#davidwellington

[bookquotesfromanerd]

Sometimes you had to keep going in life no matter how awful you felt.

David Wellington, Monster Nation

[paulsemel]

At a time when you have to actively try not to be reachable, not being able to contact a planet of ten thousand, one that's a year away ...well, that's the idea driving David Wellington's sci-fi horror novel "Revenant-X." To learn more, check out this exclusive interview. https://paulsemel.com/exclusive-interview-revenant-x-author-david-wellington/ 📖🚀🪐

[paulsemel]

We've all made the joke to someone we haven't heard from in a while, “You don’t call, you don’t write…” But imagine if wasn’t a someone, but a colony in deep space. It's what happens in David Wellington’s sci-fi horror novel "Paradise-1." But not all that happens. To learn more, check out this exclusive Q&A. 📖🚀

[bookquotesfromanerd]

It was like the world was on fire and he was holding a bucket of water with no idea where to throw it.

David Wellington, Monster Nation

[miduhadi]

All my pretty reds in a row! I will NEVER stop forcing the #lauracaxtonseries on others. It is deliciously horrifying and features scary as heck #vampires. In fact, anything by #davidwellington is an automatic buy for me! Give his books a chance; they will leave you scared shitless. #midureads #urbanfantasy #hotwomenonthecover #shelf #shelfie (at Karachi, Pakistan)

[amorypalabras]

¡Por fin ha llegado! Ya tengo la trilogía completa 😎 Se ha hecho de rogar jejeje Gracias chicas 😘😘 @almalectorablog @lectorade1994 #Anualthon2016 #ZombieIsland #DavidWellington#TrilogiaZombie

[fictionaltortoise]

Fear: Week Six

“White, like it had never seen sunlight.”

Amongst green leaves, buds poked their heads out to look at the sun. Vines trailed the cracks in the wood floor and climbed the peeling walls. Flecks of color broke through ground cover and provided an earthly blanket. An old oak tree on its side sunk into the room like an abandoned ship. The room was dissected from the rest of the house, shrined in the wrath of nature.

               In the corner, white, like it had never seen sunlight was a porcelain doll. The stitching of its plush body had been ripped down the middle. Its tiny fingernails were painted red to match her pout. Pinpricks where threaded follicles had been covered her skull like crop circles, white blonde hair hung in scattered clumps. Her glass eyes, covered in moisture glaze clicked from side to side. She examined the state of the room and remembered when he had still visited her. Her porcelain skin was pink with color then and she’d sung him to sleep every night; her fingers tapped against the wood of the chair and she remembered.

               The doll was meant to belong to a daughter. That girl was never born, so she’d rested in a rocking chair in the corner of the baby room. He toddled in one day, all energy and floppy blonde hair and soon rested in the chair himself, the doll in his lap.

               “Sissy,” he said in his tired toddler voice. She was his that day and for a while after; until the consuming days of treehouses and bikes.

               The room was falling apart around her, but she’d wait. And get him back. He’d pay for her neglectful life.

Check out the actual contest --> Fear Project 

[fictionaltortoise]

Fear: Week Six

Taste: 

“Mmmmmm.” The sound escaped her throat and she pulled her finger from her mouth. Her hand throbbed and her fingertips tingled from the dish towel tied around her wrist. She quickly removed it, tossing it on the powdered sugar coated countertop. A measuring cup sat in the midst, halfway full, and like her wrist, was stained in blood. Her throat had gone dry. She stared down into the large bowl, longing for the sweet metallic taste of the batter.  The kitchen was cramped and smelled sweet. Upstairs, in the better preserved portion of the house was the large and shining up to date kitchen. This was the basement, with only bare supplies and a single broken window that always rattled with the weather. Leaky pipes dribbled rusty water. The clunk of the dryer was constant and soothed her nerves. Muffin tins were pushed against every wall; every muffin was a hue of pink, the secret ingredient staining each one.  Everyone in town ignored her, but the muffins they flocked for.

 She hung a spoon over her open mouth, dripping more raw batter into it.

(Not going to lie. Had a hard time with this one for some reason, but didn’t want to skip another week.) 

Check out the actual contest and what contestants are up to: 

 --> David Wellington’s Fear Project