Devon's response to "you wrote a will-they-wont-they prince and the pauper in space and there's no part 2 yet low blow"

As of today, audio mastering for the Theft of Fire audiobook is complete. 

To write Chapter 8, I had to design orbital infrastructure, spin gravity docking, a gas giant extraction system, and a Mars terraforming plan—before writing a single sentence. Next series: fantasy. Definitely.

Sara’s cancer is gone. The Theft of Fire audiobook drops soon. The sequel, Box of Trouble, is almost halfway written, with a November 11th release targeted. Momentum is back. No excuses.

Arathrax's breath hits me like the draft from a blast furnace, fierce and a smell of the desert. Deep in this throat, I catch a glimpse of orange light, before I must squeeze my eyes shut against the desiccating blast. "What do you have for me this time?" "Arathrax!" "Oh. Sorry." I feel rather than see the massive head withdraw. The air that rushes in behind is not cool, but I can breathe again. Can open my eyes. My skin feels... scorched. I wonder if I'm peeling again. "Got a little excited. You always find such wonderful things." "That's gonna be a little hard to keep doing if you cook me by accident." "Sorry." "I'd just like to come home with all my skin for once." The great head sags, and his crest goes flat. "I did say I was sorry. I can pay you more if you want." "You pay me plenty. I just want you to be more careful. Try to remember next time." "Okay, yeah, sure. Now, c'mon, what did you bring me? I've been waiting for weeks!" I unwrap the soft chamois leather from around the offering, hold it up to the light. "I know it's small... don't lean in close. I'll describe it to you." "Looks like... just one coin? And a small one at that." The great face falls. "Is that... really all?" I hold the thin gold disc up to the light, rub a thumb over its worn surface. "Size doesn't matter. Judge me by my size, do you? This one's the rarest yet. I know it's too small for you to tell, but it's stamped with the face of Ozymandius the First. The founding king of Samarkand. A thousand years and half a world away. Think of what it must have in it." His face cracks with a toothy smile... "Really? Can I hear it first? Just a little bit?" "You ask that every time. All right, fine. Just don't lean in, I like my eyebrows the way they are. Well, the way they were this morning. I'll use the fork." The copper tuning fork is already in my other hand... I ring the coin once, twice, three times. Loud. His massive ears spread like crimson fans from the sides of this head, and his eyes cross, blank with something like bliss. "Oh. Oh. Oh... my. Damien, you must forgive me for doubting you. You are truly a magician. This... this is the greatest prize of all! So many songs! So many stories! So much HISTORY! I must have it for my collection!" "Well, I dunno. Faftnir might offer me a better price. And not singe my beard." "That's NOT funny, that's just cruel. Now come on, stop teasing and GIVE." "My payment?" "The little bag on the pedestal there. Rubies, a few sapphires. The human who brought them seemed to think they were pretty good. Idiot. Don't know why they keep giving me these rocks. Don't they understand the difference between treasure and GOLD?" I grasp the black velvet of the bag, pull the drawstrings... inside, heavy stones click together, throwing back glints of blood red light... some of these look good. I have better manners than to examine them too closely right here, but it looks like this will pay for the expedition several times over. And if I can sell bolts of silk in Highmark... "No, Arathrax," I tell him, "They don't. They don't know the difference. That's the point. Humans... we can't hear the memories on it. The music." "You tell me that. I never know whether to believe you. Are you all really that illiterate? And if you are... well, why do you even value the stuff?" "Well, it's uh... shiny." He raises one titanic eyebrow. "C'mon. I'm serious." "So was I." The amethyst eyes, each the size of my head, roll expressively and then gaze up at the ceiling of the cavern. "Philistines." Original Post

Exploring the torment nexus with Isaac Simpson on The Carousel Podcast

After loving Theft of Fire, Farooq and Shakib talk with Devon on Book Don

Devon talks Publishers vs Men with The Nonsense-Free Editor

Box of Trouble is 133K words deep, but finishing a novel is a long, complex journey. Progress continues, and your patience means everything.

Eight months in, through cancer and setbacks, the audiobook is still underway—carefully made, not rushed. No shortcuts, no forgotten promises. Just the slow, deliberate work of creating something beautiful, exactly as envisioned.

Devon joins ALL CAPS to talk about all things story related

A recent review raised a real question: why is the second novel so hard? Box of Trouble is coming—but the “sophomore slump” is real, and here’s why.

Box of Trouble just passed 115K words and hit the git repo—right before I fly out for the @valaratomics launch party. A special surprise may follow... once the NDA lifts.

"Theft of Fire carves out its own identity with a distinct voice and a deep appreciation for the complexity of human (and post-human) existence in the void."

The audiobook is finally moving again with a new sound engineer. Still no release date—post-production takes time—but we’re out of limbo. It’ll be sold everywhere except Audible.