Oh, I want to shrug. Don’t you?

I even understand that book and the impulse that drives it, and I’m not deriding it. Once or twice, I might have stomped around the house yelling “Who is John Galt?” Or if you prefer “Who is Jung Alt” (from a vanished comic some of you might remember.)

But ultimately…

Today is a day I didn’t want to get up. before you worry overly, let me assure you that I’m better, but with the current crud, better seems to be process. Yesterday I was better than the day before, in that it took me till after I’d put up the promo post to feel like I really needed a nap. And today I don’t feel tired, but I slept something like 12 hours. And let me tell you, that worried the kitten unduly. Indy started at 7 am, the hour he’s sure we should both be up, by proffering belly for wake-up pets, which is the normal routine. When I ignored him, he escalated and in order, opened the light-excluding curtains, opened the bathroom door and turned the light inside. Brought me the squeak mouse. When that failed, played with the squeak mouse on top of me. And finally jumped into the office, turned on Dan’s synthesizer (Why are you going to ask. Obviously the mathematician has one 90 degrees from his work desk. Sometimes a problem needs to be played out, and unlike Sherlock Holmes, he never learned the violin) and danced on it. By then it was close on to eleven and it worked. Since then he’s been following me around in some worry, because I shouldn’t still be dragging tail.

The point is, while the ginger beasty is silly, and bears watching, because there are too many brains in that wedge-shaped head, and enough thought to get him into trouble, he wasn’t wrong.

While in Ayn Rand’s elaborate setup — and a society that articulated its aims to exploit the productive more than ours does. Ours is just zombie-stumbling to collectivist ghost dance — withdrawing from society works… Does it really?

When I was young and suicidal — did I say that changed? I just learned to control it. Which is why references to my unremitting sunny optimism make me giggle or cry depending on the mood. What you call optimism is called “reality checking”. Someone with my disposition HAS to learn it to survive her teens — I used to imagine that if I killed myself everyone would realize how terribly they wronged me, and everyone would miss me forever, and lament the wonderful person they lost.

I’m told by someone who should know that this is as much bullshit as I started suspecting, about the time I learned reality-checking. What happens — particularly during the holidays, when suicides are endemic — is that (at least in a largish town) — you’ll be in the coroner’s lab the next morning, and the pathologists will be bopping to hard metal under bright lights, while they autopsy you and the rest of the despair harvest.

And then you’ll be buried — or these days likely cremated — and the world creaks on. Oh, you’ll make an immense impact on some people: those who love you. Your parents, your siblings, your children. You’ll scar them forever and increase the chances they’ll follow you. But those aren’t the people you want to “show” their mistakes, are they? Oh, okay, maybe some, if you’re young, but–

Let me put it this way, my own familiar issues, had I killed myself, would have given the person most likely to have driven me to it (in retrospect because we’re like chalk and cheese and still, these many years later, totally opaque to each other) a heroic-tragic story forever. Which is not what I wanted. Hey, I was young, it was supposed to be all about me.

The world creaks on. The world adapts. It will shock you and amaze you how quickly and thoroughly the world heals over your loss.

I know this, because though I never committed suicide, I very thoroughly removed myself. I got married, crossed the ocean, and once the kids came had less and less money/time to go over. So yearly visits (honestly, mostly, while grandma was alive) turned to three year spacing, then, as the kids grew and had school and stuff, five.

I had a shock, eight years ago, going back. Remember, I grew up in a very small place, where my family had been forever, and therefore it was well known and to an extent looked up to. When grandad died, it was like being under the microscope, with the village examining all our expressions and interactions.

Yes, the place has been eaten by the city. Stack-a-prol apartments moved in. This means the population is 10 times bigger, and most came from far away. (All those abandonned villages, in the mountains.) My brother says he can walk up main street, and no one knows him from Adam. I took younger son for a walk, 13 years ago, and we got lost. (He’s hilarious when he gets lost. For some reason, in the middle of an urban landscape, he always assumes he’s going to starve to death.)

That’s all fine. But the thing is, you know? Mom’s circle is not that. With one or two exceptions, mom’s circle are maybe up to 20 years younger than her (she turns 90 next year, so…) but all of them village old-timers. They were all there for my first communion (well, the older ones) and my wedding. Mom probably shared with them my dating misadventures. etc. etc.

…. as of eight years ago, they’d forgotten me. Thoroughly. Completely. In their heads, my mom had only one child, a son. they knew my brother, his sons, their spouses. Me? I was a ghost. I didn’t exist.

If that seems completely insane — it does to me honest, but it was true — I had experienced it before: I moved to the Us before finishing my degree, and went back a year later for my finals. (Then came back, leaving my mom to walk some of my graduations if she wished. She went to the one for the BA in Italian, because the party afterwards had gourmet ice cream. Mom has her priorities right, people.) But going back was a shock. Look, I wasn’t big on the college social scene, partly because I was on a very demanding schedule; tutored; and took external courses. but I was active in the Shakespeare club, the American Culture club, and had various friends and groups and associations.

Gone. Like, one of the Stalinist pictures where you just get removed. Seriously. No one had any idea who I was. There was great shock when I had one of the four (of 200 or so) passing exams, because “I didn’t know you were smart.” (Said by one of the midwits who’d been with me since high school and who, to be a dim bulb would need to borrow someone else’s light.) It was astounding.

So I knew this was possible, I’d seen it. But because we are each the character of our novel, it’s hard to believe our not being there won’t be remarked on, of felt.

Trust me on this, it won’t.

So — Galt’s Gulch… Unless it forms its own country, patents its inventions, etc, and btw is ready to defend them with force? The world will heal over it. No one will remember. (That’s besides and beyond getting every creative/productive person. I mean, even in associations that have obviously crossed the threshold of irrecoverable, some Boxer will still be in there, giving it his all, trying to build up. (And not all boxers are dimwitted, at that. Just, hopeful.)) The world will go on without them.

And the Gulchers? Well…. We are social animals. We who comment here listen to the other side — how could we not? They’re the dominant opinion/flavor — We know their version of things, their idea of history, their motives, their beliefs. They have no clue of ours. Some of the reason they’re struggling, despite dominating the institutions, and a lot of the reason I believe that in the end we win they lose, (besides their being at war with reality) is that they’ve isolated themselves. They not only have no idea how the other 3/4 lives. They have no clue how we think.

Galt’s Gulch, geographical or philosophical means the same for us. We’d be isolated. Separated. We’d have no idea. It’s like deliberately blinding yourself and expecting the other person to be lost. As much as their ideas make our head hurt and we often want to stop listening, it’s worth it to know why they think what they’re doing makes sense/will work.

And then there’s just…. the market.

Look, some of this happens normally when we’re living under an hostile regime. It was what Rand saw/tried to describe, with the added fantasy of a place where you could keep producing/be engaged. (She wasn’t wrong. My most productive years are/were when surrounded by sharp minded creatives, against whom I could sharpen my intellectual blades and my creative sword.)

But under any regime where creation and work aren’t rewarded, people go inside, stop working. Why make that extra 10% when it means another 25% in taxes? Why market your invention when you won’t have half the price it’s worth? Why write another book, when no trad pub will touch it.

We saw that under Carter. We are seeing it now.

But the terminal form of this, when the regime changes after 70 years or so is not some great flowering of suppressed creativity, force and invention.

The terminal form of this is visible in the old ex-communist countries. They’ve forgotten. They’ve forgotten you can create and build. They’ve forgotten you can engage with each other in mutually profitable exchanges. The very mode of innovation is lost, gone, fallen down a well.

Will it come back? Probably. Humans create. It’s a thing we do. But it will take time. How much time? I don’t know. It’s not just the repressive mechanisms being removed. The forges of creation need to be rebuilt and the pathways of dissemination re-created. We who make and build tend to forget distribution and commerce are just as vital, just as important. Perhaps more so, for a healthy society. They are also the first to withdraw and the last to come back, when a society is whacked with a totalitarian stick. And it’s needed for creativity to fully bloom and innovation to flower. Because innovation and creativity have to pay off, and be seen to pay off for people to feel the drive, the consistent need to keep at it, instead of a one-off, a hobby.

In the end our fantasies of Galt’s Gulch — not in the book, and how it worked, but in real life — are a suicide fantasy. “I’ll withdraw! They’ll be sorry!” (Note again this is not a criticism of the book. The book was an anti-collectivist fable, which is needed in our culture.) They won’t be sorry. They’ll forget you. And eventually they’ll forget that creativity and productivity are even possible. And society tumbles into a morass. As with suicide, the ones you hurt are the ones who most need you.

It is the same for your belief in liberty; your belief in the individual; your knowledge of the constitutional republic which, maimed and thwarted almost from the beginning, has been the greatest engine of creation, innovation and wealth the world has ever seen. Withdraw it from public discourse; give up; decide it’s time to burn it all down.

That’s not a suicide fantasy — though it is, really, think on it! — it’s a revenge fantasy. Only it doesn’t work. You withdraw the idea, and people forget it. The world heals over it. You’re banking on a day when it will spontaneously come back. You think we’re natural and normal and inevitable and that this our Republic — under attack, wounded, limping, in the control of its enemies — isn’t, still, the greatest miracle this tired, bleeding old world has ever seen.

It’s not that I don’t understand wanting to shrug. It’s not that at times my fingers don’t itch for a flame thrower. You’d have to be more than human — or considerably less — to not understand both of those impulses.

It’s just that they don’t work. But working quietly does. We’ve seen in in the gun rights movement. We’ve seen it in the fact that computers has removed the left’s ability to utterly control our discourse, and that this is hurting them every day. We’ve seen it in Indy books that stoke the idea of liberty, all wrapped up in fun and amusement.

And if you tell me it’s impossible to win that way, I invite you to study the history of Christianity. Easy? No. Always growing from victory to victory? No. That’s not human. That’s not how any of this works.

But not taking your ball and going home keeps you in the game.

And as Heinlein said (I used to have this hanging over my desk, but it disappeared in the move): “Surely the game is rigged. Don’t let that stop you. If you don’t bet, you can’t win.”

Book promo

If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. I reserve the right not to run any submission, if cover, blurb or anything else made me decide not to, at my sole discretion.– SAH

ON SALE RIGHT NOW: (A new section for this time period, and after when lot of people have a lot of things for sale)

YES THESE ARE ABOVE, BUT SOME PEOPLE ARE INSUFFERABLE IN THEIR SELF PROMOTION, WHAT CAN I SAY?

FROM SARAH A. HOYT, ON SALE FOR 1.99 TILL THE 29TH: Darkship Thieves

Athena Hera Sinistra never wanted to go to space.

Never wanted see the eerie glow of the Powerpods. Never wanted to visit Circum Terra. She never had any interest in finding out the truth about the Darkships.
You always get what you don’t ask for. Which must have been why she woke up in the dark of shipnight, within the greater night of space in her father’s space cruiser, knowing that there was a stranger in her room. In a short time, after taking out the stranger—who turned out to be one of her father’s bodyguards up to no good, she was hurtling away from the ship in a lifeboat to get help.
But what she got instead would be the adventure of a lifetime and perhaps a whole new world—if she managed to survive….
A Prometheus Award Winning Novel, written by a USA Today Bestseller.

FROM ELISE HYATT (WHO YES, IS ALSO SARAH A. HOYT) STILL 99C: Dipped, Stripped and Dead.

A Dyce Dare Mystery When she was six, Dyce Dare wanted to be a ballerina, but she couldn’t stop tripping over her own feet. Then she wanted to be a lion tamer, but Fluffy, the cat, would not obey her. Which is why at the age of twenty nine she’s dumpster diving, kind of. She’s looking for furniture to keep her refinishing business going, because she would someday like to feed herself and her young son something better than pancakes. Unfortunately, as has come to be her expectation, things go disastrously wrong. She finds a half melted corpse in a dumpster. This will force her to do what she never wanted to do: solve a crime. Life is just about to get crazy… er… crazier. But at least at the end of the tunnel there might be a relationship with a very nice Police Officer.

FROM NATHAN C. BRINDLE AND EACH ON SALE FOR 99C: The Lion of God (Timelines Book 1)

John Wolff has been handed a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Again.
He’s already saved the love of his life from an early death – thirty years after she died.
Now, a beautiful young woman, who is clearly his daughter, has appeared from the timeline branch where that same love of his life survived and married his counterpart.
She says they need his help fighting off invaders from the far future. Who, by the way, are looking for him. Why? Because they want the starship drive he and a friend invented, the precursor to their time machine. Problem is, in her timeline, it hasn’t been invented yet.
What man can resist a cry for help from his own daughter?
Particularly when the invaders think she’s a saint. Or possibly, a devil wearing saint’s clothing. And they’re looking for her, too.
Thus begins the Timelines Saga, and the story of the Lion of God.

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.

The Lion in Paradise (Timelines Book 3)

All Col. Dr. Ariela Rivers Wolff, M.D., Ph.D., USSFM – the Lion of God – wanted was a little piece of paradise to call her own.

Being stuck on a desert world – even if she was the CO of the premiere battalion of the 1st U.S. Space Force Marines that was based there – was not getting her any beach time. Mostly because, without an ocean, there’s really no beach at all.

But she’s got a fix for that problem.

Now, if only the academics studying the problem of terraforming the exile world of al-Saḥra’ would get out of her way . . .

. . . and if only the religious fanatics who want their planet left as a desert, despite all the water from the planet’s former oceans being accessible only a few miles down, will leave the terraforming project alone long enough to see the good it will bring them . . .

. . . then, the Lion would truly be in Paradise.

But even in paradise, black clouds – and black ships – can herald danger for the Lion, herself, and for her daughters as well.

THE REST OF THE BOOKS!

FROM CELIA HAYES: That Fateful Lightning: A Novel of the Civil War

There wasn’t much of an outlet for an ordinary American woman with ambitions in the 184os; marriage and family was as good as it got back then, for most women … But Minnie Vining wasn’t an ordinary woman. A spinster in her forties, of a respected old Boston family, possessing an independent income and an education worthy of any man among her peers. Minnie took up a noble cause – campaigning for the abolition of slavery. The matter of slavery roiled political and social life in the United States for more than thirty years, splitting apart families, friends, comrades … and eventually the nation. And when the war began in earnest, Minnie followed her heart and her calling … as a nurse, tending to sick and wounded soldiers … but at what personal cost?

FROM CEDAR SANDERSON: Running Into Time

Time travel isn’t possible. Is it?
If it was feasible, how would it work?
And what price would the world’s powers pay to have the inventor under their control?

Garry never asked to be assigned to protect the girl he really liked in his classes. He just wanted time to get to know her better.

Pol never minded being called a mad scientist. He had good reasons for being mad. His top priority was protecting his sister, no matter the cost.

Both men were about to run headlong into a surreal reality, where the only answer might be held by a little white mouse cupped gently in a woman’s hands…

FROM HEATHER STRICKLER: Bearskin (To Shame The Devil Book 1)

No one beats the Devil.

Cut loose and abandoned after a losing war, Gregor seeks to bury the past and find a future. Any future.

When his own stubbornness leads to a desperate deal with the devil, Gregor must forge a new path. Can mortal man beat the Devil at his own game? And who will he drag down with him if he fails?

FROM TONY ANDARIAN: Dawn of Chaos: (Sanctum of the Archmage, Volume One)

It wasn’t demons, death, and slavery to the Dark that truly frightened her. It was the woman she would have to become to fight them.

Dawn of Chaos: Full Trilogy Edition (Includes Prologue to Chaos, Hell Gate, and Aftermath)

A new constitution prepares Carlissa for an era of enlightenment. The old order fades, and a promise of freedom stirs the air. In the space of one terrifying day, that promise is shattered in a bloodbath of fire and magic.

Thousands of years ago, an epic battle was fought between good and evil. The demon lords had opened a door to the realms of hell itself, and their horde threatened to overrun the earth. But the Kalarans, led by the hero Calindra, destroyed their hellgate and drove them from the world.

The Great War has long since been lost to myth and legend. The Church struggles for relevance as the people forget their covenant with the gods. A renaissance of freedom and learning stirs the air in the modern age of Carlissa, led by the royal family, and the wisdom of the Archmage.

All that comes to an end when a dome of shimmering magic appears in the capital city. The people fight desperately to survive in the chaos that follows, and wonder bitterly why the gods seem to have abandoned them. Their only hope lies with the magic of the Archmage — and his, with a free-spirited princess who never wanted to rule. She must find the strength to set aside her bard’s calling and take up a battle against impossible odds, or surrender her land and people to the Black Magus and his demons.

Dawn of Chaos finally brings the award-winning Sanctum of the Archmage role-playing games to the world of fantasy fiction. Get it today and don’t miss this exciting first volume in the series!

Note to Readers. This is an omnibus volume that collects previously published books in the Dawn of Chaos series.

BY MAX BRAND, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: The Smiling Desperado (Annotated): The classic pulp western

From boyhood, Danny Cadigan only found joy in life when his life was in danger. But while he never got close to people, he also didn’t have any particular dislike for them.

But after showing legendary bad man Bill Lancaster up for a coward, Danny finds himself blamed for train robberies, stage robberies, and kissing the wrong girl!

With his life now constantly in danger, Cadigan should be happy… but he can’t be, because the right girl believes all the lies about him. How can he ever prove to her that he’s not the man that poison gossip would make him?

• This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving the novel genre and historical context.

BY MALCOLM JAMESON, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: Tarnished Utopia (Annotated): The classic pulp space operahttps://amzn.to/46z9wj1

Allan Winchester was fighting in World War II when he and a girl named Cynthia became trapped underground… and woke up over a thousand years in the future!

Immediately captured by the cruel elites of an interplanetary techno-dictatorship and separated, Winchester becomes a slave in a world he does not comprehend. He must figure out how this slave new world works, and work his way up the cruel hierarchies of tyranny, if he will ever have a chance to find his girl, destroy the powers that be, and set the solar system free!

• This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving genre and historical context, with an aside about drugs.

FROM THADDEUS BLACKHEART: Alien Harem

The wildly humorous coming-of-age story of Jason Andrews, who thought he was an ordinary guy. He had just graduated high school and would be starting college next year.

Only he wasn’t normal, or it turns out, human or even originally from Earth.

They had issued a recall, and he soon found himself on a spaceship heading to a strange planet.

A spaceship where he is the only male, and every female on the ship is beautiful, and they only want one thing…

They all want to join his harem of sexy alien females, and they all want sex, lots and lots of sex.

When they arrive at the alien planet, things get even more amusing. But if he plays it right, then his harem grows even larger.

FROM KAREN MYERS: Monsters, And More: A Science Fiction Short Story Bundle from There’s a Sword for That

A Science Fiction Story Bundle from the collection There’s a Sword for That

MONSTERS – Xenoarchaeologist Vartan has promised his young daughter Liza one of the many enigmatic lamedh objects that litter the site of a vanished alien civilization.

No one can figure out what they’re good for, but Liza finds a use for one.

ADAPTABILITY – The Webster Marble Deluxe Woodsman, Model 820-E, has been offline for quite some time. Quite some time indeed.

Good thing Webster has a manual to consult, and a great many special functions.

FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: Grandmaster’s Gambithttps://amzn.to/4a7mCqP

The disastrous war of 1913 is over, and young journalist Isaak Babel has used his fame as a war correspondent to win a peacetime job covering an international chess tournament in New York City. However, trouble is aboard the airship Grossdeuschland, in the form of the notorious Bolshevik terrorist Koba and his henchmen. Men with a dark plan, and New York City will not welcome their visit

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: Cautious

I regret to inform you my brain seems to be dead this morning. Now part of this might be insufficient caffeine as, for the first time in years, I had to share my breakfast coffee with son, which means I’m low.

But part of it was a day of cleaning, a day of cooking, and then a day with family, even if these are my best beloved people in all the world, people in fact I would die for without so much as blinking, people without whom my life would have no meaning: pieces of my heart running free in the world, in fact.

Still people, and still introverted. Picture Sarah in the corner, extending claw and hissing.

So today I’ve been sitting here for four hours now trying to figure out how to write a post, and then work on books, and just realized NOTHING will happen. Not today. Though i might get my craft tray from upstairs and play with that some.

I need to reorganize the craft room so it’s safe for kittens, but probably not today. I feel like every joint in my body is about to give out. So, maybe I’ll take it easy.

Anyway, we captured the raccoon, who will shortly be on his way to meet his doom. And I’m going to wrap this up, go do some wash, which is all that remains of the gigantic mess, then maybe let kittens play all over me.

The post above has the new book — Christmas in the stars — and the two books on 99c sale for another couple of days: Darkship Thieves and Dipped, Stripped and Dead.

There will be at least one book on sale now through the first week in Jan. Remember you can buy on sale and schedule for 12/25 morning delivery. Your giftees will never know ;) I know it’s tight for everyone these days. That post will stay pinned, but the content will change, so check back now and then.

And now I’m going to have some King Harv Geisha and see if the brain is maybe only mostly dead….

See you tomorrow.

*While I’m AFK doing family like stuff, Alma has undertaken to keep this place minimally safe through tonight and tomorrow – SAH*

Huns-giving Reminders by Alma Boykin

1. No, you may not serve yourself from the turkeys. After someone took two entire turkeys, we have to limit access. Don’t blame us, blame the miscreant.

2. No arguing theology, especially while in the serving line. The last time someone started the “9 mil or .45” debate over the potatoes, the mess took an hour to clean up. No. Off limit topics include: religious theology, trying to convert someone to your denomination*, stuffing vs. dressing (unless you are offering the serving spoon to someone), sugar in cornbread vs. plain, football,** the American Civil War, and the other forbidden topics.

3. Yes, you can have both dark meat and light meat.

4. Yes, you can get seconds, but only after you finish your firsts. No preemption, please.

5. The management is not responsible for what Jeff does to you if you mess with the coffee machine in the main bar. If you want to experiment, that’s what the labs are for. The machine in the bar is very touchy, and Jeff finally got it re-calibrated after the last honyacker tried to program it to make mulled cider. Touchest thou not!

6. The range will open after the buffet line this year. Yes, there are Reasons. No, the management is not going to list all of them. If there’s no range-safety officer available, act like a responsible shooter and follow the Four Rules. Plus the other two posted on the gate. When in doubt, don’t do it. The sheriff is still recovering from last year’s trauma, as well as from getting out-shot on the 100 yard pistol range.

7. No alcohol is allowed on the range. If we have to go back to breathylizer tests to unlock the gate, we will. Yes, you. No exceptions. Seriously.

8. Please warn kids and newcomers that fishing in the sea-monster pool and swimming in the minion pool are both prohibited. Kids generally know better, but some theoretically-adults need a reminder.

9. The Introverts’ Association meeting is in the Diogenes Memorial Library, fourth floor, first plaid door on the left. Talking and eye contact are not required, nor is taking a name tag. It is come and go, as usual.

10. Yes, there is a kosher line this year. It is fleishig, so plan your desserts accordingly.

11. If you signed up for side-dishes or desserts, keep in mind that chtulumari bothers some people, so it needs to be in a covered dish. Midwestern gelled salads go with the green salads and vegetables, while Southern gelled salads are desserts. Unless it is TXRed’s gelled cranberry salad, which goes with the other cranberry sauces beside the turkey.

12. No, you may not use mecha during the touch-football game. Limited cybernetic assists are approved, but check the insurance policy carefully.

Thank you for your cooperation, and have a wonderful Thanksgiving!

*Unless they are socialist, in which case preach away! Beating up on statism is always appropriate.

**OK, one exception. It is fine to wager on how badly the Dallas Cowboys are going to lose. Remember the House gets 10% of the winnings.

Yes, I know, I have told you to do it for spite. And you know, if you can’t muster love, then duty, need or spite will do.

But if you can do what you do out of love, it really works better.

I’m one of those people who tends to get lost. Mostly because I have ADD, but also because I get depressed. And when I get depressed, I can — sometimes — still produce, but I don’t enjoy it, it’s a slog, and forcing myself to work makes me more and more depressed.

Which you could call “the story of 2023.” It got briefly better when we adopted Indy and Helena, littermate orange kittens. It just did. But then Helena died, and we still don’t know why, and I went right back into a morass of depression, which had a lot of other contributors, including two deaths in the family, moving out of my beloved homeland of the heart, etc. etc. etc.

We did go back to Colorado this summer, and it helped. Although it can no longer be mine (the auto-immune flare up when we crossed back up to altitude was spectacular, and I’m glad we only stayed five days, because of that) it’s good to know it’s still there, and some trends have gotten better, even if it’s still held captive of fraud-by-mail.

But it somehow wasn’t enough. Well, these last two weekends have been very busy, and this week I’ve been fighting some kind of sinus infection, but the spirits just keep lifting.

This is because Celia Hayes (Sargent Mom) very kindly allowed Indy’s parents to have another hot date before fixing, and they produced a litter of seven.

Two weekends ago we went to get all seven, since they were our responsibility, and last weekend we drove around like a deranged kitten fairy, giving them to their permanent people, where to be fair, they will be very happy.

This involved of course prying them out of Dan’s hands, because he wants to keep them all.

Now we’re done to two. Circe, who doesn’t look like Helena (maybe that’s good) but is a little orange girl cat and very smart and perhaps too persistent. (If she were a boy her name would already be Harry for Houdini) and Toast, second of her name, who like Cedar Sanderson’s Toast (first of her name) is a flame point siamesish.

Toast 2.0 is promised to friends, but…. well…. she loves me a lot, and Dan says we should keep her. I told him if he really wants her he should negotiate for her. So far he hasn’t, so likely we’ll let her go to her new people. Which, yes, will hurt, but then again, perhaps be best for all of us in the long run? I mean, we’re sixty one, and five cats are a lot, particularly since Havey and Valeria are 14 and have kidney issues. (Then again– Sigh. I really like the little trouble maker.)

Anyway, the last two weeks have been turmoil filled, and I’ve had to do a lot of things I’d rather not, and yet, I feel better. (Yes, chapters are coming to substack. It’s been the busy, not the depressed preventing it.)

Why?

Well, as I explained at Mad Genius Club just a few minutes ago, it’s like introvert versus extrovert.

Both can go to a party or a conference and be good while there. But the introvert will come home and crash. The extrovert wants to go go go forever.

It’s the same some things please you, some things don’t, but nothing fills the well like doing it for love. Whether it’s writing, cooking, cleaning the house (which I desperately need to do since family get together is here this year) or looking after helpless kittens and children.

If you do it for love, it will fill the well. Whatever your well is.

And while we live in a screwed up world, and everything we do can’t be for love, try to do some things for love in the middle of what you must do, and what you can do, and what others expect you to do.

Trust me, it will make everything better, if now and then you do something for love. It should deplete you, because you’re adding work. But somehow it doesn’t. Perhaps because, as dad puts it, “He who runs for love doesn’t tire.” But more importantly, doing anything for love revives you.

Go do something for love today, and like — Per RAH’s advice, your budget should include the frivolities first — budget your time so you can do something for love on the regular.

And now I go clean this pigsty. For love.

This year, I’m very thankful for loving my family, including my sons’ ladies. It wasn’t a given, but I’m grateful I do. Because love recharges and revitalizes.

And for these two — too — I’m heartily thankful:
Circe, the redhead, and Toast 2.0 the siamesish:

I have never been woken with a bucket of icy water to the noggin. In fact, most such I’ve seen are scenes in movies of someone pouring a bucket of ice water over the head of a drunkard.

I do, since I’m confessing, confess that I once woke my younger son by dropping a cup of ice on him. In my defense, we had an appointment and he was 13 and taller than I and impossible to wake. The result was, btw, amazing, and once I was done peeling him off the ceiling, I decided never to do that again, because eventually he might get to choose my nursing home.

Anyway…. I have seen the result of icy buckets of water in movies, and I’ve seen the result of metaphorical icy buckets of water in real life.

In movies it brings people out of the deepest unconsciousness. And in real life I’ve seen it happen a few times. You probably have too, if not in person, then at a remove through a friend of a friend. Normally it takes a good scare. Something that shakes you to the core.

There is a tendency in humans, individual or in groups, to go along to get along, which in turn gives us an inertia of the normal. “Normalcy bias.” How much normalcy bias depends, honestly on how much people’s iron rice bowl depends on their not noticing things.

That people have been red pilled at all even when it goes against interest is a sign of how out there our times are, and how horrendously insane the overculture is.

Because people are well paid not to notice malfeasance in their own in group, when noticing casts them to the out group.

A point here: while the left was never justified in assuming creativity was on the left only — since creativity is often associated with a kind of madness, whether divine or simply mad, and often descends on outcasts — it was justified in viewing the expression of non-left-wing opinions as a sign of stupidity.

No, bear with me, here. Suppose you have absolutely no principles. Or even that you have principles, but you think the left, while sometimes misguided is trying to be good and do good things for other people. Now, you’re smart enough to see that everyone who expresses one set of opinions gets promoted, fetted, called very smart, and is more or less handed gold-plated careers. This might not be true in tech (and even there open communists often got better pay for inexplicable reasons) but it was and largely still is true in just about every other field, yes, including science and research (which explains a lot) and with bells on for writing, arts, journalism, etc. Meanwhile, profess opinions that fall outside the “acceptable mainstream” which is increasingly the same as hard left, and your career is over. Ditched. If you are very very good you’ll be kept on, but regardless of the work you’re doing, you’ll be kept at a low level. You will be Cinderella, in the kitchen, working for everyone.

If you are the sort of person smart enough to notice that, but you don’t see anything wrong with what the left is doing, or see something wrong but convince yourself both sides do it, or see something wrong, but know it won’t come to that bad an ending because “it can’t happen here” or “that will never work in reality” or “insert calming phrase here” WHY wouldn’t you mouth the stuff required to make your life much easier and give you the gold plated ride to the top? And why would you not assume anyone doing otherwise was just stupid? If not stupid in their particular field (if I had a dime for everyone who said “She’s a good writer, but–“) stupid as rocks when it came to human interaction? You’d cast about for excuses. Perhaps they were uneducated and simply couldn’t guess what to say? Perhaps they were religious fanatics? Perhaps they just hated people different from themselves? Perhaps–

That is how it worked. Some of us escaped it because we had seen it play out elsewhere and because we read a lot. Some of us escaped it because of a strong religious or otherwise community. And some of us are just absolute contraries. And some of us were wide eyed idealists, who were therefore better at noticing all the contradictions early, and it bothered us extremely. Most of us needed a combination of all of those to step out of line. Because humans are social apes, and the temptation IS to conform. No, not even temptation. We all know the tale of the blue monkey. Any monkey who sticks out dies. The need therefore is to conform. For social species it is an imperative of survival to fit in.

And the left, once it had weaponized the era of mass communication — yes, it was intentional, they always in any targeted country, took over all means of mass communication, and then means of dissemination of art and literature. it was part of the subversion protocol — had that going for them. Once they had taken over that small sector of society, it was very hard for society as a whole to go up against them and/or wake up.

Hence why reading so many accounts of communist take over (or fascist. It was all Marxism, after all) is like watching a sleep walker walking towards the abyss while all attempts at waking up failed.

(I would find it hilarious that they use “woke” to symbolize the state of those who blindly parrot the lines given them without thinking and in fact with an aversion to thinking, except it’s not. Most of psychology as practiced today, save for techniques of behavior modification is bokum, but there is such a thing as a subconscious, (whatever Asimov thought) and the stuff repressed into it has a funny way of returning. And we don’t mean “funny ah ah”. This is like when in a dream you keep telling yourself you must wake up, or when you’re writing a very boring chapter and all your characters talk about how bored they are (this is a thing, btw. Known as “messages from Fred.” If you’re a writer, pay attention to it. It’s like when I get stressed and all my characters want to smoke.))

This is because humans will do practically anything, including dying, rather than stand out from the group. Because through most of our evolution, standing out from the group meant dying, and unpleasantly at that. So, humans don’t. Unless they’re Odds, Goats, Eccentrics. You know, people like us.

It’s not that most people won’t do it. It’s that most people can’t do it.

So now some of you are going: Argle bargle, Sarah, as I said, argle bargle, I told you we were doooooomed. Doomed.

Bah. Nonsense. Because societies change and revolutions happen. And some of them even short of dire. And revolutions in the era of mass communication were amazingly instructive, too. It seems that controlling everything doesn’t really allow — as to an extent people like Aldous Huxley or George Orwell thought — control of people’s minds. It allows control of what people say or show. And leaves dissenters feeling very isolated. But when due to some event people finally realize the majority feels as they do, the results are…. explosive.

But secondly, go see the verb tenses I used for having control of mass communications. You see, they HAD full control of means of communication. But they don’t now. And the ways in which it has escaped them are ways they didn’t anticipate. Some of the greatest blows to their cause have, in fact, come from what their allies or they, themselves, did trying to regain control and shove everyone back in line. Because they have put out messages they thought would rally or scare the masses, but which, instead, woke people who suddenly saw the abyss.

Arguably this started happening with Reagan’s election and his performance in office. They’d had very tight fear-control on the left: elect a “right winger” and he’ll get us in nuclear war. I mean, makes perfect sense, if you believe the only way to keep an attacker from killing you is to grovel and beg, the only way to prevent crime is to get rid of policemen, and the only way to stop war is to surrender. Since “right wingers” (None of us in the US really qualifies, but never mind) were by Marxists’ (Mostly the USSR’s, actually) definition war mongers. So, of course, they would make war immediately and it would kill little girls and daisies and stuff.

But Reagan was elected and not only didn’t we get into nuclear war, but the cold war ended peacefully.

I like to imagine what it would have been like if we’d had blogs and the internet with access to the common man then. Because it would have been amazing. You see, there was maybe these two or three years where, gloriously, everyone knew stuff like communism sucked and top down economies didn’t work.

But we didn’t have open communication. So while a lot of people actually woke up and walked away from leftism, it was quiet. It involved a lot of self-blacklisting. It involved their former colleagues thinking they’d gone mad. It wasn’t general. Not a bang, but a whimper. And in the circles where it was the rigueur, hard leftism reasserted itself via a thousand different routes: “environamentalism” “women’s issues” “Queer rights”, “Anti-colonialism” etc. While the causes themselves, in the un-Marxisted (totally a word, roll with it) version aren’t of themselves bad, these weren’t causes, but vehicles for telling everyone that the free market was terrible and that communism/socialism/leftism, while not great was still better. (With the while not great being more and more whispered as time went on.)

If you were in the know, you could see the old leftist horrors move back into top positions here and abroad, and anyone who dissented being pushed out and down, now more forcefully, since they reminded the people in power that they were in fact wrong, and that reality was in fact against them.

But the buckets of cold water continued. 9/11 was the next big one I remembered, where a lot of people woke up. Though a lot of feminists for real woke up when people they trusted and believed in said not a peep at Clinton’s abuse of a young woman over whom he stood in a position of authority.

Since then the hits keeps coming. If you manage to get in a place where people trust you, even though they are generally left, even the most “convinced” leftists will betray the cracks in their worldview, and you can see it metaphorically as a sort of a carnival mask over a face that keeps screaming silently like the painting by Edward Munch. (I always also wonder at the boomers’ love of that painting. I have wondered if it’s a message from Fred yet again.) In fact, their doubts are characterized most of all by their refusal to think. If you bring up stuff that would force them to question, examine, or apply logic, they shut down. Sometimes they shut down visibly, and sometimes they just scream and insult you to get you to go away. This is worse if they’re older.

Why do I say this betrays their doubts? Because in the sixties and seventies, when things like Freud or (eh) Margaret Mead hadn’t been debunked and exploded, they loved to discuss this stuff. They would bring up (largely made up) facts and figures, which you couldn’t counter, because your stuff wasn’t getting published. They were full of whataboutism and supposed righteous logic. Now they just want it to stop.

In the same way, they increasingly try to censor interactions and stop people talking. (The lockdowns were special in that vein and I think why they were so wedded to masks.) Because they don’t want anything to wake them up from the dream and force them to stand out from the herd. If they made a continuous sound it would be “stopthatstopthatstopthat.”

But no matter how much they suppress, repress and shout over, their very own side, their very attempts at consolidating reality, keep dumping buckets of cold water.

The terrorists filming and broadcasting themselves — gleefully — on 10/7 was one of those. It was also a genuine cross-cultural f*ck up. You see, attacking and killing lots of civilians in horrific ways is a military thing for tribal cultures. The fact that they COULD do it should be enough to make Israel surrender in fear and humiliation. They never THOUGHT of retaliation. They think we don’t kill tons of their civilians and their helpless population because we CAN’T not because we have a moral code that forbids it. (Remember Islam doesn’t believe Christ died on the cross. They think someone else was substituted for him, because dying on the cross would be humiliating. The fact we use the cross as a symbol means to them that we want to humiliate Christ. Yeah, it’s …. a very old, very tribal mind set. It can be defined as “might makes right” or “only the strong horse counts.” Whichever.)

But those images, though suppressed, woke a lot of people. And if you have feminists in need of waking, I suggest making them watch it. In fact, part of the damage control is “the Israelis faked it” which is utter bullshit and not really sticking.

And then the attempt at damage control, at making sympathy with Israel “double plus ungood” and making it stop, those ridiculous mass demonstrations, and tearing down of the hostages posters?

All of that woke more people up. I keep coming across people on twitter sadly lamenting “How has the left got this evil and irrational? We’ve never been like this before.”

These are people who are my age or a little older, and it would make me laugh, if I weren’t so busy crying.

Because they’ve been evil and stupid irrational for all of my life, and obviously so since the eighties.

There was this college professor who was earnestly asking how this could have happened, how could the left be siding with Hamass? How could all these people she loved and trusted suddenly be so eeeevile?

I actually answered that one. She might have blocked me by now, but was visible as of yesterday on Twitter/x/twix, whatever.

I pointed out her sign to leave was if no earlier, when they called a Christian-Socialist like W. a “Nazi” or when they called a squish leftist like Romney “literally Hitler” or a hundred other times. But she said nothing, because she agreed with it. Probably because she didn’t want to look too deeply. If she looked too deeply, it would show her all the evil, and then she’d have to stand out, and leave the herd. And people would rather die than that. But at some point, a bucket of water falls on you that you can’t ignore.

For her it was this, but she’ll still try to bury it. Look, she’s a college professor. If she doesn’t try to ignore it and bury it in her mind, she’ll lose her job and all her friends. I know people who are strong enough to do that, but it takes effort and well, inner strength and a devotion to the truth. Which most ordinary leftists don’t have.

However the hits keep coming. Because on one side, we’re in the end stage of “socialism/communism glorifies and rewards politically correct incompetence, which causes everything to fall apart.” This might be tolerated in China or the USSR/Russia for a while, because frankly, they have experience of neither freedom nor prosperity. But we have experience of both, even if the first was illusory at various points in the 20th century. (Also relative. We were still more free than most of the world.) So, the way things fall apart and contradict the socialist verities is unavoidable, and people tend to believe their lying eyes. (Which is, btw, how Reagan got elected in the eighties.) And the patches put on the old tired Soviet agit prop are popping faster. Hence the — giggle, point, laugh — open borders bullshit is starting to wake up even liberal bastions. As is the “let’s coddle the “homeless” because they totally just hit a hard patch” etc. And don’t get me started on the enviro insanity which now wants to forbid random things with the more or less express intent of making agriculture impossible. That will wake up a lot of people. The prospect of starving in the morning might not concentrate the mind as much as the prospect of hanging, but it’s not that far off.

The buckets of water are already lined up. They can’t help but fall. And the left’s attempts at stopping them — because they are, ultimately, at war with reality, and reality is a bitch, it always wins — just means they become extra-icy and fall extra-hard.

Yeah, it’s going to suck, because we’re not watching this from another planet, far away. But it’s not going to suck as much as it will for them. Because we can see it coming, and we’re preparing. (Right, boys and girls? Please tell me I’m right.) And because we can see reality, and therefore we can elbow them out soonish and start rebuilding.

For them? Their minds would need to be completely rebuilt. Which some people say is impossible after 45 or so (Might be later now. After all, we live healthier and longer. But still.) And they believe. Most of them actually earnestly believe the mass of contradictory shibboleths, from humanity being a plague on the Earth, to free market causing slavery and war, to… well, the entire bucket of stupidity, according to which giving up agriculture and living in grass huts would make all of us healthier, more enlightened and possibly give us psi-powers. And no one would attack us, because EVERY ONE, every single person in the world will of course do this.

So when they see their vision failing, there is nothing after. Just unending abyss.

But be not afraid. It won’t be long. (Which still can exceed my remaining life span, because history doesn’t move on human life scale.) And in case it is tomorrow (could be. Unlikely, but it could be) that everything falls apart and simultaneously implodes and explodes, do keep your clothes and weapons where you can find them in the dark.

Illegitimi non carborundum!

*We’re now, hopefully, fixed at home till Spring, save for maybe day trips. We’re down to two kittens, one of which — Circe — we’re keeping, and the other — Toast 2.0 — adopters will be getting after thanksgiving. Circe is on my shoulder, as I type this. But this post isn’t late because of the kittens and travel (except second order effects of much travel). It’s late because as some of you know, I’ve been feeling “off”. It manifested as a massive ear infection on my birthday. I’m on antibiotics and just well enough to do this and hopefully finish chapters. The ear infections are a risk of traveling and getting new and exciting allergies in fall, because my ear canals are a mess from birth. Anyway, am better, no pain anymore, just slow and tired. Will be okay – SAH*

Book promo

If you wish to send us books for next week’s promo, please email to bookpimping at outlook dot com. If you feel a need to re-promo the same book do so no more than once every six months (unless you’re me or my relative. Deal.) One book per author per week. Amazon links only. Oh, yeah, by clicking through and buying (anything, actually) through one of the links below, you will at no cost to you be giving a portion of your purchase to support ATH through our associates number. A COMMISSION IS EARNED FROM EACH PURCHASE.*Note that I haven’t read most of these books (my reading is eclectic and “craving led”,) and apply the usual cautions to buying. I reserve the right not to run any submission, if cover, blurb or anything else made me decide not to, at my sole discretion.– SAH

FROM JERRY BOYD: The Butler Did It (Bob and Nikki Book 40)

The fleet manages to catch the Squirrel responsible for the horrible things they’ve seen recently. That should be a good thing, shouldn’t it? Turns out it’s only the beginning of their troubles, as their journey to collect a bounty on him turns into an adventure. Follow along, as Bob and the fleet get the best of the situation.

FROM ALMA BOYKIN: Hunter and Horseman: Familiar Generations Book Four

Undying love or cruel obsession?

Devon County, a quiet rural corner of Pennsylvania. That is, until two brothers refuse to take “no” for an answer. Malice and magic pull Jude Tainuit, the lone Hunter, into the fray. When a tornado rips through the county, leaving pain and twisted power in its wake, the Hunter and his allies face two foes – one in the open, and one who lurks, patient and deadly. A blood-path magic worker hides in the storm, one who hunts Hunters.

Worse awaits. Aunt Martha goes to visit relatives, leaving Jude in charge of the farm … Or as in charge as his Familiar and Martha’s cat will allow.

Jude Tainuit will need all his skills, and the help of allies great and small, to face the storm when twisted power awakens the phantom Horseman.

FROM MAX COSSACK: Khaybar, Minnesota (The Wilder Bunch Book 1)

Terrorism comes to the rural Midwest heartland—can one ordinary man stop it? Islamist terrorists frame small town Minnesotan Nat “Hack” Wilder for the murder of his friend Amir Mohammad. Hack must survive a January blizzard, elude the police and F.B.I., track down the real killers, infiltrate a terrorist gathering, and stop a terrorist attack on his nine-year-old daughter’s school. This is a suspenseful fast-paced action thriller that is often disturbing, sometimes surprisingly funny, and always PC-indifferent. Some sample reviews from real people (who are not Max’s friends):

FROM MARY HARE: Down Pad

A few years from now, reusable spacecraft provide routine, daily access to space. And as always, it’s the enlisted boots on the ground that keep everything going. They need a special combination of people, both laser-focused detail-obsessed computer jocks and the oil-stained salt-of-the-earth folks who just make things work.

Space Force enlistees go to boot camp in Boca Chica. That’s also where the Space Force operates its workhorse, the Shrike, the military version of the SpaceX Falcon 9. The landing pads are nicknamed down pads, a name reflected in the local military hangout, The Down Pad, which provides food, drink, dancing and gaming.

But not everyone who wants to join the Space Force will make it. Jake Blacksmith, a detrans man, has to fight to get in. Camden Tanner, more comfortable with computers than people, has to fight to fit in. As Blacksmith and Tanner rotate between the base and The Down Pad, each must navigate his own path in life. Where will it lead each of them?

Novella: approximately 23,000 words; mature language

BY GREYE LA SPINA, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: Invaders from the Dark (Annotated): The weird pulp classic

When Portia Differdale invited her maiden Aunt Sophie to live with her, Sophie little expected to be caught up in a struggle between the forces of Light and Darkness. But meeting the exiled Russian Princess who moved into the neighborhood somehow clued her into the uncanny forces in play, and before too long, policemen would vanish, children would be kidnapped or worse, and she would be facing… Invaders from the Dark!

• This iktaPOP Media edition includes a new introduction giving the book genre and historical context.

FROM VARIOUS CLASSIC AUTHORS, REVIVED BY D. JASON FLEMING: The iktaPOP 2023 Eerie Collection: Free culture weird fiction and horror.

From iktaPOP Media, another prime selection of free culture, public domain weird fiction, just in time for Halloween!

Within this book you will find zombies, hamadryads, spectre cowboys, dismembered wizards, werewolves, vampires, and oh, so much more!

• This iktaPOP Media collection contains introductions that give the stories historical and genre context.

FROM LEIGH KIMMEL: The Shadow over Leningrad

In Stalin’s Soviet Union, Tikhon Grigoriev lives a precarious life. He knows too much. He’s seen too much. A single misstep could destroy him, and if he stumbles, he will take his family down with him. With Leningrad besieged by Nazi armies, the danger has only increased.

He’s not a man who wants to come to the notice of those in high places. But when he solved a murder that seemed supernatural, impossible, he attracted the attention of Leningrad’s First Party Secretary.

So when a plot of land grows vegetables of unusual size and vigor, and anyone who eats them goes mad, who should be called upon to solve the mystery but Tikhon Grigoriev. However, these secrets could get him far worse than a bullet in the head. For during the White Nights the boundaries between worlds grow thin, and in some of those worlds humanity can have no place.

FROM MARY CATELLI: Through A Mirror, Darkly

What lies behind a reflection?

Powers have filled the world with both heroes and villains.  Helen, despite her own powers, had acquired the name Sanddollar but stayed out of the fights.

When the enigmatic chess masters create a mirrored world reflecting her own home and the world about it, it’s not so easy to escape.  All the more in that the people of that world are a dark reflection of all those she knows.

FROM SARAH A. HOYT (NIFTY NEW COVER): Gentleman Takes A Chance (The Shifter Series Book 2)

Family! Can’t live with them and can’t eat them.
Tom Ormson, owner — with his girlfriend — of The George, a diner in downtown Goldport, Colorado is well on his way to becoming a responsible and respectable adult, despite his rough start and the fact that he turns into a dragon.
But then the unpredictable Colorado weather, the ancient leader of a dragon triad and an even more ancient shifter-enforcer combine to destroy his home, put his diner at risk and attempt to kill him.
All this, of course, has to happen while Tom’s friend, Rafiel, is trying to solve a series of murders-by-shark at the city aquarium, and Tom’s newly-reconciled father is attempting to move to Denver.
Fasten your seat belts, a wild ride is about to begin.

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: Horses

Or maybe it’s internet quail. Or even kittens.

There will indeed be a promo post, at some point, but later, after spending time with family.

So! I am to relay a short story from real life:

Once upon a time our hostess’ future-daughter-in-law decided to take up raising quail. Since landlords frown on such inside apartment buildings, these quail reside in our hostess’ back yard. During Son of Silvercon, a minor quail event occurred, the three residents of one cage vanished! The house cameras were not oriented correctly to capture the cause.

Fast forward to this last week, when that cage was again in use for four half-grown young males. As our hostess was at the computer, she heard one of the them crowing very loudly, and got up to investigate. He was on the patio. So of course she did what any responsible animal owner would do: returned him to the cage and went to call her future-daughter-in-law about the problem and the missing trio. While on the phone she spotted another, then the other two. They were all happy to get back to safety and free food (and wound treatment, for one of them).

Our hostess and her husband reviewed the security cameras, and this time, they spotted the quail thief: a raccoon! Like any sensible modern people, they determined that ancient problems require modern solutions and applied zip ties to the cage doors as a temporary fix.

At five am yesterday, there came a rapping at the patio door. No one visible. Checked security cameras: there’s Mr. Raccoon, peeved that the free quail buffet has been closed!

Suburban raccoons. I have a feeling her neighbors probably object to the normal raccoon solution out here where I am. Something about lack of berms between yards. Ah, well, her future-daughter-in-law will handle it.