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 PAM UPHOFF: Out of Contact (Chronicles of the Fall Book 6)
Radmir Gagarin is not an Exec, he just does the job of one. Working for the richest man in the Alliance, Lord Diomid Devi, is not easy, even though he’s retired. And it gets a lot harder when the Plague strikes the World Lord Diomid purchased as his personal retirement home. And then the invasion . . .
As the Three Part Alliance crumbles, it’s every world for itself, and even a man so rich he can buy an entire parallel Earth to retire on, can find himself in a lot of trouble!
FROM MACKEY CHANDLER, AUDIO BOOK! April
April is an exceptional young lady and something of a snoop. After a chance encounter with a spy, she finds herself involved with political intrigues that stretch her abilities. There is a terrible danger she, and her friends and family, will lose the only home she has ever known, and be forced to live on the slum ball Earth below. It’s more than an almost fourteen year old should have to deal with. Fortunately she has a lot of smart friends and allies. It’s a good thing because things get very rough and dicey. They challenge the political status quo, and with a small population the only advantage they have in war is a thin technological edge. The entire “April” series is building towards a merge with the future series that starts with “Family Law”.
FROM SHANE GRIES: Ashes of Empire: Last World Volume 2
When the royal government of the Interstellar Commonwealth was overthrown, the Imperial Family fled into the forgotten depths of space, seeking a colony that had been abandoned thousands of years ago. After a hasty jump and then five years of grueling sublight travel, the battered fleet enters the system to find a thriving pre-space flight human culture. A culture that remembered nothing of their origins.
Once contact is established, the refugee spacefarers embroil themselves in the politics of the warring nations, using their superior technology to play one side against the other. Imperial Marines in power armor go up against semi-automatic rifles and tanks, winning and losing their lives in a long term plan to turn the world into their new empire. Meanwhile, far above in orbit, the deadly games of the court continue with political intrigue, backstabbing and deadly rebellion.
FROM JAMES TOTTEN: The Old Heads and Drone Drivers: Breaching Ain’t Easy (Breaching Ain’t Easy! Book 3)
War is hell and getting worse. Russian leaders want payback for losing Poland. New weapons bring new opportunities. Retired Soldiers get called back to serve. Major Brown is right in the middle of it managing the madness. Look out for the dad bods, they have the skills to kill!
FROM MARK BOSSINGHAM: Chasing Naomi (ALLIE SPACE OPERA Book 1)
July 1969. Clive, Iowa, Earth. Sixteen-year-old Allie has a big decision to make: Watch the lunar landing with her mom in their run-down double-wide trailer or boost to the stars aboard a grumpy, sentient deep space exploration vehicle (DSEV-424) buried in her backyard for 5,000 years.
Accompanied by Gem, a dead space captain, now a glitchy hologram, Allie stops on the moon and surprises Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin aboard the Eagle lunar lander. (Neil never mentioned the encounter to Houston).
With Gem as her guide, Allie survives her first space battle and drops Gem off at a military regrow center in the middle of a spaceport casino. The teen’s adventure lifts off at a military space academy, where she faces danger, makes friends, battles enemies, and discovers her own surprising abilities.
Along with Rin, Sky, and Gem, Allie sets out on a mission to locate and defeat a rogue fleet led by Naomi, a mad-as-a-hatter warship, all while navigating the complexities of growing up and finding her place in the galaxy.
FROM DAVID COLLINS: Carbon Copy: An AI Doppelgänger Story
Kaylee Green was an Illegal Alien, only not someone who crossed the Rio-Grande to reach the USA. Instead, she had traveled 45.7 light-years to get away from her pursuers.
She is now a recent college graduate and has lived happily with her boyfriend for four years.
Then the police show up asking about a severed hand from a six-year-old cold case. They want to know why her fingerprints and DNA both match the hand.
Her carefully crafted false identity was rapidly falling apart. She wondered what else could go wrong?
The answer was that visitors from 45.7 light-years away were about to arrive.
FROM TOM VEAL: I Went to the Fantasy Fair
In Angland, matter obeys mind. Upon demand, raindrops swerve to avoid drenching pedestrians, walls change from opaque to transparent and back, coaches push themselves forward, quill pens take dictation, and sky-ships sail among the clouds. All that is quite ordinary and dull. Imaginative souls conceive of wondrous mechanical devices: steam locomotives, flying machines, jet engines, radios and a hundred more.
Aethelstan Tiefring has no particular interest in “technofantasy”. He has made his career as a renowned art-wright by directing pigments to recreate the images that he sees in his mind’s eye. Then his beloved wife succumbs to a mysterious sickness, her body vanishes from its casket, and he is stricken with overpowering melancholy.
His recovery begins when a glorious sunrise inspires him to resume painting and, on the same day, he receives an invitation to cross the Sea of Atlas to deliver a series of lectures to Atlantis’s foremost art institute.
He sets out for the New World, traveling in a sky-ship guided by golden swans and accompanied by his beautiful, flirtatious daughter. Lyonessa Tiefring has just turned down a shameful offer from the nephew of a powerful nobleman. She does not know that the disappointed suitor’s vengeance pursues her.
The journey will take father and daughter farther than they can imagine: to Atlantis, to the gathering of technofantasy enthusiasts at the Fantasy Fair, and then through death to a universe governed by entirely different natural laws.
FROM SCOTT MCCREA: Finding Bradigan’s Mountain: A Mountain Man’s Revenge (Bradigan: Mountain Man Book 3)
A brand new Mountain Man adventure from Scott McCrea!
Mountain man Richard Bradigan goes on a deadly cross-country trek to save the girl he loves from his old nemesis, the sadistic Colonel Sauvage. With him are the outrageous Bon Chance Legrand, dime novelist Fred Stryker, and disgraced soldier Captain Burr. But time starts running out for the searchers when they are pursued by some of the most dangerous badmen to ever come out of the West.
One thing is guaranteed – it will all end in blood. But who will live and who will die?
A Mountain Man’s Revenge is the pulse-pounding conclusion to the exciting Finding Bradigan’s Mountain trilogy.
The Critics Say:
“Well done, Mr. McCrea.” – Western author Jeremy Perry
“It’s easy to read; fast paced; packed with action; and full of characters you’re soon rootin’ for, as well as those you can’t wait to meet a grizzly end. It’s great fun to read.” – Western author Andrew Weston
“Scott McCrea’s prose is tight and smooth, and delivers a fair number of smiles.” — Evan Lewis, Davy Crockett’s Almanack
“Recommended!” — Jeff Arnold’s West
“Looking forward to the next one!” — Toby Roan, Fifty Westerns From the Fifties Blog
FROM HOLLY CHISM: The Dragon’s in the Details
Six stories of dragons hiding in today’s world:
A Friend, Indeed–A little girl meets the best friend she could ask for when she finds a dragon sleeping in her wagon.
Tempest–What do you do when you find a dragon in your favorite teacup?
Clowder–These are absolutely not cats, no matter what they look like, and will take offense at your mistake.
Back Yard Birds and Other Things–If the dragon defends your chickens, you invite it to stay.
Houdini–When the pet supplier sends the wrong kind of dragon, the pet store’s got a problem.
Hoard–Not every dragon cares for gold, gems, or cash.
FROM DALE COZORT: Snapshot-42 Book One – Stalingrad Run
At the height of World War II, an apparent time anomaly cuts Europe and part of the Middle East off from the rest of the world. Trapped in Northern Iran, with no way to contact the world he knew, United States Army Engineer Jim Edwards is forced to flee from both the Germans and the Soviets. His only companions are a mysterious Russian woman who may be trying to assassinate Stalin, and a man who calls himself “Loki”. Is he any more trustworthy than the Norse trickster god he’s named after?
In a desperate bid to get to Great Britain, Jim finds himself in a treacherous race across Nazi-occupied Europe. His mission? To prevent the Nazis from overrunning Europe, then sending their war machines against an alternate United States that’s still armed with black powder muskets. The freedom of mankind’s future may depend on his success.
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: The Sound of One Child Crying
Who is the child Reza can hear crying every time she goes to the new addition to the Royal Library? Her boss insists there is no child, that it is nothing more than her uncanny sensitivity to the unseen world making a nuisance of itself.
Worse, searching for answers gets her angry rebukes about respect for the dead. The further Reza goes, the more certain she becomes that someone is hiding an ugly secret.
It’s a secret that traces back two generations, to a dark period in this land’s history. A time most people would prefer to forget, not caring that denial doesn’t make a problem go away.
The truth may set you free, but not without a price. And Reza fears that death itself might turn out to be an easier price than the one demanded of her.
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: WORD
According To Hoyt 
The laughter spread, and they all laughed and laughed, past reason, with Felix barely managing to keep the fire burning.
“Can you just imagine what sort of words they would have,” said Lucie, and gasped for breath before adding, “to describe such a ragged band as us? At a picnic?”
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“A costume party?” Bill groaned. “What’s Selah Baylor going to think of next? Do we really have to go?”
“I’ve got an idea for you. It’ll be easy,” June said encouragingly. “You can be Groucho Marx! Just put on your old black suit, wave a cigar and I can paint a mustache on you. Nothing uncomfortable.”
“What are you going as? Harpo?”
“No, dear. I’m going to be your beautiful assistant. See?” June held up a stuffed duck, complete with cigar, and a string attached. “We can pick a secret word, and keep changing it. Then anytime someone says the word, I’ll hold up the duck and tell them they won $100.”
“Doug will probably insist on collecting,” Bill commented with a grin. “You’d better bring some Monopoly money to give out. What’s the first secret word going to be? Murder? Embezzlement?”
“Selah would be furious. She’d probably kick up out of the party.”
“That settles it. ‘Murder’ it is.”
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“Super-villain? I don’t like that word. I’m a thief not a villain. I’d accept “criminal” but that’s different than villain. A villain kills people. A villain causes major destruction. And of course, the heroes really go heavy after villains. A thief who robs people who that can generally afford the loss isn’t high on their list especially when the thief works hard at avoiding to kill and at avoiding to cause major destruction.”
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“Of course, I generally don’t crow at the heroes when I escape them. And yes, mocking the heroes is a very bad idea.”
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He listened, she listened, in silence, as the nobles recounted how King Henry’s great-grandaunt had fled the land with her beloved and married a prince from another kingdom, which they had found was Liam’s own.
“And as your father has disinherited your brothers, we have concluded that we, also, wish you to inherit. All the land will accept our word, that you are the rightful king who will bring us peace and justice.”
With that, they bowed their heads and held up the crown. Moments inched by, marked out by her heartbeats.
“A humbling request,” said Liam. “But still rightful.”
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“Say the word and I’ll be gone.”
Tara looked at the smirking Shep. She was still struggling to tell them apart, although Rand insisted it wasn’t that hard. But he’d grown up in the clone creches, surrounded by Sheps.
And telling this one off wouldn’t be nearly as effective if she couldn’t call him by name.
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I picked up April a few years ago, after reading and enjoying Who Can Own the Stars, and ended up reading and enjoying the entire series. I’m now reading April aloud to my wife, who is finding it as much fun as I do; she says it reminds her of Heinlein’s juveniles. I recommend it highly.
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Young Kevin sat in front of the school guidance counselor, the desk between them. Kevin knew he was in trouble; why was unimportant. The counselor’s voice was motherly, as if she were concerned for Kevin’s welfare. “I understand there were words spoken at lunch yesterday. Would you care to elaborate?”
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Words? What words? Kevin wracked his brain trying to remember what they talked about at lunch yesterday, or whom he ate lunch with. He avoided looking at the guidance counselor, though he knew not meeting her gaze would be considered suspect, and looking at her wrong would be a crime.
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“Kevin, we understand your classmate Michelle said some totally unacceptable words,” said the guidance counselor.
Michelle? Kevin thought. She’s never said a mean thing in her life! “I didn’t hear anything bad,” Keven insisted. “Honest.”
“Kevin, your loyalty to your friend is commendable, but your responsibility is to your classmates.”
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“Kevin,” said the guidance counselor, “if you won’t talk about Michelle’s words, then we have to assume they’re your words, too.”
He could feel the counselor’s intense gaze, and through the window in the door, the vice principal’s glower.
Kevin never forgot that bellwether day, when he stopped trusting anybody.
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At the gate, the men spoke to the guards. She heard not a word, but soon they were ushered through the streets by an entire company of guards. Then into a great hall, grand for a town. She wondered about their trade before she recalled her thoughts at the stairway.
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“I really want to help you, Miss Irvin, ah, Cassilyndra,” he said slowly, as if pulled in two directions at once and reluctant to go in either. His voice wanted, almost, to stumble over her unfamiliar first name, unique in all his half-century of experience; but he instead found it was sure-footed as he said it as if her name had been simply Emily or Victoria or Elizabeth.
“If there were to be some way I could be more sure, of what you say,” (and he spread his hands in something vaguely like helplessness) “but with only your own unsupported word to me…”
Henry North found himself standing there in front of her, this irregular but most remarkable young woman, in something like a posture of silent appeal or even supplication. Which was strange, a bit, but not unsettling.
“For while I am among the peerage and no mistake, yet I’m hardly any kind of major nobleman; and my proper resources are limited enough that doing as you ask could become a significant burden over my future…”
“I understand, sir, Mister North, I really do. But there is little I have to offer you, but my words and their truth.” Her voice was clear and her English impeccable; but there was some spicing of foreignness to it, too.
She spoke slowly, also, but instead as if moving with care over hazardous ground.
And then she raised her head and looked at him direct. “But not nothing. I can give you… an experience, of something very like certainty. I can let you see the truth of what I say, as if looking out my own eyes, as if in remembrance of what’s happened to me, as if it had also happened to you.
“And this is to be nothing like a magic-lantern show, not me putting ideas or images or sounds or words into your head; but rather simply opening a sort of door or window or aperture, for your own… insight, intuition, inner-seeing and hearing and understanding, to… overlook the relevant parts of my life.” And she smiled, not coyly. “And only those.”
He found himself smiling back. “So just what is this to be, then, if it is? Putting your hands on my head, filling it with visions? My drinking some sort of magical potion or cocktail? Gazing fathomlessly into a crystal sphere?”
Cassilyndra laughed, actually and fully laughed. “No, nothing of that sort. I could simply light this candle here on this table, use its flame and your close attention on it, to open that… keyhole for your own vision to use. No, and before you ask, Sir Henry, this is not any species of Mesmerism either.”
She picked up the box of matches. “I can do this now, if and only if you so wish, and do choose.” She opened the box, but made no move to extract one. And looked at him, simply waiting.
Something told him, something familiar within him, to move. The same sort of instinct or impulsion that had driven his most successful adventures in warfare and business. “So you’ll just light the candle and direct my close attention to it, and all the rest will simply happen on its own from there?”
“If you will, Sir Henry. I cannot tell more than I have to tell, only… show.”
“Do.”
And with a slow flare of flame and the telltale tiny cloud of sulphurous smoke that was the other half of what gave lucifer matches their name, she lit a match and with it the candle. Waved it out, dropped it into the dish at the base of the candlestick. “This is a bay of the ocean of fire, that lights all hid in darkness. Let the water of this bay reflect all of mine it is needful for you to see, as a pool reflects the rising moons.” And he looked, simply looked, at the candle flame… and fell into it. Not into her intent brown eyes, not into any will of hers or even his, but… into very far away.
And then, he was back. Remembering… so much, and yet so little of what Cassilyndra vey Ervanneth of the Belladonna Clan had been and done in all her whole life. Much, though; her world, which was not his, her society, which was not his, her religion, which was so very very very much not his.
How that was also a system of art, to bridge space and time and… chance.
Hers was a world like and unlike his, that had taken so many different and often strange turnings, and yet alongside that was yet so very much the same.
He thought, almost idly, that it might serve him, a widower still not all done with the manly-womanly side of life by preference, quite well to know from the very inside what a woman felt, in her most… intimate of moments.
He knew, though, that so many of his accustomed ideas had been filled half full of carelessly-flung gunpowder and lit, loose and liable to detonate rather than simply burn as in a well-tamped gun… simple experience, only and solely; but an experience so very much (once and formerly) not his own.
And meanwhile the spent lucifer match still smoked in the candlestick dish where it safely belonged. All of it done in an instant, or nearly.
And he shuddered. “Ah, the giftie gie us/ to see oursel’s as others see us,” wasn’t that the old Scottish poet’s half-wild words? And yet, this was far more; to see another’s self, truly, as she herself had seen it…
“Henry? Are you well? I must ask.” Cassilyndra half-raised one hand, as if to dare to lay it on his cheek, in caring only; then let it fall as if in awareness of the impropriety. (In his world, only; though never in hers.)
And he smiled. Aware that he did it dazzlingly. “Well enough, Cassilyndra of the Belladonna Clan, Priestess of the Two Bright Moons. Though it’ll doubtless take some days or decades to sort through all you’ve shown me.”
Her face fell. “You know, and I mean (I dare believe) that you know by now, I do not have decades to spend uninterruptedly here with you, if I wish ever to go home again.” She was not pleading or defiant, but she let the… vulnerability show. Entreaty? No, simple showing of cards in plain sight. As she’d opened so much of herself, maybe more than she thought, to him before.
“I don’t mean you to understand that, Cassilyndra. I want to help, and I can see enough now to believe you’re in a tight spot here. Nor do I want or seek to take advantage of you. But… it’s a wider world I’m walkin’ in quite suddenly here with you.” And the colloquial speech, the old way he’d grown up talking seven-eighths of the time, came back all in a rush.
“You’re a good man, Henry Richard North. I had no need to invade anything properly of yours to tell that; it shines out for anyone with eyes to see like a… midsummmer bonfire, here in your England. That’s why I’d come to you, that’s why I chose to speak to you, that’s why I just bared… me to you.
“You’re not likely my only hope of going home, Henry.” And her voice got even quieter. “But you are quite likely the best chance of it I’ll ever have.”
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There was motion about the room, and Sylvie opened her eyes into her pillow. The light was too dim, it had to be before dawn. The servants should know how to move more quietly.
Then she recognized the pillow. She swallowed. Of course they would be about their work. And she should join them, to pass better as their cousin.
At that, she told herself stoutly, word might have come from the castle. Perhaps the mercenaries had left when she wasn’t there. She yawned and sat up. The voices outside the cottage sounded excited.
“Lisette is back,” said Marlene, happily.
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Nice set of promos today! Thanks!
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