08 June, 2020

Read an #Excerpt from The Colour of Your Voice by @DanielNewwyn

*** Special Feature - June 2020***

About the Book:
Check out the Book on Amazon
What happens when a call girl and a death row prisoner fall in love?

Violet Pham can see sounds. The brown chirps of the sparrows dance with the colors of their feathers. The green blobs from her mother weave into her squeaky berates.

She believes she was born to become a painter but after being labeled as a burden by everyone around her, she questions that belief. The colors around the sounds become a curse rather than a gift. With her future unsettled and her family mired in debt, there is only one solution: run away from everything.

That’s when she meets Turner Nguyen. He’s everything she wishes she could be—an iron will and a flint heart. There’s only one thing wrong with him. He’s at the center of gang wars, uses his fists to collect debts, and makes his money off the addiction of others.

Soon, the sound of his words paints Violet’s world with the ugly shade of disaster. Where will they go from here?

'The Color of Your Voice' is a tragic, depressing love story that speaks to the lows of human experience. It deals with themes of self-esteem, desperation, and salvation. If this is your cup of tea, then this book is for you.

Read an Excerpt from The Colour of Voice

The river was pitch black. Clinging to the old, wooden bridge, she shivered. Nobody was within her sight. She couldn’t see any color on the river, or in the narrow road that passed through the bridge. They were all black. The currents lapped at the base of the bridge; it sounded black. The wind wheezing past the bridge railings; it sounded black. The car honking from the distance sounded black, the chirping sparrows on the banyan tree beside the road sounded black, the brushing broomstick from the brickyard in the lone house over the distance sounded black. Black. Black. Black.

Too cold. Too dark. Too high.  

She was scared for a brief moment, but her fear was quickly replaced by anger. Turner had stuck around in her mind for far longer than she would have liked. Was there any reason for him to exist? His life was a vicious circle. Fighting, fucking, sleeping. Living like that, did he not feel bored?

Had he ever thought about what she was thinking right now?

Had he ever thought about her?

Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? Turner was everything she wished she was. Turner was a golden sculpture, an iron will, a flint heart. He would be a dream for any woman. He would be out of her league.

He didn’t even close his eyes when we kissed, did he? He didn’t even linger around, he didn’t even hold me in his arms, and he didn’t even tell me how good the kiss felt.

He doesn’t care about me. Nobody cares.

She cast her gaze downward, to the bottomless abyss. If she jumped from here, no one would ever find her body.

No one would find her if no one was looking for her.

She was not important. She was nobody.

There would come a time for everyone. Her time was up.

Suddenly, a hand gripped her wrist. “Why are you here?”

The voice was rattled and tightened, and she realized it was Turner Nguyen. She turned to look at him, her eyes panicked as if trying to hide. “W-why are you here?”

“Get away from the railings. Else I’ll carry you back home.”

“It’s not your job.”

He glared at her, and she didn’t know how to act. She flinched, hesitated, and stammered, “D-do you want me away?”


“Why? There’s no reason. I’m probably just like any other girl to you. Who am I for you to care?”

Turner pondered for answers. She was right. Was there any compelling reason for him to poke his nose into someone else’s business? Do not help strangers, do not aid anyone, do not do more than assigned. Until then, Turner had a principle: if it wasn’t his problem, then he didn’t bother. It was the one thing that kept him unattached to all the troubles, while the others had been beaten by robbers and assassins, or eaten and shredded in clan clashes.

Maybe that was why he didn’t have a friend or a girlfriend. Who could love a person who “wouldn’t do anything” for the people close to them?

His only ex-girlfriend had said that. They had dated each other for a week.

Coming to think of it, Turner did more for Violet than he ever did for any other girl in his life. He got her away from the fuming prostitutes, then sent her to a new place where she could earn money without being hassled. Maybe, just maybe, I have a real soft spot for this person.

After what was possibly the longest silence of his life, he replied, “A fan,” biting his lower lip.


“You are not just any other girl. You are my idol, ya see. And I’m a fan, one devoted fan who wants to see your paintings. If you jump right now, I won’t have the chance to see them.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you… telling the truth?”

“Why would I lie?”

Turner’s words eased Violet for a moment. Maybe I’m worth something in someone’s mind, after all, she thought. But his words weren’t enough; they were far from enough. Ten years of self-doubt, self-pity, and self-torture could not be reversed in a minute. She soon found herself torn between the trains of thought. Turner’s looking forward to something I will never be able to provide.

She spoke up. “But I cannot—”

“You cannot jump until you become a painter.” His face stiffened as he looked at her with that steadfast gaze of his. Slick black hair, freckled cheeks, and the sun in his eyes. That was what Violet had always been missing—determination. Her presence had always been dwindling. More than a couple of times she had thought about how to become rough and scabrous like Turner, but she just couldn’t figure it out on her own.

Violet didn’t understand. Was there a reason for a thug, who almost certainly hadn’t glanced at any painting in his life, to look forward to what she paint? Was there a reason, was there a reason, was there a reason...

We find a reason for everything. Why did she want to die? Because she was miserable, because she was incompetent? Why would Turner want to help her? Out of pity, or because society said that it was immoral to not save a dying person?

Why must there be a reason? If there was a reason for that, then there must be a reason for her to become an artist. Was there a reason for every sound to carry a shade?

About the Author:
Author's Amazon Page

Daniel Newwyn is an aspiring writer, a professional eSports gamer, and a translator. His works in Romance, Sci-fi, Thriller, and Humor have won a number of online awards, and are listed among the promising Undiscovered Writers of Wattpad. As of current, he is the chief content producer of insightful eSport contents such as Hearthstone Rankstar Wild Report. Daniel earned his Bachelor’s Degree at the University of Sydney, and is on his way to complete his PhD in Psychology.

Daniel on the Web:
Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram


3 eBooks of The Color of Your Voice. Open Internationally.