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

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 CEDAR SANDERSON: Tomato Wyrm.

Cecilia Duringhurst never expected to inherit anything, much less her estranged great-uncle’s country manor. It’s in a bit of a sorry state, coated with dog hair and staffed only by Jock, the old gamekeeper… but it comes with a greenhouse, large gardens, and the hopes of escaping city life.

Determined to save Hendre Court from ruin, she finds an unexpected ally in Greig MacDougall, Jock’s grandson and her new gardener. Together, they are swapping city life for muddy boots, endless weeding, and the fragile hope of turning heirloom tomatoes and cut flowers into a sustainable future.

As they dig in side by side, unearthing old secrets and new possibilities, Cecilia senses the estate holds more than soil and stone—something ancient and watchful that is tied to the Duringhurst line, and rooted to this hill.

Secrets and seedlings will burst forth in the spring… and just possibly, despite the frosts of misunderstandings and chill winds of finances, a relationship that will entwine all of them and blossom.

FROM ROSS HATHAWAY: Nothing Happened and This is The Report

IMAGINARY PROBLEMS ARE THE MOST DANGEROUS KIND.
That’s why no one is supposed to notice them.
Hidden inside the federal bureaucracy is a quiet agency tasked with handling things that must not be acknowledged, because the moment they become real, they become powerful. Cryptids, buried histories, unexplained phenomena, rumors that refuse to stay rumors: the Bureau of Imaginary Problems exists to ensure these things remain effectively imaginary.
Most days, that means paperwork. And cake. And pretending nothing happened.
But when a routine investigation uncovers connections between old legends, polluted creeks, forgotten civilizations, and creatures that refuse to stay in one story or one timeline; the Bureau faces its worst fear: a problem that keeps being believed.
As cryptids negotiate their place in the modern world, Time itself pushes back against containment, and oversight committees demand answers they don’t want, the Bureau must do what it has always done best: smooth reality, bury the truth, and protect the public from stories that could make the world unmanageable.
Because belief creates meaning.
Meaning creates agency.
And some problems can only be solved if everyone agrees they were imaginary all along.
Darkly comic, sharply satirical, and unsettlingly plausible, Nothing Happened and This Is the Report is an urban fantasy about myth, memory, and the dangerous comfort of not knowing—where the greatest threat isn’t what lurks in the shadows, but what happens when people start paying attention.
After-action paperwork pending.

FROM JESSICA SCHLENKER: Excessively Attentive

Elizabeth Bennet harboured few expectations for her trip to Kent. Primarily, she was to see her dear friend Charlotte, which necessarily entailed tolerating the odious Mr. Collins. Perhaps, if she were truly fortunate, she might even gain an introduction to the great Lady Catherine — whether she wished it or not. She promised to fill her letters home to her father with faithful recountings of any absurdities thus encountered; he almost promised to write back.

But when a revelation prompts Mr. Bennet to arrive in person, Elizabeth is drawn into the center of a long-buried family mystery. A single portrait holds the key, and the truth it unlocks threatens to upend everything she understands about her past and her expectations for her future.

Excessively Attentive is a Regency-set reimagining of Pride and Prejudice that remains faithful to Jane Austen’s wit, social precision, and moral insight. Thoughtful, character-driven, and richly grounded in period voice, this novel asks what it means to belong — not by birth alone, but by character, courage, and choice.

BY ED LACEY, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: Dead End

Two big-city cops.

Bucky was young, strong and ambitious. Doc was older, smart, knowing all the ropes. They were partners — on special assignments and all the graft, including the favors of a red-hot blonde. And then came the big case, a kidnapping, and they wound up in a shabby, smelly hideout, with a million dollars in cash, and no place to spend it!

The iktaPOP Media edition of Ed Lacy’s classic noir novel includes an introduction by D. Jason Fleming that reflects on possible influences on the novel from Lacy’s life, with a digression into why it would make good material for a low budget film adaptation.

FROM JOHN BAILEY: THE GLOAM DOCTRINE (Science Fiction Singles)

The most dangerous weapon in the war is considered obsolete.

Captain Samuel “Sammy” Jackson was once destined for the most prestigious cockpit in the fleet—until he questioned the doctrine behind it. Now he flies the XN-47 Gloam: an ugly, slow, outdated two-man interceptor assigned to the men no one else wants.

The Gloam cannot dogfight.

It cannot outrun anything.

It cannot compete on paper.

But while sleek autonomous fighters vanish in perfect, inexplicable ambushes, the Gloams keep coming home.

Their secret isn’t superior technology. It’s inferior technology—manual switches, crude sensors, mismatched components, and human backseaters who don’t follow algorithms. The enemy’s artificial intelligences can predict every optimized system in the war. What they cannot model is stubborn, inconsistent, deeply human decision-making.

As victories mount and official credit vanishes, Jackson begins to understand the truth: the Gloams are winning a war no one is allowed to admit exists. High Command wants their chaos replaced with elegant automation. The enemy is already learning their patterns. And the only way to survive may be to fracture the fleet itself into something no machine can comprehend.

In the darkness between stars, speed is irrelevant.

Beauty is a liability.

And the future belongs to the ugly ships that refuse to be understood.

For fans of hard military science fiction, aviation history, The Right Stuff, The Forever War, and character-driven space combat grounded in real doctrine and politics.

FROM HOLLY CHISM: The Last History-Keeper: A Liquid Diet Chronicles Tale

Imagine what it would be like to remember all of history.

Justinian doesn’t have to imagine. He’s the last of a nearly-lost line of vampires, the last keeper of history, hunted by tyrant and monster alike, alive only because of the grace of God, and the luck of having an early pope hide him from those hunting him. He’s been in the catacombs of Vatican City ever since, hidden and safe.

But now…now he’s needed. Vampire, priest, visionary, historian, he’s been sent forth into the world, to walk it once again.

His ordained path leads him to…Manhattan, Kansas. To a brand new nest, filled with orphans and outcasts. And the journey takes him into the path of those who need his help: a six year old girl with an unmanageable memory, and a brand new line with gifts that terrify.

https://amzn.to/4qaAAyCFROM NATHAN BRINDLE: The Lion and the Lizard (Timelines Book 2)


Thirty years ago, Dr. Ariela Rivers Wolff, M.D., Ph.D., AKA The Lion of God, had a pretty exhausting week.

Her world was invaded by time-traveling soldiers, she was nearly turned into human toothpaste by an experimental dimension jumper when she went to find her parallel “Dad,” who just happens to be able to borrow a Space Force fleet to come and take out her world’s invaders . . . and then she found out she was considered by those same invaders to be a saint in their odd religion, and one of the targets of their invasion. If that wasn’t enough, she nearly fell completely out of the universe into a time rift, being saved only by the skin of her teeth by her parallel “Dad”.

After all that, learning she was going to be the one to bring universal healing and long life to the human race in her particular timeline was just the icing on the proverbial cake.

Anybody else would go home, turn off their phone, pull all the blinds, lock all the doors, and take the rest of their life off. But Ari isn’t “anybody else”. And her cult of admirers across two timelines won’t take “nobody home” for an answer.

Fast-forward thirty years. Scientists have detected radio transmissions in an unknown language from several hundred light years away. And now she’s been asked to use her special “saintly” skills as demonstrated on her last “mission” to make first contact with whoever they are.

And that’s only the beginning.

Looks like Ambassador Dr. Ariela Rivers Wolff, M.D., Ph.D., is going to have another pretty exhausting week. Or six.

FROM KAREN MYERS: To Carry the Horn – A Virginian in Elfland (The Hounds of Annwn Book 1

AN ENTIRE KINGDOM BUILT AROUND A SUPERNATURAL NEED FOR JUSTICE, ENFORCED BY THE WILD HUNT AND THE HOUNDS OF HELL.

What would you do if you blundered into a strange world, where all around you was the familiar landscape of the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia, but the inhabitants were the long-lived fae, and you the only human?

George Talbot Traherne stumbles across the murdered huntsman of the Wild Hunt, and is drafted into finding out who did it. Oh, and assigned the task of taking the huntsman’s place with the Hounds of Hell, whether he wants the job or not.

The antlered god Cernunnos is the sponsor of this kingdom, and he requires its king to conduct the annual hunt for justice in pursuit of an evil criminal, or else lose his right to the kingship, and possibly end up hunted himself.

Success is far from guaranteed, and no human has held the post. George discovers his own blood links to the fae king, and he’s determined to try. But Cernunnos himself has a personal role to play, and George will have to sort out just why he’s the one who’s been chosen for the task.

And whether he has any chance of surviving the job.

I DID TOO PUT A COLLECTION OUT: It’s up for pre-order, but for now Amazon won’t let me monetize the link. However, if you can’t wait: Done with Mirrors.

And meanwhile, you know, No Man’s Land is back at the end here like a cat that keeps showing up at dinnertime. And honestly? Same energy. Always gets food from this…. Why? I don’t know.

FROM SARAH A. HOYT: No Man’s Land: Volume 1 (Chronicles of Lost Elly)

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.


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: color

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

  1. Helena looked at her. If she was pale usually, now she had no color at all. Her mouth drew into a line, and she threw her hands into the air in a spell. Colored lights rose, flaring red against the leaves.

    “There,” she said. “Let them know that things changed.”

    Liked by 2 people

  2. 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.)

    Liked by 1 person

      1. “As a color, shade of purple-gray”.As a mauve.Asimov.The Flying Sorcerers is a humorous 1971 science fiction novel by American writers David Gerrold and Larry Niven.

        Liked by 1 person

  3. The new aide at the Terran Embassy was taken aback.

    His cab driver snarled at him; the driver’s bilious green kerchief throbbed in synchrony.

    Alighting from the vehicle, a little old lady thrust her walker viciously into his legs, sending him sprawling to the street. Her choker and pendant gave off that same vile aura.

    A traffic cop flipped him off, his horrid green tie glowing with menace.

    Safely within the embassy walls, he spied the Secretary.

    “What is going on? Do they hate us? The training modules told me we had good relations with this planet!”

    “Ah, it’s the planetary equivalent of Tuesday.

    This continent is dominated by what we call the Eid of Emotion; feelings must be expressed, but in approved ways, and rotating on a schedule.

    You observed the neckwear, yes?

    Tomorrow all will be Placid, a kind of violet.

    Today the local collar color is Choler.”

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  4. Rosalind spoke to the inn-keeper. His laughter boomed out. “Oh, no, lassie. You don’t want to go there. Not even with the two of you!”

    Color rising in her face, Rosalind spoke again.

    “Even bandits don’t like a rough road. Going over to that other kingdom, at that! Stay safe.”

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  5. Young Nigel Slim-Howland hated asking Lily rote questions, but he knew he had to. “Lily,” he said, “I hate to ask, but can you run your eye cycle?”

    “Of course,” said Lily. She stared straight ahead; her gray irises changed to blue, violet, green, and hazel.

    “Evaluation complete,” sighed Nigel.

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  6. Lily wasn’t production-ready. Young Nigel knew that. The blush on her pelliartis cheeks was painted on, rather than integrated. Her pink lips required an occasional touch-up with lipstick. But damned if she didn’t seem real, her talk, her giggle, her smell, her tears. He just couldn’t help feeling that way.

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  7. It’s amazing just how much humans communicate by color. The stop sign’s bright red, as are warning lights on the dashboard — or on the glass cockpit of a billion-dollar Super Hornet. It attracts our attention, especially when it starts flashing.

    But the Kitties just don’t. According to the medical folks, they have only two kinds of cones in their eyes instead of three, so it’s like having red-green color blindness. Instead of relying on color to draw attention to important things, their displays make the icons and numbers jiggle — unsurprising given that movement activates their prey drive.

    It’d all been interesting academic stuff when Danny had been training to become the first human fighter pilot in the Imperial Fleet. Now that he was in combat, he was struggling to pick up critical information and cursing his decision to rely on his training instead of getting the instrument panel reprogrammed to work more like the one in the F-18 he’d flown off the deck of the USS Gerald R.Ford.

    His mind flashed to the words of another naval aviator turned spaceman: Lord, please don’t let me screw up.

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  8. “What is the colour of magic?”

    “A tedious fantasy novel. Skip to the third book in the series,” a bored voice from the back row declared. “They get better.”

    Elena drew a little power from her malachite ring. A satisfying yelp arose from the back row. “That is incorrect as well as off topic, Mr. Braun. Green is the colour of attack magic, red of healing, blue defense, silver purification, and yellow clarification. Remember, ‘colour’ is a specific technical term, not a synonym for hue and shade.”

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  9. Magnificent desolation.”

    Aldrin’s first words on the Moon rose unbidden from the depths of memory, my first thought as I stepped out the airliner door onto the roll-up stairs. This tiny airport in the Australian Outback is just a few thousand feet of bitumen and a Quonset hut, but the landscape is beyond spectacular.

    At first you think everything is rusty red, but the longer you look the more colors reveal themselves in a panorama of low mountains and craggy boulders. Orange, brown; streaks of pale yellow, even an occasional flash of faded white. It’s truly a captivating vista, a vast plain of scrubby brush and bright red sand all the way to a distant horizon. Only the brilliant, cloudless blue sky dares to rival it. Magnificent desolation, indeed!

    My second thought, however, was all my own: “What in the bloody hell have I gotten myself into for the next two years?”

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  10. “Sync Please,” the melodious alto voice whispered into the darkened state room. “I’m sorry. I did not recognize that. Try syncing again,” came the renewed whisper a few moments later. “Syncing failed. Have you tried rebooting? Entering conservation mode. Goodbye!”

    Bys poked the halo as it’s small dot of color changed from a bright blue to a dim red. The deep trills of the alien voice had ended and the color had changed. Bys knew that correlation was not causation, but he’d wager his next quota on the connection.  He ran his top hands over the delicate ring. A button, he’d swear it was a button, depressed under his touch and the red changed to blue again in three quick flickers. 

    “Syncing…please wait.” The unsettling trill was back. Bys wondered if it was talking. Feeling a little foolish, pitching his voice as low as possible, he tried to imitate the trills.

    “Voice activation. Please state your username and password to sync.” The halo’s blue dot flickered again. Encouraged, Bys tried that throat straining gargle again.

    “I’m sorry. I did not recognize that.” Bys gulped air and resumed his imitation of the alien trill.

    “I’m sorry. I did not recognize that. Parlez-vous français? Sprechen Sie Deutsch? Atah medaber ‘ivrit? Nihongo o hanashimasu ka? Hangukmal hasil jul aseyo?”

    Bys broke off in a gasping choke. He kept his eyes fixed on the halo, but the color remained blue.

    “You sound as if you need medical attention. A notification has been sent to the medical officer. To better assist the medical officer, if you are able, please indicate which symptoms you are experiencing on the nearest console.”

    Bys turned slightly as a panel lit up off to his left.  He walked over still clutching the halo. He had triggered something at least with his attempts to repeat the trill.  It was a picture of an alien: bi pedal, with a sad lack of manipulator limbs. Looking closer he realized it was a picture of two aliens.  They were very similar to each other. It took him a minute to realize that it was picturing sexes; one sat on a blue field, the other, a pink field.

    At last! Bys reached over and tapped the blue field. Blue was good, blue meant the interface was turned on and the last thing he wanted was for it to turn off and have to low gargle again. His secondaries massaged his throat.  The screen bloomed with a more detailed drawing of the alien figure with circles surrounding various body sections. He tapped the circles at random. Each time he did so, the corresponding area of anatomy helpfully zoomed nearer.

    Bys also noted that each close up picture caused a square to pop up on the side, filled with alien writing.  He he tapped on one. The screen bloomed once again with a horrific picture of broken and bleeding skin, bones, and flesh. Bys jumped back a from the console in horror. He suddenly wished he hadn’t left his work mate behind.

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  11. “Hurry, Coralie,” said Leonie. “She can’t pick the color for your gown until you get there, and you know how long sewing it up will take.”

    The carriage rattled off moments later. Marguerite let her breath out. Not for her. Never ever for her.

    She needed to count her blessings.

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  12. Everything hurt.

    My vision was having blotches of color, my ears were ringing and I felt something warm and wet dripping out of them with the same consistency as my nose, my jaw felt like I had gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson in his prime and let’s not even talk about how my skin felt.

    The interface was screaming alerts-all yellows, thank God for small favors-and I was somehow able to prioritize bleeding and my eyes on my medical interface. Nanomachines were going there, patching things up, and I swore to ATHENA MORE ENDORPHENS NOW, PLEASE, screaming sub-vocally.

    I can’t risk more until the concussion assessment is done, she replied as calmly as possible, and I winced painfully as I levered myself up to my feet, automatically checking the pulse pistol in my hand. Full magazine loaded of solid shot, half explosive, she offered helpfully as the iconography bypassed my eyes and showed green indicators on all the systems.

    I coughed, spat something that wasn’t a tooth…I hope…and tried to take a deep breath but stopped when I nearly coughed up a lung and spat what felt like a golf ball’s worth of blood. “Let’s go get those stupid wetback motherfuckers,” I hissed to myself, straightened up, staggered towards my enemies.

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