Dana Hawkins‘s SHE TASTES LIKE VIOLENCE, a dark sapphic rom-com pitched in the vein of BUTCHER & BLACKBIRD and LIGHTS OUT, in which an assassin-for-hire who enjoys eliminating some of the worst in society is offered a job to finish an notorious predator with a massive payday, but finds herself face-to-face with the woman who once destroyed her and must choose whether to quit, fight, or join her, to Emily Gowers at Storm Publishing, in an exclusive submission, in a two-book deal, for publication in June 2027 and January 2028, by Jenna Satterthwaite at Storm Literary Agency (world English).
War Boys: A Father and Son Memoir by Jason Prokowiew (1st)
Version 1.0.0
As a child, Jason Prokowiew lived in fear of his father, an abusive alcoholic. Lonely and full of shame and guilt, Prokowiew recounts a lonely childhood, colored by struggles with weight, self-image, and his emerging identity as a gay man.
Impelled to confront the trauma of his childhood, Prokowiew documents the stories of his father’s own trauma that began when Nazis murdered his family at the start of the war. In War Boys, Prokowiew retraces his father’s harrowing journey to understand how he survived the war and why he became the terrifying father Jason knew. In an era where generational estrangement is common, War Boys inspires with its account of this father and son, both battle-scarred survivors, and how they heal their relationship through the power of claiming and telling their own stories – and listening to one another.
What is it like to be a child under attack?
At ten, a plane tries to kill you, then you’re alone. Even when someone is kind-perhaps a woman who runs a sick house who pulls you into her orbit-they eventually set you out into the fiery world again. The world treats you as a man but you’re a child, and you see too much. An enemy employs you, demands maturity from you, and whips you when you’re not perfect.
I said to my father, “you were good at surviving, but not thriving.”
“What a privilege, to want to thrive,” he said scornfully, annoyed as I tried to name the connective tissue between our childhoods, between what each of us lost.
