Book promo
If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. I reserve the right not to run any submission, if cover, blurb or anything else made me decide not to, at my sole discretion.– SAH
FROM SARAH A. HOYT: Other Rhodes.
Lilly Gilden has a half-crazed cyborg in her airlock who thinks he’s Nick Rhodes,
a fictional 20th Century detective. If she doesn’t report him for destruction,
she’s guilty of a capital crime.
But with her husband missing, she’ll use every clue the cyborg holds,
and his detective abilities, to solve the crime her husband was investigating
when he disappeared.
With the help of a journalist who is more than he seems,
Lilly will risk everything to plunge into the interstellar underworld
and bring the love of her life home!
FROM HOLLY CHISM: Normalcy Bias: Look closer…things aren’t always what they seem to be.
Look closer. The things that you’re assuming you’re seeing? May not be what you think. Is that really a mouse, or is it a Brownie? Is that really an owl? Is that polished gemstone a stone…or an egg?
We take so many things for granted. Some of them may be harmless, but many are a lot less so. I wonder how many people ignore red flags every day, because they only see what they expect to see?
FROM ABBY GOLDSMITH: Majority: A Dark Sci-Fi Progression Fantasy.
In this action-packed space-opera adventure, one disadvantaged hero must ask himself: How do you defeat a galactic empire that can read your every thought?
The Majority always gets what it wants. Thomas Hill just wishes it didn’t want him. There’s no way to escape a galactic mob of mind readers, no way for him to blend in with his foster family and other average Americans.
FROM ROBERT A. HOYT: Almost Curable.
Almost Curable’s fourteen short stories take you on a journey to equal few others. There are fantasies, like a long-dormant guardian waking to save a lost boy; or a luckless medieval princess finding her destiny; or even an angel helping a tech nerd fight off the devil, and then there are nightmares, from a steampunk adventure in which the characters have to face a literal dragon, and where dark elf ancestry can brand you for life. Or a land of living sugar slowly losing its fight with evil.
There are cautionary tales, like the one of the fully automated bio grocery store, or the one about AI watching your children.
And then then there are stories we don’t know what to do with — and doubt you will either — such as the one about the zombie dinosaur who is too cute to put down.
Enjoy a journey of adventure and wonder through these amazing stories.
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: Spiral Horn, Spiral Tusk.
A unicorn’s horn for the king, a medal for the admiral — but what for the lass who makes it possible?
Rissa possesses the dolphin-singer gift, which saved her life when the thief-taker found her. If she can guide the fleet to the white whale with the spiral tusk, she might win back her freedom.
But first she must return to land — and the sea has become angry at her betrayal…
A short story of the Ixilon universe
Originally published in Beyond the Last Star: Stories from the Next Beginning, edited by Sherwood Smith.
FROM KEN LIZZI, ON KINDLE VELLA: Ursula Bruin.
A ragtag band of anthropomorphic animals search for the missing wizard of Wizard’s Rise. In this children’s tale of courage, adventure, and wonder, Ursula Bruin encounters mermaids, unicorns, and fairies. Most importantly, she learns her own value.
FROM DALE COZORT: James T Smoot’s Cross Time Petting Zoo: A Snapshot Anthology.
James T Smoot’s fly-by-night petting zoo flies between realities, with a cargo of animals from a dozen realities and a dysfunctional ‘family’ of animal handlers.
In How James T Won His Dinosaurs, James T takes the zoo to a version of Africa where dinosaurs still live, then plunges into that Africa’s vast, uncharted central marsh to find and buy a pair of dog-sized, parrot-talking dinosaurs from a pair of Nazis, but ends up playing for his life in a secret pirate city.
In The Wrath of Athena (previously published in a stand-alone novella) The zoo’s dinosaurs escape to a vulnerable, mostly lemur ecology and threaten to destroy it, along with the zoo’s already precarious finances. Can an unlikely team of James T’s twelve-year-old daughter Ella and Scott Hardy, the zoo’s official crap shoveler, get the dinosaurs back and solve the mystery of how they escaped?
Looming bankruptcy forces the zoo to act as a CIA front in a new novella James T Rides Again. The zoo flies to a once thriving British city of New Bristol in island South America. New Bristol is now nearly a ghost town, but it is also key to a high stakes mission that takes the zoo to a mysteriously abandoned school and to the exotic jungles of island South America.
FROM KATE PAULK: ConVent.
The “Save The World” department really messed up this time: A vampire, a werewolf, an undercover angel and his succubus squeeze are no one’s idea of an A team. Or a B team. Or possibly a Z team. But then, since this particular threat to the universe and everything good attacks a science fiction convention — composed of people in costume, misfits creative geniuses and creative moron — , any conventional hero would have stood out. Now Jim, the vampire, and his unlikely sidekicks have to beat the clock to find out who’s sacrificing con goers before all hell breaks loose… literally.
FROM RACONTEUR PRESS, WITH A STORY BY M. C. A. HOGARTH: Space Marines.
Americans have always romanticized space travel. We are a people who, good or bad, have ever had their eyes on the horizon, and when we conquered our own horizons, we turned to the horizon of space. We have elevated intrepid astronauts to the status of American heroes, and as a nation we mourned the loss of the crews of Apollo 1, Challenger and Columbia.
Astronauts, however, are not our only national heroes; they are preceded in that honor by the Marines.
Marines have a credo, Semper Fidelis. It means “always faithful,” and Marines have honored that credo throughout our nation’s history. They have remained faithful to their mission, to their country, and to each other. It is easy to admire such men, which is why we so love stories about Marines; they embody the faith, nobility and honor to which we all aspire.
In this volume of stories, the Marines were sent to space to do what Marines do. And some of them made it home to tell their stories and figure out what’s next.
FROM DALE COZORT: Char
Char of the Real People walked out of a mud-hole she didn’t walk into, wearing a deerskin skirt and carrying a crude spear. Then the murders started.
Char is a unique blend of police procedural and alternate reality, with county sheriff Francine Hart relentlessly pursuing clues–footprints and blood samples–that point to a murderess who is human-like, but not our kind of human.
Whatever else Char of the Real People is, Sheriff Hart discovers that her quarry is brilliant and supremely adaptable, eluding police again and again. Can even the smartest fugitive escape a modern police dragnet and get back to her own reality?
FROM BLAKE SMITH: A Small and Inconvenient Disaster.
Everywhere she goes, Maria Mason is plagued by little catastrophes. Getting caught in the rain, running from the friendliness of a muddy dog, tripping over her own feet at the worst possible moment- she has been subject to all manner of accidents, and to fend off the worst of them, she has learned to be silent and still.
Until she accompanies her friend Miss Gordon to London for a season of gaiety and pleasure. Life in Town is full of wonder, and soon Maria has new clothes, new friends, and the attention of the amusing and clever Mr. James Callahan. She begins to wonder if she has outgrown her propensity for falling into disaster, only to find herself embroiled in the worst sort of catastrophe when she is obliged to mediate between her feuding friends. One wrong word, one false step, and she might lose the regard of her friends- or worse, the love of a good man.
Vignettes by Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike.
So what’s a vignette? You might know them as flash fiction, or even just sketches. We will provide a prompt each Sunday that you can use directly (including it in your work) or just as an inspiration. You, in turn, will write about 50 words (yes, we are going for short shorts! Not even a Drabble 100 words, just half that!). Then post it! For an additional challenge, you can aim to make it exactly 50 words, if you like.
We recommend that if you have an original vignette, you post that as a new reply. If you are commenting on someone’s vignette, then post that as a reply to the vignette. Comments — this is writing practice, so comments should be aimed at helping someone be a better writer, not at crushing them. And since these are likely to be drafts, don’t jump up and down too hard on typos and grammar.
If you have questions, feel free to ask.
Your writing prompt this week is: place
According To Hoyt 
Nomination time:
https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/22607966-october-2023
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It was an awkward angle to pick a lock from, but Felix could hardly move his hands. Autumn set to.
Ciara said, her voice low, “If the cup fills up, I can take your place.”
Said the woman, “The cup is enchanted, that is why it does not burn up in my hand.”
Autumn winced. Her hand, and the lock pick, slipped. She set her mouth again. If she had never picked a lock this awkward before coming to this place, she had never so urgently needed to pick one.
Minutes later, the lock opened. Carefully, she laid it aside.
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The vampire and cohort in ConVent are obviously the O Team — for Oh Shit! :-D
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Promo-ing the first Rhodes book suggests that the next Rhodes book is nearing completion.
rubs hands in gleeful editorial anticipation
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giggle
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It will have a place waiting for it.
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Mick started to sweat. He needed the money but turned out he’s terrible at $100,000 Pyramid. The actress prompting him also began to despair.
“Come over to my …”
“Home?”
“In sports, 1st, 2nd, and 3rd…”
“String?”
“A ‘blank’ mat.”
“Welcome?”
BZZZZZT
The woman opposite him sighed and shook her head.
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“Quite a handsome fellow you’re proposing,” said the prospective client, a hotelier who needed a concierge. “Familiar-looking, but somehow I can’t quite place the face.”
“It’s a number of famous faces skillfully combined into one,” replied Nigel Slim-Howland, “using Howland Technologies’ proprietary database and AI algorithm. Familiar, but utterly unique!”
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After Beagle’s Squeeze was disqualified for being a unicorn, the hundred-to-one longshot Goldfish Beebee move up from Place to Show.
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The middle-aged man who stood in Congressman Conley’s well-appointed office was rough-hewn and slow of speech, ill at ease in a cheap, ill-fitting suit. Bearded, bulky, and tanned, he looked like he’d be more at home driving a beat-up pickup truck to a dusty job site. He had limped in with the aid of a short, sturdy wooden cane.
No doubt another veteran on disability, thought Conley. As if their vaunted service and their oath conferred some sort of moral standing. He knew well enough what group this man was with; they had been crying corruption and calling for his scalp ever since the last election. Self-righteous fools, all of them.
“I don’t care what kind of evidence you think you have,” said the congressman, at his most haughty and dignified. “You know how this goes. You and your little cabal will be investigated by my committee for sedition, the media will crucify you as conspiracy theorists, and I will pay you not the slightest notice. You uneducated ex-mililtary idiots never learn.”
The rough-hewn man straightened up and lost some of his nervousness. “I’m gonna have to correct you on a couple of points there, Mr. Congressman.” His slow drawl imbued the title with scorn. “I’m not a veteran; can’t claim that honor. Uneducated…? Well, let’s see. You got what, a pity diploma from Penn? How’s that look next to an MA in classical languages? I’ve got smarter friends I can bring in here, if that’s what you want.”
Congressman Conley ruthlessly squashed the sense of inadequacy that threatened to rise. What right did this blue-collar bumpkin have to throw any kind of credentials at the state’s senior senator? He opened his mouth, but was interrupted before he could speak.
“And it’s not a ‘little cabal’ anymore, Conley. What you all did last week struck a nerve. They stopped Followill’s car outside the airport and hung him from an overpass about 20 minutes ago, and they’ll find out you’re in town any minute now. I’m with some guys that have a lot of pull with the crowd. If they see you’ve surrendered to us, we might be able to keep you alive.”
This enraged Congressman Conley. Decades of public service, the constant race to keep donors’ money flowing, the unending effort to overcome the ill-cast votes of people who didn’t know what was best for them, the affluent life he had built from public service…and after all of that, to be given an ultimatum by this utter nobody?
“How…dare… How dare you? Surrender?” Conley spluttered. “You forget your place!”
The congressman suddenly remembered that he paid very well for private security, and he shouted for them to come. No response. Where were they? There should be two men outside his office at all times. He stepped out from behind his desk. The importunate fool tried to block his way to the door, to no avail. Conley was many years older, but his physique had been honed by the best of private trainers, and his adversary had been ground down by physical labor and untreated injuries.
Crack!
As he reached for the doorknob, a lightning pain shot through his knee, and his leg collapsed beneath him. The bulky man loomed over him, cane held like a weapon, face dark with anger. The fury faded as the man looked down into Conley’s frightened eyes, and sadness began to take its place.
“I wish you would have listened.”
The cane became a cane again, and the man limped out of Congressman Conley’s office and walked away down the hall. The congressman’s security detail went with him.
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The bear had ordered a servant to make them welcome, and the man showed the seven of them to a room. It was large and well furnished, and better yet had seats before the windows, letting them look down into the garden.
“The fairest flowers being those two,” said Tom.
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“Mentsh trakht un got lakht” one day you will see your proper place in things, and it’s highly unlikely to be the one you expect.”
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“My place? My place?”
It took a while to translate, but that was all they said. The Hierarchy prisoners didn’t talk to each other, Doctor David Cambridge noted; they just stared straight ahead and mumbled. He surmised that, without their cruiser, the prisoners had no sense of identity or belonging.
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Totally random thought that occured to me and wanted to share: the left hates and is driven crazy(er) by the concept of transracialism. Maybe we should be taking advantage of this somehow?
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Possibly, but most of us have better things to do than go around pretending to be something we’re not just to get some left-winger’s goat.
This places us at a disadvantage because a lot of our enemies don’t have anything better to do.
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Don’t have pretend to be such yourself, just ask some pointed questions about how Rachel Dolezal is any different from Bruce Jenner. There’s absolutely no objection to trans-racialism that can’t be used against trans-genderism, except the left hates trans-racialism because it screws with their all-important racial victimhood heirarchy.
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Her shadow fell over the windows, dimming the light even if he could not see the sunlight and shadow. This place held safety, but only to hold him prisoner. He wondered what she would do at night. Her perching on some branch might offer some time when she was gone.
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A lot of possibilities for this one, but somehow I knew it’d be this group!
Vincent’s eyes swept the tavern as he entered, ready to draw his gunblade in an instant. So far the townsfolk had been friendly, and it was indeed a damning indictment of the Mad Empress’ rule that they would welcome a large force of foreigners as liberators but he could never be sure who was friendly and who was not.
“And who might be Azahara Espina in yet another disguise.” he reminded himself as he caught sight of the barmaid.
Her eyes caught his attention first. They had a familiar whiskey color in the light but Vincent soon realized it couldn’t be the half-Bastetani/half-Yamatai assassin. The barmaid was significantly shorter than Azahara, who was only of average female height, and full-figured rather than lean and athletic. King Alonso’s executioner couldn’t have disguised herself like this without significant time, effort, and resources, and Vincent was sure she prioritized weapons and those Yamatai exorcism talismans over makeup and prosthetics when she and Shaula came to the front. Satisfied that she was probably just another town girl trying to get by, he sat down.
“Welcome, soldier!” she said cheerfully. “What can I get you?”
“You wouldn’t happen to have any soda, would you?” Vincent asked, a sheepish smile on his face.
“Really? Soda?” she asked, chuckling at the request.
“Alcohol doesn’t do anything for me. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Sadly this isn’t Themisto. Best I can get you is some water.” the barmaid replied, giving her guest a warm smile.
“Water will be fine.” the Undying soldier replied.
It wasn’t Eike’s place but it would do. The Chosen of the Jade felt his mind begin to wander back to Bleidabrik at the mention of Arev’s capital city when his thoughts were interrupted by a feminine voice. “Making new friends among the local women already, Vincent?”
“Carys?! I thought you were out drinking with Aoi!” Vincent sputtered as he turned around to face the sorceress.
“She had to work late and Sir Alphonse told me you had gone into town alone,” she replied, taking the seat next to his without waiting for an invitation. “He insisted I be the one to track you down.”
“Has Ash been running her mouth at him too?” Vincent thought with a sigh.
“I admit, I do not understand his logic either, especially not with the danger that smarmy wench poses to both of you,” Carys grumbled before looking at the barmaid. “Red wine, please. I understand that you may not have much.”
“Of course!” the barmaid replied, filling Vincent’s glass with water before going off to get a bottle.
“I guess you want to hear how me and Brad met her…” Vincent said after the barmaid left, recounting that night in Eike’s bar all those years ago before finishing with “That night a visiting Bastetani nobleman got drunk and fell off the balcony of his hotel room. The hotel had a power outage that night so nobody knew who went in or out. It looked like an unfortunate accident but knowing that Azahara was in town and the dead man was on the outs with King Alonso? I wonder.”
“Indeed. That is hardly a coincidence,” Carys concurred, thanking the barmaid for her wine when she returned and poured her a glass. “It is also not a coincidence that she came armed with those talismans and knows how to use them. She figured out what you are that night, Vincent.”
“That’s obvious too,” the Undying soldier sighed. “When you see as much death as she does something that should be dead but isn’t is going to stand out I suppose.”
“As I told her, it is not her place to send you to the afterlife,” Carys growled before forcibly calming herself and taking a sip of her wine. It was better than she had expected. “There has to be a way to restore you from this curse, Vincent.”
“I don’t know that there is,” Vincent responded, his tone dejected. “If Master Amadeo knew anything you’d have brought it up, I’m sure. Dr. Dunst and Professor Blomgren might know something but obviously they’d rather keep me the way I am.”
“Of course,” the sorceress grumbled, biting back the venom she had for the two demonic scientists and sorcerers. “Still, Vincent. The people of Arev need us, and that includes you. None of us can move on until the Mad Empress and her Lord Protector are both burning in Hell.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” the Undying soldier concurred. “I’m looking forward to settling things with Edmund once and for all.”
“Also, Vincent, I…”
Vincent turned to look at his companion. It was rare for Carys to be at a loss for words and even more rare for the look of cold resolve in her violet eyes to soften. She almost seemed…vulnerable? That wasn’t a side of her that he’d seen ever since that horrible day,
“…Need answers for back then?” he suggested with a shrug and a nervous expression.
“Eventually,” she sighed. Her moment of vulnerability had gone as quickly as it came and Vincent found himself sitting next to the High Sorceress of Wenlock rather than the Carys he knew from back then. “For now, let us enjoy the evening.”
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The game transporter moved Bob to a higher step and left him behind the rampart, and put a pawn in his former position.
Bob was replaced, emplaced and displaced in one slick move.
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A fine mist off the Pacific Ocean had covered the redwood forests by the time they arrived. It had been a long drive north from San Francisco, and Elaine wished it had been possible to recover a little longer from the rigors of childbirth before traveling so far. But she understood why Spartan wanted his family back home as soon as possible.
As soon as she walked across the terrace and through the big double doors, leaning a little on her husband’s arm, she was struck by the feeling of being at home. Like any great house, Sparta Point had a sense of place that would not be denied.
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Can you place this?
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“This is the place, sir. The heart of the smuggling.”
Rodger nodded gravely, and stroked his beard. James could only think that was a silly affectation in a man so young, but it was the heart of it, where they had to attack. So much money, flowing from the land.
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“You’re saying that there’s an entire Karen RACE!?”
“Yeah. They live somewhere in Asia. Thailand, maybe? Or Burma?”
“Man, I don’t even wanna think about what kind of a place that must be!”
“I know, right?”
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Hollywood!
Their ambassador Judy was on Laugh-in, as a slogan-painted bookend to Goldie Hawn.
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“Lieutenant Jerome. You searched the prisoner,” snapped the Overlord as he hurried down the stone stairs to the dungeons.
It was most certainly not a question, although the guard properly answered, “Yes, sir. No weapons or contraband. And we placed our best two guards on his door, Ratkiller and Snarl.”
The Overlord said nothing more until he reached the heavy ominous door, buttressed with heavy oak and cold iron bolts. The guards quite wisely verified his identity before allowing him passage, with both of them turning their keys on opposite sides of the door at the same time. Then he stepped forward into the small empty chamber.
“He escaped,” snarled the Overlord, turning his attention to the small table with four packages on it, each of them wrapped in colorful paper with a bright golden bow. He tore the paper from his package in short, precise strokes and glared at the lump of coal it contained. “Again! I took every precaution this year. Reinforced the mystic wards. Doubled the guard. Hired a dragon to patrol the airspace.”
“I don’t understand.” Jerome looked all around the tiny stone cell, then at the small fireplace burning merrily to one side with a bubbling pot of chocolate over the flames and four stone mugs on the shelf. “That wasn’t here earlier,” he added weakly, obviously expecting to be executed in moments.
Instead, the Overlord passed the colorful presents to the three others in the cell, then sat down by the pot to begin ladling out mugs of chocolate. “Here,” he muttered. “We’ll get him next year. Won’t we, Jerome?”
“Yes, sir.” Jerome took a sip of his chocolate, which still had a few small marshmallows dissolving in it, and relaxed slightly. It was a difficult job, but there were benefits.
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