Title: Handler
Author: Tish Thawer
Genre: Sci-Fi Dystopian
Publisher: Amber Leaf Publishing
Cover Designer: Emma Michaels
Blurb:
Our world was perfect––until we broke the law: Don't go out at night.
Utopian by day, dystopian by night; this is the world I recently discovered. I now struggle with the fact that our whole society has been based on a lie. There's only one way to change it––conquer the darkness we've all been raised to fear.
Live the lie; fight to the death; become a Handler. It's the only way.
A sci-fi/dystopian novel
Award Winning Author, Tish Thawer, writes paranormal romances for all ages. From her first paranormal cartoon, Isis, to the Twilight phenomenon, myth, magic, and superpowers have always held a special place in her heart.
Tish is known for her detailed world-building and magic-laced stories. Her work has been compared to Nora Roberts, Sam Cheever, and Charlaine Harris. She has received nominations for multiple RONE Awards (Reward of Novel Excellence), and Author of the Year (Fantasy, Dystopian, Mystery), as well as nominations and wins for Best Cover, and a Reader’s Choice Award.
Tish has worked as a computer consultant, photographer, and graphic designer, and is a columnist for Gliterary Girl Media and has bylines in RT Magazine and Literary Lunes Magazine. She resides in Colorado with her husband and three wonderful children and is represented by Gandolfo, Helin, and Fountain Literary Management.
Author Links:
Buy Links:
Amazon: http://amzn.to/2kG8nB8
May 2069 ... Blood coated bodies littered the ground as the mushroom cloud dissipated in the distance. Horror struck faces stared up at me, frozen forever with tears streaking down soot-covered cheeks. I swallowed hard as I stared into their dead eyes.
“Colizan, would you care to join us for a walk?” Father asked, pulling me from the image in my history book.
I slammed the cover shut and smiled. “Of course, it would be my pleasure.”
The warm sun glinted off the quartz sidewalk as my father, mother, and I strolled from our assigned dwinn in the Northern territory of Atal. Winding our way through the gardens which led to Common Park had always been their preferred route. Picture perfect displays of green grass, sparkling quartz, lush flowers, and elaborate water features dotted the landscape. Mother and Father chatted enthusiastically just ahead of me while I took in the scenery––the same scenery I’d enjoyed every day for eighteen years. I tilted my head back and appreciated the glass and quartz buildings that lined the sky. Some were tall and towering, others round and inviting; I loved them all. I sighed and quickened my pace as we approached my favorite part of the city––the museum. It reminded me of a picture I’d once seen of the Sydney Opera House in Australia, but instead of white and cream concrete, it was all glass. Ever since I was young, I always made it a point to stop and read the plaque outside, and today was no exception.
“ATAL. Est. 2027. Redesigned from the ashes of Atlanta.”
An image of a Genesis machine hovered over the war-struck city in the foreground, and in the background stood the utopian paradise left in its wake. The large spaceship-like device, with its metallic domed body and long tendrils of machinery hanging down, had always fascinated me.
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