Fresh, From the Free Range Oyster-Lair

Fresh, From the Free Range Oyster-Lair*

Hail, well met, and sundry other greetings! We’ve a nice haul of new books for your entertainment and edification this week, for which I thank you all. As I sit in my lovely-but-cramped shell all week long, dutifully layering pearls, it’s good to know that I’ll get to do something useful for the weekend. *big grin*

In addition to this week’s books, I have an announcement! For those out here on the occidental end of the American continent, WesterCon is coming up in four weeks, in Salt Lake City. Incidentally, WesterCon and FantasyCon are the same weekend and will be sharing memberships. We’ll be gathering any Huns, Dinerzens, and other lurking Hoyt-fen who live in the area (I know there are several) as well as any and all of us attending the cons. The city has several awesome eating and drinking establishments; I hear you mammals are into that sort of thing. Those with knowledge of the area are welcome to recommend a place, or we can just roust out the ‘danes from a corner of the con hotel’s lounge. Pillaging may be involved, bring your own pony and torches. RSVP with me, if you would, if you’ll be in the area that weekend.

There is a larger announcement that I’d hoped to make this weekend, but there are… details still to be hammered out. Suffice to say that the WesterCon gathering is part of a larger world domination scheme organ-harvesting operation cat fancier’s club worthwhile and totally innocuous endeavour. More info and fewer heavy-handed hints coming ASAP, I promise. 😛

Aside from all the mysterious goings-on, future entries for the promo post can (and should!) be sent to my email. Happy reading!

Jason Dyck, AKA The Free Range Oyster

Mercenary Wordsmith, Terminal Tamer, and High Seat of the Gathering Horde

Craig Allen

Kali’s Children

Kali's Children

Crash landing on an uncharted world is bad enough. Losing most of the crew as the ship sinks to the bottom of an alien ocean is even worse. And that’s just the beginning.

Ragged and terrified, the last few survivors—a fireteam of battle-hardened marines and an inexperienced civilian adviser—search for a way to contact the nearest inhabited system for rescue. But as they encounter the denizens of this world, they learn something remarkable. From the red reeds that cover the land to the ferocious predators that fear nothing, every living thing on this world is highly intelligent… and utterly hostile. Violence is a normal part of life. Murder and war are nothing more than a means to acquire food. Kindness is unimaginably alien.

For the survivors, escape is not enough. They must also keep their technology out of the hands of the barbaric monsters around them. For the planet’s natives have learned that it is possible to leave their world, and out there among the stars is the most prolific source of food they have ever known: humans.

Dwight R. Decker

Pleistocene Junior High

Pleistocene Junior High

The year is 1965. An abandoned alien base is discovered under the sands of northern Africa. Amazingly, the machinery in it is still functional after seemingly millennia, but exactly what the exotic gear does, no one knows. Until, that is, an experiment to test it goes wrong and an entire middle school in Ohio is suddenly transported 30,000 years into the past. For some 300 teenagers caught unexpectedly by the disaster, survival becomes a day-by-day struggle in a world without grocery stores, hospitals, electricity, plumbing, or any of a thousand other things taken for granted in modern civilization. Even though he is unaware of it, one boy literally holds the key to resolving the mystery of how it happened and perhaps even going home. Meanwhile, the Biology teacher finds himself the unelected leader of the colony whether he wants the job or not, and the lives of hundreds of people now depend on him. Between the two of them, they might be able to hold off the oncoming catastrophe, but others see nothing but opportunity in a prehistoric world in which laws and police are unknown. It will take courage and intelligence to live very long in this savage new land – and perhaps a little help from the stars.

Anita C. Young

Fenrir Reborn: A Sindri Modulf Novella

Fenrir Reborn

Sindri Modulf has been tested many times throughout his long life, but for every feat he has faced, he has artfully dodged countless more with easy humour and a deadly axe. Those well-honed abilities will prove useless when he is faced with one of the greatest challenges of his life; he must bring back a grief-stricken Seer from the edge of catatonia. Unwilling to let the mind of the most powerful woman in 1000 years be ravaged by Empaths and Telepaths, Sindri does something he hasn’t done for centuries: bare his soul.

Cedar Sanderson

The Eternity Symbiote

The Eternity Symbiote

On Sale for the month of June!

Earth sits at the center of a galactic power struggle humanity knows nothing about. Then an alien delegation suffers a fatal accident and hidden plans unravel around the wreckage in the Alaskan wilderness. Infectious disease expert Gabrielle McGregor discovers the hidden machinations and what they’ll mean for her and her family.

Also available from Barnes and Noble.

R.A. Williamson

Foreshadows: A Collection of Tall Tales from the Weird West (Whiskey & Wheelguns)


Wheelgun Press proudly presents: Whiskey and Wheelguns: Foreshadows. This is a collection of six short stories all set in the Whiskey and Wheelgun Universe. You will recieve a first class introduction to the stories that will be keeping you up at night for the next twelve months.

Each series will explore a dark corner of the weird west as envisioned by the addled minds of the contributers. They will dazzle you with the grit of the desert sand, the gristle of sixgun wielding protagonists, and the intestinal fortitude required to subdue a werewolf lightskirt.

Twenty-four stories of dubious literary merit by six of today’s most vaguely groomed and semi-coherent authors, which will shock and amaze, dazzle and impress, and floor the reader with outright awe for the massive amounts of facial hair required to bring a project like this into the bright desert light. Be sure to follow along, ’cause the wagon won’t be stoppin’ until they strike fool’s gold.

This is the introduction to a shared world. Other books in the setting, by various authors, include:

*It’s little.  Also, flooded.

38 thoughts on “Fresh, From the Free Range Oyster-Lair

  1. Free Range, as a Hoyden dealing with water in all the wrong places (water, like spiders, should remain outside the house), I might feel your pain.

    And I highly recommend Anita Young’s novella. (Full disclosure: was an alpha reader, so I’ve seen how much she’s growing as a writer.)

    1. Not sure about the flooded comment from Sarah, but this morning we’re dealing with water of a different sort. It may be broken… whoop, the Oyster Wife is getting antsy about it. Gotta run!

            1. Nah, they just need a little… external motivation to find their way to the door. Haven’t had to defenestrate one of them yet. (Also I’m totally stealing that metaphor and running with it from now on)

              1. That will happen. Trouble is, once you’ve given ’em the eviction notice, you work, and push, and heave to get ’em out the door. Then, you’re still obligated to let ’em crash at your place! They make noise all night, leave messes everywhere, don’t contribute to the bills, and they don’t even have the courtesy to speak English so you can explain to them the error of their ways! Delinquents, the lot of ’em.

              2. I stole it from a routine by either Robin Williams, or Steven Wright … or someone else … It is too far back to remember who
                “He was born by C-section … it’s never affected him, except he always leaves by the window”

                  1. “Is it a boy or a girl?”
                    “We certainly hope so, though we’re giving about 10% chance that it’s a velociraptor.”

            1. Robert had to be evicted. Pre-eclampsia determined we couldn’t let him lollywag. he took the ah window exit. His brother, left to his own devices, was TWENTY THREE DAYS LATE.

              1. Ugh. Sean would definitely have been taking the window exit if we had waited an extra 2 1/2 or 3 weeks. He was kicked out just after his due date, so she wouldn’t have to go through having another that was over 10 1/2 lbs.

                1. my oldest Sis had been hit by a car when a Freshman in high school, and broke her pelvis, but they waited for her to start labor to open the window, as the door was not going to open wide enough. Of course, being 5′ nothing and barely over 100 pounds at baby weight and him being near 8 pounds, the maths were not good no matter what pelvic condition she was in.
                  Her second was the same size and her date was set at “Is Thursday good for you?” and they evicted him before he spent so long trying to push through the Playdough Fun Factory.

      1. Well, mollusca don’t usually spend a lot of time in arid environs. Usually. So we’re assuming that, contrary to the rest of that part of the country, the Oyster Lair is more … damp. Ish.

  2. Clams got lairs!

    And buddy, I hate to break it to you, but that thing you’re polishing? Not a pearl.

    1. *laughing* OT, but a little while ago, my housemate came out of his room, looking puzzled, and asked me why someone (he was in party with, gaming) got annoyed at a catfight in Ventrilo and yelled “STOP MAKING PEARLS!” It puzzled everyone so much they all shut up.

      Me: “How are pearls made?”

        1. Pearls are made when an oyster gets irritated. FRO probably mass-produces them.

              1. There was another rude and obscene slang term that I was working off of, but its available only in email …

  3. The radio has been holding a contest for tickets to an upcoming Pearl Jam concert in my area, and I keep thinking of FRO playing a guitar. Or sometimes the drums.

        1. Around here, I’d be more surprised if clams didn’t have cordite. Everything else seems to have some, in some form or another.

          1. We used to pull apart .303 cartridges to pull out the cordite spaghetti strands to wrap in tinfoil to make little rockets. With proper care they would zip across the back yard. Without proper care they would go pft! and burn your fingers.
            Then we got a bunch of Canadian made ammo and found it had granulated powder and we had to find other ways to burn our fingers.

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