Book Promo And Vignettes By Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

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 C. CHANCY: The Words of the Night (Colors of Another Sky Book 1)

It’s 1618. Do you know where your historian is?

Retirement wasn’t supposed to have dragons….

Historian Jason Finn crossed the planet to escape the Black Dog of depression – and almost got there. Over the mountains of Korea, a monster out of nightmares tore his plane from the sky… and into another world.

Hunting down ravenous shapeshifting pirates, Night Magistrate Lee Cheong found survivors from elsewhere. Survivors who say pirates are not the only threat. Over twenty years ago Hanyang burned in dragon flames… and that monster still lives.

Now the young magistrate must lead demon-hunters on a desperate chase, aided by a bandit sharpshooter, a seafolk medic, a Heavenly cultivator on the run for her life… and a time-lost historian.

Jason’s willing to help, but he’s cursed, fighting to survive, and struggling to understand a land of magic and monsters. All the while doing his best to keep a teenage girl alive.

Upside? Jason’s definitely not depressed….

FROM JAY MAYNARD: Foundational Laminate (The Laminate Therapy Chronicles Book 1)

A radical therapy. A difficult past. One last chance to change.

Alex Sullivan isn’t crazy — just angry. Angry enough to get arrested. Angry enough to be offered an unusual choice: face prison, or undergo an innovative therapy at a private facility in rural Missouri.

At the Laminatrix Mental Hospital, patients wear full-body suits that block distraction and isolate sensation. They enter an immersive, time-dilated environment. There, they relive every memory — guided not by a voice, but by telepathic silence. There’s no room to lie, no place to hide.

Alex thinks he can fake it. He’s wrong.

Foundational Laminate begins the Laminate Therapy Chronicles, a speculative series exploring redemption, transformation, and the slow, difficult work of healing.

“One of the rare novels I hope becomes reality—a hard look at how to turn the antisocial into good neighbors.”
— Karl K. Gallagher, author of The Fall of the Censor and Torchship

BY CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: 3 Ways of Lead (Annotated): A Pulp Western Omnibus

Charles Alden Seltzer was one of the first crop of western authors, a contemporary of Zane Grey and William MacLeod Raine. But he *really* hit his stride in 1921, and these three post-1921 novels prove it!

Brass Commandments

“He’s man’s size, goin’ an’ comin’. No show, no fuss; likes to play a lone hand. Cool an’ easy an’ dangerous. Two-gun. Throws ’em so fast that you can’t see ’em. Lightnin’s slow when Lannon moves his gun-hand. Dead shot; cold as an iceberg under fire.”

Such was the opinion in Bozzam City of Flash Lannon. Five years of getting an education back East might have tamed him, some, but when rustlers target his cattle, and the local law doesn’t care, Lannon nails a new law to the wall of the local post office: his brass commandments naming the five men who must leave the country — or die.

Five named men… and “one other.”

Last Hope Ranch

When Ned Templin rode out of the desert to the Last Hope Ranch, Lisbeth Stanton was grateful, because he saved her from having to kill a man. But when Templin told her he was staying, and that he was an outlaw, and that a posse was on his trail looking to hang him for murder, her opinion changed a little.

And it kept changing, for Templin was an enigma, with secrets and motivations she never could have guessed. And, it turned out, so was her father, whom she had been with her whole life but never really known. Between Sheriff Norton and his posse, and the criminal gang Blaisdell’s Raiders, secrets would out, and bullets would fly, at the Last Hope Ranch!

The Way of the Buffalo

When Jim Cameron saved a stranger’s life, he hardly expected that stranger to promise to shoot him dead.

Sunset Ballantine wasn’t bothered that a man had tried to shoot him from a distance — no bullet had ever touched him, despite living his long years in the west and getting into many a gunfight. He *was* bothered that this Easterner was going to run a railroad right past his front door in sixty days. And even more bothered that the man didn’t change his mind once the threat was issued. Ballantine’s word was iron law in Ransome, always had been. Yet this Cameron, understanding full well that Ballantine meant it, and would undoubtedly beat him to the draw in any fair fight, was pushing ahead anyway.

Would Cameron back down? Would Ballantine go back on his word? Could an old western hand face down the forces of Progress, or must he go the way of the buffalo?

  • This iktaPOP Media omnibus includes introductions giving the novels historical and genre context.

FROM VICTOR TANGO KILO: Hell Yeah! We’re the Baddies!

Midnight Morrigan was once the Scorpion Horde’s top intelligence operative—master of deception, seduction, assassination, and alcohol appreciation.

Then the invasion of Carpathia faceplanted into a crater of blood, blame, and bureaucratic finger-pointing.

Now the Scorpion Overlords have demoted her to a lowly tactical post on a Horde battle cruiser—stripped of her power, her prestige, and worst of all… her minibar.

Morrigan has only one shot at redemption (and revenge!)—naturally, it involves murder and mayhem.

The Rebel Pact calls itself “the last best hope for freedom in the galaxy,” or at least their PR department does. If she can crush this ragtag band of insurgents, she might just get her rank back. Maybe even her minibar.

On her side: a war-weary Horde captain; a mad scientist named Madd (not a nickname—it’s branding); a sexy operative who gathers intel horizontally; a suspiciously helpful bartender with rebel sympathies; and the galaxy’s hardest-working liver.

Against her: the Rebel Pact, the incompetent Horde military bureaucracy, and the odds.

She couldn’t have asked for a better set of enemies.

Hell Yeah! We’re the Baddies! and its companion novel,The Baddies, explore the light side of the dark side—where one hapless food tech and one disgraced intelligence officer try to outmaneuver an empire built on cruelty, incompetence, and performance reviews. Together, they tell two distinct stories wrapped around the same set of events: a Rashomon-style exploration of different perspectives inside the evil Scorpion Imperium.

FROM CAROLINE FURLONG: The Guardian Cycle, Vol.1: In Dreams and Other Stories

A man whose debts must be paid by vengeance. A woman desperate to save her husband. A grieving father finding a young enemy soldier on his veritable doorstep…

These fantasy and soft sci-fi stories wonder whether or not heroes need families. Are we not told that families slow the hero down? Is it not typically implied that they get in the way of the adventure? Are they a burden, or truly the greatest strength from which the hero and those he loves can draw?

Six tales in this collection center on family, faith, and self-sacrificing love as men and women fight for the ones whom they hold most dear. Whether the enemy is inner turmoil, a nightmare, or a demon really does not matter. If the threat seeks to harm a member of the family, it is going to pay dearly.

FROM HOLLY LEROY: Hostile Earth (Hostile Earth Series Book 1)

Terra Vonn is fighting to survive in a destroyed world, surrounded by unspeakable horror . . . and things are about to get much worse. After witnessing the vicious murder of her mother, Terra has a singular focus—exacting revenge on the killers. But before she can complete her plans, savagery intervenes and she is cast alone into a brutal post-apocalyptic world. As she trails the men south through a land filled with cannibalistic criminals, slave traders, and lunatics, the hunter becomes the hunted. Terra quickly learns that she is neither as tough nor as brave as she thinks she is. Worse, she may be the only one who stands between what little remains of civilization and destruction

FROM MACKEY CHANDLER: A Reluctant Sovereign (Family Law Book 7)

When North America attacked the space habitats beyond the Moon they had no plan B if they failed. The Earth Claims Commission was already suffering a credibility crisis and North America’s disastrous failure and defeat left them with no muscle. Far flung worlds and stations were abandoned with no banking, no supply, and no news. The explorers who were owed royalties were cut off too. Lee and her father Gordon weren’t about to sit still for that. If you can repossess a ground car, why not a planet? Lee had standing to be sovereign of Providence but wasn’t all that fond of planets. She didn’t want to be bogged down with the day to day drudgery of sovereignty like her friend Heather on the Moon. Was there any reason she couldn’t have her cake and eat it too? None that she could see.

FROM ANNA FERREIRA: The Root of All Evil

When murder comes to Stockton, it brings long-buried secrets in its wake…

Kate Bereton leads a busy but unexciting life as the clergyman’s only daughter in a small Dorsetshire village. She’s grateful for the break in routine heralded by the arrival of her stepmother’s latest guests, but when Kate discovers a dead body in the parsonage one morning, she finds herself in much more danger than she could have ever anticipated. Terrified and desperate, she turns to the local magistrate for help. Mr. Reddington is eager to aid his dear friend Miss Bereton, but can they discover the murderer before it’s too late, and the secrets of the past are forgotten forever?

With a dash of romance and a generous helping of mystery, The Root of All Evil is a charming whodunit that will delight fans of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie alike.

FROM CELIA HAYES: West Toward the Sunset

It’s the year 1846, and Sally Kettering is just twelve years old. Her parents have decided to sell their farm in rural Ohio and go west … west to California. Sally and her six-year old brother Jon must leave everything they knew – friends, kinfolk and the little town where they had lived all their lives so far. Pa and Ma Kettering packed what they could take into a single covered wagon, and they set out to follow a trail through the wilderness west, along with a party of other families and adventurers. Unknown dangers lay around every bend of the trail … wild animals, wilder Indians … Indians who might be hostile or friendly, and no way to know for certain … treacherous river crossings, trackless deserts, and jagged, dangerous mountain passes.
And still, the Kettering family and their friends boldly set out … following the trail that led west toward the sunset!

FROM KAREN MYERS: Second Sight: A Science Fiction Short Story

A Science Fiction Short Story

BORROWING SOMEONE ELSE’S PERCEPTIONS FOR A POPULAR DEVICE CAN ONLY MEAN COMMERCIAL SUCCESS. RIGHT?

Samar Dix, the inventor of the popular DixOcular replacement eyes with their numerous enhancements, has run out of ideas and needs another hit. Engaging a visionary painter to create the first in a series of Artist models promises to yield an entirely new way of looking at his world.

But looking through another’s eyes isn’t quite as simple as he thinks, and no amount of tweaking will yield entirely predictable, or safe, results.

FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: The Baying of the Hounds

In the world we know, Nikola Tesla’s Wardencliffe experiment proved a costly failure and was ultimately torn down for scrap. But what if things had gone differently and he pressed his work to completion? In a world similar to but unlike our own, Tesla completes his transmission tower. But when he turns it on, he discovers his calculations were incomplete. Some unknown factor has created a connection with another world with physical laws unlike our own. The commingling of curved and angular space has led to catastrophe. Now his greatest rival, Thomas Alva Edison, compels him to repair the damage. To do so, Tesla must make his way through a ruined city to the locus of the damage. And through his mind echoes the baying of unseen hounds. A short story originally published in the anthology Steampunk Cthulhu.

FROM SARAH A. HOYT: Noah’s Boy.

Transform into a shape-shifting dragon? Complicated. Run a successful diner? Even harder. Fall in love? Now that’s really testing Tom Ormson’s self-control.

Between managing a temperamental new fryer and his budding romance with fellow shifter Kyrie Smith, Tom’s plate is already full. But when a vengeful sabre-tooth tiger stalks into town and an ancient dragon starts playing matchmaker, his carefully balanced life threatens to spiral out of control. Add in a string of mysterious murders at the local amusement park, and a lovestruck ex-triad dragon with country music aspirations, and Tom’s having the week from hell—literally.

Now Kyrie’s been kidnapped, and Tom must race against time to save her while keeping his inner dragon in check. Because eating the bad guys? Definitely bad for business.

Welcome to Noah, Colorado, where the supernatural meets the everyday, and young love comes with teeth, claws, and the occasional bout of spontaneous combustion.

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: ROMANTIC.

30 thoughts on “Book Promo And Vignettes By Luke, Mary Catelli and ‘Nother Mike

    1. I read it Friday.

      I do not have much to say yet, and only some of that is spoilers.

      It’s an isekai, and fairly long. Feels like a thriller plot, and first volume of an epic fantasy.

      Or the first episode of a jet setting period drama with magic. (Does not feel like it will be quite as insular as some of the, say, Japanese stuff set in this era usually is.)

      Great fun.

      Liked by 2 people

  1. “Bill, you and Abby, have been married for ten years but we’ve never seen any problems in your marriage. Have you two ever fought?”

    Bill’s troll-like face split into a grin. “Well, we’re had our disagreements, but let me tell you about our first fight.”

    Abby started giggling.

    Bill continued. “There she was fighting two Rogue Ultras close to her power level and I just happened to come along…”

    Like

  2. “So, Doctor, what’s wrong with my son?”

    “It’s nothing to worry about, just a minor nervous condition. He’ll probably grow out of it.”

    “Whaddya mean, minor? In school, at dinner, when I’m busy, he just starts babbling nonsense!”

    “It’s not nonsense, it’s ancient Latin. He’s reciting passages from Catullus, Vergil, Pliny the Younger, others…”

    “Then what are you saying?”

    “He’s got a Roman tic.”

    Like

    1. *Stentorian voice* ICBC launch in three … two … one … [paw mashes large red button] ICBC launch successful *End stentorian voice*

      Like

  3. “Romantic garbage,” the old man grumbled, audible only to the nursing aide pushing the wheelchair. Nancy had been at the retirement home long enough to know that Mr. Anders grumbled about everything.

    But today will be different, she thought to herself; today he has a Valentine visitor he’ll never forget.

    Like

  4. Remember that as readers, you can act as FORCE MULTIPLIERS.

    If you rate and review any book, you help the revolution!

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Wasn’t Toms’ Diner, The George, in Goldport, Colorado, rather than Noah, Colorado?

    These books look interesting. I will have to check my TBR stack first, though.

    John in Indy

    Like

  6. Wasn’t Toms’ Diner, The George, in Goldport, Colorado, rather than Noah, Colorado?

    These books look interesting. I will have to check my TBR stack first, though.

    John in Indy

    Like

  7. They sniggered.

    Violetta walked on. Her tongue felt tied, but then, nothing she could say would do anything but produce more mirth.

    She darted aside, into a sweetly scented garden thick with red roses. Other scholars paired off in corners, and so she did not glance aside, to avoid intruding.

    Like

  8. It was a Romantic scene, in the old sense of the word: a landscape of rugged mountains and wild forest, with a hint of danger lurking in those shadows. The sort of painting that once would’ve been swooned over by people weary of the pastoral imagery of the Classicists.

    However, it was getting little interest in today’s gallery shows. Even the suggestion that it might be haunted, *er* “psychically impacted, did little to drum up interest.

    Back in my childhood days, a Transylvanian artist’s work would’ve gotten attention, for the simple reason that during the Cold War anything from behind the Iron Curtain had a certain allure, half forbidden fruit and half dissidence seeking freedom. But those days were past, and now Romania was just another country in the Balkans, its Warsaw Pact days a memory of the older generation, the few remaining monuments being mocked by street artists transforming those heroic Soviet soldiers into pop culture icons like Luke Skywalker and Spiderman.

    Like

  9. Inspired by YouTube and X. Apologies for the length. Writing appears to be like eating Oreos: hard to stop if there’s still cold milk or hot coffee…

    The Candlelit Tomb of Sekhemra

    In The Valley of the Kings, Egypt, 1925

    The desert night was heavy, the air thick with the scent of dust and forgotten “gods”. Robert Langley, a half-English, half-Irish archaeologist, crouched beneath a crescent moon, his lantern casting jittery shadows across the dunes. At thirty-two, Robert was a man caught between worlds — his father’s stiff Anglican propriety clashing with his mother’s quiet Catholic faith. He’d spent years chasing relics for the British Museum, but tonight’s expedition was personal. A Bedouin elder had whispered of Sekhemra’s tomb, a cursed vault sealed since the Old Kingdom, hidden in the cliffs beyond the Valley of the Kings.

    Robert adjusted his muffler, his British tweed jacket absurdly out of place in the chill. His guides, Yusuf and Ahmed, had abandoned him at dusk, muttering prayers and refusing to go further. “Allah does not watch over that place,” Yusuf had said, eyes wide. Robert scoffed then, but now, alone, he felt the weight of those words. The cliff face loomed, its carved entrance barely visible — a jagged maw swallowing the starlight.

    He broke the seal and lit a candle, its flame flickering as he squeezed through the narrow opening. Inside, the air was stale, thick with the musk of eternity. His boots echoed on the stone floor, the sound swallowed by the dark. The walls were etched with hieroglyphs, their shapes twisting unnaturally in the candlelight, as if squirming under his gaze. Sekhemra, a priest-king shunned by his own, was said to have bound his soul to this tomb, guarding treasures no mortal should claim.

    Robert’s heart thudded, not from fear — he told himself — but from the thrill of discovery. His English education demanded logic, but his mother’s tales of faerie folk and curses gnawed at him. He muttered a quiet prayer for protection, and pressed deeper. The passage sloped downward, the air growing colder, heavier. His candle flickered, though no breeze stirred.

    At the chamber’s heart, he found it: a basalt sarcophagus, its lid cracked open like a broken jaw. Around it, candles — hundreds of them — lined the walls, their wicks unlit yet glistening with fresh wax. Robert froze. No one had entered this tomb in millennia. Who had placed them? His breath caught as he approached the sarcophagus, its carvings depicting Sekhemra’s face — eyes wide, mouth twisted in a silent scream.

    He reached for his notebook, but a low hum filled the chamber, vibrating in his bones. The candles ignited all at once, flames leaping to life without a spark. Robert stumbled back, his lantern clattering to the floor. The hum grew into a voice, guttural and ancient, whispering in a tongue he couldn’t understand yet felt in his soul. The air thickened, pressing against his chest. Shadows danced, not in sync with the flames but as if alive, coiling toward him.

    “Saint Christopher protect me,” he whispered, clutching the silver pendant his mother had given him, a verse of the Bible etched into its reverse. The shadows recoiled, but only slightly. Inside the sarcophagus, something stirred — a rustle, like dry leaves skittering across stone. Robert’s nerve faltered. He was no coward, but this was no mere tomb. It was a prison.

    He turned to flee, but the passage behind him had changed. The walls seemed closer, the hieroglyphs now writhing like serpents. The voice grew louder, chanting Sekhemra’s name, and the candles flared, their light blinding. Robert ran, his candle snuffed out, his breath ragged. The shadows pursued, clawing at his heels, their touch icy through his jacket. He stumbled, scraping his hands on the rough stone, but scrambled forward, driven by a primal urge to survive.

    The entrance was near — he could see starlight ahead. But the voice roared now, a howl of rage, and the ground trembled. Dust rained from the ceiling, and a crack split the floor, threatening to swallow him. Robert leapt, his fingers grazing the cliff’s edge as he threw himself out of the tomb. He hit the sand hard, rolling down the dune, his pendant glinting in the moonlight.

    Behind him, the entrance groaned, stone grinding against stone as it sealed shut. The hum ceased, leaving only the desert’s silence. Robert lay panting, his heart pounding, the pendant warm against his skin. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. Whatever guarded Sekhemra’s tomb was not of this world, and he had no intention of tempting it again.

    He staggered to his feet, the dawn breaking over the horizon. Cairo was a long trek, but he’d make it. He’d tell no one of the tomb — not the museum, not his colleagues. Some secrets, he decided, were better left buried.

    Like

  10. “I hope you slept well,” said a young man.

    Honor paused. “Rather well. A few odd dreams, but nothing much.”

    For a moment, he looked ready to question her but then went on. She was just as glad. A few fragments that jumbled together a handsome young man who kissed her and was somehow always the masked wizard she had seen.

    “Dreams,” she mumbled. It was no worse than dreaming of a teacher in a room that neither of them looked like and yet they were the same person and place as real life, in the dream.

    Better, in fact.

    Like

  11. OOOG!” said the young caveman, proffering a freshly killed rabbit.

    The young cavewoman eyed him cautiously. She gestured to the rabbit, then to herself, with a curious expression.

    OOOG! OOOG!” repeated the caveman, gesturing to the rabbit, then to the young woman, who fluttered her eyelashes.

    And so it began.

    Like

    1. “That was one hundred thousand years ago,” said Professor Springs. “Using the time slip viewer has allowed me to trace my lineage back four thousand generations. These were my great, great to the umpteenth power grandparents!”

      “All because of a rabbit? Romance ain’t changed much since then,” said his assistant.

      Like

  12. “You look perfect!” said Leyda, who was helping Cari prepare for the Sports Ball. Cari was wearing her fancy satin dress.

    Cari produced an atomizer bottle. “Just a little,” warned Leyda. “Max shouldn’t smell it unless he’s right up on your neck!”

    Do I want him that close? Cari wondered.

    Like

  13. She just hoped that no young fool had come gathering the flowers for his sweetheart. She could not swear that the blooms would do the lass no harm, but what she truly dreaded was that they might fall, or be thrown away, and take root again.

    Watch graveyards, she thought.

    Like

  14. Faint heart never won fair lady, he told himself, looking in. All the less when the lady was the rightful queen, and had dire need of someone to rescue her from her plight. It was too dangerous for her to do this part herself, when he could do it instead.

    Like

  15. Fred sighed, shrugged-or as much as something that looked like a mass of fuzzy tentacles attached to several non-euclidean balls could sigh and shrug-and said, “We wouldn’t have picked you if you weren’t a romantic. You believe in something more than the world you live in-not an idealized past, not even a particularly idealized future, but that tomorrow has to be better. You’re willing to work for it, fight for it, if you had an idea of where that future was. And that’s what the Unity is willing to offer you, a better future than the present you’re living in. If you’re willing to work for it and fight for it.”

    I thought about that for a second, and…well, I had to chuckle a little bit. “I was worried when you said I was a romantic that I was into sexual interactions with tentacles. Not to say that you aren’t a handsome set of spheres, but…”

    “Oh no, I’ve done human-form romantic interactions and while it isn’t bad…,” Fred sounded wistful, “there is just something about seventh-dimensional sexual congress that is almost impossible to describe.”

    Like

  16. Why are you ruled by people that can’t be trusted? They lie to you constantly, they cheat, they steal, they take bribes, they twist and pervert the laws for their own selfish ends, and instead of being punished, they are rewarded for their crimes. How is this allowed to go on?”

    Like

    1. “And I saw heaven opened, and behold a white horse, and He that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness He doth judge and make war.” (Rev. 19:11)

      The delay is His mercy, that all who will, might be saved.

      Liked by 1 person

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