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
https://amzn.to/3KyLXllFROM JULIE FROST: Joy Shall Be in Heaven
A Guardian Angel to serial killers
His newest Charge
And a grimoire with a Free! Demon! Inside!
Nachumiel’s job is to be the Still Small Voice whispering into the ears of sociopaths, in a vain attempt to turn them from the path of destruction they’re merrily traipsing down. Fresh off yet another assignment up to his hips in blood and buried in corpses, he’s beginning to wonder if he garners assignments like this because he’s a massive screwup who can’t damage these people any more than they already are.
His new Charge is different—but not in a good way. Gerry finds a malevolent spellbook holding a demon bound within, whose power even other demons are afraid of. Now Nachi has to team up with his argumentative opposite number and endeavor to undermine both Gerry and his damnable new friend before a child is sacrificed and the grimoire demon unleashes Hell on Earth. All he can try is what has always failed in the past…
And hope he doesn’t end up bleeding out on the floor himself.
FROM CEDAR BEGLEY (CEDAR SANDERSON): Wonderland: Follow the White Rabbit to Murder
A white rabbit. A discarded gun. A detective who won’t stop digging.
When Detective Shelby Carroll follows a mysterious white rabbit to a suburban hit-and-run, she uncovers more than a simple crime. A mummified body in a red velvet room. Cryptic messages about a “Red Queen.” Neighborhood cameras watching every move. As cold cases collide with fresh murders, Shelby races through a twisted Wonderland of extortion, surveillance, and organized crime. Someone wants her silenced permanently. In this gripping police procedural, one detective must dethrone a ruthless crime boss before she becomes the next victim.
Perfect for fans of gritty female detectives, hard-boiled mysteries, and Alice in Wonderland thrillers.
FROM ROSS HATHAWAY: Rule 13
In Ashburn, the city doesn’t sleep—it twitches.
It grinds men down, chews through their souls, and spits out what’s left with a crooked grin.
Once, Robert Tucker wore a badge polished bright with idealism. Fresh out of the academy, he thought he could make a difference in a city built on vice, velvet lies, and rain-slick corruption. But a decade under the neon hum and coal-smoke skies of Ashburn turned that badge into a paperweight and that hope into bourbon.
Now he’s a private eye working out of a one-room office with a bottle in his drawer, a secretary who files extortion notices under “routine,” and a conscience held together by the rules his dead partner left behind—Fallon’s Rules. Twelve of them. Not one guarantees survival.
The syndicate boss Vincent Crowe owns the city’s shadows, but when Crowe gets in over his head the rot only deepens. Tucker’s caught between crooked judges, dying reporters, and a government experiment that makes the fog itself lethal. Everyone’s selling something in Ashburn—even redemption.
In a city that eats its own, Tucker knows you don’t fight to win. You fight because you’re still breathing.
Rule 13 — a hardboiled descent through smoke, blood, and brass where justice is a rumor, truth burns like cheap whiskey, and the only clean thing left in Ashburn is the rain that never stops falling.
FROM J. KENTON PIERCE: Back Alley Angels and Badlands Devils: A Post-Apocalyptic Sci-Fi Double (Tales From the Long Night)
In a galaxy ravaged by fallen empires, endless wars, and a volcanic apocalypse, hope isn’t bestowed by fate—it’s forged by gritty survivors reclaiming their freedom and heritage. Welcome back to J. Kenton Pierce’s epic Tales from the Long Night universe, where ordinary heroes rise against the encroaching dark.
Back Alley Angels and Badland Devils delivers two pulse-pounding stories spotlighting the unsung warriors of Hesperides Colony, scarred by the Mutual Prosperity’s invasion. These raw tales of resilience pit flawed protagonists against hostile xenos, ancient horrors, and shadowy schemes.In “The Greenline Gambit,” set centuries into the Long Night, amiable brawler Kraitte thrives in the subterranean sprawl of Greenline Town—a former refugee sanctuary turned industrial hub. By day, he’s a heavy lifter; by night, a smuggler’s guardian. But when a mysterious brunette offers a high-stakes job, Kraitte plunges into a web of rival factions vying for underground power, testing his newfound sense of home and family.
“El Banquero del Diablo” rewinds to the invasion’s chaotic aftermath, amid ash-choked volcanic winter. Rugged cowboy Danny Bozeman, a former rider for Boss Rosenberry, joins the nascent Nuevo Tejas Rangers to rebuild society. Preferring simple brawls and bar tabs, Danny confronts capital-E Evil—an ancient darkness threatening innocents—armed only with unyielding grit and iron resolve.These standalone adventures weave into the saga’s larger arcs, proving heroes emerge from back alleys and badlands, not thrones. In a cosmos of implacable threats, the fight for dawn is eternal. Join Kraitte and Danny’s ruckus–and learn what it means to never quit.
FROM BLAKE SMITH: By the Light of the Moon
Aatu is eighteen years old, a respectable landowner, and about to marry the girl he loves. The south coast of Finland provides everything his little village requires.
It’s a peaceful life, until a band of ex-Crusaders land on the shore. With the harsh winter and lean times approaching, they cannot be allowed to stay for long. When their priests disturb things best left alone, Aatu fears a minor annoyance will become a disaster.
Aatu’s people turn to the old ways to fight the enemy, to teeth and claws instead of swords and spears. Though they are outnumbered and unused to fighting, Aatu is about to discover that wild wolves are not the most fearsome predators in this land, and even the most peaceful people can become ferocious in defense of the ones they love.
FROM S. T. GAFNEY: Simba’s Story
A loyal cat tries to defend his ailing Mistress from an unknown creature.
ANTHOLOGY WITH A STORY BY ROBERT MILLER: Wetwork Redacted.
Classified missions and forbidden desires collide in these steamy tales of special operators who break all the rules. When the uniform comes off, the real danger begins as elite warriors navigate passion in the shadows of black ops. These adults-only stories blend tactical precision with explosive chemistry. Some missions are too hot for official reports.
FROM TIM SEIBEL: Freedom Voyages Volume 4: Christmastime in Texas: Road Trips throughout the United States
Embark on a captivating adventure with the fourth installment of the Freedom Voyages series! Freedom Voyages Volume 4: Christmastime in Texas is a visual feast brimming with over 400 breathtaking photographs that capture the heart and spirit of America. These pictures showcase the landscapes, cityscapes, and vibrant cultural events that make Texas unique. It’s a visual record of a December road trip through Texas that will leave you in awe.
This 2000-mile road trip commences in the rugged beauty of Colorado’s Front Range, then continues through the otherworldly lava fields of northeastern New Mexico and into North Texas. Along the way, you’ll make captivating stops at the Capulin Volcano, small Texas ranching towns, and Dallas and McKinney’s dazzling Texas-sized Christmas light scenes. From North Texas, the journey continues south through the county seats of East Texas to experience its Christmas celebrations in quintessential towns such as Paris, Sulphur Springs, Longview, Nacogdoches, San Augustine, Jasper, Woodville, and others before concluding with a side trip to see Galveston fully decorated for the yuletide season.
Freedom Voyages is not just a book — it’s a thrilling invitation to embark on an adventure. For those who yearn to experience America’s roadways vicariously through pictures, thoughts, and experiences, these pages are a gateway to your own Freedom Voyage. Get ready to be inspired!
ANTHOLOGY WITH A STORY BY CHARLI COX: Claus of War: Santa’s Battle Chronicles (A Bayonet Books Anthology Book 16)
Ho Ho Ho? More like Lock and Load!
Unwrap the ultimate holiday thrill ride with Claus of War: Santa’s Battle Chronicles, Bayonet Books Anthology Vol 16!
Forget milk and cookies—Santa’s trading his sleigh for a war machine and his naughty list for a battle plan. From the icy depths of Europe to the jungles of Vietnam, 11 electrifying tales reimage Saint Nick as a battle hardened warrior facing cosmic horrors, mythical beasts, and relentless enemies. With stories by Alicia Kane, Charlie Cox, J.T. Arralle, and more, this anthology blends military sci-fi, dark fantasy, and holiday grit into a pulse-pounding collection that’ll keep you up long past midnight.
Perfect for fans of Dungeons & Dragons, Aliens, or Krampus Unleashed! When the stakes are survival and the enemy is ancient evil, Santa’s not just checking his list—he’s crossing names off.
Grab your combat rations, strap in, and buckle up for a holiday warzone.
Join Santa’s fight for survival.
FROM JOHN BAILEY: The Caracas Protocol: The Rescuers Book One
Perfect for a modern audience who misses the tension, cleverness, and style of early espionage TV adventures.
When a rogue alliance drawn from Venezuela, Russia, China, and a web of proxy regimes quietly prepares a global triple-strike operation, the United States activates a team that officially does not exist.
- Captain Grant Shaw, master of disguise and unflappable field leader.
- Dr. Lucia “Lucky” Vega, Cuban-American cyber-engineer who can breach any system.
- Malik Saint-James, actor and perfect impersonator.
- Dr. Nadia Petrova, Russian émigré physician with psychological ops expertise.
- “Baron” Delgado, explosive-ordnance virtuoso with nerves of steel.
- Valentina “Val” Moreau, illusionist and contingency strategist.
Their mission: infiltrate an international summit in Caracas, uncover the operation known only as The Caracas Protocol, and stop a three-country chain reaction designed to destabilize half the globe.
Working from a mural-hidden safe house, swapping identities through flawless masks, staging live television illusions, and turning enemy arrogance against itself, the team races against synchronized attacks in Tijuana, Port-au-Prince, and the Caribbean.
Failure means chaos.
Success means no one will ever know what they prevented.
High-speed, clean, clever, and safe for younger readers while thrilling for adults, The Caracas Protocol launches the Rescuer Files, a modern espionage series built on style, deception, and perfectly timed reveals.
BY LEIGH BRACKET, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: The Starmen of Llyrdis (Annotated): The Pulp Libertarian Science Fiction Classic
Michael Trehearne sensed his difference from other men, but he little knew he was a changeling of the only race able to conquer the stars!
Leigh Brackett’s 1951 novel, which first appeared in Startling Stories, not only prefigures books like Alfred Bester’s The Stars, My Destination and movies like Joss Whedon’s Serenity, it also makes a strong case for open source software and free culture in general, decades before either of those terms were coined.
- This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving the book genre and historical context.
FROM C. CHANCY: Count Taka and the Vampire Brides
Welcome, traveler, to wild Tramontana!
Here you will find snowclad mountains, roaring rivers, vast caves perhaps never seen before by mortal man! Here the strong Horses of Night roam the mountainsides – perhaps you can tame one to ride with your charms. Here the shepherds call to the long-fleeced sheep, the sheep to their sweet lambs – and you can find true telemea, the softest and freshest of cheese, in the gift shop, herb-flavored, a dozen special varieties-
Eh? You’re not here for the gift shop?
Ah, the cameras, of course! Forgive me, most of the photographers we see head straight for the ski lifts. Or the whitewater. Yet there’s so much more to Tramontana! The healthy farmers bringing in the hay, the soaring churches, the wild gypsy dancers – you must dance with the gypsies – and Raven Castle! Oh, there’s a place of history… and mystery.
It held the line against the Turks, they say, and the ancient lords rooted out all manner of uncanny beings… or bargained with them. Have you heard the rumors? That Count Herodes has ruled from that castle for over a hundred years? True, I tell you, all true!
…Monsters don’t exist, eh? Well, well, take your photographs, and we’ll see!
But you must visit the castle. The Blood Moon is coming, yes, and they say that’s when vampire lords can take a Bride! Other years have come and gone with no new lady in the castle, but this year… oh, you should hear Mistral sing the omens! A lass with your modesty and charms-
What’s that? Ah, temper, temper; location shots, yes, I see. Which way to the castle… there are maps in the gift shop, and tour schedules – but we can do better than that! Why, we’ll escort you there ourselves, no trouble at all, I insist-
Ooof. That’s a feisty one! Well, she’s packed off now. The other Brides should have some interesting weeks….
Mihail? What do you mean, Kae’s not a girl’s name?
…Oops.
(Vampire with annoying relatives meets photographer with terrifying relatives. Hilarity Ensues.)
FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: All the Little Hedgehogs
In Soviet Union, genetic engineering does you.
Yona wondered why everyone kept steering him toward a military career, until one of his teachers noticed his aptitude for genetics. Now he’s the personal student of Academician Voronsky, working in a secret genetic engineering facility in a closed town.
However, Yona keeps having to spend as much time babysitting the Academician’s adopted son Kolya as actually doing genetics. When this extra assignment becomes a frustration, Yona learns just how quickly privileges can be retracted.
And then he starts learning just how deep the secrets of the Soviet human genetics program really goes.
A story from the Grissom timeline (Gus on the Moon universe).
Caution: Contains intense material that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader caution advised.
FROM ELISE HYATT (SARAH A. HOYT), ON SALE FOR 99c: Dipped, Stripped and Dead (Daring Finds Book 1)
DEAD MAN’S REFINISH
Some people find antiques. Dyce Dare finds trouble.
Ever tried fishing a Victorian sideboard out of a dumpster only to hook a dead body instead? Welcome to Dyce Dare’s life, where nothing goes according to plan—and never has.
At six, she wanted to be a ballerina (until gravity repeatedly suggested otherwise). At ten, she dreamed of lion taming (until Fluffy the cat staged a mutiny). Now at twenty-nine, she’s just trying to keep her furniture refinishing business afloat so she can upgrade her son’s diet from “pancakes” to “anything else, please.”
But when her latest dumpster dive yields a half-melted corpse instead of salvageable furniture, Dyce reluctantly adds “amateur detective” to her lengthy resume of career failures. Because nothing says “responsible single mom” like poking around a murder investigation, right?
Between dodging danger, dealing with her quirky neighbors, and trying not to embarrass herself in front of a certain handsome police officer, Dyce is about to discover that her talent for refinishing furniture might just extend to refinishing crime scenes.
Dipped Stripped And Dead – Sometimes the best way to clean up your life is to solve a murder.
(Warning: May contain splinters, sarcasm, and one very determined single mom who definitely didn’t plan on any of this.)
FROM SARAH A. HOYT, ON SALE FOR 99c AND PART OF THE BASED BOOKSALE BELOW (WHICH YOU SHOULD LOOK AT IF YOU CAN): A Few Good Men.
Ladies and Gentlemen, we declare the revolution!
He spent 14 years in solitary. Now he’ll ignite a revolution.
Born a prince among Earth’s fifty tyrants, Lucius Keeva emerges from imprisonment with a fractured mind and a deadly purpose. When assassins hunt him, fate delivers him to the USAians—secret keepers of America’s forgotten beliefs.
For 500 years, this underground faith has preserved the Constitution while awaiting their prophesied leader. In Luce’s madness, they recognize their messiah.
Now the son of tyranny becomes liberty’s champion. As the USAians rise from the shadows, their weapons of war finally unleashed, a broken mind and a fallen prince prove the perfect weapon against an unbreakable regime.
One madman. One ancient faith. One last chance to restore the republic from legend.
A FEW GOOD MEN —where belief becomes the ultimate revolutionary tactic.
ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY BAEN BOOKS
FROM SARAH A. HOYT: No Man’s Land: Volume 1 (Chronicles of Lost Elly)
Sufficiently advanced science is indistinguishable from magic.
On a lost colony world, mad geneticists thought they could eliminate inequality by making everyone hermaphrodite. They were wrong. Catastrophically wrong.
Now technology indistinguishable from magic courses through the veins of the inhabitants, making their barbaric civilization survivable—and Publius Cornelius Scipio Africanus Kayel Hayden, Viscount Webson, Envoy of the Star Empire—Skip to his friends— has just crash-landed through a time-space rift into the middle of it all.
Dodging assassins and plummeting from high windows was just the beginning. With a desperate king and an archmagician as his only allies, Scipio must outrun death itself while battling beasts, traitors, and infiltrators bent on finishing what the founders started: total destruction.
Two worlds. One chance. No time to lose.
Volume 1
The Ambassador Corps has rules: you cannot know everything, don’t get horizontal with the natives, don’t make promises you can’t keep.
They’re a lot harder to follow when assassins are hunting you, your barbarian allies could kill you for the wrong word, and death lurks around every corner.
The unwritten rule? Never identify with the natives.
Skip’s already broken that one.
Now he’s racing against time to save his new friends from slavery—or worse—while dodging energy blasts and political intrigue. One crash-landed diplomat. A world of deadly secrets. And absolutely no backup.
Some rules are meant to be broken. Others will get you killed.
AND FINALLY, YOU REALLY SHOULD CHECK OUT: The 2025 Black Friday/Cyber Monday Based Book Sale! Is Still On. and No Man’s Land is part of it.
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: SHAME.
According To Hoyt 
“Georgiana and Corridon are doing better,” mused Augustus. “Even Richard. It’s a shame that scholars did not realize that they could practice on their own libraries.”
“I wonder if the masters would let Violetta into theirs,” said Sonia.
They considered that a moment. The others laughed, but Violetta considered.
“Perhaps,” she said.
They all looked at her.
“If Corridon, or Giles, or Augustus — ” She shrugged. “Or anyone really, shows them up. That was Mistress Ulrike’s argument. They could not risk having others know what they did not.”
“If Mistress Ulrike thinks that,” said Giles, “why hasn’t she asked for it?”
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Remember, o Readers, that you can be FORCE MULTIPLIERS! When you read books, you can rate and review them.
Even short reviews are of aid to the writer, because sheer mass helps. (And if you really can’t review, still rate.)
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THIS THIS THIS THIS THIS.
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Thoughts to Indy for his paw holding sacrifice of moments as his Mommy put up the PromoPost
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Everybody talks about how hard it is to live in a multi-species society because of all the problems with non-verbal communication. For me, it was actually freeing to go out into the greater Empire and live among other species.
For the first time in my life, I wasn’t constantly struggling to prove my sincerity. I still remember when I was in second grade and Mrs. Caldwell told me to “dry those crocodile tears” after I’d bumped into her desk and caused her glass bud vase to topple and break on the wooden floor, never mind that I was deeply ashamed of my clumsiness (which I now know to be dyspraxis).
Here, everybody has to state intentions clearly, because nobody can be sure if this twitch or that wrinkle is supposed to communicate something or it’s just the body relieving some kind of tension. It’s so freeing to have people actually listen to my words, instead of trying to impose some “tone” on them or impute some hidden meaning behind them.
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Drak stood looking around the burning village, tears steaming down his cheeks. The shame of his failure burned in his heart, illogical as it was. If only he had been here. He could have stopped the wolf clans from burning his home.
As he held his grandfather’s plaster encased skull in his hand, the repository of his spirit, he heard the old man’s voice speak to him. “You wouldn’t have made a difference, lad. You’d be one more dead body lying here. But, since you’re alive, we can go on. As long as you’re still walking, the clan is not dead.” It wasn’t as helpful as it should have been…
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Good selection. It’s a shame that I already have some of them, but I found at least one that I can purchase now. 😉
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Hi Sarah,
Thanks so much for adding “Claus of War” to this week’s newsletter.
I greatly appreciate it!
All the best,
Charli
Get Outlook for Androidhttps://aka.ms/AAb9ysg
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“You know, after our first date I wasn’t sure I would agree to see you again.” Julie dipped a finger in her champagne and ran it around the rim of the glass. She smiled as the crystal sang a soft, pure note. “A year later, we’re engaged. Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
Sam chuckled and said, “Yeah, you had me worried for a while. I thought you had ghosted me when you didn’t return my messages for almost a week.”
“Persistence pays off.” Her smile faded and her voice took on a somber tone. “Do you remember what you asked me that night? You said you wanted to get to know me better.”
“You mean about your biggest fear?” Sam sat back and sipped the wine. “I remember that you never gave me answer.”
Julie looked down as she unconsciously wrung her hands in her lap, and blushed at her own lack of confidence. But it was time to come clean and admit her fear to the man she would marry in less than a month.
She looked up and blurted out, “Shame orb.”
Sam’s forehead creased in confusion. “What … on Earth … are you talking about?”
Her blush deepened as Julie sighed and timidly began to explain. “It’s from an old webcomic I read when I was a teenager. The shame orb was a floating, sentient ball. I guess it could read minds because it would humiliate you in front of your friends by repeating the most shameful thing you ever thought or said or did. For years I worried that the orb might be real. THAT is my biggest fear.”
Sam stared across the table, his face unreadable to Julie. To her it felt like a lifetime before his expression melted into a wide grin as he burst out in laughter. “I’m sorry, that hilarious! It’s hard to believe your biggest fear is a from a drawing.”
His laughter stopped abruptly as a floating, iridescent orb appeared over Julie’s shoulder.
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I loved these Little creatures. I really did. As the Warden monitoring their little solar system, their beautiful blue and white class seventeen deathworld orbiting third out from their star, and the Imperial Primitive World Exclusion Protectorate Zone centered on this system, I had a lot of time on my hands. Not as much free time as I’d back in the days of the Hot Denisovan Girls and the Neanderthal Bros, but at my clock rates it was still a lot of time.
Things had spiced up a lot once the surviving sophont tool user species had invented their internet, since on the internet nobody knew you were a twenty millennium old robot coasting around their system in what they thought was a comet. Forums were fun, as were the comment sections for some really good bloggers. And I watched a lot of their videos. Of course I also kept the boundary dreadnoughts on their random-walk patrol routes out in the real cold of the Oort Cloud, though apparently I’d gotten too predictable recently there.
It was a shame the Zerathi were being pricks. This one was the second scout probe in the past twenty orbits of the populated world. The general run of the mill natives, those that were paying attention and still retained the reflexes from their time living on the edge of extinction in wild places, were not quite sure these were just interstellar comets, though their science experts assured them they could not possibly be what they in fact were, artificial constructs doing fast recon passes.
They really needed to get some interplanetary capability going. They had been stop and start, though recently on a better trajectory, but I’d gotten my hopes up before.
I’d pinged my chain of command when the first probe had swung through, and again when this one emerged from what looked like a cruiser-grade stealth field. No answer yet, but I was supposed to deal with things myself. That’s what all those dreadnoughts were for.
But the deathworlders had spotted the latest one too quickly. I wasn’t able to work the orbits to swing one of my drone dreadnoughts by and blast the thing without being seen, so I had to let it continue. And it was doing weird stuff where they could watch it. Stupid Zerathi.
I planned to blow the thing up once the deathworlders couldn’t see it anymore, just like I did the last one. But something had to be done about the Zerathi.
Hmm.
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^^nobody knew you were a two hundred millenium old robot ^^
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No one spoke as they went on. Honor wondered if they were ashamed of what had happened. It did seem that they had suffered hopelessly, and all their efforts had gone for naught.
She wondered the veneficae’s foes had made this world, and the attacks were efforts to undermine it.
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Being somewhat asocial, whatever acknowledgement of the season I might experience will be only chez me.
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Unrelated to the topic at hand, but I thought it might amuse some here –
There’s a Chinese free to play Wuxia game (available in China since last December, but just released internationally) called Where Winds Meet that just released on Steam.
It has cats. It has *LOTS* of cats. And it encourages you to pet them.
:P
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Sorry but five of the first seven titles do not interest me in the slightest – I don’t do grim, gore, or grisly.
Of the others, I have read and enjoyed three of John Bailey’s books so far, and since it is KU I may well add it to my list for future borrowing.
I own the Dyce Dare books and I am so looking forward to more of them, please? I also own the Darkship Thieves series and No Man’s Land as well, tho I have not yet started the latter. Soon, real soon now!
As for C. Chancy’s delightful offering, Count Taka and the Vampire Brides – I read this three times on KU and then I bought it and read it again. I love this book! I encouraged my son to read it and he enjoyed it as well. If you haven’t had the pleasure of reading this one yet, you really should indulge. ;-)
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Look, we’re writing as fast as we can!
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(Part 1/3)
“Have you no shame, Miss? Parading yourself half-naked in such a fine and upstanding establishment as this?” The words weren’t so much affronted as accusing, not so much scandalized as weaponized. I shot an instant glance at Carrie, daughter-by-marriage of Mrs. Glasstone the speaker. And, not so incidentally, my close-to-fiancee these past few mostly-glorious months.
Who something-vaguely-like-shrugged. And then, on verifying that Pauletta Glasstone, the woman who’d married her widower father and had insisted on coming with the two of us to Belgarion — yes, they’d named the place out of a fantasy novel, and you’re welcome — was not looking even vaguely in her own direction: rolled her eyes heavenward fit to shift the pole by at least a couple of inches or so. And raised her right wrist just a trifle, showing the endless quarter-inch-thick silver torus closely circling it.
We are what’s important, most important. Not neo-Mommy Dearest here, not my Polluxa, not its hodgepodge of hoary local customs, not even my family’s fortune, nor yet even my well-beloved father. Us. You and me, together two of a kind, just like the old Chekhov story hints it. (You might not believe she could say it with a lift of a hand and a quirk of the lips; but that would prove only you’ve never been lucky enough to meet the likes of Mme. Carrie Lea voi Glasstone, who does such regularly.)
I was not nearly so economical; but I did tilt my head subtly toward the back of the person Pauletta had been addressing. Mostly-naked back, yes, except for one securely-tied little rope of black velvet; but not at all untastefully so, and (as I’d make it) not nearly so bad-looking either.
“I asked, Miss or perhaps by force of pure luck Mrs., had you no shame?” That same edge was in her voice, cutting like a blade. (And sounding much like a fine-toothed bandsaw blade, on starting its stridently songful way into some chunk of stubborn alloy.) Or meaning most earnestly to. At least (so far) Pauletta Warshawsky Glasstone hadn’t walked up and tapped on her shoulder, to terminal-guide her disdain and insist on a reply. Quite yet.
Suddenly, I was glad that there is no institution of dueling, on Polluxa or on Belgarion either one. Especially not-so for women.
“Deaf as well as tasteless, you half-clad hussy??” Pauletta hadn’t raised her voice, but rather lowered it a touch. (And Carrie, not to mention her father himself, had already learned better than to try to divert her. Far safer and more effective to let the chlorine trifluoride fire simply burn itself out.) And then, quite suddenly, everything had changed; now, this was not at all like those hundredfold-innumerable times before…
The person, her target, had turned right around. Gracefully and easily, no hurry or ‘snap’ of sudden movement; but faced us three. The black velvet sort of bikini-top uppergarment she was wearing perfectly fit her skirt of the same; that had swirled, briefly, like a dancer’s kilt before settling.
Her short hair and bold eyebrows matched. The sea-green gleam of her eyes sat over a secret, knowing sort of smile. And she had enough poise to fill all the interior of an Oort cloud — and that is how I met Melissa Broadbent, later known as the Clearsighted One, for the very first time.
Outmatched, was Pauletta? Send a lone musketman in a leaky rowboat against a dreadnought and its wolf-pack of twenty-inch guns. And do better. Only a single look at Melissa — I did not recognize her, at all — and I knew.
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(Part 2/3)
“Could you possibly have been meaning me, Madame?” Not at all, not even a slightest bit, affronted. Clearly yet understatedly amused. Her eyes flicked, all-but-instantly, from Pauletta, to Carrie, to me. Then settled back on Pauletta almost at once. Had lit on the gold toroid on her rather not-slim wrist, that marked out ‘our’ Mrs. Glasstone as full-wife to Ser Karl Gaston voi Glasstone, himself; and immediately moved onward.
“Madame Pauletta Glasstone, of Polluxa. This is my by-daughter and her own low-betrothed.” She didn’t look away from Melissa for an instant, not even a flick of her eyes or a fragment of her attention for either of us, as any more than elements of her… retinue. Things, to be noted and explained or even more-like, explained away. Pauletta bowed, if maybe a hair’s breadth.
“Interesting to meet you, Madame Glasstone. Your family’s industry is well and widely known. Perhaps you might discuss the finer points of in-orbit versus deep-Belt shipbuilding later, nothing proprietary of course.” Again that brightness in her eyes, with an undeniable sense she’d’ve been busily talking so to either, or both, of us the dismissed-as-incidental. Had she an easy chance, now. Meanwhile, merriment danced in the sea-green depths.
The noise that Pauletta made was just short of a ‘hummf!’ “Surely you did not take me for some sort of… engineer! And you, your half-naked and wantonly, openly-shameless self, might be… whom?”
And she smiled. Like the sun, rising over the pole of Mars, for the first time in so many so-long abysmally cold months. “My name is Melissa Karen Broadbent. I grew up on a deep-ocean fishing boat, the Kraken’s Nemesis. Now I own the rights to the iron-siderophile mining concession in half the Belts in the Belgarion system, which is a little story in itself. So, does the second override the first, in your system of the world? Or am I only a half-naked little waifu wanna-be to you, forever? Because I didn’t grow up with a ‘voi’ before my last name, Madame?” Said through that real smile.
It wasn’t catty or ego-centric, at all. And I mean, no trace whatever; but even more-so than that. It was said in the mode of the purest negation of any such thing. Of the utter refutation and denial of all such things. Of the most perfect and incontestible counterexample to the least hint of an idea that any such thing as stratified human snobbery could in the further history of all our human universe, ever be more than… glittery dross.
My Carrie is a mathematician, and lives in the Crystal Wind (as a writer back at the turn of the millennium once called it). Not of mere “data” but the sheer abstractionist, archetypal, Platonically realer-than-real realm (“hyperreal” would be a low pun, see hyperreal-nonstandard numbers) of as close to distilled essence as lowly mankind ever gets to, this side of purest enlightenment, this side of unearthly Heaven.
Now, in a few sentences’ worth of words, I heard and saw it; as incarnated into social and human discourse. I watched the Clearsighted One, herself, bathe in that airy, fiery, purely-elemental essence, standing there with a knowing smile in a simply-elegant black velvet dress before us.
A “simple” girl from a fishing boat, becoming-being sheer, radiant truth.
And beside me (I had no need to look) I could feel Carrie bask in it too.
As I could feel Pauletta — completely miss the point. Null program. It’s not actually true, even empathically speaking, that ‘fire flashed from her eyes’ as people often like to say; it’s far more what I said, nothing. Sad as anything I’d ever seen or heard about, at least in that moment; with us totally lost in her light, of how all of us humans are just exactly that, and so, one.
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(Part 3/3)
“And I’ve been on Norcross, this past five weeks or so, before I Jumped to Belgarion system and then Belgarion herself. So I’ve been on a planet that makes Old Mars in winter look warm, where you need to take care not to get a too-hasty breath and literally freeze your lungs, or lose careless eager fingers to flash-frostbite. And where ‘room’ temperature is often fifty or so Fahrenheit; if it’s not barely above freezing, which of course is nice.
“So, Mrs. ni-voi Glasstone of lovely warm Polluxa, that’s materially why I’m dressed like a ‘shameless half-clad hussy’ — this room is seventy or so degrees if it’s warm enough to melt ice, and it’s like a furnace to me after acclimating to Norcross. But you’re not-wrong about another thing.”
And her own radiance, her glow, that inner-ness I’ve said on? It was like some old bullseye lantern, being unshuttered totally at last. “I am, Mrs. Glasstone, completely without shame. It’s something that clung to me only the littlest bit as I grew up; and something that stopped sticking to me entirely around the time I became an adult, and grew into understanding.
“I see things clearly, Mrs. Glasstone. Into them, through them, I just do that, however it is done and whyever I do. It simply happens to me, in its own time and by its own means. I have no choice in it and no regrets of it. Things, and people, and all the relations between. Yes, we can do right or do wrong, we can choose better or worse, we can harm or we can heal, and the differences between are profound. But in the end, there is no shame, only humanity. Only us, standing in the light of what-is.” And having delivered herself so simply of that quiet little soliloquy, the figurative lantern door swung fully-shut, and her light… withdrew.
“What a pack of utter nonsense, Miss Broadbent. Pretty, mystical nonsense, like some cheap street-corner guru back on Polluxa. We mostly put them in jail, if we can, for their vagrancy. But they come back, always they come back. It may be I can send someone to have that engineering conversation with you, if your story about your personal mining interests checks out.”
Melissa smiled back, softly and engagingly, but without more than a trace of her earlier, majestically-quiet light. “Thank you for the nice thought, Mrs. Glasstone. But I have here two people who are, between them both, heiress to the Glasstone Yards Combine and a fourth assistant-chief engineer; they’ll do quite nicely for all my purposes on that score. It’s been an experience, meeting you, and taking your measure so finely and so well and swift. Fair winds and following seas.” And smiled — socially.
“As you said, Miss Broadbent: Carrie Lea voi Glasstone, daughter and heir of Karl Glasstone. Also full-betrothed of Benjamin Benedict Butler of the Butlers of Polluxa Anterior Station.” She reached, grabbed my left hand in her right, held our joined hands up so everyone could see (and especially Melissa) what we both wore together. (Weird to me, but I was fast getting used to it.) She’d not have been her father’s daughter if she couldn’t be sure-sharp enough to read how her ‘by-mother’ had just been… dismissed.
“Be a shame if that last were any — impediment — to our fruitful future relationships or dealings if any, right, Miss Broadbent?” I even dared to smile as I said it.
“But Benjamin,” said Melissa, on whose face that smile was back, “I have been most unambigously clear already, I am a woman quite without shame.”
And the dazzling gleam of sunlight on miles-deep seas danced in her eyes.
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I’mma gonna let the official investigation finish, but since I have no sense of shame I am gonna say that I think Noem may have this wrong.
https://redstate.com/smoosieq/2025/11/30/noem-on-ng-shooting-suspect-we-believe-he-was-radicalized-since-hes-been-here-in-this-country-n2196674
Lakanwal may have been one of Obama’s child soldiers that Biden brought into the country.
If so, then basically another example of a foreigner without a grounding in US culture brought to the US because Democrats decided that they could have soldiers for their side in a civil war.
In such case, we can maybe say some very controversial things about how Lakanwal is a microcosm of the average American young person, who may have been badly destabilized by how badly they were abused by the public schools.
If he had been working with US forces for ten years, and actually is 29 now, then he would have maybe started at 15 or younger, and the Democrats would have been the strong horse for at least six of those years.
If, say, eight years, then 17 or younger, and four/four split in apparent strong horses.
I don’t know, but common sense Democrat control, LOL.
We shall see.
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Uh-oh. Bob’s making sense again. 😧
The scary part is what that says about the world. But he’s right; those 3rd-world savages aren’t ‘radicalized’ after they get here — they were never civilized to begin with.
———————————
You can have a civilized society, or you can have mob rule. You can’t have both.
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this.
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It’s possible to have been a child soldier in some third world civil war, and live here as a stable functioning member of society.
It’s possible to be from some hellhole, and live here as a stable functioning member of society.
There are choices to go from there to here, but the position of being a civilized American is itself a bunch of choices, on a continuing basis.
A foreign society could have a lot of decent enough older chaps, and be a fairly okay place when there is not a civil war on, and still produce some child soldiers in a civil war that really need some mentoring and direction to function in peace, or to function in a fairly alien society.
The savages I am most concerned about are those who grew up inside certain US graduate programs, and are screwing things with basically white collar fraud. Largely because I don’t have the theoretical understanding of a process that would remove them from positions of trust without setting destructive precedents. (Key new insight several years back, was that I don’t need to understand, fixes can be made without me understanding much of anything going on. The need for an illusion of understanding is part of the left’s drug cocktail.)
The overt savages are plausibly quite solvable if we suppose an alternate history where the covert savages had not gone full ninny.
Post arrival radicalization is still somewhat a plausible explanation for Lakanwal. Mostly, I think it can be understood as a polite fiction, where the people he worked with have an excuse for not being heartreaders. ‘radicalized after’ is a narrative that preserves a peaceful status quo where fights inside the security establishment are concerned, and provides minimal excuse for extreme changes that might not be well considered. But any huge shift in residence can mean a huge shift in monkeysphere, and it is far from being the case that all social circles in America are stable and healthy, with people being appropriately skeptical of the political hype.
Now, I do think that savage and barbarian are real sets, and that importing savage barbarians does not automatically make them civilized Americans. On the other hand, we imported all of those barbarians from England and FRance and so forth, and eventually we had civilized men. The processes which formed the American character had at least some elements of good.
Those good elements may yet overcome.
Anyhows, sometimes I seem like I have good descriptions precisely because of my background as a half-savage wackjob. Sometimes I seem correct because I am correct. Sometimes I merely seem correct, and both I and the reader in agreement are wrong in some way.
The world now is probably not particularly crazy, it is I think merely that politics has made very strange bedfellows, and we have a funky trip down the road to normalcy.
It has been ten years since Trump started making a lot of hay by talking like a rich Brooklin version of a hayseed, by omitting all of the words that intelligentsia would use, and exploiting the unstated majority fear that the PhDs et alia were f&cking everyone else over. The intelligentsia responded by taking offense and absolutely proving that they were f&cking everyone over. We are not going to get out of things without having a more audible discussion of that frustrating, and maybe some actual appearance of a remedy. So we are due more suckage, but compared to that expected value right now is maybe not very bad.
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She stared at them, incredulous. “You saw what happened. We all did. The Democrats committed massive election fraud and installed a brain-dead zombie and a cackling cretin in the White House. And now, instead of condemning their treachery, you hate me for exposing their shame!”
She shook her head in bewilderment. “I do not think I will ever understand this world.”
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and, my friends, I have been moderated.
I am maybe also hitting full silly. Long tiring day, early tomorrow.
Wooo~
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