I always love the holiday season. It's all as if the world took a break from being a harsh battlefield, and suddenly turned to a big Dome staging acts about sharing and love. It seems that what have been a dark forest of nightmares turned to a theme park where we can feel the sweet honesty of the wind. And it means a lot. Why? We're humans. And in the never-ending arena of life, we are all actors—whether we are rich or poor, black or white, straight or not—we are all in the same lane and we are looking at the same sky. And as actors, we need some breaks where we can breathe freely out of what have been murdering our hearts, our minds and our souls...to take a glimpse or to value what we have in our life, in a positive side. The Holidays is the perfect season for this one, thanks to the tradition and teachings which helped shape what Christmas and New Year should mean to our worlds, and that makes it the right time to look back at the things we have today and track back our less righteous actions, to weigh them thoroughly then swear to not repeat them, or at least prevent them to happen. The Season is also the perfect season for sharing love, as what an adage says, "The heart melts in the warmest song", because we have known (in the books and in the actual experiences) that Christmas is over-pouring with love and New Year is over-pouring with positivism. So are there presents, family gatherings, dates, out-of-town trips and more. And besides, there's even more with the Holiday season, and it's a movie we, the actors, should explore out of the script.

Oh, I've got to go, Friend. We are now entering the Cinema.

Sometimes I think I love him.

Sometimes I'm sure I do,

and it kinda feels like drowning,

Except every breathe you take and all the air you swallow won't save you

Sometimes I really hate him.

I can feel the rage building like a forrest fire,

but no matter how much water i choke on the anger always wins

Sometimes I don't think at all.

These times are the best.

Because you can't be disappointed if your heart stays in your chest.

In celebration of our new portal for Indie Authors, we wanted to introduce you to soon-to-be published Indie Author: Stuart Webb. We met with him in his home town of Cromer, in Norfolk; and with it being in Britain, we had a few pints and a chat.

Stuart moved to Cromer from Cambridge a few years back to avoid a life of excess. His new home town has a slower pace and is by the sea, which has always been synonymous with creatives who need to get back in touch with themselves. It seems to be working for Stuart.

Stuart’s debut novel will be out very soon and is called 'Stacker'. To us, it reads like a very cool indie film, with the pace and style of something like ‘Brick’. We asked him to tell us about his first book:

“Stacker is a man at odds with modern life. His days are spent drinking cheap wine and dealing with his existential concerns, and at night he works for Megamarket, the all-powerful international supermarket chain. He has no ambitions of a career or starting a family, he finds no value in anything that society can offer.”...

Read the rest of the interview, as well as the first chapter of 'Stacker' on www,blog.theprose.com later today

A while back we set you the challenge of writing a 500-750 word synopsis of your work-in-progress or completed novel manuscript, and to pitch it to us. A selection of judges would then decide upon the top entry for publication on Kindle, Nook, and Kobo. Exciting stuff!

We told you that the lucky winner would also be provided a fully customized package of editing, design, and marketing services and we cannot wait to get started.

We’ve made the decision. Admittedly, we’re a little late announcing the winners, but that’s purely because the standard was so high. We’ve had all genres from people from all walks of life from all around the world. We laughed, we gasped and we shed a tear or two.

We wanted to publish them all, but we can’t. You guys are good. So good, in fact, that we had to take the basis upon which we shortlisted down to how the entries worked as a pitch in its purest format.

How did it grab us in the first few lines? Were we intrigued? Did we need to know more? If we were sat in a boardroom and had to take the pitch on its immediacy; who would we choose?

This is who. Congratulations to @AyeMich with her pitch for her book ‘Redemption’. We will begin working with her in the new year on ‘Redemption’, and look forward to reading the entire story.

Keep your eyes peeled for the next challenge, and keep writing. We want to read you all!

Here is the Prose Pitch from @AyeMich in its entirety:

Redemption

“Jessica Wright has wanted nothing more than to be a writer. For years, she worked extremely hard, doing grunt jobs at small tv stations and local newspapers. She’d been working on the same novel for almost four years, sending it out to publisher after publisher. It was only when she began to give up on herself, that someone took a chance on her and her skill.

Three years later and she’s one of the bestselling authors of her time. Life is good. She works with people she’s come to call friends, she’s in a stable and loving relationship and she’s on the verge of releasing her newest novel. But then, weird things start to happen.

Bodies of women begin turning up all throughout the city of Brentwood. She pays it no mind, though she’s been having really weird dreams about her girlfriend being killed in all sorts of ways. Frank Albane, the Chief of Police and current father figure to Jessica, takes his job seriously and vows to put an end to the murders, along with Daniella Santiago, who just happens to be the lead prosecutor and the girlfriend of Jessica Wright.

While working the case, the Chief starts to notice little things, minuscule things that no one else could ever catch on to. He works endlessly alongside Daniella to bring this case to a close and catch their unsub.

When the last victim gets away, she immediately calls the Brentwood PD and the message is relayed to Chief Albane. He takes it upon himself to question her and that’s when he realizes why things seem so familiar...he’s seen this before. Back in the station, he mulls over the evidence, spending countless house piecing things together until a light bulb clicks: he knows this because he’s read it. And he read it in Jessica’s first draft of her very first novel.

When he brings Jessica and Daniella up to speed, Jessica shuts down. Her entire world begins to fall apart. With Daniella having worked day in and day out on the case, Jessica turns her attention elsewhere and accepts a dinner invite from Christina James, her assistant. As they are enjoying the night, Christina begins to say the right things at the right times and one thing leads to another until they are interrupted and Jessica realizes the mistake she’s just made. Now, she has to fight to bring herself back, fight for her relationship and fight for her innocence because how could one person know something that you’ve only shown to a handful of people? There are murders happening that mimic her very own writing. She’s become the number one suspect.

Fighting for all that she’s lost, Jessica has to step out of her very comfortable life and step into the world of a killer; a person who has become hellbent on ruining everything she’s built for herself. And soon, those dreams become a reality when she’s told that the latest of the unsub’s victims is Daniella. Scared out of her mind, she runs to Chief Albane, who tries to reason with her and when that fails, he agrees to let her go through with the plan. With all the bravery she has in her, she steps out of her cookie-cutter life and into the unknown and vows to make it out alive.”

A cacophony of shadows, 

and all I feel is fear.

Memories were faded 

like a lullaby in

the empty air.

In the never-ending absence

of hope,

I lost

the greatest part of my faith,

and was left—its worst.

The choir sings the cold 

breath of sorrow

and joyfully embraces

the nightmares

of the overthrown.

The feeling is haunting

the lines as I walk

the death of light

in the graveyard where

my completeness broke.

I walked the moon behind 

and found my pains

alive

they sang,

to the lullaby and to the four corners

they hide

and chanted 

spells of whispers 

to my wandering mind.

All's frozen and put on fire 

to death

and I was ruled by the child

of a never-ending hate,

yet there's a melody chanting 

in cacophony of 

thoughts

and it's music—to my burning soul.