Mental Damnation: Reality
Book 1
by Konn Lavery
Genre: Dark Fantasy
Banished to the Underworld. A Ritual. The Disease.
Enter the rich mythical world of Konn Lavery's debut novel containing a military dictatorship, cults, and politically-driven gangs.
After Krista's people were banished from the surface by the humans, they were reduced to violence and hatred.
She and her only friend, Darkwing, survive as street kids as their people's leaders become crazed from an unknown disease - Mental Damnation. After their infection, the Guardians develop a bizarre interest in her, claiming they must reap her innocence for their newfound master, the Weaver.
Krista has limited options for survival: Does she fend for her life in the City of Renascence, or risk leaving everything behind and enter the uncharted realm of the underworld?
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"Konn Lavery has taken me into his mind and carried me on a richly woven tapestry of metaphors for the human condition."- Amber, Goodreads Reviewer
"Both well-written and well thought out, Mental Damnation is an instant classic and I can't wait to see what happens next!"
- Joshua Grant, Goodreads Reviewer
"When I finally got into the actual book, I found myself unable to put it down, even reading it on my break at work"
- Dawn Herbert, Goodreads Reviewer
**Only .99 cents!**
Mental Damnation: Dream
Book 2
A Fallen God. The Marking. Damnation Has Begun.
The ritual set everything in motion for Krista in the continuation of the Mental Damnation series hinting at the afterlife, and a lurkingevil.
Gatekeeper Danil found and used her in an unholy event which completes Krista's infection of Mental Damnation.
It is the very disease that collapsed her leaders and wreaked havocamong her people, how will she maintain her sanity through the visionsof hell?
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"Lavery writes an extremely good book: captivating, highly descriptive, emotional and hauntingly poignant."
- G.J. Griffiths, Goodreads Reviewer
"The world Mr. Lavery created is absolutely captivating and the illustrations beautiful!"
- Cassandra Larsen, Goodreads Reviewer
"I'm invested now an will continue to follow this story in the next book."
- Jenae (Jeni), Goodreads Reviewer
Mental Damnation: Purity
Book 3
Krista allies with a fallen paladin as the Weaver sends his deadliest servant after her.
The Mental Damnation series continues in a high fantasy tale of forbidden love, banishment, and fallen warriors.
Krista's hope of escaping Dreadweave Pass lessens as the Weaver sends a fallen angel to capture her. Will her allegiance with a corrupt paladin be enough to triumph?
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"Book three in the Mental Damnation series picks up perfectly and continues with Krista's story. There is a lot of action, drama and suspense"
- Sheri, Goodreads Reviewer
Mental Damnation: Mortal
Book 4
Damnation ends. The Afterlife is at war. Krista must fend for herself.
Mortal is the concluding novel of the dark fantasy series Mental Damnation. Follow Krista as she descends further into Dreadweave Pass and fulfilling the path of a warrior set by her father, reinforced by her allies. Will Krista manage to escape the land of the damned? She fights to return to Darkwing in the mortal realm, as he struggles to rescue her. Home is no safe haven either, for her people and the humans are on the brink of an all-out-war.
Salanth hurried over to the river until his bare feet touched the shores. The creek moved through his scaly toes as he splashed around with joy. He stared down at the running water, watching the rocky riverbed. Krista was not far behind him and jumped into the shallow creek, creating a large splash, hitting her little brother with a volley of droplets. Salanth squealed and ran away from Krista, stomping in the water.
Krista giggled and chased her little brother. “Come back here!”
She ran after Salanth until her little brother suddenly stopped. His tail was pointed horizontally. Krista came to a halt. A massive, furry, brown beast was about two dozen paces away from them. The husky animal’s paws were drenched in water. Its belly and neck were soaked, water dripping down. The head was arched toward the two Scalebane children, and its black beady eyes stared at Salanth. That was the stench. Krista could smell it clearly now.
Bear, she thought. The blood in her veins pumped directly into her scalp-feathers, causing them to stand upright, the natural reaction for vazeleads when frightened or angered. She had seen bears in Kuzuchi Forest before, but never this close. This was dangerous. They were easy prey. She knew she had to get Salanth out of there.
The sound of the water amplified with each breath Krista took. Her senses skyrocketed into full awareness—the branches swaying, the leaves blowing, the water dripping off the bear, and the unholy stink. What was she supposed to do? Her father had taught her the basics of hunting and harvesting berries in the forest. He also taught her how to avoid animals by recognizing their smell, but Krista had simply ignored the warning signs this time, not realizing the danger. Father hadn’t yet taught her what to do if she came face-to-face with a predator the size of a bear. She wasn’t careful, and now Salanth was in danger because of her foolishness. She had to get him out of there safely. That was the duty of an older sibling.
“Salanth,” Krista said softly. She took several steps, dragging her feet through the water so she didn’t make a splash.
Her eyes locked on the bear. The animal didn’t move, still staring at her little brother. Krista was now directly behind Salanth. Her tail moved in front of her, gently touching Salanth’s tail. The subtle connection caused the little vazelead to stiffen.
“It’s okay, Salanth,” Krista said while sliding her hands under her little brother's armpits. If the bear were to act, Krista was ready. “Just stay calm. Father said they get mean when you wiggle too much.”
Water splashed beside the bear’s paws. The animal snorted, and with a swift strike, it pulled out a fish from the river, piercing it with its claws. The animal snagged the prey with its sharp teeth, puncturing down through the scales. The fish squirmed uncontrollably as the bear chowed down its flesh.
That’s it, Krista thought. She grabbed her little brother tightly, pulling him up and backing away from the bear.
“I need you to be my eyes,” Krista said as she turned her little brother so he could see behind her. As she spun Salanth around, she turned to face downstream. Krista gradually picked up her pace, making sure she didn’t make too many splashes as she walked toward the shore.
Oh, please don’t be following us, Krista thought. She felt her heart pound as she stepped out of the water and onto the muddy ground. The sensation of the dirt sticking to her scaly feet was a small sign of success.
“How are we doing there, Salanth?” Krista asked in a soft tone. She didn’t want to be too loud and risk worrying Salanth or getting the bear’s attention. “You see the bear?”
Salanth mumbled, but it wasn’t clear what he meant.
“Salanth? Do you see the bear?”
Nothing. Salanth hugged Krista’s neck.
“Salanth,” Krista said, irritation filling her voice.
A twig snapped behind them, and Krista’s tail instinctively stood straight up. The scales on her back tingled. She didn’t even look to see what was there; she simply ran. Her heart raced, pumping uncontrollably as she rushed through the forest back toward the village.
Please, please, please, Krista thought. Her mind could only play visions of a giant furry beast rushing down behind them. Powerful paws. The teeth. A beast like that could snag her and maul her in a blink of an eye. Shredding flesh. The thought was on repeat. She felt the need to check over her shoulder. Then again, there was no point if she was about to meet her fate. Krista couldn’t resist. She had to know if the bear was there. If he was, she could throw Salanth out of the way and sacrifice herself so he could escape.
She took a quick spin around, moving backward. Only trees were behind them. Krista allowed herself a toothy smile as she exhaled with relief. The bear was not there. It was probably back by the river, distracted by the fish. Salanth and Krista were safe. Still sprinting, she turned to face a tree directly in front of them.
Her eyes widened as she tried to skid to a stop. The ground was muddy. She slid. Too late. Krista shielded her little brother with her shoulder as they collided with the tree. The Scalebane siblings smashed into the trunk with a heavy thud. Krista’s shoulder hit first, followed by her skull, which rebounded off the bark. She hissed as she collapsed into a ball, still holding on to Salanth. Her face slammed into the dirt, vision blurring, head spinning. Her ear-holes rang. She lifted her head, trying to confirm that the bear was not there.
Where is it? Krista thought while her vision began to centre itself.
Salanth wiggled in her arms, squawking.
Krista’s eyesight returned, and her hearing tuned to normal. She scanned the forest, looking as far as she could see into the greenery in all directions. The bear wasn’t there. They were safe. Her little brother was curled up against her chest, safe. She grabbed him with both arms and spun him around a couple of times, checking for any scrapes and bruises. Nothing new.
“You’re fine,” Krista said.
She let her brother go, getting herself up. The movement caused her to yelp as pain ruptured from her arm and up to her head. A mixture of mud and black blood ran along her arm. She would be feeling that for the next couple of days. Not to mention the fact that Mum and Father would have a freak-out about this adventure. There was no way she could cover up these scrapes.
I hit a rock, Krista thought, trying to conceptualize a lie to tell her parents. They didn’t need to know that she’d taken Salanth into Kuzuchi Forest. As long as they couldn’t smell the woods on them, they would be fine. Even if they did, Krista would be okay. What mattered was that she had followed her father’s training and protected Salanth. After all, she was the older sibling, as fate would have it.
Excerpt 2
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
The entrance to the Weaver’s prison closed behind Rahiie, eliminating the blinding light. Dievourse’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and he could see the angel’s features better. Her fine skin and toned body—truly sculpted by the gods. The confidence in her walk created a strange sense of arousal and fear. More emotions that were once long forgotten.
Her power, Dievourse thought. He was drawn to strength. The attraction was what had made him a successful warlord in the mortal realm and a general in the Weaver’s Army. Power was his fixation and freedom was his dream. Rahiie had both. Even though the angel was immoral, she managed to stand amongst those in heaven. Unlike Dievourse, down in hell, a slave to the Weaver.
“Weaver,” Rahiie said. Her strident voice boomed through the chamber, causing El Aguro and Dievourse to straighten their posture. “Your aggressive behaviour is beginning to raise awareness amongst the gods.”
The Weaver chuckled. “We will discuss this soon. Please, I would like you to meet my two most prized creations.” Tentacle-like arms moved out from the darkness past Dievourse and El Aguro. The arms ended in large long-fingered hands with an additional thumb on the opposite side. They extended toward Dievourse and El Aguro, gesturing the pair to speak. “Please introduce yourselves.”
Rahiie didn’t blink, waiting for Dievourse to speak. Her face was cold. A slight hint of anger was clear from the slant of the spikes that formed her eyebrows. No angel had horns and spikes. Her passion seeded from the poison. She didn’t need to say it for Dievourse to know. She oozed it.
Dievourse took a bow, sending his bone-thin white hair draping in front of his face. The green glowing circles directly below him and El Aguro cast a soft light over them. Dievourse stood, directing his voice toward the angel. “Rahiie, I am General Dievourse. I lead the Weaver’s Army. He has spoken many words of you, and yet never revealed your name. It is a great honour to meet you at last.”
Rahiie nodded at Dievourse and awaited the feathered beast’s introduction.
El Aguro bowed as well, extending both hands, palms facing Rahiie. His feathers ruffled against the bone breastplate he wore. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Rahiie. I am El Aguro.” His voice echoed from inside his helmet, projecting from his throat.
Disgusting, Dievourse thought, glaring at El Aguro. The gatekeeper’s long black kilt was a displeasure to be near, for it was fused from the feathers, bones, and flesh of countless crows.
El Aguro stood up. “The Weaver has assigned me to champion the gatekeepers, for I am the eldest of them.”
Rahiie folded her arms. “You’re the one responsible for the increased reaping of souls?”
El Aguro shrugged. “I suppose you could say such a thing. I am only as active as the will of the Weaver. My actions are not my own.”
“Right,” Rahiie said, staring into the darkness behind El Aguro and Dievourse. “Care to explain yourself, Weaver?”
The Weaver’s hands retracted back into the darkness behind Dievourse. “Now, now, Rahiie. You have always known what the endgame was.”
“Yes, but the aggressiveness of the reaping?”
One of the Weaver’s two-thumbed hands appeared again. “My children, as you can see, Rahiie is always on the conservative side. It is the base of her reasoning, and she stands by it. This gives her an edge. This is what made her so bold as to come face-to-face with Dega’Mostikas himself.”
“Brave girl,” El Aguro said.
Rahiie’s nostrils flared. “And foolish. Now the devil himself haunts my mind.”
The Weaver raised his index finger. “Perhaps, yes. But not as foolish as your brother Craeso . . . or is it Sporathun now?”
“Show him to me,” Rahiie said.
“You have no power to demand, Rahiie. You know of our deal.” The Weaver’s hand extended past Dievourse and gently caressed Rahiie’s cheek. “A poor, lost sister, tormented by Dega’Mostikas, who only wishes for the comfort of her dear brother.”
Rahiie remained silent as the Weaver’s second thumb brushed by her chin and returned to the darkness.
Dievourse pressed his lips together while taking a deep breath through his nose, gathering himself, because he knew that his master was lying. Rahiie thought the Weaver had her brother, Sporathun. It was half true. The other half was that Dievourse was responsible for Sporathun. He knew where the fallen angel was. The general had found himself in a unique position. His strategic mind began to work.
Excerpt 3
Blood. Flesh. Discomfort pulsated through the body. The typical reaction when one is experiences pain. Feelings that all mortals suffer. The warning signals when the system is under attack. Each of us handles these signs differently. Crying, anger, and fear are variations of how we cope. All three can be combined into one strange, muddled mess.
“There are only a few scenarios when you will find yourself in need of killing: either as a favour to end one’s suffering. . . .” The words echoed in the girl’s mind. A statement that had stuck with her from her days growing up as ‘street scum’ back home in the underworld. The phrase was one that she reflected upon again and again in her life.
“I see it in your eyes, and in your words.” More words bounced around in her mind from a different, darker, source. “In time, you won’t have any doubt in your heart and mind that you can indeed follow the path of a warrior.” More words from another figure, a deformed one, who once informed her that a warrior is nothing without pain, fear, and ultimately, death. The traits of the warrior’s path.
“. . . Or in self-defence.” The words of her father returned.
I’m a warrior. I can handle pain, she thought. The teachings swirled around her, creating a vague sense of unreality. Her eyes flickered open, shooting out a smokeless flame that projected from the sockets. She could see, yet she had no spatial awareness of her body, other than a stinging heat from her leg. The pain that she felt could not be real. Her actions could be a figment of her imagination, symptoms of Mental Damnation. She was floating. No, she was being held. Someone was escorting her from the place where she was wounded.
“She’s losing a lot of blood,” came a raspy voice.
“Krista, stay with us,” a gravelly voice pleaded, closely followed by a second voice that sounded disembodied, as if two people were talking simultaneously.
The girl—Krista—blinked a couple times. She could see remnants of a red sky with black swirling clouds. They were familiar; this landscape was not the underworld. It was also not the surface, where the humans were. Unfortunately, she was still asleep and this was Dreadweave Pass. The realism of realm-crossing came back to her. The strange ability that her ghoulish friend had told her about. It was a gift. Or a disease, as others claimed. Dreadweave Pass certainly felt real, especially with the giant gash in her outer thigh.
“Cursman,” the disembodied voice said, “we really cannot stay at the Ruins of the Mortals Run any longer.”
“Observant, aren’t you, Malpherities?” the other voice said. “As you can see, my hands are a little busy right now.”
A growl came in response.
“Pain will encourage you. . . .” Words spoke inside Krista’s mind. Her eyes closed again, allowing her to mentally paint vivid images, create smells, and amplify sounds that were long lost in her memories. A small, brown, scaly child couldn’t stop squawking. Two larger reptilians were behind the little boy. One male, the other female.
Mum, Father . . . Salanth, she thought. They’re so different. The fumes. . . . Krista hadn’t considered them lately due to the chaos of her life. The faint memory of her people on the surface projected in her mind. Her childhood recollections contrasted sharply with the reality of modern vazeleads. After the metamorphosis fumes mutated their forms, their past selves were erased from existence. They were not the same anymore as they were when her family was alive. The events of Mount Kuzuchi had happened so long ago, and their people had changed drastically.
I miss you.
The vision of Krista’s family began to dissolve as the visuals guided her through the darkness. Her eyes began to flicker again, distorting the image of her mother, father, and brother within the black-and-red sky. Her mind guided her through a dark, descending vertical tunnel. She was brought deep into the darkness until she arrived at a desert landscape, complete with pools of lava and a distant city.
The City of Renascence. I’m home! she thought. The vision soared her into the city made of clay and blackwood. She was brought directly to a group of three vazeleads. Two of them had red bands around their arms, while the other did not. The one without a band had long, straight black scalp-feathers. Darkwing. Krista knew him anywhere. One of the red-banded vazeleads handed Darkwing a red cloth. Bloodhounds. They initiated him.
“Darkwing, no!” Krista thought she had said it in her mind-vision, but her voice shrilled out into the open.
Can you, for those who don't know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
I started writing since I was eight years old, so just over twenty years ago where I wrote backstories to boardgames I made up. These backstories were the seeds of what eventually became Mental Damnation. From there, the writing evolved in my teens and finally into my twenties, where I decided to give writing a real shot.
By day I am a graphic designer and work as a freelancer, which gives me a ton of flexibility to write and promote my books as an indie author. The artwork, covers, and design are all done by me, including the books by the boutique publishing houses.
On the side – if free time exists – I also have a kink for music. The musical interests do show up time to time with scores I write for the books or improv background music to the live readings I do for the short stories on my blog.
What is something unique/quirky about you?
Probably my interest in music is obscure to most. I've been a huge fan of industrial music since I heard my older brother play KMFDM. I was about nine or so. Industrial music includes bands such as Skinny Puppy, Nine Inch Nails, Ministry, etc. The industrial music, gothic fashion, and the punk-rock D.I.Y. attitude has been ingrained into me and has shaped my whole life by being a freelance designer and indie author. All D.I.Y.
Tell us something really interesting that's happened to you!
I got laser eye surgery a few years ago. It indeed was one of the best decisions I've ever made with my life. Probably next to fully committed to my writing back in 2011. My eyesight is better than when I had glasses, who would have known?
What are some of your pet peeves?
With writing, I'd say some of the fallback sentences I use. Always working on improving the craft and not falling victim to those tropes.
If you knew you'd die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?
Death has been a common theme in all of my work across all artforms. Knowing my mortality is always in the back of my head. So this question I ask myself a lot. The answer continuously varies depending on my mood and where I am at in life.
At this exact moment in the 2020 pandemic world, I'd tell all my family, friends, and loved ones to gather and have a cheer. What else could you do for 24 hours?
What are you passionate about these days?
Now that Mortal, the final book in the Mental Damnation series, is wrapped up, there's been a mountain lifted off of my shoulders. The series was first conceived 14 years ago, back in 2006. So having it come to life as a completed storyline has my fired up to see where else my writing will go. What new stories will come in the new era? I can't wait, and I want to share it all with the exceptionally supportive and loyal fans.
What do you do to unwind and relax?
The answer depends on the days and my energy levels. The short stories I write on my blog are a fun sandbox for me to explore new narrative voices, genres, and literary styles. I find writing them quite relaxing. I also find playing music, drawing, or reading a good book a good time.
Describe yourself in 5 words or less!
A Writer and Graphic Designer.
When did you first consider yourself a writer?
Fun question. Even though I've been writing for about 20 years, professionally for 8, I haven't considered myself a real writer until late 2018. My crime thriller novel YEGman launched. I also started writing short stories on my blog. I signed a publishing contract for another book, The White Hand, was touring for YEGman with book signings and speaking at conventions, and had sold a couple of short stories.
That's when it hit me. Even though I was writing for many years, almost every day, I didn't realize I was living the writer's life. Now I am not shy about saying it and feel far more confident in my writing than before.
Do you have a favorite movie?
That's a tough one. It's a tie between Fight Club and The Thing.
Which of your novels can you imagine made into a movie?
All of them. The least complicated story in terms of the budget would probably be YEGman or The White Hand. Although, seeing the world of Mental Damnation brought to the big screen with a fusion of practical effects and digital, like with The Lord of the Rings, would be phenomenal.
Konn Lavery is a Canadian author whose work has been recognized by Edmonton’s top five bestseller charts and by reviewers such as Readers’ Favorite, and Literary Titan.
He started writing stories at a young age while being homeschooled. After graduating from graphic design college, he began professionally pursuing his writing with his first release, Reality. He continues to write in the thriller, horror, and fantasy genres.
He balances his literary work along with his own graphic design and website development business, titled Reveal Design (www.revealdesign.ca). His visual communication skills have been transcribed into the formatting and artwork found within his publications supporting his fascination of transmedia storytelling.
$20 Amazon giftcard, ebook set of Mental Damnation books 1-3 (1 winner each)
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