“Christian A. Brown has written creatively since the age of six. After spending most of his career in the health and fitness industry, Brown quit his job to care for his mother when she was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma in 2010.
Having dabbled with the novel that would eventually become Feast of Fates for over a decade, Brown was finally able to finish the project. His mother, who was able to read a beginning version of the novel before she passed away, has since imbued the story with deeper sentiments of loss, love, and meaning. He is proud to now share the finished product with the world.”
That’s the official biography, provided by the marketing geniuses with whom I have worked. The unofficial story, which is not entirely told, involves numerous editors, four, full drafts before even making a manuscript I deemed ready for copy-editing, and a couple of years of 8-10 hour days at the computer. Writing is a career, which I have dedicated myself to as devoutly as a man of cloth and his God. Writing has been my passion, my salvation and purpose for the last three years. I wake at the crack of dawn, tend to my body (exercise is important for mental health) and then get right down to it. Routine, discipline, and a sanctuary in which to pen/type your craft are what I believe to be the qualities of a prolific writer (I’ll leave it up to you folks to decide on the quality, I’m merely discussing the output).
It is also important to note that we don’t get anywhere in life without the assistance of others. To that end, I would like to thank those who have supported me and my work. It is a long list, and at the expense of turning this into a short-story, I shall condense it a bit; sorry if I miss a few folks. First and foremost, I would like to thank my dear sister—and harshest critic—Michelle. Next up, Greg, who introduced me to the first of my editors (there have been many); he saw a glimmer of wonder under the dirt of my first manuscript and encouraged me to dig for more. A quick aside on editors: I love them. There is nothing more satisfying than going through repeated gauntlets of criticism, and coming out with fewer and fewer bruises on each occasion. Editors allow us to measure the progress with our manuscript in a more objective way than how we—the writer—can ever see our own work. Moving on, some names: Barbara—you’re vicious and I adore you for it—Kimberly, and Katherine. A special mention goes out to Lourdes and Lynn, as well, for being my earliest readers and the first to experience a relatively complete manuscript. Another bestowing of gratitude goes to Leo, the artist who brought my world to life. Finally, I need to thank my partner J. Without your support this novel never would have been made, and Geadhain would be a rather different, loveless, and less colorful place, from what it has become. I thank you all—and those without mention—from the bottom of my heart.
And of course, and without saying, I need to thank my mother: Cynthia. Wherever in the Great Mystery you are, I hope that you too are enjoying the adventures of Morigan and her fellows.
All my love,