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 MACKEY CHANDLER: The Long View (April Series Book 14)
Despite their animosity, North America seems cowed into leaving Home and the Kingdom of Central alone for the moment. They are begrudgingly honoring the treaty Singh and Love hammered out in Hawaii and allowing free passage to home. That doesn’t mean they’ve lifted the sanctions on Home trade. The European powers are as friendly as needed to do trade but have never apologized for the lies about the origin of the last flu pandemic. That’s already fading from short-lifer’s memories. They can’t understand why long-lifers just won’t let stuff go. It helps that North America has other problems like Texas aggressively nibbling away at their border. Quebec has always been patiently waiting for them to be too busy elsewhere to repress them, and Mexico is quietly slipping away to Texan influence without a shot being fired. China, never really homogenous is too fractured into competing regions and interests to be a threat for a while. Jeff may have tipped them over the edge to that but it wasn’t hard.
In the relative peace holding for a moment in history, the habitats and the Moon are progressing past survival to making life comfortable. While many on Earth think the Spacers survive on Earth-grown food they’ve progressed to an abundance of essentials and are working away on the luxuries. They are acquiring extra-solar real estate beyond the Earthies reach.
Heather and her peers, April, and Jeff, plan a Grand Ball to celebrate life, friends, and allies. If the timing doesn’t work for the Earthies that’s their problem. It’s time to enjoy what they’ve accomplished and make plans for the future long put off. Soon enough, short-lived politicians will be replaced by those who don’t remember what happens when you rile the Spacers up. But for now, they can enjoy the moment.
FROM DOROTHY GRANT: Dust Of The Ocean.
In the ruins of an ancient alien city, a half-alien slave’s act of mercy will change the course of a cold war.
When Mika saves Arkady, a wounded enemy soldier, he offers her a path to freedom. All it will take is finding a hidden artifact that may alter the course of an interstellar conflict…
But the path there will plunge their team into the depths of inhuman nightmares, battling ancient bioweapons and outwitting her former owners. It’s going to take everything they have just to survive, much less escape with their prize!
FROM DAVID COLLINS: The Wrong Number (Ambassador to the Stars Book 1)
Steve White was just taking a leisurely stroll and looking out over a small pond to see if any of the turtles were out. When suddenly, he finds himself 423 light-years away. Surrounded by strange aliens and desperately trying to fake his way out of an impossible situation.
He “fakes it” and assumes the role of the Earth Ambassador to the Pathless, the somewhat insectoid partial humanoid 4-sexed race he now finds himself with.
His goal is to return to the Earth.
Their goal is much harder to understand. They want him to be the trade ambassador. But what do they want from the Earth, and what can they offer the Earth in return?
They agree to send him back to Earth, but they insist he brings along one of their race, modified to ‘almost’ pass as human.
Convincing the Earth that the aliens are real is surprisingly tricky. When he does finally convince them, then things get strange fast.
FROM RANDY BROWN: First.
“First” is an electrifying tale penned by Randy Brown, where our hero, Lewis, aspires to be the inaugural human to voyage to another star system and return unscathed. His journey, however, is fraught with unexpected obstacles – ruthless competition, treachery, personal loss, and a tumultuous relationship that threatens to derail his mission.
When he finds himself in a race against time, the stakes skyrocket. Uncovering his true adversary propels the narrative to another dimension – not only is his life in jeopardy, but so is the future of humanity and the course of space exploration. As Lewis grapples with these challenges, he discovers that being ‘first’ comes with burdens he never anticipated. “First” is an enthralling exploration of determination, survival, and the boundless realm of space.
FROM CELIA HAYES: To Truckee’s Trail
The Stephens-Townsend-Murphy wagon train party crossed the continent in 1844, blazing a trail through the wilderness from Ft. Hall in present-day Idaho, across the high desert and over the Sierra Nevada range to Sacramento; two thousand miles across unknown, trackless wilderness on a gamble that life at the end of the trail would be better. This is the story of their journey, every dusty mile and hard choice, and of an extraordinary group of ordinary Americans.
FROM ROBERT A. HOYT: Cat’s Paw
What if the doom of the universe or its salvation didn’t depend on humans?
What if cats were far more than we imagine?
What if—
But enough of this: At the end of the universe there is a Mountain. Every thousand years, a bird flies to strop its beak on that mountain. When the mountain is worn to nothing the universe ends.
The mountain is down to a few grains of sand.
The only hope of survival for the entire universe rests in the grubby paws of an alcoholic alley cat, a fluffy cat with not much brainand a bookish cat who thinks Guinevere is a male hero’s name.
The universe might have run out of luck.
Or not.
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: Ice Storm.
Everywhere Evangeline looks, a thin coating of ice makes objects gleam in the sunlight. However, the beauty proves deceptive, for it hides a deadly secret, one only she can recognize.
In her youth, Evangeline had aspired ot master the powerful magics of her world. Those dreams died the day her Gift awakened uncontrolled and plunged her into a vision of a full fleet battle. The Admiral’s Gift will not be denied, and for Evangeline there was no choice but to trade her mage’s robes for Navy blue.
Now she is faced with an enemy she cannot fight save by magic. Except those who bear the Admiral’s gift are forever barred from working magic.
FROM SARAH A. HOYT: Death of a Musketeer (The Musketeer’s Mysteries Book 1)
When D’Artagnan, Athos, Porthos and Aramis discover the corpse of a beautiful woman who looks like the Queen of France, they vow to see that justice is done. They do not know that their investigation will widen from murder to intrigue to conspiracy, bring them the renewed enmity of Cardinal Richelieu and shake their fate in humanity. Through duels and doubts, they pursue the truth, even when their search brings them to the sphere of King Louis XIII himself and makes them confront secrets best forgotten.
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: pink
According To Hoyt 
“What did you do to get the Muslims so mad at you?”
“I cast a spell on them to turn them Bright Pink”.
“That would do it and they deserve worse.”
[Sorry, I’m in a nasty mood.]
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I’m standing down for the rest of the day. I’m practically glowing in the dark.
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https://www.breitbart.com/news/us-deploying-ships-closer-to-israel-sends-munitions/
Yes, but are they there to attack Israel for the Democrat parties current loves Iran and Hammas? Because face it democrat hate Jews, and always have. Jose Biden and the Demon’s in the Democrat party would be happy as hell if all Jews died right now, especially those in congress. I am sorry if I was Israel I would not trust Joe Biden or any scum sucking demon from hell democrats unless they were good, scum sucking demon from hell democrats, like Feinstein, yes that means dead. May they all rot in hell for an eternity along with their Rhino whores, like Romney and McConnell and Christie.
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Nuke Gaza!
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Geography makes that a fallout problem for Israel. The Reader suggests a dozen B52s on an Arc Light mission. It would be much more effective with JDAMs than in was in Vietnam, and it was pretty effective there.
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For the bomb damage assesment, how could one tell the difference before and after?
Quieter?
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I don’t care, turn it to glass, my true feelings are bomb it to rubble, wait for the scum to ooze into the rubble, line up your tanks as if you are moving in, then napalm, Incendiary, Whiskey Pete, the rubble and turn it into hell on earth. Lather, Rinse, repeat as needed until Gaza is clear.
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Take the skulls of the dead and build a Pyramid out of them and call it Peace.
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I’m…. very angry. I won’t answer that.
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Bulldozers. Line ’em up side by side and just have them drive forward.
Any obstacles are blown apart by artillery and engineers.
And give clear warning and opportunity for anyone in Gaza to be evacuated from the beaches.
Beyond that…just keep driving West until the ground is too soft for bulldozers. And wait.
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Best guess? They are there to interdict Israeli retaliation against Iran, whether by air or sub.
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uh uh.
Guys, I’m tired of the weasels who frauded themselves in. But the world…. they’re setting fire to the world.
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Sarah, all they have to do is provide early warning and detection, then backchannel the warning. The Israelis can’t stop it.
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They are there for the same reason FDR moved the fleet from San Diego to Pearl Harbor, to be bait to get someone to attack us. I’m not sure the current cabal cares if it is Hamas/Hezbollah/Iran or Israel (1).
Ukraine has yet to give them the World War they think will preserve their power and make them the new FDRs. They can’t sell US ground troops in Ukraine (although I’m surprised there wasn’t an attempt at a no fly zone with NATO planes enforcing TBH) and the Navy is really hampered getting to that theater.
But hanging a US fleet to get shot at in the Eastern Med for a Gulf of Tonkin 2.0? I can see them running with that.
(1) For those who say the latter won’t, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/USS_Liberty_incident…and, no, I don’t believe it was an accident. I’d point out the US had screwed Israel, the UK, and France in the prior Arab-Israeli. In both ’56 and ’67 Israel was engaged in pre-emptive war so I suspect they were unsure of the US position. That has changed remarkably over my lifetime so I don’t expect it again, but I can’t 100% rule it out either.
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And Pence. He managed to hit a new low, even for him, today.
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He is despicable.
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Much quieter…
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“You have to admit…,” and here his voice trailed off.
“What?” Sabine asked.
“You had to admit that my mother was right,” Jake shrugged. “A girl in in the right shade and kind of pink dress looks wonderful.”
Sabine looked at him, then laughed. “Diva is a blood-crazed, homicidal maniac by drow standards. Okay, she’s utterly amazing in bed, but the idea that she would be a pretty, pretty princess…,” then her voice trailed off.
“You’re thinking about it, too,” Jake chuckled.
“Damn you, I am,” she half-hissed in reply.
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Heh, I knew she was overdue to come back…
“Your cocktail, Miss.”
“Domo arigato, bartender-san!”
If she was out drinking with her fellow soldiers Azahara Espina would never have ordered a drink like this. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the flavor or that it was weak. She just didn’t have the patience to deal with their nonsense over her liking frilly pink drinks with little paper umbrellas. That was why she appreciated being able to go out on missions as Sakura Kujikawa. Nobody thought anything of a ditzy Yamatai tourist drinking something girly here on the Loire Riviera.
Azahara scanned the bar, looking for her target. Part of her wished she could help His Majesty settle his most outstanding debts from Loire but she knew that wasn’t going to happen. Alphonse Faucher had long been exiled for his crimes and even she couldn’t slip past the security at Hersynia Palace long enough to take King Philippe’s head. Perhaps the rumors that King Friedrich of Baldraz was building up his forces in response to Philippe’s recent actions were true. If so the Baldrazians might solve that particular problem for them.
Azahara put all thoughts of continental politics aside when her targets appeared. She always knew Deysi Ecarra was too soft for this line of work. The foolish girl had gone and fallen for the man she was supposed to be getting information out of. This would not do at all. Azahara pretended to be gazing around in wonder as she tracked the couple, making note of where they sat.
“Now how to dispose of them?” she thought, a dreamy look on her face as she considered her options. “Deysi must be made an example of, though perhaps that part is best left to Director Carmona. As for Bolvin-san? There are arguments to be made for both an overt, bloody kill and a more subtle one…”
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I love Cat’s Paw.
Everyone who loves cats should read it.
Everyone who doesn’t love cats should read it anyway.
I’m tempted to rebuy it just to get Pam’s intro.
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Drusilla smiled, her delicate pink lips moving into a cruel form. She took up an ax in one hand.
With one stride, she reached Karlos, and her free hand sunk into his chest. He screamed, and all the cave resounded. Then she pulled out his heart. It gleamed red in the light. She lay aside the ax, and with her free hand pushed in something else.
She flung the heart into the cauldron.
What she brewed in there did not splash. Karlos slumped against the post, more slack than before. Blood dripped from his chest. The cauldron began to boil more fiercely, bubbles popping.
Autumn gaped. Lucie smacked back the last spear before it ran her through, and Autumn winced.
“So you think defeating my spears means anything? Let us see if your hope of escape is any less foolish!”
As swiftly as she came, she vanished. The cauldron went with her. Not Karlos. Abruptly, Autumn realized he still breathed. She ran to him.
Her footsteps resounded, and, with a groan, he turned his face away. He still had his wits about him, Autumn realized in horror. How long could that thing make him suffer? She could not unchain him.
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I was in second grade that year. I’d come home after art class determined to make a Mother’s Day card with my own hands. I could see it in my mind, it was going to be so pretty.
Except when I went to cut out the pieces, I couldn’t figure out why the edges were all jaggy. I sure found out that evening, when I got seven degrees of holy heck for using Mom’s good pinking shears to cut construction paper.
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Opps! :grin:
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Thanks for the promo, Sarah!
He snorted, and replied a little roughly, “Think of it this way: turnabout is fair play. I’ve gotten to see your pink parts… that decent girls and boys keep covered with skin. And now you get to see me in my altogether.”
“It’s not the same, and you know it!”
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She wished the gown were not done. But it hung in her wardrobe, safe from all eyes, and another stitch of embroidery would ruin the pattern.
Rosaleen went to the window and looked down. The apple trees were pink: palely with opened blossoms, and jewel-dark where the buds were furled.
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Petals fell, delicately, pink and bluish white and cream yellow. He stabbed at them with silver bolts, and the branches were no more than bruised. Petals scattered, and a few leaves, which only left the thorns more bare. He tried to block their motion off, and they seemed to hesitate, but the necromancer would escape. Alive.
He threw out his hands, and felt something. He drained the roses. A very odd feeling and he knew it would work only on plants, but he had no time to ponder it. He whirled on the three, and silvery dart flew toward them.
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The room itself looked like a 13 year old girl’s idea of a perfection: pink walls, pink carpet, four-poster canopy bed… If you ignored the pink fur-lined cuffs attached to each upright, it looked like it belonged in a dollhouse instead of a boudoir. Glitter sparkled off every surface; they’d never get it out.
In fact, I needed to get a hazmat suit on posthaste, or it’d be coming home with me. Glitter covers everything, and is impossible to get out. It was the herpes of the craft world.
The glitter covered corpse at my feet was the herpes of the cop world, and while I wasn’t too surprised Spurgle had died in a whorehouse, the timing and the manner of death was… I raised an eyebrow at the lady of negotiable affection who was sensibly in the hallway, staying out of the cloud of sparkles and away from the corpse.
She shook her head. “I don’t know! He was dead when I got there!”
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Oh, dear. I know that you don’t worry about typos in the blog (quite right) – but will want to correct this one as it’s on the Amazon blurb too.
“…shake their fate in humanity…”
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gah. sorry. I was usually so tired by the time I put those up. I’ll fix it.
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Nothing to be sorry about – just wanted to let you know because it’s your actual paying product. Otherwise, I ignore these things (or have my laugh of the day, on occasion).
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Sorry I’m late — Missus and I are on travel in her homeland right now. Here are a couple:
Prudence could barely contain her self-conscious rage. She seethed all the way through school, convinced all the other sixth-graders were staring at her. And they probably were; they’d never seen Prudence in a dress, let alone a pink one. But it was Picture Day, and things like this were expected.
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Prudence wasn’t the only Victim of Pinkness that day. Greeze, wearing the ugly pink turtleneck her auntie sent, waited her turn in front of the camera with the same enthusiasm she saved for the dentist. Still, she was surprised how pretty her friend Prudence looked, and intended to say so.
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testing, testing, one more time.
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“Two hundred forty seconds to contact,” said the AI’s slightly (but quite intentionally) metallic ‘voice.’
“Sure you’re still wanting to do this, General?” asked Flight Lieutenant Amelia Gray — while smoothly scanning the dozens of displays the Orion prototype’s Algorithmic Intelligence maintained for her information. As the half-lit bulk of Horizon Seven station approached, swiftly. (Layers of stealth absorbing fields protected her craft… and their perfectly-black ‘cloak’ acted as one big optical phased-array-antenna telescopic camera.) “I’ve got to be here, if we do this at all; but you sure don’t.”
“A bit late to back out now, Pilot. But yes, I am; and even if this would qualify as what they called ‘leading from the front’ back in the old days of horse cavalry and gunpowder.” Lieutenant General George Reeves smiled an only slightly twisted smile. “Eight years of leading this Orion Project through development, fabrication, and testing… now comes our first real test, as I see it, and I’m somewhat eager to see how it works.”
“I meant the whole ‘no notice’ thing, so that ‘Zon 7 will be acting as if we’re a real enemy bogey, up to live fire.” She didn’t sound worried, only absent-minded, which was… merely good and right. “And I never did ‘get’ why you called it ‘Orion’ — it’s surely nothin’ to do with kickin’ a big spaceship along with exploding nuclear bombs, that Ulam-drive idea, or with that fat-assed turn-of-the-millennium NASA capsule either.” Her slashing tone of disdain cut well-flyable spacecraft far apart from mere capsules one rode inside.
He watched his own (far simpler) displays, too. “The name is from an old 1960s videodrama; its ‘Orion raider’ actually had a similiar concept, all extra-powerful engines and reinforced ‘shields’ — but of course the two you just mentioned are the usual associations. Classic geeky minutiae and security-minded misdirection, both. And my inspiration for our ‘hot fire’ test here is a thing called ‘Iron Hand’ missions from the pre-millennium ‘Cold War’ — those actually did invade enemy airspace, to test their anti-aircraft capabilities, we’re simply being a bit quiet on being friendlies ourselves.”
“One hundred twenty seconds to contact.”
“Still be real beams and shot and bombs they’ll be throwin’ at us, and not too cheap of ones either.” Her voice was starting to sound almost bored, which again was just-right. “I know this lovely thing can dodge around ’em at almost a kilogee thanks to those fake-gravity ‘compensators’ and I’ve seen what our amazing ‘shield cloaks’ can do, too… but you’re usin’ up a lot of real munitions, here, even if we don’t take so much as a scratch.”
“Ever heard of ‘pinking’ or ‘pinking shears’ before, L-T?”
Beeping and twittering signalled assorted detections and closenesses.
“Nope, gotta remember Novikov’s Folly took a big Carrington Event hit back in grandfolks’ time. Homespun and linsey-woolsey for us, growin’ up. Sir.”
“Fabric scissors with a wavery blade, cuts off a little more to keep the fabric from ravelling. So now, we burn consumables a bit to train up our people a lot closer on how to react when the real enemy shows up, here.”
“Thirty seconds to contact.”
“Dont’cha mean if?”
“No, L-T, I mean when, and soon. Here we go.”
“Rock ‘n’ roll, L-T-G. Going neural.”
Their first big dodge came 13 seconds early, and maxed out at 761 gees.
(crossing my fingers this time’s the charm…)
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