Happy New Year all,

I recently completed my first book (a Christian contemporary novel) and I am currently exploring publishing options. I decided to post an excerpt here for comments. See below for the first page.
By the way, if anyone knows a good Christian publisher in Nigeria, I would appreciate it if you could provide the contact information on this thread.

"Redemption House"

      I got the letter a month after my suicide attempt. I was lying on a threadbare mattress strewn carelessly among other items on the floor of my studio apartment. The room was virtually empty, with the exception of the aforementioned mattress, a small coffee table and an old moldy sofa – odds and ends that I saved from my days as an undergraduate student. A pile of unread mail sat on the floor beside the sofa, some of them over a month old. It was noon, and I was yet to get out of bed.

      A soft breeze blew in through the open window, gently caressing my skin. It was supposed to be early spring, but Houston’s mild winter ambled along sluggishly, as if making up for the time it had lost due to its late arrival. I shivered slightly and pulled the covers more tightly around my body.

     This was how I spent my days now, sleeping and waking up, sleeping and waking up, staring endlessly at the worn paint on the wall of my tiny apartment, its color now barely discernable, and listening to the sound of the leaky kitchen faucet in the background. Drip, drip, drip, drip. It stopped driving me crazy days ago. In a way it reminded me of myself, just there, existing aimlessly, having no purpose in life except to aggravate everybody else.

      Ivie was certainly aggravated enough. I gave her a terrible scare a month ago, when she knocked on my door and I collapsed into her arms, pumped full of sleeping pills. Since then she had been shuttling between her home in Georgia, and the hospital in Houston. I owed her a lot, including the fact that I had somewhere to call home after I left the hospital. Bless her; Ivie had gotten the best possible apartment for the money I gave her. She had begged me to let her loan me some money, but I stubbornly refused.

Nice, descriptive, but there's no conflict yet to hook me. I don't know why she attempted suicide.
If she wanted to kill herself, why is she grateful to the person that stood in the way of her choice?

Seun,

Thanks for the quick response. You should know that a lot of people who attempt suicide don't really want to die, they're just depressed. I will post the rest of the prologue in a minute. It still won't answer all your questions though (if it did, the rest of the book would be unnecessary )

Redemption House - Prologue Continued

Ivie came back into the apartment – she had gone outside to empty the trash – and stood by the door for a while, perusing me. She had tried everything to get me out of bed and back to life, but I resisted defiantly. All I wanted to do was sleep. When I slept, I wasn’t depressed about my life. I didn’t think about the fact that I was estranged from everybody who had ever meant something to me. And I didn’t surrender to the paralyzing fear that held me in its clutches, the fear that I would always be alone, and abandoned, and unlovable. When I slept, the world was a peaceful place. Every night, I slept hoping fervently that I would not wake up.

Ivie interrupted my thoughts. “Efosa, how do you feel today?”

“I am fine,” I gave her my standard response.

“Do you want me to help you out of bed?”

“No, thanks. I think I’ll just stay here.”

Ivie came into the apartment and returned the trashcan to its place in the kitchenette, and then sat on the sofa and tried to make conversation. I ignored her. I could tell she was scared for me. That was why she had insisted on staying on in Houston after I was discharged from the hospital a week ago. She watched me like the mother of a newborn child all day, making sure I didn’t do anything stupid. A part of me wished she would just go home, yet another part of me was terrified that she would.

“I made fresh fish pepper soup,” Ivie said, feigning a cheerfulness that neither of us felt.

“I’m not hungry,” I replied.

“Efosa laho, please, you haven’t eaten anything in days. Have a little soup please.”

“No, thanks Ivie,”

“Efosa, if you do not eat, I will tell the therapist this afternoon.”

I was in therapy three days a week. Two days ago my doctor had threatened to have me committed if I didn’t eat or take the drugs that had been prescribed for me. I sighed, resigned. “Okay, I will have some soup.” I dragged myself off the mattress. My legs almost caved at the effort that it took to walk the short distance to the sofa.

I don’t know why my eyes settled on that letter. It was sitting on top of the pile, and had been sent by express mail and was postmarked Lagos, Nigeria. “Who would write me a letter from Nigeria?” I mumbled.

“You got a letter from Nigeria?”

Ivie came into the room, carrying a bowl of steaming soup and a bottle of water.

“Open it,” she said excitedly.

She must have figured hearing from home would lift my spirit. I stared at the letter in my hands, trying to imagine who could have written to me. Even though I grew up in Nigeria, I had become out of touch with my friends and family.

“Efosa, oya open it.” Ivie repeated.

I tore open the envelope and unfolded the single sheet inside it. "Dear Efosa, I hope that this letter meets you in good health." I smiled wryly at the irony.

"I mean no offense in writing you this letter. I realize that I have no right to expect anything from you, but I am hoping after all these years, that you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

I started to feel uncomfortable. The ominous feeling grew stronger with every word I read – surely he wouldn’t, couldn’t, daren’t have the nerve to write to me. In panic mode, my eyes ran to the last line of the letter – the signature line. The look on my face when I saw the name of the writer must have alarmed Ivie. As she started towards me, I began to scream, and just as she reached me, I fell to the floor in a faint.

Good story @Consultant, but i think you should get some professional editor look at it.

Wish you well in getting it published.