What readers are
saying:
“A
fantasy comedy that swims in similarly madcap waters as works by
Terry Pratchett and Christopher Moore, Massa’s novel coolly and
deftly introduces a farcical setting that reflects the absurdity of
today’s world, brimming with commentary on religion, capitalism,
and writing.” – Kirkus
Reviews
“A
riot of a book where the characters amuse while offering cutting
critiques of human nature (and god nature?). Light as well as
insightful. A triumph.” – Kate
Tailor, Benjamin Franklin Award Winning Author
“Hilarious,
quirky, and sharply satirical. Kyle A. Massa has crafted a work of
comedic genius that will make you laugh until you cry, while
simultaneously exploring the hypocrisy of some of humanity’s
deepest-held beliefs. A read for anyone who delights in absurdity.” –
Laura Lauda, Author
“Eggs
for the Ageless is
a hoot. It’s fun and easy to read, but leaves you with lots to
think about, and endless chuckles. It’s
filled with delightful characters, both good and bad. Kyle A. Massa
weaves together a bundle of hilarious plot threads so expertly that
you never quite know where they’re going, but can’t wait to get
there.” –
Geoff Jones, Author of The
Dinosaur Four
“Fun,
funny, and wildly creative.” –
Nathan Pieplow, Author
“Interesting
character development and a fast-clip storyline tells a very funny
tale. Highly recommend.” – AJM,
Amazon Reviewer
Author's
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Egg wrote.
Or rather, she scribbled words on paper, frowned, then crossed them out.
The Almighty Penguin waddled into the distance, Egg wrote, nearly tearing the page with the ink-wet tip of her quill. And like a pastry hurled from a platter, it vanished into the distance.
She eased back, swept her bushy brown hair from her eyes, admired the words for a moment, then shook her head and crossed them out.
A pastry hurled from a platter? That was a weird simile. Maybe she was just hungry. And waddling off into the distance? Too cliché. This was the summation of years of work, the final line of her first finished book. It needed to be memorable, moving, and above all, not crappy. So Egg tried a new closing sentence:
“We shall meet again,” said the Almighty Penguin. “Someday soon.”
No. No no no. She slashed that, too. Made it seem like she was setting up a sequel, and she hated when authors did that. So presumptuous. At least let readers ask for another book before you go forcing it on them.
“Subtle,” she whispered to the page. “We need to be more subtle. And maybe even a little profound, if we can swing it.”
“Who are you talking to?” someone asked.
Egg sat upright and donned her most genial smile. The someone who’d spoken was a man seated in the sand beside her, a round and jowly type who smelled of perfume or ale, depending on the moment. They’d met a few hours prior, but Egg had already forgotten his name. Boffer, maybe. Or Boofer?
“Were you talking to me?” the man asked.
“No, Mr., umm…Boogler…” She thought better of answering truthfully, so she finished with, “…I was just warming up my voice. For the call-and-answer bit.”
“My name is Bowler,” the man corrected. He took a practiced swig from a flask in his pocket. “Mayor Bowler. What are you writing about, there?”
You’re a tad nosy, Mayor Bowler, Egg thought, though she didn’t say it. Instead, she tried her smile again. “Just, umm, taking notes.” She waved toward the makeshift dais before them, where the Holy Devoted was busy reading some story of self-righteous dopes from a chunky book called The Everything (the only book Egg had ever disliked).
Bowler blinked at the stack of paper mounted atop Egg’s lap. “That’s a lot of notes.”
It’s been a long service, she thought. Two hours, according to the nearby timekeeper’s hourglass, and the Holy Devoted had only just gotten to the introduction of the Ageless. Bowler gave Egg a parting hiccup before returning his attention to the oration.
Around them dozed the Quaint Village of Quaint. It was a pleasant smattering of sun-baked sandstone houses encircling a fountain carved into the likeness of Florinioniorius, God of Creation. He held a quill aloft that, if you believed the Holy Devoteds, was the quill used to write the world and everyone in it. Long ago, water had spouted from the nib. Now, however, it was dry as the sands surrounding it.
On the dais between the fountain and the onlookers (actually a creaky wooden box, but “dais” sounded fancier), Holy Devoted Sarene graced the boiling morning air with her voice, enunciating every syllable with precision and clarity. Her reading was flawless, as ever. If only her material was less tedious.
“And so Lira, Goddess of Order, and Florinioniorius, God of Creation, had 10 children,” Sarene intoned. “And those 10 children, along with their mother and father, would be the foremost of the Ageless, the Greater Gods and Goddesses. They would be the Dozen.”
“The Dozen,” the villagers repeated.
“And many more Ageless would be born of Lira and Florinioniorius, and though they too would be divine, they would be known as the Lesser Gods and Goddesses.”
“The Lesser,” the villagers repeated.
“And so all the Ageless, the Dozen and the Lesser, guide the lives of mortals. They make our world whole.”
“They make our world whole,” the villagers repeated.
“Except for Hylus, God of the Sun,” Sarene clarified, “who has left the sun in the sky for these past 50 years, and shall not move it until we mortals prove our worth.”
“Until we prove our worth,” the villagers repeated.
By the way, Egg wasn’t listening to any of this. It was too nice a day. The sun was fat and bloated and unsinking as ever, but for now it hid behind a flock of puffy white clouds. The air was stifling, as usual, but a nearby fanbearer churned some breeze (Egg made a mental note to give the guy a tip). Plus, a sunbird had joined them, settling on the eave of a nearby house. It listened for a moment, trilled, then departed. Egg tried and failed to suppress her envy.
Anyhoo, back to writing. She twirled her quill around and around like a real, honest-to-goodness writer must do. Unfortunately, when she looked down, she realized she’d splattered ink across the topmost page.
Oh dear, she thought.
She fumbled the quill and dropped it, which stained the paper further, plus got ink on her robes.
Oh crap, she thought.
She scooted to retrieve the quill, which displaced the stack of paper upon her lap. The pages slipped and scattered everywhere, fluttering away like so many leaves, and in her haste to catch them, she kicked the ink pot beside her. It tumbled across the sand, leaving a black smear in its wake. Droplets of ink spattered over everyone seated too close—including Bowler, the village’s Mayor.
“Oh shitsticks.”
She thought she’d thought that. But when Egg felt eyes on her—several dozen pairs of them—she realized she hadn’t. Those words had slipped out.
The entire village of Quaint, all here for the oration. All staring at her.
She rose. She tried summoning her genial smile, but managed only a guilty grimace. The stares had turned to glares, from an ink-stained Mayor Bowler, from the other ink-stained villagers, even from the clean ones, and also…
Egg gulped. Also from Holy Devoted Sarene.
There was no Goddess of Disapproval, but if there was, Sarene would’ve been her. She was stern and severe with a heron’s build and differently colored eyes: one brown, one blue. Her head was shaven, revealing a smooth scalp with a halo of runic tattoos—12 of them, each representing one of the Dozen Gods and Goddesses.
“Child,” Sarene said. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Egg tried to speak, but the sound came out as a sputter.
“She’s taking notes,” Mayor Bowler grumbled. “Allegedly.”
The Devoted did not react. She didn’t even blink. “You’ve made an unholy mess, Zeggara. Have you anything to say for yourself?”
“Yes. I have something to say for myself. I say I’d rather be writing than sitting here, because writing makes me happier than moping around every day for hours on end, listening to stories I don’t believe and joining rituals I don’t care for. I say maybe I believe something else, or would at least like the opportunity to do so. Also, I say you’re overstating the state of this mess—I’ve done worse. That’s what I say.”
…Well, that’s what Egg would’ve said, if she’d had the courage. But she didn’t. Instead, she squeaked three words:
“I don’t know.”
Holy Devoted Sarene was intimidating enough. It didn’t help that she also happened to be Egg’s mother.
###
Q: Who designed your book cover?
The cover of Eggs for the Ageless was designed by artist and graphic designer Casey Gerber. (Yes, she is a human, not an AI.)
I met Casey on Reedsy, and I’ve been a huge fan of hers ever since. One reason I gravitated toward her art was because I noticed she’d worked with Wizards of the Coast, the company that makes Magic: The Gathering, a game with which I’m obsessed. Also, she’s really good at drawing animals, and I knew I wanted a penguin on the cover.
As you can see, the results are magnificent. I’d put that penguin on a Magic card any day.
Q: What is your favorite part of this book and why?
My favorite parts of the book were the parts where I surprised myself.
I’ll have to be vague to avoid spoilers, but let’s just say there are several events that I didn’t know would happen until I wrote them. Character deaths, for example. With such a vast cast, it’s no surprise that some don’t live to see the book’s end. There’s one death in particular that I hope comes as a real shock. It was hard to do, but for writers, hard decisions often result in the most compelling twists.
Also, I had an absolute blast writing a character called the Calamities. They’re technically three characters, since they’re a colossal chimera with three heads: One’s a dog, one’s a cat, and one’s a chicken.
While the dog and cat heads bicker, the chicken head only clucks. I wanted to differentiate the clucking, so I started using weird adverbs to describe it, i.e. “confusedly” and “bloodthirstily.” It became a running joke, and by the end, I had 25 different adverbs just to describe the verb “clucking.” A bit of a writer nerd thing, but I found it delightful.
Q: If your book had a candle, what scent would it be?
Definitely egg-scented. But good eggs, not rotten eggs. I’m thinking scrambled eggs, eggs benedict, maybe even a chocolate egg from Easter. Those kinds of egg scents.
Q: Do you see writing as a career?
Absolutely. Whether you go indie, traditional, or hybrid, there are more paths to publication than ever before.
For those interested in making writing their full-time job, keep writing. Hone your skills, build your catalog, find writer friends, and find your audience. It’s a slow process, but it rewards the dedicated.
Zeggara "Egg" East accidentally creates her own religion, Penguinism.
Egg's new religion quickly gains popularity and soon she finds herself at the head of a growing movement.
Her mother, a devout follower of the Church of the Divine Egg, is horrified by Egg's new religion, and the two women find themselves on opposite sides of a religious war.
Egg grappling with the consequences of her actions, and the question of whether or not she can truly control the fate of her followers.
Eggs for the Ageless was a light-hearted, funny, heartwarming, and thought-provoking novel about family, faith, and the power of imagination.
Massa created a cast of characters that were both memorable and endearing. Full of clever wordplay and absurdist humor that also explored some more serious themes. An engaging and for the most part, unpredictable plot. There were times when I felt the story hit a lull or that there was a bit too much fluff. Other times I wanted more detail.
I know ... A me thing
Overall, I really enjoyed Eggs for the Ageless.
It was a funny, heartwarming tale with a solid cast of characters that stole my heart
Kyle
A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New
York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His
published works include three books and several short stories. When
he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.
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This cover makes me wonder about the story.
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