and Giants Fall, and other works. He has also published extensively as an essayist, a journalistic, a theatre and film critic, and a scholar. He lives in the Boston area with his wife, Silviya, and his son, Christopher—when he bothers to come home from college.
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EDWARD EATON