₦airaland Forum

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 )

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.

Not bad. I have seen people post some really bad stuff on this site so I was expecting more of the same thing, but I was pleasantly surprised. All the best marketing your book, and in your future writing endeavors.

I just finished this book and to be honest, Chimamanda has nothing on this girl. Imagine this is a very great book and Sade is extremely talented. I am looking forward to the sequel already.