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Book Promo

*Note these are books sent to us by readers/frequenters of this blog.  Our bringing them to your attention does not imply that we’ve read them and/or endorse them, unless we specifically say so.  As with all such purchases, we recommend you download a sample and make sure it’s to your taste.  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. I ALSO WISH TO REMIND OUR READERS THAT IF THEY WANT TO TIP THE BLOGGER WITHOUT SPENDING EXTRA MONEY, CLICKING TO AMAZON THROUGH ONE OF THE BOOK LINKS ON THE RIGHT, WILL GIVE US SOME AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR PURCHASES MADE IN THE NEXT 24HOURS, OR UNTIL YOU CLICK ANOTHER ASSOCIATE’S LINK. PLEASE CONSIDER CLICKING THROUGH ONE OF THOSE LINKS BEFORE SEARCHING FOR THAT SHED, BIG SCREEN TV, GAMING COMPUTER OR CONSERVATORY YOU WISH TO BUY. That helps defray my time cost of about 2 hours a day on the blog, time probably better spent on fiction. ;)*

FROM DENTON SALLE: Oath to a Warlock.

Peng planned to continue to serve the Master in the stables. After all, magicians lived forever. Qian thought that she would care for her niece and marry who the Master said to. Neither of them expected the Imperial Censor to come

Yaros wasn’t happy with the plan of impersonating the Censor and his retinue. All to keep an oath given to a warlock. How much blood would be shed for a traitor?

When magics and weapons clash, nothing goes as planned. And more than two lives are changed

A fantasy novella set in a China where Rus Vikings changed history.

FROM J. L. CURTIS: Showdown on the River: The Bell Chronicles Book 1.

Rio Bell is leading a cattle drive up the Goodnight Loving Trail to Fort Laramie. It’s his first time as trail boss, but with trusted hands and hard work, he expects to be back in Texas by late September though fire, flood, or rustlers bar the way!

He didn’t count on a range war.

They didn’t account for the Rio Kid…

And he sure as hell didn’t count on the girl showing up!

FROM ALENE R. LOWREY: Einarr and the Isle of the Forgotten: A young adult action-adventure viking fantasy.

An Unexpected Detour

Einarr and his companions have made it out of the Tower of Ravens intact, but on their way out they touched something they shouldn’t have. Now they’re becalmed in an unfamiliar sea. While fish are plentiful, water is becoming an issue.

When a storm blows up, Einarr decides to take a chance and ride the squall. Their little fishing boat takes them to unknown shores and wrecks on the beach. Now they have to contend with a rag-tag group of souls doomed to oblivion – all trapped, as they are, on the Isle of the Forgotten. Can they break free of the cursed isle’s clutches in time, or will they return to find the crew of the Vidofnir has succumbed to their own curse?

FROM BLAKE SMITH: The Secret of Seavale.

A cottage by the sea, nestled in a respectable neighborhood. It should be a safe haven…

Elizabeth Markham has run away from school and seeks the house of her godmother, six miles outside of Portsmouth. Seavale Cottage is a place of peace, and Elizabeth will be safe under Mrs. Brownhurst’s care.

But she arrives at Seavale only to discover that Mrs. Brownhurst has gone away, leaving Elizabeth to fend for herself. She finds assistance in her servants and in her very obliging neighbor, Captain Randall, and all is well until Seavale is beset by strange nighttime happenings. Elizabeth is about to discover that her place of refuge holds more danger than she ever dreamed, and she must gather all of her courage and resources if she and her friends are to survive the secret of Seavale.

FROM BRIAN ALAN SKINNER: Our Lady of Roswell: A Novel.

Santa Madre pays two young men from New Mexico a visit before they enlist in the army in1947. Stationed at Roswell, they witness the famed UFO crash

FROM J. L. CURTIS, ALMA BOYKIN, MONALISA FOSTER AND OTHERS: Tales Around the Supper Table: -An Anthology of Texas Writers.

This collection is from ten different Texas authors. There was no ‘world’ or set up for the stories. It was up to the individual authors to write their stories, so you get a wide variety! Vampires, dragons, werewolves, enchanted swords, runaways, SciFi, and cowboys… Stories for everyone in this collection of Texas authors!

Alma TC Boykin- Pigmentum Regium; Monalisa Foster- Caliborne’s Curse; Dorothy Grant- Business not Bullets; Kathey Grey- The Invisible Train; Pam Uphoff- Runaway; JL Curtis- A Favor Owed; Jonathan LaForce- Knights and Dragons; Peter Grant- Starting over; Lawdog- Bad Night in Falls Town; John Van Stry- They Only Ever Just Send One; Wayne Whisnand- For a Child.

This is the result of that collaboration- May I present Tales Around the Supper Table- The Anthology.

BY LAURA MONTGOMERY: Early Spaceports.

In the late 21st century, orbital industry floods the world with riches, riches which can wash up against the unsuspecting just as readily as they accrue to those who reach for them.

With his love for his girlfriend, his passion for the law, and his situation in a good firm, Eli Fisher possesses all that a man could need at the start of his legal career. He doesn’t expect it to change when a billionaire who runs orbital powersats hires him for an art project.

But this art project comes with all kinds of strange, and it requires a pawn.

A novelette.

FROM SABRINA CHASE: Dragonhunters.

Only one Mage Guardian now defends Aerope from the malevolent plans of Denais and his dreams of conquest and revenge. Ardhuin desperately tries to make the Allied governments see the danger and replace their murdered Guardians, but the long peace dulls any sense of urgency. Her new husband Dominic fears the Allies consider Ardhuin’s phenomenal power sufficient—and in no need of help from their mages. And yet…a weary traveler from the ends of the earth rushes to their home to deliver a message from a man thought dead. A desperate plea for help, invoking the Compact—as only another Mage Guardian would. Does another survive after all? And what new danger threatens the world?

FROM BRAD R. TORGERSEN: Racers of the Night: Science Fiction Stories by Brad R. Torgersen

Flying at the Speed of Night . . . Following in the successful footsteps of his previous short fiction collection (“Lights in the Deep”) award-winning and award-nominated Science Fiction author Brad R. Torgersen is back with twelve new tales. From the edges of explored space, to the depths of the artificial soul. At once breaking the limits of human endurance, while also treading the tender landscapes of the human heart. Originally appearing in the pages of Analog magazine, Orson Scott Card’s InterGalactic Medicine Show magazine, Mike Resnick’s Galaxy’s Edge magazine, and elsewhere, these stories are collected here for the first time; with commentary and anecdotes from the author. Introductions by bestsellers L.E. Modesitt, Jr., Kevin J. Anderson, and Dave Wolverton (Farland.)

FROM CHRIS KENNEDY: When Valor Must Hold

It is a time of high adventure! A time for noble men and women to say “No!” to the evils that will befall their families and friends if they don’t rise to the task at hand. If their valor doesn’t hold, civilization will fall.

Fifteen authors have spun fourteen tales of hateful wizards, treacherous seas, and scheming foes. Of times when ancient evils roamed the Earth, looking for souls to claim, and dark prophecies foretold what would happen if the Evil Ones were allowed to succeed. This anthology has all of this and more.

When Valor Must Hold focuses on heroes worthy of facing such enemies. A tiny brownie stands up to a massive ogre. A mother races to protect her children. A hunter chases raiders. A guardian serves his king. Heroes lead forces into battle against overwhelming odds. There’s even a goblin trying to save his people by stealing dwarven rum.

Inside are fourteen fantastic stories of enemies testing the valor of heroes great and small. If their valor should fail, they will lose far more than their lives.

Will their swords shatter shields? Will their magic shine forth? Or will they see their homes and families perish when they fail? Step inside and find out!

FROM BRUCE BETHKE: Stupefying Stories 23

Rampant Loon Press is excited to announce our biggest and most ambitious project yet: STUPEFYING STORIES 23. Twelve new stories, covering a range of genres from contemporary horror, to urban fantasy, to science fiction so hard it clanks. Twelve authors, ranging from names you probably know and love already to new voices we believe you’ll be hearing a lot more from very soon. A nice balance of previous contributors and new friends; a good mix of lengths and tones, from a novelette set on a generation ship gone terribly wrong (“Outrider”) to the delightful little confection that is “Brimstone and Brine.”

FROM PETER GRANT: A River of Horns (Ames Archives Book 4)

Walt Ames and his Texas partner, Tyler Reese, know that the U.S. Army is bound and determined to push the Comanche and Kiowa tribes onto the reservation for good. Once the Texas Panhandle is pacified, millions of acres of land will become available. They aim to be among the first to set up a ranch there – but that’ll take money… a whole lot of money.

How do you raise money for a cattle ranch? By selling cattle, of course! Buy them where they’re cheap, sell them where they’re dear, and use the profits to bankroll your project. It sounds simple – until storms, floods, fires, cow thieves and stampedes show up. They’ll have to buy their cattle in blood, as well as money…

FROM KATE PAULK: ConSensual (Con Vampire Series Book 2)

There are vampires in the lobby, succubi in the beds, and bodies in the bathroom.

It’s ConSensual, where the editors are demons, the writers are crazy and the vampires and werewolves might be the most stable people in the room.

If that isn’t enough, Dracula is staying at the hotel on a business trip for his wood-based hardware chain, and he brings with him the mother of all sirens, Leannan Sidhe.

Kit Marlowe is one of the authors, and there’s an out of control baby vampire to deal with. Once again, the “Save the World” department is caught with its pants down. It mostly consists of a vampire whose name isn’t Jim and definitely isn’t Hickey, a barely house broken werewolf, a very confused archangel and his succubus squeeze and other assorted misfits.
With heroes like this, who needs villains?

FROM ALYX SILVER AND SOFIE SKAPSKI: A Touch Of Night: Pride, Prejudice, Werewolves and Dragons, Oh, My!

A Pride and Prejudice Variation.
In a world that puts shape shifters to death, Mr. Darcy was unfortunate enough to be born as a were-dragon.
But the cruel laws don’t always find their victims. Mr. Darcy has survived and protected Mr. Bingley who is a werewolf.
Meanwhile, in Hertfordshire, Lizzy has been protecting her sister Jane who turns into a beautiful hunting dog.
When Mr. Bingley rents Netherfield, the Were-Laws and the shape shifting of three of them add extra complications to the flowering of romance between the well-loved couples. And Mr. Wickham. joining the Royal Were Hunters, lends additional danger to the situation.
Will they get together despite the danger, Lizzy’s active imagination and Mr. Darcy’s excessive nobility of character?

(This book was previously published with Sarah A. Hoyt and Sofie Skapski as the authors. Sarah’s name has been changed to match her other published Austen fanfic.)

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: HOVER

I’m lazy today. Yes, I owe you chapters, but at this point, I need to read what I have, before I write. And I need to finish a novel.

So….. you know…. This is just something to amuse you.

Blame it on older son who was amusing himself by using it as fortune cookies and shared the funniest ones and infected me….

It’s really funny. Some are insane. Some are just “aroo”? Some are trite. And some make you go “Oh? What does this mean?” And some… well, there’s something in them.

And now go do something with your day while I finish a novel.

Don’t bother me unless someone is bleeding on the floor or the house is on fire. These rules worked when I had littles, and they’ll work for you as well!

I apologize for what I’m about to do. No truly, because no one deserves this ear worm. But it’s time to shout.

Shout, shout, let it all out.

Seriously.

This was brought about by an article from Glenn Reynolds who says that despite the fact none of us agrees with woke bullshit, a tiny minority is succeeding in silencing the majority.

He’s right on that. what he’s wrong on is the roots of this: how we got where we are. How the left came to be in control. Why they think they can impose their crazy ideology and that “if anyone opposes it” (And I guarantee that’s how they look at it) it’s just “Some uneducated rednecks.” How we got to the point when the left is completely ignorant of history or really anything and trying to recreate the cultural revolution because they feel no one will oppose them.

What Glenn is missing, partly because honestly he was much further to the left 20 years ago, and partly because even the right lied to itself about it back then, is that anyone who was right enough to be conscious of how at odds they were with the loud sources of culture and what they then assumed was the majority has been biting his or her tongue for at least 35 years. I can’t say anything about before, because I wasn’t here.

I wasn’t at professional gatherings, where Republican presidents were referred to as the next incarnation of Hitler, and general applause was expected. I wasn’t at parties of well educated people where it was assumed “we’re all leftists together.”

But I presume, from books and conversations written from that time, that it was as bad at least 10 years before. Or call it 15.

For fifty years now, the way to signal you were upper class was to repeat at best euro-socialist and at worst outright communist shibboleths about how bad America was, how backward, and how great everywhere else was.

When the Soviet Union fell, the opinion amonth the bien pensants in the west was that “the good guys lost.”

For my entire life, if you aspired to a life in the arts, the sciences, or anything beyond semi-skilled (and even then) and you were a conservative, you’d BEST keep your mouth shut, and at worst signal centrist. And expect to pay for being centrist. For the last twenty years, the way to get ahead was to signal communist. Anything less than that, and you’d be hampering yourself. At best you’d be considered not very smart, at worst you’d be assumed to be evil.

Think back at all the loud political conversations you ever heard in public: not one of them signaled right. Think about ALL the political stuff you ever got from professional associations; at professional meetings; at family parties.

For the longest time we could tell the conservatives in our midst, because they were always quiet on the politics, no matter how crazy things got. ALWAYS.

This is no longer always true. As it’s not longer always true that the loud politics in public are always left. We’re starting to sometimes, here and there, hear the right lose their shit in public. We’re starting to see the right refusing to be cowed by the bullshit when told that their side is evil-bad or when someone is held up as a monster for resisting the left.

I think the left has been in a (worse than normal) panic since they realized despite all their demonization Kyle Rittenshouse became an immediate folk hero. That is why there is razor wire around the capital, and why they have a love-hate relationship with those guarding them. Because they know the tide is turning.

Not that they want to admit it. Thereby they invent Quanon and other “conspiracies’ whipping up the people. Because it can’t be that they never had the people, they just had control of the means of mass communication AND managed to cow everyone who dissented into silence by destroying lives and reputations. No, their myth promises the people are with them. And they keep demanding we fall in line with their increasingly deranged play.

This is why instead of seeing Trump as the rebellion of the people: a shot over the prow as it were. Instead they must attribute to him Svengali-like powers to whip up the mob. Because only that can explain why their plan went awry. And why we keep resisting.

In the arts, and other such positions, things are changing. Most of the cancelled people are finding better, or at least better paid positions.

Most of the leftist institutions are imploding under their massive effort at control which of course included the covidiocy.

They are fighting like wounded pigs, because they are. And they’re running out of time.

I’ll say it’s too late to avoid…. a more physical confrontation.

But for the sake of the sanity of the nation, for the sake of reclaiming the pudding heads who aren’t “political”, for the sake of telling the left they are not going to have it all their own way?

Shout, shout. let it all out.

Yes, many of you still have to dissemble in public settings, because otherwise you’ll be unemployed and blacklisted. And few, like me, can afford that.

So it’s time to let them know they are surrounded.

And yet even you can talk, even if on the net and under cover. And everyone else? Everyone who won’t lose their livelihood or life by talking: SHOUT SHOUT LET IT ALL OUT.

Let no display of leftist bullying in public pass unremarked. Tell hem they’re wrong and that you know they’re wrong. Tell them they aren’t the majority.

Make it HURT. Only hurt will penetrate the layer of illusion these people live under.

And it must be penetrated. Or civilization is lost.

No more hiding now. For we are nearing the day when the secrets of every heart will be laid bare.

If you can at all. If you can find a way even if that way is pseudonymous and covert? Publish, talk, scream. And let them be damned.

When I was a kid, I used to get completely and thoroughly panicky before any big or meaningful test (and my idea of big and meaningful was somewhat skewed, looking back.) You see, no matter how hard I worked, no matter how much I studied, I was never perfect (now, there were several physiological reasons for this, including undiagnosed ADD and sensory issues. But of course I was never going to be perfect, anyway.) And then I would get back a test with an A which always shocked me. I felt like I’d pulled a great con on the world.

The truth of course, was that the teacher didn’t expect us to do everything perfectly. She had mental benchmarks for us to hit. (At least in elementary. After that we entered a crazy tiltawhirl where curriculum changed every month, and…. yeah. The indoctrination went on though.)

And when I first got married, I kept panicking at everything that needed to be done to keep the house running, and being sure I was about to mess up and it all would come crashing around my head. You could say that my expectations for myself were unreasonable — they were — because things never crashed and burned, though sometimes the laundry pile at the end of the bed is where we got all our clothes. (There is still a laundry pile. These days it’s mostly stuff waiting to be ironed or have a some mending done, though.)

And when I first had kids, I had persistent nightmares that I forgot to feed the infant and he died. (In that case, I should have run screaming for ADD meds, but hey. It was a subconscious self-diagnosis.) And there were days, like when I found older son eating croutons from the bag, because I was writing and forgot to make lunch; he was hungry and that’s what he could reach in the pantry. He’s 30 and married and living away from us, though, so I didn’t fail COMPLETELY.

I just always feel like I fall incredibly short of my standards.

Yesterday, while talking about something else, I told younger son I try very hard not to lie. He said “true, but your self valuation is so bad it’s an actual lie. Particularly of your own work. You write this incredible stuff, then act embarrassed because it’s not very good. It’s a lie, even if you’re lying to yourself.”

And maybe he’s right. I’m probably not the 12 year old trying to bluff the adult world that I feel I am.

Partly because most of us feel that way. Partly because we know how imperfect we all are.

Someone in the comments yesterday said that he feels as though a few very competent individuals are keeping civilization going. He’s not wrong. There’s a metric and ratio and a name for them.

According to the Pareto Principle:

More generally, the Pareto Principle is the observation (not law) that most things in life are not distributed evenly. It can mean all of the following things:

20% of the input creates 80% of the result

20% of the workers produce 80% of the result

20% of the customers create 80% of the revenue

20% of the bugs cause 80% of the crashes

20% of the features cause 80% of the usage

And on and on…

(More at the link.)

This also means that 20% of what you do creates 80% of the results you see. But don’t drive yourself nuts looking for it, because it might change all the time. I remember something Glenn Reynolds said, which I overheard and which made a huge difference in my life “How did I get into being instapundit? By accident. Like most things in my life.”

Because, you know, that’s my experience too. There are things that require a crazy amount of work, and where I push like an insane person, and they fall into a hole and disappear forever.

And then–

Well, I got published (traditionally) because a friend talked me into taking a workshop, where I met an editor and pitched a series and–

I published Darkship Thieves by accident, too. You see, I had written it thirteen years ago. I’d sent it to every possible publishing house and agent and been rejected. Then I sold something else completely different to Baen, and they gave me a conference in the now defunct bar. And I did free content for my fans. I ran out of stuff on hand, started serializing the novel, and either the novel or the reaction of the fans meant Baen bought it.

Meanwhile there were years of seriously sending that novel out/trying to sell space opera and getting every door shut in my face.

Then there is this blog. I’m not yet sure if that’s a win, but it’s become a significant part of my life, and it was never something I wanted to do. It just started because an agent pushed me to have a blog. Of course she didn’t know sooner or later I’d write about things I truly cared about, which meant we parted ways which meant…. well, here we are.

Most of the big breaks in my life are not intentional. Even though I’m working in a targeted way towards something, something I do almost incidentally will bear more fruit and sometimes take me in another direction.

But yes, in the macro level it’s easy enough to believe that 20% of the people are doing the important work.

The thing is, these aren’t necessarily the people who work hardest/longest hours/most targeted. Sure, most of the time they are. And sure, competency matters a terrible lot, and there’s a dearth of it.

But it’s not necessarily so. And all those drones working madly along always think they are the ones holding up the world.

Actually part of the problem we have is that 80% of people are so maleducated they can’t be competent whatever they set out to be. They don’t even know what competence looks like. So they roam the world lecturing people about invisible privilege and the made up history of critical race theory, and then become convinced they’re really, really helping, that somehow, at a molecular level (so to put it) they’re making the world a better place.

Sometimes it’s enough if they’re not making it worse.

I am convinced that the left has read — or rather skimmed, as they usually do — about the Pareto principle and became convinced that they don’t even need 80% of workers, or that workers don’t need to work, because the other 20% can support them. AND of course that they and only they are qualified to decide whose work is essential. Then they decided to use a virus panic (which I think was organically created from China’s agit prop and the left’s desire to crash the economy and make everyone miserable, so they’d vote for their zombie.) to implement their brilliant system.

Which can’t work because they’re morons with illusions of competency.

The whole point of the Pareto Principle is that you can’t decide who re the 20% being effective. Or where the important work is being done. It’s an uneven world, you can’t make it even (or as the left now calls it, in their habit of changing terms, “equitable”) or manage it. Even you only 20% of your work is effective.

So, you know, this is a complete refutation of communism, socialism or even “managed economy.” You can’t manage because from the top you can’t tell what is effective and needed. All the workers look equally busy and sometimes the drones look way more diligent. And anyway only 20% of your managing bears the right fruit and does what you want.

The problem is the left will never admit that and will keep pushing buttons at random to try to make themselves the most powerful people who decide who gets to work and who gets to eat.

Which means they are making the world collapse….

Around us….

And only 20% of us can do anything about it, and only 20% of the time.

Well, there might be ways to increase that ratio, or at least make your work more effective.

1- Try to work with a purpose, and be aware of where you’re putting your effort.

2- Learn. Learn as widely and effectively as you can. Even if 20% of that is ever needed, you don’t know what 20%.

3- Be willing to try new work/do different things. If you’re lucky, when the main thing fails, one of those will catch you up.

4- Be cheerful in the certainty you are not in control. No one (human) is in control. Control is an illusion, and ultimately destructive.

Now go and work as hard as you can towards perfection. You won’t reach it. But 20% there is good enough.

To keep the world running.

One of the most amusing things about the left is their absolute certainty that they know better than everyone else and that if only they ran the circus, everything would be perfect.

I’m not 100 percent sure where this insanity comes from, except for saying that it’s common in philosopher-kings. I.e. people well enough off that they have no idea how most people live, where food comes from, etc. Take one of those people and cram their heads full of theoretical knowledge. Particularly if you tell it to them as the revealed truth (as science is taught in most of our schools) and voila, someone who thinks they know everything and how everything should be done.

Which gets us to the left’ present attempt to choke Western Civilization which, granted, has been as evil and murderous as EVERY OTHER CIVILIZATION IN THE HISTORY OF MANKIND, but has excelled on the good side of human civilization: namely, getting everyone fed, clothed, and living with a modicum of dignity. Not perfectly, of course, and there have been some truly disgusting periods, but by and large Western Civilization has made the world better.

However, mind you, it’s not perfect. It’s also not entirely contained within the cavernous emptiness of the average lefty’s mind. So, of course, off with its head.

And the left is absolutely, thoroughly convinced that it can “build back better.” That the system in its mind will translate perfectly into the outside world and run amazingly.

Well, as we have found in the last year, the left literally doesn’t know where its food comes from; can’t understand, oh, the relationship between rent and home ownership; between GDP and currency, between– None of it. They know so little about the real world they just don’t know what they don’t know.

We live in an amazing era. If I wanted to build a house with my own hands tomorrow, there is enough in youtube for me to go for a reasonable facsimile.

And yet, I guarantee to you that anything I built would have some major problems, simply because I don’t know what I don’t know, so I don’t know where to look for specific details of construction.

And mind you humans know pretty well how to build houses. We’ve been doing it for a very long time.

And yet any socialist/communist country manages to build houses that crumble while still under construction. I’m not even making this up.

Yet, our left in possession of a Marxist ideology that has no contact with the real world and confers nothing beyond unearned superiority, thinks it can take down the most complex interconnected web of civilization the world has ever known, and “build back better.”

Because these people, who can’t understand that we see them partying without masks, or that voter fraud was obvious to anyone not blinded by partisan faith, think they have the knowledge to not only redesign world civilization but make it perfect.

We all read the story of the garden and how humans were tempted with the idea that they’d be like gods. I remember thinking that was completely insane.

I was right. I’m seeing it happening before my eyes, and it’s completely insane.

There are many versions of this story. None of them ends well. But the willfully blind philosopher kings will not see.

Hold on to the sides of the boat. The water is going to get choppy.

But be not afraid. I’d bet us, or for that matter my cats against these “world encompassing intellects.”
At least my cats can tell their food dish from their litter box.

Be not afraid, but be prepared. The crumbling is going to be sudden, short and horrific.

And afterwards? Well, we’ll build back. Better? Without philosopher kings. That’s for sure. But with human hands, which means flawed, and with problems and–

Let’s make it the best we can.

That’s all anyone can do. Make it the best we can, with respect for the individual, and the understanding that we are not gods.

Until then, keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark. And stay alert. The life you save could be your own.

If Mr.Boyd hadn’t been a perfect bastard, Sally would never have had a close encounter of the third kind.

No, wait, we’re telling it all wrong.

If Sally hadn’t dropped her keys right in front of her door, she’d never have seen the giant green spiders.

Of course, the reason that Sally dropped her keys is that she was practically sleep walking, and honestly shouldn’t have been driving. And that was because Mr. Boyd was a bastard who kept trying to make his programmers deliver on what the sales people had over-promised the clients of his computer company.

In fact, as Sally walked down the hallways of her dingy apartment house, she’d been muttering to herself “Midnight code? We should be so lucky. At Boyd’s and Boyd’s we write four am code. And then get up two hours later and spend most of the next day undoing the mistakes we made while half asleep.” She was so sleepy she didn’t get into the mystery of why the firm had an extra “and Boyd’s.” As far as she could tell Mr. Boyd had no family and had never been married. But she supposed it was entirely possible Boyds reproduced by fission.

And then, blessedly, her apartment door ws in front of her, and she reached for the keys from her purse….

Perhaps it was some movement in the shadows of the dark hallway. She’d never know. But she dropped the keys and bent to pick them up. And saw the two giant green spiders hiding around the corner of the hallway looking at her.

Okay, so she couldn’t see any eyes, but she knew — just knew — they were looking at her, and sort of jiggling in anticipation, like kids who have set up a prank and are waiting for you to fall for it.

And then she was running, screaming, down the hallway and towards the door of the building.

Which is when she collided with a large, dark male. Though at the time she didn’t know he was a large dark male, or in fact even human. She thought in fact he was a spider.

“Ow,” Craig said when hit on the head with Sally’s shoe. Fortunately women no longer wore high heels to work, but the tennis shoes stung when it smacked across his face.

Which is when Sally realized Craig — though she didn’t know he was Craig — must be human, because she couldn’t imagine a spider saying “Ow.” Well, Sally wasn’t a particularly imaginative kind, even if she was a very good coder.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said. “There were giant green spiders at my door.”

Instead of recommending a good alcoholism-prevention program, Craig shuddered. “At my door too. And they were holding ray guns.”

Sally blinked. We said she didn’t have much imagination, remember? “The spiders were holding ray guns?”

Craig rubbed at his eyes. “Hell, I think so, but I’m not even sure. You see, my boss, Mr. Banderas, is a perfect bastard, and he keeps promising code that can’t be delivered in the time he gives. And then he works us until we deliver it anyway. I don’t think I’ve slept eight hours in the last ten days. Cumulative.”

And Sally laughed because she rarely met a guy who even knew the word cumulative. Particularly since it seemed she spent her life writing midnight code. “You live here? In the building?” she asked.

And sitting on the floor of the dingy apartment house, Craig realized that Sally was really very pretty despite the dark rings around her blue eyes, which matched her glossy dark hair. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s weird we never met. But I blame it on Mr. Banderas.”

“No. Some of the guilt must go to Mr. Boyd,” Sally said. “Trust me on this. Your Mr. Banderas can’t be worse than Boyd. He’s a perfect bastard. I mean, he calls his firm Boyd’s and Boyd’s but there’s no indication there is another Boyd. Possibly in the whole world.” She allowed Craig to help her rise, and leaned on him while she put her shoe on.

When they went back to her door, there were no spiders visible.

They said goodbye at the door with smiles, because this is not that kind of story. But the next night, when Sally came stumbling in at 4 am, Craig was also stumbling in at 4am. It was none of Sally’s business that he’d been lurking in his car for half an hour so they could stumble in together.

And after a few early mornings of stumbling in together, Sally had said “We have to stop meeting like this and go out for dinner or something” which was very bold of her, since she had never even had a date.

And Craig said, “Let’s do it.” Which was very bold of him, since he’d once thought the best solution to romance would be to write himself a girlfriend program. Only he couldn’t ever get the AI right. The technology was just not there yet.

But anyway, their first afternoon off, after two weeks, they went to the zoo, and then out to dinner in this tiny, quaint Greek diner.

After a few more of those afternoons — and a glorious evening — they started looking for different jobs, where the managers might be slightly less bastard-like. Or at least, perhaps, imperfect bastards.

As it happened Craig found a job paying double what he’d made at Mr. Bandera’s. Which allowed him to ask Sally whether she wanted to marry him and perhaps have beautiful kids who’d be perfect coders.

She said yes, of course. She was socially awkward. Not stupid.

On her wedding day, while her mother told her how unlikely it all was, she thought, “And mom doesn’t know the half of it.” Since she’d never told mom about the green spiders.

In a bar across the galaxy, amid many other strange life forms, there is a table around which several green spiders sit, drinking something pink and foaming from little steins.

And frankly, if you can’t picture that, your imagination is as bad as Sally’s and we can only hope you’re as good a coder.

“Mike,” one of the spiders says to the other in spider language. (And if you can’t imagine either a spider language, or a spider named Mike. We’re sorry for you. After all, phonetically — mīk — is a very easy sound to make, and why shouldn’t a spider be named that?) “We’re going to be so rich. This Mating Human Geeks Program is a hit.”

Mike hoisted his glass of beer and nodded. “Isn’t it weird they never search their apartments of the cameras we hid earlier?”

“Nah,” the spider named Bob — what you’re going to have problems with a spider named Bob, really. Phonetically ˈbäb is even easier than Mike — who was the camera man of the group said. “I’m very good at hiding the cameras.”

“And guys, this is not just curiosity,” the Spider named Uotty’rq (are you happy now.) said. “Without us contriving it, it is possible most Human Geeks would never meet. And they’re a beautiful subspecies, well worth preserving.

I got this post in my head, fully written. And I don’t want to type it, because typing it in makes it real.

I do not know where it came from, except perhaps from the fact that over this last year here and on various private groups I’ve seen a lot of you surface. Because you were in one of those marriages where you always cancelled each other’s votes. And it didn’t matter. Because you still agreed on all the important things. Or sometimes, it wasn’t a marriage, but your kids, or your parents. Or your best friend. Or your sibling. As long as you didn’t discuss politics, you pretty much got along great. And if the other person insisted on discussing politics, you could deflect. And then you laughed about it, and went on.

Over the last year, apparently, this has been breaking down.

Weirdly I feel better that it broke down way earlier for me. Some of those break downs — like a friend of decades insisting that I had to listen to her rant about how George W. Bush was going to put all gays in camps or I didn’t “respect” her — propelled my coming out of the political closet with a bang because I couldn’t take the insanity anymore.

And some of them came after that come-out. And specifically after SP3. At this point if I have some remaining friendships on that side of the isle, it’s because I don’t talk to them and they don’t talk to me.

Why do I feel better it broke down way earlier? Well, because most of them don’t know where we live. And I’m no longer on their radar.

Because what I’m hearing about this year from people–

Okay, so here’s the blog post I don’t want to write.

The next American Civil War will be fought in a lot of places, in sudden flare ups and unexpected bursts of rage. But where most casualties will occur is in the home.

America’s civil war will be fougnt many places, but mostly in living rooms: siblings against each other, parents against children, children against parents, husband against wife, wife against husband.

If you live with a convinced leftist, how safe is your life, should the balloon go up?

And before you say “The first civil war was also between brothers!”

Sure, it was. There were mixed families. Mostly upper crust mixed families. But the war was largely a regional war, the country riven on regional lines.

Now? Bah. Now it’s a war of ideology. A war of beliefs.

And a lot of people are sleeping with the enemy, hanging out on weekends with the enemy. Visiting the enemy. Having lunch with the enemy.

At this moment a lot of you are sitting back there and going “My wife/husband/elementary school friend is not an enemy. Sure, he/she/it drank the Marxist koolaid from a hose but in every day life, in our normal interactions, in non-political things, we are very close, the best of friends.”

And maybe you are. Maybe you can trust them with your life.

But I will remind you we live in a nation where the capital is surrounded with razor wire to defend themselves from people who voted for the guy. I will remind you there are troops occupying our capital and that our secret services have so far been corrupted they keep inventing internet conspiracies (or probably referring to their very own black ops) to justify it.

I will remind you that your favorite progressive has allowed himself to be moved from “strong welfare net” to “we need full on communism, with favored races” within the last 12 years (or was indoctrinated into that state in schools.) I will remind you — and the conversations related back to me don’t help me think otherwise — that your favorite leftist thinks you’re racist/homophobic/evil. NO MATTER HOW MANY indications to the contrary.

And I can hear you sniffling: “But I love him/her/it/fuzzy.” Well, yes, and ten years ago that would have been me. I had very good friends I just classed as political idiots. I don’t wish the last 10 years on anyone, but at least they’re not living with me, 90% of them don’t know where I live. And I’ll be out of here in hopefully no more than 4 but maybe ten months, and maybe we have that long. Also, most of my close friends/acquaintances aren’t likely to cause any damage, being…. not the type. On the other hand two dozen of them (easy) are friends with people who WILL.

Now to be clear: do I expect all of you in mixed political families to be in danger?

No. Any number of your spouses, relatives and friends are leftist because that’s “what good people are.” And they will turn on a dime, too, if half the crap about what the left has been doing for the last couple of decades comes out unvarnished and unspun. (The left knows it too. They’re perhaps more scared of these people than they are of us.)

Others are leftist and might hate your guts if things go hot, but simply don’t have it in them to hurt anyone. These are the “slippery” ones, because if you had asked me, even two years ago, if the media and the left (BIRM) could spin these people into wishing death on someone for not wearing a mask, when the person is not sick; there’s no proof of asymptomatic transmission (there’s reports from China but NOWHERE ELSE); and the actual disease (it’s not hard to find) might be a little more lethal than the flu but only at ages past about 80, I’d have said “no. They’re politically insane, but not stupid.” However they are “group oriented.” Turns out the type of gaslighting we’ve been enduring works really well on people who life for other’s opinions. (Which explains whey Southern Europe is still mired in the fricking crazy. Uniformly. And why women in general are more susceptible to the completely irrational gaslighting than men.) And they already believe a bunch of crazy crap. the reason that they think QANON is right main stream, it’s because it’s the mirror image of their actual main stream.

Are you sure they’ll remain inoffensive if the ballon goes up and the gaslighting switches to “If you know a Trump voter, he/she is dangerous?” How about “Turn them in, so they can be sent somewhere nice for their own protection?”

Look, guys, I hope none of this is ever needed. I still have friends on the other side, I’m just not in touch and we work on the very long finger. And there are people I no longer consider friends but whom I like very much who are buying into the entire insane bull excreta of “attempted coup” and evil “white nationalists.”

But like Peter Grant, I think we’re way past the ballot box, and just waiting for a precipitating incident.

Gun and ammo sales say we’re not the only ones.

So what if the balloon goes up. Some of you, even in TX, are trapped behind the ultimate enemy lines. The ones with comfy chairs and kitchens.

So?

Well, there are several things you can keep an eye on:

If your pet liberal starts bringing up politics and not letting you avoid it, chances are they’ll be a danger. This is more so if they accuse you of racism/sexism/homophobia, etc.

If your pet liberal actually starts taking an interest in violence, from advocating it to finding or learning to use the implements of violence.

If your pet liberal thinks he/she/it would be in paradise except for people like you, personally.

I realize most of you don’t WANT to leave, and a good number can’t. But keep a close eye on the situation particularly for escalation of animosity. Keep an eye on the media they consume too. Be aware of how rapidly they are being “weaponized” to destroy anyone who disagrees with them.

What you do then, should you decide that when the balloon goes up you’ll be in present danger ranges from the very simple to the almost impossible.

If your pet liberal is a friend/acquaintance/work friend make sure you have a bug out place they don’t know about. Could be a second house, a friend’s basement, or a rented studio in a place they wouldn’t expect you. Or you know, if you moved recently, get a drop box and be cadgey with where you actually live.

If it’s family it’s more difficult, but we still advise a bug out bolt hole they don’t know about. (Unlike most people, I expect the frenzy to be short lived. Trust me. It points to that.) The bolt hold must be accessible at all times, so if it’s a friend’s basement/spare room — get the spare key, and make sure your pet liberal doesn’t know about it.

If you’re like most of us, you still love your pet liberal.

So if you can’t do either of the above, I recommend you think really hard of ways to neutralize them that won’t permanently hurt them, should they come for you.

Because no one wants to think of the other choice. Me, least of all.

But be aware that the uneasy detente won’t last forever. They won’t let us live and let live. If nothing else 20/21 should have put an end to that illusion.

Sooner or later, the balloon will go up. Be prepared to save yourself, if you can’t save them.

Don’t let your loved lefties jeopardize your survival. And above all don’t let yourself become someone you won’t be able to live with after.

They have a very infantile idea of war and of political cleansing, and they probably aren’t aware most of these were done — in the 20th century — under the guise of “turn in your loved one, so the state can keep him/her safe and reeducate him/her.” I even agree despite their often infantile raging, they mean well.

But we know what the way to hell is paved with, right?

And trust me, people in war, people in unstable situations, and particularly indoctrinated people act in ways you can’t imagine.

Look at the evidence of 20/21 and be prepared. The life you save might be your own.

I didn’t want to write this post, but I had to. If it saves even one life….

Keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.

Book Promo

*Note these are books sent to us by readers/frequenters of this blog.  Our bringing them to your attention does not imply that we’ve read them and/or endorse them, unless we specifically say so.  As with all such purchases, we recommend you download a sample and make sure it’s to your taste.  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. I ALSO WISH TO REMIND OUR READERS THAT IF THEY WANT TO TIP THE BLOGGER WITHOUT SPENDING EXTRA MONEY, CLICKING TO AMAZON THROUGH ONE OF THE BOOK LINKS ON THE RIGHT, WILL GIVE US SOME AMOUNT OF MONEY FOR PURCHASES MADE IN THE NEXT 24HOURS, OR UNTIL YOU CLICK ANOTHER ASSOCIATE’S LINK. PLEASE CONSIDER CLICKING THROUGH ONE OF THOSE LINKS BEFORE SEARCHING FOR THAT SHED, BIG SCREEN TV, GAMING COMPUTER OR CONSERVATORY YOU WISH TO BUY. That helps defray my time cost of about 2 hours a day on the blog, time probably better spent on fiction. ;)*

FROM ANNA FERREIRA: A Capital Whip: A Pride and Prejudice Sequel.

An invalid for much of her life, Miss Anne de Bourgh has precisely one accomplishment: carriage driving. She is proud of her skill with reins and whip, and justifiably so.

But when another young lady moves into the neighborhood, and challenges Anne’s place as the most accomplished driver in Hunsford, Anne must prove to herself, to her beloved horses, and to her family that she is worthy of the name de Bourgh, and she does not shrink away from a challenge.

FROM PAM UPHOFF: Doctor Inferno.

Even Superheroes and Super Villains grow old, eventually.

But when a retiree from a nice retirement facility has an encounter with a young scientist of somewhat dubious experimental ethics …who picks William N. Furnace as an unwilling financier of his rejuvenation experiments . . . Doctor Inferno is back!.

And the Department of Superhuman Monitoring and Detention springs into action . . . blaming various odd things on Doctor Inferno . . . when they ought to be looking at other possible causes.

With the help of his old AI (who’s been running without supervision for decade) and couple of kidnapped DSMD agents, a Superhuman who is more Chaotic Good than Evil sets out to save the World, whether it deserves it or not!

A not very serious romp into the Superhero Genre by an established SF/F writer.

BY ILENE KAYE: It Had To Be Yuu.

Only Yuu could manage to get himself kidnapped—on a planet in the middle of a blizzard, no less—and not even know it. It’s up to space survey pilot Audra Marin to fly to the rescue, but when she gets her childhood playmate home alive, she’ll make him pay.
Only Audra could stumble into a fraud investigation and mistake it for a kidnapping. Trading company heir Yuu Ra-Dezan has to find a way to keep Audra from complicating his efforts to find an embezzler. “She’s my fiancée” seems like the best cover story—but when did his childhood nemesis turn into the hottest woman in the galaxy?
When his host’s robots try to hold them at blaster-point, Yuu and Audra trip over each other to foil a plot to steal the fastest ship in the galaxy. The only piracy these two will accept is stealing each others’ hearts.

FROM FRANK J. FLEMING: Superego.

From Book 1: Rico is a psychopath.

That’s why his job as an intergalactic hitman for a massive criminal syndicate suits him so well. He gets to do what he does best: go planet to planet and wreak destruction. He enjoys his work.

But Rico’s latest assignment isn’t what it seems, and after inadvertently thwarting a terror attack, he finds himself playing the good guy. Stuck pretending he’s a cop, he gets paired with some lady detective who is more than a little suspicious of him. To make matters worse, he starts to have new feelings toward her, feelings he’s never felt before. Love, maybe? That’s stupid. What is he supposed to do with that?

And this job isn’t fun, as it soon spirals into secrets, betrayal, and a whole planet out to kill him. Well, it’s a little fun. Still, Rico may have finally found himself in a situation he can’t shoot his way out of.

But that doesn’t mean he won’t try.

FROM LAURA MONTGOMERY: Out of the Dell.

On the planet Nwwwlf, in the lost colony of First Landing, the original settlers carved out one sylvan valley, a lone outpost where humans flourish. But their bright hopes and best intentions devolved over centuries into a rude replica of medieval feudalism.

Gilead Tan, who had been held captive for centuries in his sleeping cell, survived treachery and pain to free a small group of sleepers. But he and his friends now face the perils of life outside First Landing’s sanctuary–without their powered armor, their tools and technology, or anything else they need save for a few chickens.

Gilead must establish a safehold for his crew, but the alien environment does not welcome them and petty bickering threatens their meager resources. He hopes that a trace of smoke – spotted above a distant ridge – beckons them to a better place.

It doesn’t.

FROM T. L. KNIGHTON: Bloody Eden (Soldiers of New Eden).

Ten years after a nuclear war forced Jason Calvin to fight his way across Georgia and through a brutal warlord, life has settled down a bit in a town called New Eden. As the town sheriff, Jason keeps the peace. After saving a family from a horrible fate, that peace becomes threatened when a sadistic military man shows up, claiming the family are fugitives from his draconian justice system and they’re coming back whether anyone in New Eden likes it or not…and maybe some of New Eden’s own as well. Unfortunately for him, Jason isn’t about to just let something like that go. “Bloody Eden” is the action packed sequel to the hit novelette “After the Blast”.

FROM SARAH A. HOYT: Three Matches.

What can you do when you find out you’re a fox shifter, and your mom keeps thinking you want to make a far more socially acceptable admission?
Rya Stevens runs away, and gets caught in a terrible Colorado snow storm. When she runs out of gas she hopes for angels.
What she gets instead are …. alligators and dragons. Oh, my.
This short story takes place in the Shifter Series between Gentleman Takes A Chance and Noah’s boy.

FROM DAVE FREER: TOM

Tom is a cat in trouble. The worst possible kind of trouble: he’s been turned into a human. Transformed by an irascible old magician in need of a famulus — a servant and an assistant, Tom is as good at being a servant as a cat ever is. The assistant part is more to Tom’s taste: he rather fancies impressing the girl cats and terrorizing the other toms by transforming himself into a tiger. But the world of magic, a vanished and cursed princess, and a haunted skull, and a demon in the chamber-pot, to say nothing of conspiring wizards and the wickedest witch in the west, all seem to be out to kill Tom. He is a cat coming to terms with being a boy, dealing with all this. He has a raven and a cheese as… sort of allies.
And of course there is the princess.
If you were looking for ‘War and Peace’ this is the wrong book for you. It’s a light-hearted and gently satirical fantasy, full of terrible puns and… cats.

FROM RD MEYER: Homecoming

Earth. The mere name has had an almost talisman-like pull on the human race since we were driven from our homeworld over 6,000 years ago. Mankind’s ancestors ran from the genocidal threat engulfing them, fleeing like intergalactic refugees towards a new home that would allow us to flourish once again.And flourish we did. From a ragtag group of just over 12,000 survivors, humanity has grown to create a proper empire of nearly 900 billion spanning two galaxies. But we never forgot our home, so we waited and we planned. Now the time was finally right to return to Earth and take back what we once had no choice but to abandon.Although the military campaign, as well as the alien races between humanity and our birthplace, were the primary concern, they turned out to not be the only ones. You see, Earth itself, despite crawling with the vermin that nearly eradicated us, was far from free of surprises, both physical and historical. Unanticipated challenges waited for the people of the Terran Confederation, including notions that would shake the very foundations of what it meant to be human. Our legends had defined us, but could those legends withstand scrutiny? What if everything we’d come to believe about ourselves and our world had been carefully crafted to cocoon us for our own good?A story meant to be about our return to Earth expands to cover our journey both across and within the realms of known space, from long lost colony worlds where mankind has morphed into something else, to the edges of an intergalactic war between implacable enemies…enemies that now had the incentive to turn their attention towards humanity…

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: OBTAINABLE

Sorry. I didn’t get a post up yesterday and today is insane. Don’t worry, I’m alive. Just really busy.

I’ve always been a sucker for short stories whose ending can be summed up as “We came from elsewhere, both of us. But we’re one of a kind.”

It’s part of the reason I love Clifford Simak’s Werewolf Principle. Oh, it has a lot of flaws, or perhaps not flaws but things that were part of the time it was written in. But that ending still redeems all of it. In a way, of course, that’s what I was going for with Darkship Thieves. I also love, though at the moment (sinus infection and my nose dripping like a faucet) I can’t remember a single title, stories in which the weirdling, the person who doesn’t fit at all finds she fits perfectly with a group of people far away. That she is in fact one of them. She might be a cuckoo’s egg, but there’s a whole colony of cuckoos somewhere. And she (or he) can fit in there.

It is of course no mystery why I — or a lot of you, or to be fair, a lot of people in the science fiction world — feel that way. I stuck out like a sore thumb as far back as I can remember. And yet, I found a home for weirdos like me. And someone who also came from somewhere else, but who is one of mine.

The home I found… I know what you’ve been told. I know what all of you have been told. And sold: in tv, in movies, in education, even the news. The gaslighting didn’t start in 2020. And it’s bizarre.

Not only have all of you in America been told that America is the most racist/sexist/homophobic/intolerant place in the world, but also that the only hope of tolerance, acceptance and feeling like you’re part of something is to go hard left. That this is where tolerance and acceptance of differences exists.

This couldn’t be more wrong. It is in fact upside down and sideways. You could even say:

The left in America and in fact around the world is one of the most intolerant, hidebound movements ever. Sure. Before they have absolute power over something they pretend to celebrate everyone who doesn’t fit in. In fact, they pretend to celebrate them. This is by the way of seeking the help of every oddling in order to destroy the host culture, so they can take full control.

Also, guys, let’s be honest. We who grew up as odds know damn well our kind — no matter what reason they stick out, or what reason we’ve been the pink monkey ever since earliest childhood — is more vulnerable than any other group of people to power-mad abusers.

Because we are social apes, our need to be accepted drives us to find that place where we belong. And then we want to continue belonging, which means we’re open to manipulation and abuse.

The left, being just that kind of psychopath, intuits this. Right now they’re in the phase of “you’re special because you’re different; your difference should be celebrated.” But here’s the dirty little secret: you have to be different in exactly the way they dictate. You have to believe exactly what they believe your group should believe. These things change on a dime, on a dictate from above. and I guess your position of “specialness” an change on a dime too, because — as leftist feminists are finding out — you are not as special as men who proclaim they’re women. (Note this has nothing to do with true transsexualism. Particularly when it’s undertaken for fame and and fortune/college scholarships in sports. It’s transexualism de convenience.)

And always, always, you have to think as your group has been dictated to think. Think another way? You’re out. “If you don’t vote for [Joe Biden] you ain’t black.” And BLM has made it explicit you have to be a Marxist for your Black Lives to matter. And you know, women who believe in the equality — or hell, in some cases superiority of women — but don’t believe in a controlled top down economy? They ain’t feminists.

This is as all of us oddlings who have been like this our whole lives know damn well an abusive relationship.

And we who don’t fit in are very prone to falling into that trap, because the instincts tell us we got to belong.

Then the trap closes. The left really values walking in lockstep. They’re starting here, because they think they’ve won. Step out of line, you’re not of the body. Even if you didn’t know there was a line.

If they really won (they haven’t. Or at least it won’t last. They are simply riding the tiger) all of those oddlings are going to find — fast and ugly — that the free market and the free human interaction allowed by it, and particularly the American spirit, with its unique tolerance of different cultures and attitudes was the best they ever had it. If you think “communism” or any of the totalitarian societies of the world are more tolerant, you’ve been sold a bill of goods. Find out what happened to gays or people of a different race in the USSR and what happens in Cuba and China.

You see, top down, controlled societies can’t allow variations. Every variation could be the beginning of realizing the orders are wrong/could be the beginning of rebellion. I know you’ve been told other societies — even Muslim societies, heaven help us all — are more tolerant. Pardon me if I laugh my head off. You have no idea. And no, visiting as a tourist everyone is super polite too is not a valid idea of what these societies are like.

Almost all the eccentrics who think they’ll find their home abroad are sorely disappointed. If they are very lucky, they’ll be alive at the end of their disappointing experience.

Unless of course, your particular oddness is that you’re a woman who wants to be draped like a sofa when out in public, a gay man who wants to have walls pulled down on him, or someone who wants to do that to women or gays. You can find a home in most of the Middle East. Or you’re a person of color, or any kind of difference, from dressing strangely to being attracted to the same sex and wants to be sneered at, told you’re crazy, or at the very best laughed at behind your back. Or of course someone who wants to do that to those people. The world is your oyster then, but I particularly recommend old Europe. You’ll be right at home, chum. And you’ll get socialism as a bonus.

Is the US really that different? Yes, it really is. And no, I can’t explain it to you unless you experience it.

Sure, we also have pockets of intolerance, hidebound families and communities. And places you must fit or die. None of them is a country-wide culture, except for the nascent goose-steppers of the left. Who frankly are meeting pushback at every turn.

Why? I don’t know. Seriously. I don’t know. If I had to guess I’d guess it’s because we’re a nation of such varied immigrants. We had to work together or die. I talk to mom about my friends. I don’t mention a large number of them are Mormons, and quite a few are Hindus or Buddhists. She’d be shocked enough to find any number of my closest friends are protestant, let alone that. I also don’t tell her about my friends domestic arrangements. I think there are like a dozen that would pass muster, but most of them…. no. And it could be such “innocuous in the US” things as “Have cut their parents out of their lives.” Unimaginable in my culture of origin.

Then there’s the fact that we’re rich. Very rich. Wealthy societies are more tolerant of difference. If it doesn’t pick our pocket or break our arm, we simply don’t care. We don’t have to.

When you live close to the bone, when everything someone does affects you you have to make them conform.

I got on this track this morning because my husband reads awfully silly books. No, seriously. I’d say he reads unimaginably vapid crap, but I have nowhere to throw stones from. I know why he does it — he’s been working 12 hour days, 7 days a week, and silly and vapid is the best you can cope with — and in same circumstances, plus a load of the black dog, I’ve been stuck reading Jane Austen fanfic non stop. Which is more vapid.

Anyway, he read this cute romance? cozy mystery? series, and thought the woman needed more publicity. So he contacted her and said his wife posted at instapundit, and would she be okay if I promoted her. Note that he only asked because I told him I would not promo unasked. Some people get very upset “our kind” like their books.

The answer was bizarre, and hysterical. Oh, no, she couldn’t be promoted in such a site. She had gay people and interracial relationships in her books! These people who read that site would hate her.

Let’s pause to goggle at the magnificent amount of gaslighting involved in this woman’s picture of the world.

Hell a cursory look at instapundit would have brought up the idea that we’re all for a world where gay married couples use their AK-47s to protect their pot plants. (Go with it, Bob. I don’t think pot should be illegal, even if I think it’s bad for us and society. Intrusive government is worse.)

And a cursory look at my work — look he gave her my name — or the comments on it should make her aware that I also have gay people in my novels. I don’t have any interracial couples — I think — but only because I don’t really attach much interest to race. I don’t think in race. Also, none of them have come tromping into my head. Though I do have inter-species couples in the short stories. It happens.

But you know, we’re to the right of Lenin, so we must be intolerant and evil and Reeee.

It’s a hell of a gaslighting job. And I don’t know how to penetrate these people’s heads. They keep imagining that we are the enemy, when in fact they’d find a home with us. It’s just we don’t harp on their differences, because we couldn’t care less. Our books have gay people, they don’t harp on how you have to be gay a certain way. Our characters are all the colors of the rainbow (really, a lot of us write robots, after all) and heck, we just don’t care. Just like we don’t care if our friends are gay or various colors, or more exotic differences, provided they are sane and decent human beings.

The gaslighted ones, the captives of “you have to believe as we say or we’re out” will continue sleep walking us into a society that tolerates no differences whatsoever.

And the only way I know to stop them is to change their minds somehow. This is why I have several pen names not associated with me. Because the only way to reach them is to tell them stories before the defenses trip up.

Will we be in time? I don’t know.

They are trapped in an abusive relationship and used to destroy the only society that tolerates them.

We come from elsewhere, all of us. But we’re not alone. And America is a welcoming home for the oddlings.

And I don’t want to lose it.

It’s worth fighting for. Even if we go down fighting.

It’s better than giving up.

Because there’s no other home for us.