In my bid to help indie and self-published authors gain the maximum audience possible, this post comes from guest blogger and author Iyana Jenna about her novel O Res Mirabilis!
First of all, thank you Gemma, for the opportunity to have a guest post on your blog. I want to introduce your readers to my latest novel O Res Mirabilis!
O res mirabilis is originally a lyric in the song Panis Angelicus, which has been sung by many artists such as Andrea Bocelli, Josh Groban, Charlotte Church, and The Choir Boys. I found that particular line fitted with my latest short story– published by Alfie Dog Fiction. My story also involves a miracle, so I decided to use the phrase as the title. The song is usually listened to at Christmas, the novel is also set during the Christmas period. However, please don’t think of my novel as a sweet, Hallmark type of Christmas story. Think about the story Little Match Girl, instead.
London, 1853. An orphaned boy, Timmy had to leave the orphanage when he grew up and had to work as a chimney sweep in people’s houses when their residents were not home.
That night didn’t start well for Timmy. He lost his coat and the money he earned earlier to some bullies before he went to clean a chimney. It wasn’t so bad despite the smothering dust. Then he fell and cracked his ankle.
The idea to write about a chimney sweep came after my chat about anything but a chimney or a sweep, with a lovely lady named Ruth Thomas in 2005. I remember at that time, being a non-native speaker, I used the word ‘brushes’ but Ruth told me about the term ‘chimney sweep’. Ruth wasn’t a Londoner but she was a Brit and she helped me a lot in writing this novel. Ruth passed away last year, but I will always remember her amiable ways and our lovely friendship. I miss her greatly and I’d love to dedicate this story to her. To me, she was my miraculous thing. O res mirabilis!
A bunch of scruffy-looking chaps stood idly about, some leaning against the dirty brick wall behind them, picking their teeth or folding their arms on their chests. Timmy walked past them, head down, stealing glances toward those men once in a while, making as though he was about to turn around and run but a small voice inside his head warned him not to. Slowly he advanced, careful not to make jerking movements that would stir those bullies’ attention toward him if their attention had not been toward him already.
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