Epic fantasy, music and life.
Christopher Bunn
The stories that we write and the stories that we read are the stories that shape us.
The Hawk and His Boy
The first book of the Tormay Trilogy, The Hawk and His Boy begins the story of Jute, a young thief who is hired to steal an old wooden box from a rich man’s house. On pain of death, he is instructed by his masters to not open the box. Being a curious boy, he opens the box and finds a knife inside. He accidentally cuts his finger on the blade and thus begins a series of events that soon has him on the run.
The Shadow at the Gate
The Shadow at the Gate is the second book in the Tormay Trilogy. It picks up where The Hawk and His Boy leaves off, following the further adventures of the young thief Jute, the assassin Ronan, the mysterious Levoreth Callas, and other characters. The Dark takes a bigger role in this part of the story, infiltrating the city of Hearne in search of Jute.
The Wicked Day
The third and final book of the Tormay Trilogy, The Wicked Day, continues the story of Jute and his friends as they battle the forces of the Dark. It is, perhaps, the darkest of the three books, but I trust that I left enough hope shining throughout those pages.
More about
Christopher Bunn
I’ve been writing ever since I was a little twirp, running about without a care in the world. Fantasy, science-fiction, humor, thrillers. I’ve written ’em all, and all in various states of disarray. Most of those stories will never see the light of day, or even the moonshine of night. Lately, however, I’ve been nudging my writing up to a higher level (at least, that’s my view on it; others might differ). With the happy advent of ebooks and how Amazon has rocked the publishing world in that regard, everyone can now read my writing. If they choose to do so. Technology provides the interface, but it certainly does not supplant free will…
More of my books
Creativity is an odd thing.
You don’t see dogs out scratching their thoughts on the sidewalk, or birds commemorating their dreams in cave paintings. It’s only the human creatures who seek to translate their thoughts into communication for other humans, whether that be through music, sculpture, painting, film, writing. How did that evolve and why? I have my own answer for that, and I hope you do too. If you don’t, try taking some time one day to figure it out.
My music.
The Autumn War
In college, I formed a rock band called The Autumn War. We played the bar scene around Chicago for several years, recorded a couple demo cds, and got our fill of late nights in smoke-filled clubs. Even now, I continue to record tracks on my own, as the software and hardware available these days makes it dead simple to do so in the comfort of home.
Writing
If you have read one of my books and enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review on the site where you purchased it. Positive reviews have a tremendous effect on increasing book visibility.
Music
Feel free to download any of my tunes for your own use. I don’t mind. If you do, though, I ask that you spread the word around a little about this site. If, for some reason, you want to use one of my songs in a commercial application that will be then sold, please get in touch with me first.
My musings
Recent Posts
Inflatable Hippies Music
Writing music is one of my all-time loves. Probably even more so than writing prose. Both mediums answer the creative question, but there's something almost magical about the existence of music; it contains both meaning and an elusive quality of being. Anyway, my...
Emotional Support Ferret
My wife and I were recently having dinner at a restaurant up in the Bay Area when a woman came in with two emotional support dogs on leashes. I'm not all that conversant with dog breeds, so I'm not sure what sort of breed they were. They were both sausage-shaped, low...
Feeding the Soul
Summer is at her height. In this part of California, that means the hills are baked and dried into a tawny gold. They look like lions sleeping in complete, twitch-free silence, disturbed only by the occasional earthquake. In the fields stretched out below, the salad...
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