top of page
  • N. N. Light

N. N. Light's Book Heaven presents Edward Eaton #authorspotlight #literaryfantasy #fantasy #yalit #teenlit #mustread

I’ve always been an artist.


When I was a child, I acted. Then I grew up.


In college, I studied directing and discovered a passion and talent for stage combat choreography.


During all that time, I always wrote--with varying degrees of seriousness.


About fifteen years ago, I was running a university theatre group in Oman. I was desperately trying to find a piece for us to do for our spring performance. There were strict limitations on what we would be allowed to do. Students kept making wildly and unrealistically ambitious suggestions. A few of my students were talented and dedicated enough that I wanted to give them something with some meat on it.


When I broached the idea of Orpheus and Eurydice to them, they were okay with it. They liked the idea, but there was no script. Over Winter Break, I wrote one. For some reason, I decided to write entirely in Haiku-inspired verses. The actors loved it. The audience loved it. Several people suggested I try to publish it. I found a small publisher in England that loved the piece. They no longer exist. My new publisher (Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.) reprinted it a few years ago. I think they did it out of courtesy, but it is one of my better sellers, so we made the right decision.


I guess this sounds a little like a long-winded bio. It is not intended to be one. It is intended to demonstrate that I have always been an artist of some sort and take the arts quite seriously. I come by the arts honestly. My mother is a professional actress and a patroness of the arts. My father was a singer and an English Professor. My brothers and I each had our baptism in the world of the arts. In my case, it stuck.


I love, particularly, two aspects of the arts. The first is the process. When I direct plays or stage fights, I love working with the actors and designers and playing with ideas. The second is entertaining the audience. I have met many self-proclaimed artists who refuse to try and publish or put their paintings in a closet, hoping they will never be seen. How is that art? The audience—or, at least, the idea of the audience—is as much a participant in the work of art as the artist is. The artist and the audience share the experience. In some art forms—theatre, non-recorded music, for example—the relationship is more immediate. In some—literature and paintings—it is distant. I maintain that while literature is more distant, it is also more intensely personal. It is perhaps the most personal of all the art forms, for it is shared, by intent, with the individual, while most other art forms are intended to be experienced by groups (most of the time).


When I stage actors, I imagine myself in the audience. How would this scene affect me if I saw it? As a reader, I write the kinds of books that I would like to read. When I teach, I try to be the kind of teacher that inspired me. So, you could say that as an artist (and as a teacher—and teaching, if not an art, is certainly a kind of performance), I strive to be the audience. I don’t want to prove how smart or sensitive I am; I just want to write something enjoyable (and, perhaps, provocative).


Now all I need to do is find a couple hundred thousand people just like me, and I’ll be able to afford to write on a live-aboard in the Caribbean. 😀😀




Title              An Empty God

Author          Edward Eaton

Genre           Literary Fantasy

Publisher      Dragonfly Publishing


Book Blurb


Dravpruk reigns over his lands, carving out seas, shaping mountain ranges, dallying with nymphs and satyrs, and sometimes chasing off giants or hunting trolls.


It is good to be a god.


When the first humans spread across his lands, Dravpruk's life becomes complicated. Does he antagonize the other gods by making war against these primitive creatures? Or should he try to understand humans? How does a young god survive with so many obstacles in his path?



Chapter I




            I am.


            I am a God.


            That much I can say.


            That much I know.


            That much I remember.


            I have forgotten much more than I could ever remember.


            I have forgotten most of my past, though I still have some vivid memories, mental pictures, of my existence so far. Vivid memories but hazy around the edges. There is an order to them, though understanding the order of  a God’s memories is much like understanding the order that leaves fall from a tree. There might be a meaning in it, a pattern to it, but there are so many leaves on any given tree that even Gods would not bother trying to figure out the reason they fall as they do.


            I am young. I am old. I am older than mountains. I am older than some stars, for I saw many born in the heavens, popping into existence as new pricks of white in a black vacuum. I am certainly younger than some stars, for I was able to watch some of my celestial companions, that were likely old when I came into existence, fizzle and die—or flare out in death as great supernovae. I am older than most seas and younger than the great oceans. I suppose I am younger than many Gods—there were wila and satyrs in my infancy, so there must have been gods before me to have created them.


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)




























Author Biography


In addition to being a writer, Edward Eaton is a stage director and fight choreographer who has worked extensively in the Boston area, regionally, and overseas. He has taught classes and workshops at a number of schools, including Harvard, MIT, and Brown. Currently, he calls MassBay Community College his teaching home, where he takes on classes in English, Literature, Critical Thinking, and Philosophy. As a writer, he is responsible for a number of works including the award-winning Rosi’s Doors series, the Greek verse duology of Hector and Achilles and Giants Fall, and other works. He has also published extensively as an essayist, a journalistic, a theatre and film critic, and a scholar. He lives in the Boston area with his wife, Silviya, and his son, Christopher—when he bothers to come home from college.


Social Media Links




Title              Rosi’s Castle (Book 1 of 3 of Rosi’s Doors)

Author          Edward Eaton

Genre           Fantasy (YA)

Publisher      Dragonfly Publishing Inc.


Book Blurb


When newly orphaned Rosi Carol is sent to live with her mysterious Uncle Richard in his eerie castle on the New England coast, a whole host of problems plague her. With a strange dark cloud plus a host of irate ghosts following her, Rosi's only allies are a disappearing girl in black and a paranormal reporter no one else can see. And why can't her watch keep proper time?



WITH a sigh, Rosi looked yet again at the clock above the door of the darkened doughnut shop. 


 One o’clock. 


 She was not happy. 


 After spending too much time wandering around Boston sightseeing and avoiding the station, she had missed the earlier train but figured there would be a car waiting for her.   There should have been a car waiting for her. 


           She had left a bunch of messages at the number the lawyer gave her. Who would leave a fifteen-year-old girl alone at a train station at one in the morning? 


           Looking around, she smiled as other late-night travelers yawned and struggled to their cars or their waiting loved ones. A  few families with cranky children and snapping parents laden with luggage strolled out of the station and left. A couple of homeless-looking people came up asking for spare change. Rosi handed out some quarters and then pulled out a book hoping it would discourage further intrusion. 


           Soon, the parking lot was empty and the only people around were a pair of janitors blasting a radio and sweeping up candy wrappers and cigarette butts. 


           “You all right, miss?” one of the janitors called out to her.  


“Just waiting for my uncle.” 


           “Wanna wait inside?” 


 She shook her head. “No, but thanks.” 


Outside the station was creepy enough. Inside it just plain smelled. 


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)












Title              Rosi’s Time (Book 2 of 3 in Rosi’s Doors)

Author          Edward Eaton

Genre           Fantasy (YA)

Publisher      Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.


Book Blurb


Rosi Carol has managed to settle into her Uncle Richard’s New England castle, despite having her family’s so-called gift thrust upon her. Rosi can step through time, which means she also bears the responsibility of being time’s Guardian. Or rather Apprentice Guardian, as her Uncle Richard keeps pointing out. When she and her friends are dragged through a time portal into the past, Rosi must determine not only where they are but when they are and how to restore the timeline.




Time as most people know it was simply a rhythm. To the ancients, time was the rhythm of falling grains of sand. To modern man, it was the rhythm of oscillating cesium atoms. The difference was, Uncle Richard had explained, specious and immaterial.


Time as numbers on a clock was arbitrary. There was no real reason why the day was divided into twenty-four hours or twelve hours.


Time zones were even worse. It made no sense that Detroit, for example, was in the same time zone as New York when it was so much closer to Chicago.


Clocks created a facade of temporal uniformity. One could look at a watch and see 9:30. It was only 9:30 if everyone else’s watches said 9:30 too. Furthermore, 9:30 in Boston was earlier than 9:30 in New York. One might be able to come up with an argument that 9:30 in the morning was somehow fundamentally different than 2:30 in the afternoon. It was hard to do the same when it was 9:20 versus 9:40.


Atomic clocks created more uniformity. So did radio and television. The numbers, though, were still made up. The idea that Time was tied to electrons, grains of sand, or the evening news was given value because it made people feel more comfortable. The relative precisions of a grandfather clock, a Timex, a Rolex, or the Master Clock at the U. S. Naval Observatory all failed to take one truth into account: sometimes time flew and sometimes it stood stock still.


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)












Title              Rosi’s Company

Author          Edward Eaton

Genre           Fantasy (YA)

Publisher      Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.


Book Blurb


Stuck in the Revolutionary War and reeling from a recent defeat by the British, Time Guardian Rosi Carol must rally a group of fugitives and prepare them for a final desperate battle. Outnumbered and outgunned by a merciless enemy, outsmarted at every turn by and increasingly wicked Kirk, Rosi must marshal all of her wits and her experience to reverse the course of events, save herself and her few remaining friends, and perhaps find a way home.




“Okay,” Andy started. “Perhaps what we are seeing is exactly what it looks like we are seeing. We see men in red coats fighting and dying. Our senses tell us that they are indeed fighting and dying.”


“Accepted. Conditionally,” Dan conceded. “Our eyes and ears suggest this. Note, however, that we are some distance from the actual fighting.”


“Do you intend to go out into the field and test this hypothesis?” Andy asked.


“Further observation might be warranted,” Dan pointed out.


“True,” Andy said. “However, if indeed they are actually soldiers in red coats—”


“Which, I will stipulate for the moment.”


“And if they really are shooting at people,” Andy went on. “Might they shoot at you? Should you wish to gather more empirical data?”




“It means practical,” Andy said a bit too smugly.


“I know what it means, doofus. I am a year older than you are. I do, however, appreciate your observation.”


“So, we agree that those men are indeed using real bullets and that they can result in what could be referred to as a premature mortality. Now, I am unaware of any military forces who currently wear red tailcoats, tri-cornered hats, and use muzzle-loading weapons. Can you think of any?”


Dan could not and said so.


“Furthermore, even if there were a military group so armed, chances are they would not be supported by a seventy-four gun sailing frigate flying the British flag.” Andy pointed out to the sea.


Dan had not noticed the ship until Andy pointed it out.


“So,” Dan began. “You’re suggesting—”


“I’m suggesting,” Andy said with exaggerated patience. “That we might possibly actually be seeing what we think we’re seeing.”


“A British attack on The Castle,” Dan said.




Dan thought about this. “Correct me if I’m wrong—”


“I certainly will,” Andy said.


“I’m only aware of one time where British military action was taken in this area. The Revolutionary War.”


“To be more specific,” Andy said, beginning to get excited. “April 8th, 1780.”


“I guess that would explain the soldiers and the frigate.”


Andy nodded. “Exactly.”


“There is one minor point your theory fails to adequately explain.”


“And what is that?” Andy asked perplexed.


“How the hell we got here!” Dan snarled.


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)










Title              Toh’s Saga

Author          Edward Eaton

Genre           Verse Novella

Publisher      Dragonfly Publishing, Inc.


Book Blurb


Inspired by the writings of famed astronomer Carl Sagan, TOH'S SAGA is the tale in verse of the life and times of a sentient bubble. Toh is magnificent. Toh is powerful. Toh is feared, respected. But when its ambition gets out of control, Toh’s group casts it out to face the ravages of a desolate and hostile world with out friends, without family — alone






A spark of thought is

Hidden in cloud until it

Grows into a lightning bolt




It has no name yet

It sees nothing within

Or without the emptiness


It has no thoughts yet

Nothing no one joins it

Sees it loves it



Knows its texture or touch


It has no body


It is still part of the other

Part of the







En is


Riding the flow that is

Its home


En floats

And wanders with its kind

Never knowing what is to come

Never caring what was


En is


Its many feelers reach out and

Search its kind for friend and foe

Reach past its own into beyond

To touch currents differing from

The one that carries it


Many-feelered En is


Large and awkward and bloated

It is powerful and its large

Gaseous body bumps and drifts

Through its kind taking in

Smaller ones who cannot flee

Hiding from the greater ones its feelers find


Avoiding being taken

Eating not eaten

Ruling never a slave

But to the WHOLE


En is


It slips and glides through the stream

That flows with the current

Just below the ice


En is


Just one of many


Just a part

It grows and feeds

It struggles and survives


En is


Buy Links (including Goodreads and BookBub)









1 commentaire

N. N. Light
N. N. Light
11 juin

Thank you, Edward, for sharing your writing journey and books with our readers!

bottom of page