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 LILANIA BEGLEY: Farmwife: A Sweet Western Romance
The big day is looming on the horizon. After everything Dev and Irina have been through, this should be the happiest day of their lives so far. Can they overcome the clouds of the past together? Is there hope for a happy ending in their farmhouse with found family around them?
FROM ALMA T. C. BOYKIN: Wolves of the Woods: The Elect Book the Third
The Elect want nothing more than to live and let live. An all-too-familiar danger arrives instead, along with a stranger.
The Elect, the werewolf survivors and pack of Lord Gregor, slowly adapt to a world that passed them by. Gregor hires a museum designer, Joakim Davis, to help with a regional museum that might, perhaps, make life easier for the Elect and please the locals. But Davis has two secrets of his own.
Mara and Gregor remain cursed to take wolf form. As they hunt, they make two discoveries, one intriguing and one very troubling indeed. The blight they thought banished has returned.
When Gregor and his lady depart for Krakow, it remains for the other Elect, aided perhaps by this secretive stranger from America, to deal with the new evil that trespasses on their territory. Can they withstand this new threat, or will they succumb to the curse as they each did before?
The Continuing adventures of Texas Ranger Jim Reade and his blood-brother Toby Shaw in the days of the Republic of Texas! A pair of eccentric English explorers ask for a guide into a dangerous country, seeking not a fortune … but something more! There is the mystery of a haunted house on Galveston Island to unravel, and the safety of a beneficiary to an unusual will — and more! The old wild west rides again in this continuing set of adventures from the pen of historical novelist Celia Hayes!
https://amzn.to/3vfk7mqFROM BLAKE SMITH: The Hartington Inheritance
Almira Hartington was heir to the largest fortune in the galaxy, amassed by her father during his time as a director of the Andromeda Company. But when Sir Josiah commits suicide, Almira discovers that she and her siblings are penniless. All three of them must learn to work if they wish to eat, and are quickly scattered to the far reaches of the universe. Almira stubbornly remains on-planet, determined to remain respectable despite the sneers of her former friends.
Sir Percy Wallingham pities the new Lady Hartington. But the lady’s family will take care of her, surely? It’s only after he encounters Almira in her new circumstances that he realizes the extent of her troubles and is determined to help her if he can. He doesn’t know that a scandal is brewing around Sir Josiah’s death and Almira’s exile from society. But it could cost him his life, and the lady he has come to love.
FROM MICHAEL A. HOOTEN: Till the Conflict Is Over
Peter Wright not only survived the most deadly space battle in US Navy history, he also managed to defeat the enemy as well. He’s hailed as a hero, and everyone wants to know his story, but all he wants is to avoid everything that reminds him of that day. Instead he endures interviews, cotillions, and the ever-surprising demands of being a celebrity. And also anxiety attacks, suvivor’s guilt, and funerals. Through it all, he wishes he could just be a normal sailor again.
Be careful what you wish for.
FROM RACONTEUR PRESS, WITH STORIES BY CEDAR SANDERSON, BECKY JONES AND LEE ALLRED: Moggies in Space: A Galaxy Fur. Fur Away
Here is yet another collection of tales about space floofs of the feline flavor. This compendium sports cosmic kitties doing more of what cats do, and entertaining us in the bundle: saving ships, crews, sometimes living together with dogs, and featuring at least one pesky litter that’s into everything and smarter than the grownups. Yeah. Total anarchy.
FROM SPENCER HART: Death on the Moon (Bert Henderson Adventures Book 1)
Pulp-Noir meets Sci-Fi. A short story adventure. The Year is 1949, in a timeline not quite our own.
Bert Henderson, ex-GI and ace troubleshooter for the Phillips Atomics Corporation, is sent to Roosevelt Base to solve the first murder on the Moon. But will the daughter of a top scientist distract him from his mission?
Can he untangle the web of deceit before he becomes just another victim of Death on the Moon?
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: One Last Homecoming
Sherry had planned a quick trip to her home town for her forty-year class reunion, to see the current classes’ Homecoming game. Instead, she arrives to find the high school just as she remembers it, complete with long-demolished buildings and long-retired teachers. It’s Homecoming, all right — her senior year.
For someone with happy memories, revisiting one’s younger days might be pleasant nostalgia. Sherry dreads the thought of being stranded in the past, forced to reassume the old roles after decades of independence.
How can she return to her own time when she has no idea how she got here? Worse, a hostile entity is making its presence known — and it may not want to let her go back. And the Homecoming game isn’t the one she remembers from four decades ago.
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: DULL
According To Hoyt 
“Tell him,” the captain said, looking at the three men in front of his tent angrily, “that the next time I see any of you in front of this tent on the suggestion of forceable sex, I’m going to cut your bollocks off with a dull knife.”
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“Let’s see. We’re badly outnumbered, we have traitors in our government, and we can’t trust some of our allies. I won’t ask how things could get worse.”
“Well, at least things won’t be dull.”
“I’d prefer things to be dull.”
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Dull is fine. I like dull. I could use more dull in my life.
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”Tell me, Fixx. Why is ‘bloody’ considered a curse in English? I have never understood this.”
”Don’t know,” his partner grunted. He took a moment to rest his hands from sawing at the cord binding Passepartout’s wrists. “Goes back to the Middle Ages, I think. This blasted knife is so dull that it’s you who will be bloody in a minute if I’m not careful…”
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From experience, take a pint of blood. One pint only. Now smash the container. Do this in any room in the house save the bathroom.
Now attempt to clean it up.
You’ll find blood on the <i>ceiling.</i> In your hair. Socks. You’ll taste it, smell it, for hours. It’s hot and sticky when fresh. It’s nasty, smelly, dirty, and generally awful. It’s a mess.
I once had to clean about that much blood out of an engine that needed to be spic and span shiny and clean by morning. There were many, many curse words spoken over the course of that night. Fortunately for me, it wasn’t running at the time. When liquified nasty meets rotary impeller in a reasonably clean garage…
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You also learn that my mom was right in her rule of thumb for not having a panic attack at an accident scene.
“This much blood-” hands cupped together, like when you’re going to splash water around “-will cover this much ground.” Arms spread out as wide as you can reach.
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Heck, splash *anything* that you’d rather not have splashed. You can see the same principle in operation if you dump a pot of nasty old coffee into the kitchen sink. The thing you don’t want splashing everywhere is always much more effective at getting everywhere than anything you can do to wash it off (unless you’ve got a full-blast hose, and even then…).
Not sure I want to know what event caused the need to clean that much blood out of an engine compartment. 😬
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Stupidity. Cold night, about -13 outside and -marginally- warmer in the garage. Elbow and sometimes shoulder deep in the engine bay. Flashlight in my teeth. Almost numb fingers. Already worked a fourteen hour shift.
Stubborn bolt just would not give. Knew better, so was just inching it down. Finally spun the thing off, worked loose the last bolt, and was disengaging the starter.
Starter was stuck. Cold, stuck, wiggled it and no give. No give at all. Gave it a little percussive attention- bad starter anyway, just needed it loose. Smacked my hand while finally getting it loose. Glove got snagged on something, too. Annoying. Kept working. Just a little bruise, no big.
Got the new starter seated, started carefully threading the bolts, but just barely couldn’t reach it. So went down through the top, easier to see what I was doing.
Tugged off my glove because my hands were still stiff and numb.
Splash.
Apparently there was an exposed bit of exhaust shield that had sheared off or been broken off at some point. Made for a very narrow, stiletto looking thing. Sharp enough to put a nice big old slice right into my glove. And into two fingers. And part of my hand. Only about 1/4″ deep or so, but messy.
Glove was soaked. Kept the blood mostly inside like a balloon. Wasn’t half paying attention. My own damn fault, all the way through.
Cussed. Wrapped it damn tight in a paper towel and electrical tape to keep the bleeding down. Cleaned up. Took about two, two and a half hours. Went and got it stitched. Made it in time for inspection the next morning.
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Her official period of mourning was over. But those few months seemed so little to devote to the memory of a man who had filled her life for decades. Over half her lifetime spent in his company: never apart, seldom more than a few yards from one another…. She sighed and selected a dress in a dull slate-blue; no one could call it “mourning”, but it nevertheless was anything but cheerful.
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A plain gray stone chamber, octagonal in shape. In the middle, a column with a bowl on it, both of the same gray stone. Dull to the ignorant eye.
She drew out the water and poured it into the bowl. Under the influence of the spell, it turned leaden gray.
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Max always felt a buzzing in his head when confronted with schoolwork. That people could tolerate such dullness was almost beyond comprehension. But Cari negotiated the academic world with ease, and seemed to delight in the most esoteric discussions. Max understood none of it, but was immensely proud of Cari.
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Watching Max’s team practicing, Cari observed four boys running line abreast, up the pitch and down again, passing the football laterally among them. They kept this exercise up for nearly fifteen minutes with only brief rests. Cari couldn’t fathom doing something that repetitive and dull, but understood it was necessary.
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Professor O’Malley and Nathan descended the stairs to the sub-basement of the Economics building. “Welcome to the Magical Studies Lab,” said O’Malley. “We’re aligned with the Physics Department.”
“Then why are we in the Economics Building?” asked Nathan.
“It’s the Dismal Science,” said O’Malley. “Who’s gonna look for us here?”
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“You can expect lots of experiments,” continued Professor O’Malley. “Lots of data and analysis. You think you’ve got what it takes to work in Magic Studies?”
“You make it sound dull,” suggested Nathan.
“That’s on purpose,” said O’Malley. “We want serious scholars. Making it sound dull weeds out the dilettantes.”
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I’m sure that some of the experiments will make things a little less dull. :wink:
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I’ll bet there will be — and probably the odd singed beard, too! But that will have to wait for the next vignette challenge!
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“Am I missing…an eyebrow?” — Adam Savage, Mythbusters :-D
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“I can’t go out looking like that! I should shine! Sparkle! Have some pizazz!”
“No, you shouldn’t. Looking too good will only draw attention to you, something we need to avoid after this last attempt on your life.”
“But…”
“Young lady, we are not leaving this safe house until you’re properly dulled up “
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Many thanks for the boost!
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There it was again — a dull thud somewhere in the maze of pipe ahead of them. It could be any of a dozen problems — or just a random bit of thermal expansion and contraction.
Lucius and Shelly exchanged glances. What should they do next?
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Bettina went off in gales of laughter. “What a dull life you must have led, my lonely lad. Ghosts and skeletons! They can do anything, my lad, and all they need is the dead to draw upon. Believe me, my lad, death may be the least to fear if they take you captive.”
Keeping silent was easy. Marcus could only hope that he kept his face like a mask.
“No, they are abducting people, and by all the tales, they are enchanting them, not slaying them.”
“There’s only so much that magic can do to you. Even if it’s necromancy.”
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Everfordshireham shook his head, trying top wrap his head around what the seconds were telling him as they stood in a cleared warehouse near the main south airlock.
”I distinctly agreed when that whelp Creedbenfoot over there challenge me. We are here for a duel!”
”Actually, Mister Archer Creedbenfoot challenged you to a DULL, as clearly documented in the email. You will alternate speaking for ten minutes each. First to fall asleep loses. You lost the toss so he goes first. Begin!”
”I would like to initially speak on the topic of spacecraft environmental system beneficial fungus,” began Archer…
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LOL! Poor Everford…
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This was the part nobody who watched the robot battles saw. The dull part. Var settled into his seat, donning the helmet and placing his wrists in the cradles and his fingers in the haptics. It was an archaic system by modern standards, but since coming to Corfu Academy, he had spent enough time in this particular Thio-T pod that it felt like a scuffed-up, comfy armchair.
The system fired up with a quiet hum, and Pharaoh — his own custom-designed mech — appeared before his eyes as an angular voxel model. It was yet another archaic feature of the academy’s outdated equipment, but he had found that the visible voxels helped him visualize how energy would flow through it. After yesterday’s battle, he had realized that it might be possible to make Pharaoh even *more* durable. The thought put a smile on his face. Unlike some robot pilots, Var liked this part.
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