Who is this guy? What is he doing? Why do I care?I could start this by saying many things that might bore you, things like, "Hello, my name is Logan A. Rowland" and/or "I am an aspiring author trying to fund his first publication" or even "I live in a small town but I have big dreams" but of course, that would be dreadfully boring and you don't want to read that. I know what you would want to read here, or rather, I know what I would want to read at this point. By this point, you more than likely have either stumbled upon this campaign or you know me in some sort or fashion and have been directed to this little project I am attempting, because you are either bored at 3:00AM or you care for me in some respect or another. Well, I must say thank you for being here, whether you meant to be or not, and I hope, by some way that you find interest in what I am attempting that you are thankful that you either found this, or were directed to it. And now, enough of this snorefest of introductions and on to the project...
THE PROJECT.
Only That Which They Defend is a novel that I have finished writing, and have began the arduous task of editing and proof reading, before I send the manuscript in for professional editing, that spawned from my very love to write and experience good fiction. I hope to publish it through an assisted self-publising program known as WestBow Press, a sister company to the monstrous traditional publisher, Thomas Nelson.
Writing this began as an exercise to "work out and train" my writing ability and storytelling. What it turned into, I could never have guessed. Its essentially a story about redemption, forgiveness, hope, light and darkness and the rise above the coming storm...and it's about superheroes. Now before you leave, hang with me just a moment--let me explain. They are not more or less superheroes like that you see on the big blockbuster movies in the summers with men and women running around in tights and throwing hammers and setting themselves on fire--though, I'm not trying to belittle any of that (seriously, throwing big hammers is rad)--its a more personal story about a group of vigilantes who are mere humans attempting to bring good into this world--specifically, the futuristic, 1930s art deco styled city set in the future sixty or so years in a newly founded city called, Rhapsody.
The Story: (Well, a teaser. I wouldn't give away the whole story here. That would ruin the fun!) When the vigilante hero, Redbird, stumbles upon the mugging of Brink Incorporated CEO, Albert Brink and his family, it sets off a string of motions that involve a water based technological molecule that, when tailored to specific word or phrase recognitions, displaces any predesignated element--original purpose was to stop fires and cure cancer but, what do you do?--being stolen by a megacrime organization known as "The Tempest" who intend to take the city by force and the lives of as many innocents as possible in doing so. Redbird must rise with his sister, Sparrow, and whoever else will rise above the coming storm in order to take down The Tempest. But what happens when Redbird is forced to deal with his shady past when it interrupts his attempt to protect the city?
Interlaced with truths that stand the test of time, the characters will be forced to make moral decisions that will test their humanity, character, and most of all, their faith.
You can actually find some of my rough drafts and rough chapters for your enjoyment here: http://www.wattpad.com/user/LoganARowland
and you can ask me questions by emailing me here (title the email Only That Which They Defend Question): loganrowland7@gmail.com
What I Need & What You Get
WHAT I NEED...
I hate asking for things. I've never been one that was able to do so growing up, and it isn't easier today. But when you have a dream, you find yourself doing things that you wouldn't expect to accomplish that dream. If you have made it this far, then you are either insane, or you are my grandmother, or you are genuinely interested and want to know what you can do to help me create this story, at which case, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Well, here it is...
In order to publish this book through WestBow Press, I will need a certain amount of money--yes, I know, it's unfortunate but money runs everything in our lives--and for this dream of mine to come to life, I'm going to need your help. Through your help, I hope to:
- Raise $2,500, as that will pay for a package that will allow me to print books in hardback form, paperback form, and e-books and sell them through retailers such as Amazon.com, Barnes and Nobles, iBooks, and many other sites, along with the ability to sell this myself. This package will also include an Editorial Assessment by some of the mediums best editors who will ensure my book is the best it can be.
- Enrich both my life and your life with passionate storytelling that truly deals with the human condition and the unending truths of love, redemption, and forgiveness given to us by Christ Jesus.
One thing else that I know is more valuable to me than money is that, if you deem it right for you to do so, I would ask that you pray to the God of the Holy Bible that He would guide in my writing and my life as I attempt to embark on this huge project. Pray that He would keep me level headed and deep in His will. Pray that I would continue to strive towards these guidelines given to us by Paul in Philippians 4:8:
Finally, brethren, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is of good repute, if there is any excellence and if anything worthy of praise, dwell on these things. Philippians 4:8
If I do not reach my entire goal, the funds that are given will still go directly towards this project.
At this point, you're wondering what happens if you take a chance on this guy who talks a lot and is writing a book about superheroes named after birds, huh? Well, here we go...
...AND WHAT YOU GET.
Not only will you be helping a young writer achieve his dream to become a published young writer, you will also receive some perks yourself. And, of course, each perk will be dependant on the amount of backing that is done. Things ranging from the E-Book, to a paperback copy of the book, to a signed hard cover copy with a personal note handwritten on the inside thanking you for your contribution to the project.
Other Ways You Can Help
Due to whatever reasons, I know some cannot contribute. If I was able to, I would fund this by myself, but I cannot and that is why I am asking for help. I can completely sympathize and understand anyone who is unable to contribute, for whatever reason. Though you cannot contribute, that does not mean you cannot help in a different form or fashion. If you find it in your heart to do so, and you truly believe in this project and would like to see it come to light you can do some of the following--if not all:
-
Ask folks to get the word out and make some noise about Only That Which They Defend, a novel by Logan A. Rowland
- Be sure to use the Indiegogo share tools!
- Talk to your friends and family. Word of mouth is stronger than any advertisement.
- Use the Facebooks, the Twitters, the Instagrams, the Vines. (Yes, I said it like that on purpose. It's fun.)
- Send an encouraging word to my email: loganrowland7@gmail.com
And with that, I'll stop yammering and I'll let you guys decide on what you want to do. I am truly happy to be here and I am humbled that you are here--especially if you've read to this point! I hope you find what I have here at least interesting, and for whatever reason, you find yourself wanting to be a part of bringing it to life.
If you have any questions or suggestions or just want to talk about anything, email me.
loganrowland7@gmail.com
Thanks,
Logan A. Rowland
AN EXCERPT FROM "ONLY THAT WHICH THEY DEFEND"
The snow is thick in Rhapsody, especially on this street, but it doesn’t keep me from making the trek to my favorite diner, “The People’s Place” in hopes of getting some of my favorite drink in this weather, nor does it keep the bustling people of the city from going about their daily lives; these people are resilient to any change in climate, it’s incredible.
A classic bell rings when I open the door and Danny, the Italian owner of the place beams at me from behind the bar. I take a seat on a stool in front of him, and he smiles at me for a moment before speaking.
“Well, if it isn’t my favorite customer! What would you have? Your…”
My friend is cut off by a pair of dark rim glasses who takes a seat next to me and smells strongly of a cheap cologne.
“One coffee for me, extra black, thick as tar, you see. And a coffee for the lady here, extra cream and sugar—make sure it’s sweet and not bitter.” At this he turns to me and flashes a crooked smile. His breath smells of oysters and shrimp. “How’s it going, sugar lips?” he says, weaving his head back and forth slightly in a way that makes my stomach turn. He’s taken to the scenery in determining his attire, or he thinks he has. Rather than embracing the class of the 30s, this man has taken up the look of a 50s greaser. I allow my face to express my disgust. If he’s going to come on so strong, I’m not going to hold anything back. I ignore him, of course.
“I’ll have my usual, Danny. You know…” I stop and look at him squarely as if to paint a message for him. “…Coffee. Black coffee. From yesterday, and make sure it’s good and strong.”
The man next to me laughs and is oblivious to the wink that Danny gives me.
“So, you from around here? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. I think I’d remember a face like yours and a…well.” His smile brings vomit into my throat as he acknowledges what his eyes tell all too clearly. Thankfully, Danny returns with our drinks before I have to answer. He hands me my cup, saying, “Here you go, dear. One cup of extra black, day old, strong coffee.” I take the cup in both hands, rise from the counter and make way for my favorite booth by the window. I hold the cup to my nose after I seat and take in the sweet aroma of Danny’s famous warm sweet tea.
Gotta love him.
The man turns towards me and moves to head my way when he screams out in pain. I try and stifle my giggle as he is attempting to wipe away scorching hot coffee away from the center of his pants and, Danny’s wife, Patricia, apologizing sarcastically and winking at me. He’s furious, but this doesn’t stop him from approaching my booth.
“Hey, lady, I wasn’t done talking to ya’s. Wha’do ya say we get out…hey, I’m talking to you! You listen when I’m talking to you.” And this is where he makes his second mistake, his first being approaching me at all. He grabs my wrist firmly and attempts to jerk it towards him to force me to look at him. He doesn’t have time to be surprised at my strength before his head hits the table and his ears are ringing violently. I speak calmly, but firmly to him after giving him time to recover some.
“If you ever touch me, or even speak to me again, I will break your arm. If I catch you, or even hear that you have treated another woman the way you have treated me today, I will break more than your arm. My advice to you is that you walk out of this place and none will be the wiser.” I let him up, and though his pride is more hurt than his head, he gives in and makes to leave the diner. His third and final mistake: listening to me.
I take a sip of the warm nectar tea and breathe in its aroma once more as the diner carries on from before. I can hear Danny and his wife laughing in the corner, and I can’t help but smile.
My smile is cut short by the most horrid of screams outside of my window. I hear the voice of the man I just attacked say, “Hey, whats the big idea?” before both he and the scream is silenced forever by the sound of handcannon blast.
Screaming. Everywhere.
I turn and look through the window and see the man and the woman lying dead on the ground. To my horror, the eruption of screams are drowned out by the explosion of handcannon fire.
The people. The crowds.
There are men and women drawing weapons and firing on innocent people everywhere in the busy street. Bodies left and right are falling limp before the massacre.
I drop down as a bullet breaks the window I’m looking through and strikes the stool I sat in moments before. I scream for everyone to get down and I begin to crawl towards the door.
I have to do something.
When I reach the door, dread takes my body as I hear the blast of a handcannon fire directly behind me. A man had stood and drawn his weapon and slain the man seated in the booth next to his.
I now feel the barrel pressed to the back of my head. The hammer pulls back. This is it. Do something. If you die, everyone dies in this diner.
When the blast tears through my eardrums, I am surprised to still be breathing. It seems Danny and his wife had thrown a pitcher of hot coffee at the man. Some of the shrapnel of brown liquid burns my calves, but I ignore it.
No one else is dying here today.
I leap to my feet and charge the man and he stumbles backwards. His head meets the bar counter, stopping him cold, but not before he can push me up and over with all his might. I had only planned on stopping him. I can’t stop myself. I brace for impact and when it comes, darkness takes me.
My vision blurry, it shakes with my heart beat.
Blood.
So. Much. Blood.
Is it my blood?
It couldn’t be.
I look left.
I look right.
The man.
The man he killed is next to me.
This is his blood.
I stand.
I stand too quickly and nearly fall.
Strong hands hold me up.
Danny.
Danny and Patricia.
How long was I out?
Sirens. Where are the sirens?
Danny and Patricia help me stay on my feet until we reach the door. The shooting has stopped and any trace of the assailants is gone.
I step outside and the scene before me brings me to my knees before they buckle from exhaustion.
Hundreds dead. The decimation of the windows and carts surrounding us.
The screaming.
The mourning.
The agony.
I feel myself falling forward, when a strong hand braces me; a different strong hand.
The Owl.
He stands before me, blood staining his clothes and his knuckles busted. I can see in his eyes he saved less than he could have hoped.
The tears come hot and they don’t stop until I am sound asleep in his arms.
———