Andrew Q. Gordon

Tag: New Release

  • The Stark Divide: by J. Scott Coatsworth ~ Blog Tour and Excerpt

    The Stark Divide - J. Scott Coatsworth

    [Andrew’s note: I read this when it first came out. If you haven’t had read it yourself, now is a good time to pick it up]

    J. Scott Coatsworth has a new queer sci fi book out book one in the Ariadne Cycle: “The Stark Divide.” This is a re-release.

    Some stories are epic.

    The Earth is in a state of collapse, with wars breaking out over resources and an environment pushed to the edge by human greed.

    Three living generation ships have been built with a combination of genetic mastery, artificial intelligence, technology, and raw materials harvested from the asteroid belt. This is the story of one of them—43 Ariadne, or Forever, as her inhabitants call her—a living world that carries the remaining hopes of humanity, and the three generations of scientists, engineers, and explorers working to colonize her.

    From her humble beginnings as a seedling saved from disaster to the start of her journey across the void of space toward a new home for the human race, The Stark Divide tells the tales of the world, the people who made her, and the few who will become something altogether beyond human.

    Humankind has just taken its first step toward the stars.

    Get It On Amazon

    Giveaway

    Scott is giving away a $25 Amazon gift card with this tour, and a signed paperback trilogy of the Oberon Cycle (Skythane, Lander and Ithani) – two winners! Enter via Rafflecopter for a chance to win.

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47131/?

    Excerpt

    “Dressler, schematic,” Colin McAvery, ship’s captain and a third of the crew, called out to the ship-mind.

    A three-dimensional image of the ship appeared above the smooth console. Her five living arms, reaching out from her central core, were lit with a golden glow, and the mechanical bits of instrumentation shone in red. In real life, she was almost two hundred meters from tip to tip.

    Between those arms stretched her solar wings, a ghostly green film like the sails of the Flying Dutchman.

    “You’re a pretty thing,” he said softly. He loved these ships, their delicate beauty as they floated through the starry void.

    “Thank you, Captain.” The ship-mind sounded happy with the compliment—his imagination running wild. Minds didn’t have real emotions, though they sometimes approximated them.

    He cross-checked the heading to be sure they remained on course to deliver their payload, the man-sized seed that was being dragged on a tether behind the ship. Humanity’s ticket to the stars at a time when life on Earth was getting rapidly worse.

    All of space was spread out before him, seen through the clear expanse of plasform set into the ship’s living walls. His own face, trimmed blond hair, and deep brown eyes, stared back at him, superimposed over the vivid starscape.

    At thirty, Colin was in the prime of his career. He was a starship captain, and yet sometimes he felt like little more than a bus driver. After this run… well, he’d have to see what other opportunities might be awaiting him. Maybe the doc was right, and this was the start of a whole new chapter for mankind. They might need a guy like him.

    The walls of the bridge emitted a faint but healthy golden glow, providing light for his work at the curved mechanical console that filled half the room. He traced out the T-Line to their destination. “Dressler, we’re looking a little wobbly.” Colin frowned. Some irregularity in the course was common—the ship was constantly adjusting its trajectory—but she usually corrected it before he noticed.

    “Affirmative, Captain.” The ship-mind’s miniature chosen likeness appeared above the touch board. She was all professional today, dressed in a standard AmSplor uniform, dark hair pulled back in a bun, and about a third life-sized.

    The image was nothing more than a projection of the ship-mind, a fairy tale, but Colin appreciated the effort she took to humanize her appearance. Artificial mind or not, he always treated minds with respect.

    “There’s a blockage in arm four. I’ve sent out a scout to correct it.”

    The Dressler was well into slowdown now, her pre-arrival phase as she bled off her speed, and they expected to reach 43 Ariadne in another fifteen hours.

    Pity no one had yet cracked the whole hyperspace thing. Colin chuckled. Asimov would be disappointed. “Dressler, show me Earth, please.”

    A small blue dot appeared in the middle of his screen.

    “Dressler, three dimensions, a bit larger, please.” The beautiful blue-green world spun before him in all its glory.

    Appearances could be deceiving. Even with scrubbers working tirelessly night and day to clean the excess carbon dioxide from the air, the home world was still running dangerously warm.

    He watched the image in front of him as the East Coast of the North American Union spun slowly into view. Florida was a sliver of its former self, and where New York City’s lights had once shone, there was now only blue. If it had been night, Fargo, the capital of the Northern States, would have outshone most of the other cities below. The floods that had wiped out many of the world’s coastal cities had also knocked down Earth’s population, which was only now reaching the levels it had seen in the early twenty-first century.

    All those new souls had been born into a warm, arid world.

    We did it to ourselves. Colin, who had known nothing besides the hot planet he called home, wondered what it had been like those many years before the Heat.

    ###

    Anastasia Anatov leafed through her father, Dimitri’s, old paper journal. She liked to look through it once a day, to see his spidery handwriting and remember what he had been like. It was a bit old and dusty now, but it was one of her most cherished possessions.

    She sighed and put it away in a storage nook in her lab.

    She left the room and pulled herself gracefully along the runway, the central corridor of the ship, using the metal rungs embedded in the walls. She was much more comfortable in low or zero g than she was in Earth normal, where her tall, lanky form made her feel awkward around others. She was a loner at heart, and the emptiness of space appealed to her.

    Her father had designed the Mission-class ships. It was something she rarely spoke of, but she was intensely proud of him. These ships were still imperfect, the combination of a hellishly complicated genetic code and after-the-fact fittings of mechanical parts, like the rungs she used now to move through the weightless environment.

    Ana wondered if it hurt when someone drilled into the living tissue to install the mechanics, living quarters, and observation blisters that made the ship habitable. Her father had always maintained that the ship-minds felt no pain.

    She wasn’t so sure. Men were often dismissive of the things they didn’t understand.

    Either way, she was stuck on the small ship for the duration with two men, neither of whom were interested in her. The captain was gay, and Jackson was married.

    Too bad the ship roster hadn’t included another woman or two.

    She placed her hand on a hardened sensor callus next to the door valve and the ship obliged, recognizing her. The door spiraled open to show the viewport beyond.

    She pulled herself into the room and floated before the wide expanse of transparent plasform, staring out at the seed being hauled behind them.

    Nothing else mattered. Whatever she had to do to get this project launched, she would do it. She’d already made some morally questionable choices along the way—including looking the other way when a bundle of cash had changed hands at the Institute.

    She was so close now, and she couldn’t let anything get in the way.

    Earth was a lost cause. It was only a matter of time before the world imploded. Only the seeds could give mankind a fighting chance to go on.

    From the viewport, there was little to see. The seed was a two-meter-long brown ovoid, made of a hard, dark organic material, scarred and pitted by the continual abrasion of the dust that escaped the great sails. So cold out there, but the seed was dormant, unfeeling.

    The cold would keep it that way until the time came for its seedling stage.

    She’d created three of the seeds with her funding. This one, bound for the asteroid 43 Ariadne, was the first. It was the next step in evolution beyond the Dressler and carried with it the hopes of all humankind.

    It also represented ten years of her life and work.

    Maybe, just maybe, we’re ready for the next step.

    ###

    The crew’s third and final member, Jackson Hammond, hung upside down in the ship’s hold, grunting as he refit one of the feed pipes that carried the ship’s electronics through the bowels of this weird animal-mechanical hybrid. Although “up” and “down” were slight on a ship where the centrifugal force created a “gravity” only a fraction of what it was on Earth.

    As the ship’s engineer, Jackson was responsible for keeping the mechanics functioning—a challenge in a living organism like the Dressler.

    With cold, hard metal, one dealt with the occasional metal fatigue, poor workmanship, and at times just ass-backward reality. But the parts didn’t regularly grow or shrink, and it wasn’t always necessary to rejigger the ones that had fit perfectly just the day before. Even after ten years in these things, he still found it a little creepy to be riding inside the belly of the beast. It was too Jonah and the Whale for his taste.

    Jackson rubbed the sweat away from his eyes with the back of his arm. As he shaved down the end of a pipe to make it fit more snugly against the small orifice in the ship’s wall, he touched the little silver cross that hung around his neck. It had been a present from his priest, Father Vincenzo, at his son Aaron’s First Communion in the Reformed Catholic Evangelical Church.

    The boy was seven years old now, with a shock of red hair and green eyes like his dad, and his mother’s beautiful skin. He’d spent months preparing for his Communion Day, and Jackson remembered fondly the moment when his son had taken the Body and Blood of Christ for the first time, surprise registering on his little face at the strange taste of the wine.

    Aaron’s Communion Day had been a high point for Jackson, just a week before his current mission. He was so proud of his two boys. Miss you guys. I’ll be home soon.

    Lately he hadn’t been sleeping well, his dreams filled with a dark-haired, blue-eyed vixen. He was happily married. He shouldn’t be having such dreams.

    Jackson shook his head. Being locked up in a tin can in space did strange things to a person sometimes. I should be home with Glory and the boys.

    One way or another, this mission would be his last.

    He’d been recruited as a teen.

    ###

    At thirteen, Jackson had learned the basics of engineering doing black-tech work for the gangs that ran what was left of the Big Apple after the Rise—a warren of interconnected skyrises, linked mostly by boats and ropes and makeshift bridges.

    Everything north of Twenty-Third was controlled by the Hex, a black-tech co-op that specialized in bootlegged dreamcasts, including modified versions that catered to some of the more questionable tastes of the North American States. South of Twenty-Third belonged to the Red Badge, a lawless group of technophiles involved in domestic espionage and wetware arts.

    Jackson had grown up in the drowned city, abandoned by his mother and forced to rely on his own intelligence and instincts to survive in a rapidly changing world.

    He’d found his way to the Red Badge and discovered a talent for ecosystem work, taking over and soon expanding one of the rooftop farms that supplied the drowned city with a subsistence diet. An illegal wetware upgrade let him tap directly into the systems he worked on, seeing the circuits and pathways in his head.

    He increased the Badge’s food production fivefold and branched out beyond the nearly tasteless molds and edible fungi that thrived in the warm, humid environment.

    It was on one of his rooftop “gardens” that his life had changed one warm summer evening.

    He was underneath one of the condenser units that pulled water from the air for irrigation. All of eighteen years old, he was responsible for the food production for the entire Red Badge.

    He’d run through the unit’s diagnostics app to no avail. Damned piece of shit couldn’t find a thing wrong.

    In the end, it had come down to something purely physical—tightening down a pipe bolt where the condenser interfaced with the irrigation system.

    Satisfied with the work, he stood, wiping the sweat off his bare chest, and glared into the setting sun out over the East River. It was more an inland sea now, but the old names still stuck.

    There was a faint whirring behind him, and he spun around. A bug drone hovered about a foot away, glistening in the sun. He stared at it for a moment, then reached out to swat it down. Probably from the Hex.

    It evaded his grasp, and he felt a sharp pain in his neck.

    He went limp, and everything turned black as he tumbled into one of his garden beds.

    He awoke in Fargo, recruited by AmSplor to serve in the space agency’s Frontier Station, his life changed irrevocably.

    ###

    A strange sensation brought him back to the present.

    His right hand was wet. Startled, he looked down. It was covered with blood.

    Dressler, we have a problem, he said through his private affinity-link with the ship-mind.”

    About the Author

    J. Scott Coatsworth

    Scott lives with his husband Mark in a yellow bungalow in Sacramento. He was indoctrinated into fantasy and sci fi by his mother at the tender age of nine. He devoured her library, but as he grew up, he wondered where all the people like him were.

    He decided that if there weren’t queer characters in his favorite genres, he would remake them to his own ends.

    A Rainbow Award winning and runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction, and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and is a full member member of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA).

    Where to Find the Author

    | Website | Personal Facebook | Author Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads |
    QueeRomance Ink: Liminal Fiction | Amazon |

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  • Facets of the Nether: by William C. Tracy ~ Blog Tour and Excerpt

    Please welcome William C. Tracy to the Land of Make Believe as he shares his adventures in world building in celebration of his new Queer/MMF sci fi/fantasy/steampunk tale, book two in the Dissolution Cycle: “Facets of the Nether!”

    Ficlets – Little Extra Story Bits

    Worldbuilding is one of my favorite things when writing a story, and the more I write in the Dissolutionverse, the more I get to do. The Dissolutionverse now includes Facets of the Nether, along with the first book, The Seeds of Dissolution, the upcoming third book, Fall of the Imperium, four novellas, a novelette, and several short stories. While putting too much worldbuilding in one place can turn off readers and clutter up the story, having so many different little stories means I can keep worldbuilding and making my universe more complex and real. One of the ways I do this is my adding little tidbits of information at the start of all my chapters. They tie into the chapter in some way, but also give pieces of a wider story, and even reference characters and places that are in other stories. So here I’m going to share a few of the most interesting tidbits that run through the Dissolutionverse:

    1. The Timeline: Most of the stories I’ve written take place between 979 and 1004 A.A.W. (After Aridori War). One novella takes place in 953, one short story happens in 632, and one (as yet unreleased!) short story occurs just before the Aridori War (B.A.W.). Here are some other interesting dates that I’ve written down over the years…
      • 224 B.A.W.: Treatise on the six Houses
      • 203 A.A.W.: The founding of Gloomlight prison in the midst of a Lobath city
      • 483 A.A.W.: Call for offensive use of the Symphony
      • 726 A.A.W.: The Pixies species enter the Great Assembly of Species
      • 856 A.A.W.: A study on relations between the ten species
      • 883 A.A.W.: Slithen has a dream of the Dissolution
      • 919 A.A.W.: The first formation of the Life Coalition
      • 939 A.A.W.: Origon Cyrysi born
      • 952 A.A.W.: The Lobhl species enter Great Assembly of Species
      • 962 A.A.W.: Rilan Ayama born
      • 972 A.A.W.: The Methiemum-Sathssn war of trading rights
      • 979 A.A.W.: Ket discovers how to mechanically hear the Symphony
      • 1003 A.A.W.: Origon Cyrysi pilots the first space capsule
      • 1004 A.A.W.: Present  day
    2. On the Festuour homeworld: – Festuour is almost an anomaly among the ten homeworlds with its dense air and crushing weight.  Where one would feel light and graceful on Etan, that same person would drag their feet on the Festuour homeworld.  Perhaps this is why it is inhabited by such fearsome predators.  In contrast, the folk of this homeworld tend to be lighthearted, inquisitive, and jovial.

      Excerpt from “A Dissertation on the Ten Species, Book IV: Festuour”


  • On the relationship between maji and merchants: – In recent cycles, some merchants have cried foul against the maji raising prices on portal creation. While the portals are the only way to link our homeworlds together, they are also a drain on the already overworked houses of the maji. But I feel passing this cost on may have a worse result. By driving away the traveling merchants who connect our different cultures, I believe we may generate much more contention and even war among the ten species that make up our coalition of worlds.

    From a travelogue of Morvu Francita Januti, Etanela explorer and big game hunter


  • On the creation of System Beasts:– System Beasts will form a new type of service to the members of the Great Assembly of Species. They can be geared in a number of roles, from laborer or draftbeast, to social secretary or aide for those with disabilities, or even items of luxury. The possibilities are nearly limitless, as the constructs can be quite intelligent and take orders well. I look forward to seeing how the people of the Nether receive and apply System Beasts to make their lives easier.

    From a proposal by Mandamon Feldo, majus of the Houses of Healing and Potential


  • On the geology of the Nether: – People commonly wonder how the floor of the Nether is made of dirt, instead of the substance of the columns. By the influx of inhabitants, flora, and fauna through portals, and over thousands of cycles, soil accumulated. I have visited deep windswept gullies, far away from any habitation, where the true Nether floor gleams like crystal in the light from the walls.

    Morvu Francita Januti, Etanela explorer and big game hunter

    • You can see how much I like dropping little things like this throughout my stories. Morvu, from the last quote, got so many little notes written about her I decided to make her the mother of the viewpoint character in Journey to the Top of the Nether, where the heroes climb the miles-high wall of the Nether to see what’s at the top. I already know there’s going to be a follow-up adventure to that one!

    I’ve got loads more little tidbits hidden away. You’ll have to read through all the books to find them all!

    Facets of the Nether

    The Dissolution approaches.

    Sam has saved the Assembly of Species, but at a terrible cost. Locked in his apartment, his memories gone and his best friend abducted, he is once again crippled with anxiety. Meanwhile, Enos struggles to free her brother from imprisonment, alone for the first time in her life. Her true species has been revealed, and there are hints the deadliest of her kind survived an ancient war.

    But the Nether contains more secrets. A musical chime disrupts daily life, signaling changes to its very fabric. To solve this mystery, Sam must face his anxiety and confront truths about his memories and unique abilities. Only then can he save his friends from the machinations of the Life Coalition, by understanding the reality behind the Facets of the Nether.

    Where to Find Facets of the Nether

    Amazon | Bookbub | Goodreads

    Giveaway

    William is giving away a $10 Amazon gift card with this tour. Enter via Rafflecopter for a chance to win:

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47129/?

    Excerpt

    Facets of the Nether Meme

    – The appearance of a new house of the maji is not to be as surprising as its origin. My apprentice, who firmly appeared to be of the House of Communication, is the one who is showing me these new things, at my age. Truly, the Nether is changing.

    Journal of Origon Cyrysi, Kirian majus of the Houses of Communication and Power

    A chime erupted through the Imperium, as if all the crystal plates in the world rang and shattered at once. Samuel van Oen held his ears and, through the window of his mentor’s apartment, watched a flight of alien birds split and scatter at the noise.

    “What was that?” Sam dropped his hands from his ears as the sound stabilized into a deep, clear tone he felt in his gut. It was loud, but not as unbearable as it had been. Deep in the back of his mind, the Grand Symphony responded to the noise like a tuning fork against a plate of metal. The different rhythms fractured and multiplied at the chime, like the whole world was vibrating.

    No one answered his question, as Majus Cyrysi was out again. The Kirian had spent more time in the libraries of the Spire than in teaching Sam, not that he was ever particularly good at teaching.

    The tower of the House of Communication vibrated beneath Sam’s feet as the sound lessened to a background hum. The music normally playing in its halls had ceased during the explosion of sound, but now picked up fitfully, warring with the chime’s resonance. The flock of birds—with crests of orange, and three scaly wings down each side of their body—swooped in an irregular pattern, disrupted by the noise.

    Sam went to the window and looked down. To one side, dust fell from the strange stone bridge that ran from the middle height of the House of Communication to the immense wall of the Nether. He’d been out on it before, as it was a curiosity of this House, and maji occasionally used it to take in the view. There were a few maji on it now—a tall Etanela and two Methiemum—looking up at the immense wall of the Nether, bathed in blues and purples like a titanic sheet of ice.

    On the ground far below, people milled around in confusion. Sam guessed the bell-like sound wasn’t normal, but he’d only been in this place a little under two months. Before that, things became blurred and hazy in his mind. The presence that had rooted through his head took many of his memories. He remembered Earth, and that he had stayed with his aunt after something happened to his parents. Their faces refused to come to mind. Thinking about what happened at the Dome of the Assembly made him seek the silence of Majus Cyrysi’s apartment, and he couldn’t stop. He was obsessing about what he could have—should have—done differently. He was slowly spiraling down to a place of solitude and loneliness, and his body wouldn’t obey his deeper wish to break the cycle.

    Sam jumped back from the window as someone banged on the door. A spike like an icicle in his gut went through him. Sweat pricked his forehead.

    Don’t be someone new.

    It could only be one of a few people, but his throat threatened to close at the thought of explaining why he was sitting here alone, staring out a window. How long ago had Majus Cyrysi left?

    Sam put one eye to the peephole in the door, then sagged in relief. It was Enos. He could ask her about the sound digging its way into his head.

    He opened the door and let his friend in, looking her over. There were bags under her eyes and she hadn’t combed her long black hair.

    “You haven’t slept either, have you?” said Enos.

    Sam let out a burst of air. It wasn’t quite a laugh. “That’s what I was going to say.” He pulled her into the room by her hand, quickly closing the door. The hall should be familiar, but it didn’t feel like the right day to go outside. Again.

    “You hear that too, right? Do you know what—”

    Enos shook her head. “No idea. I was about to ask you. People are running around like mad. I don’t think anyone knows.”

    Then why would she think I knew? He stared at the closed door.

    Enos followed his gaze, then took his other hand. “It’s been a ten-day since you left Majus Cyrysi’s apartment.” She winced as if she had a headache. Probably that irritating chime. It was like a dull drill, pressing against the back of his head.

    Sam frowned. Now wasn’t the time to talk about going out. Couldn’t Enos see he had other things on his mind?

    “Before this noise started I was trying to remember…remember—” He bit his lip and focused over her shoulder. It was something about Earth. He’d almost had it.

    “Remember what?’ Enos asked, bringing his focus back. “Is it connected with the attack on the Assembly? Or about the new themes you hear in the Symphony? Can they help us find Inas?”

    Sam shook his head. He was letting Enos down.

    She won’t want to be with me anymore.

    He knew it wasn’t true, but the fact beat against the inside of his head. Inas had been the other side of a scale, balancing him. Without him, everything was harder.

    Author Bio

    William C. Tracy

    William C. Tracy is a North Carolina native and a lifelong fan of science fiction and fantasy. He self-published his Dissolutionverse space opera books and has one epic fantasy published with a small press.

    He also has a master’s in mechanical engineering, and has designed and operated heavy construction machinery. He’s trained in Wado-Ryu karate since 2003, and runs his own dojo in Raleigh. He is an avid video and board gamer, a reader, and a writer.

    In his spare time, he cosplays with his wife such combinations as Steampunk Agent Carter and Jarvis, Jafar and Maleficent, and Doctor Strange and the Ancient One. They also enjoy putting their pets in handmade costumes and making them cosplay for the annual Christmas card. Get a novelette by signing up for William’s mailing list at http://williamctracy.com, or follow him on Twitter at https://twitter.com/wctracy for writing updates, cat pictures, and martial arts.

    Where to Find William C. Tracy

    Website | Facebook (Personal) | Facebook (Author) | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon

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  • PEACEMAKER: by EM Hamill ~ Blog Tour and Excerpt.

    Peacemaker - E.M. Hamill

    E.M. Hamill has a new queer sci fi book out, book two in the Dalí Tamareia series: “Peacemaker.”

    Third-gender operative Dalí Tamareia thought their life as an ambassador ended when they joined a galactic intelligence agency. When they’re yanked out of the field and tapped to negotiate the surrender of deadly bio-engineered warriors who crashed into hostile territory, Dalí is thrust headfirst back into the tumultuous world of galactic diplomacy.

    Dalí has faced Shontavians before, but not like these. The stranded mercenaries are highly intelligent and have an agenda of their own. Dalí can’t afford to be distracted from the negotiations by their own demons or the presence of a charming diplomat with a mysterious past.

    As a brewing civil war threatens to derail the entire mission, Dalí must use all their skills to bring this dangerous situation to a peaceful end—but the Shontavians may not be the biggest monsters at the table. Someone is determined to see Dalí and their team dead before they discover the brutal truth hiding in the wreckage.

    NineStar Press | Amazon | iBooks | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | Smashwords | Goodreads

    Giveaway

    E.M. is giving away a $15 Amazon gift card with this tour. Enter via Rafflecopter:

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Direct Link: hhttp://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d47116/?

    Excerpt

    Peacemaker

    I took a quick turn in the cleanser to rid my skin and hair of the tacky residue left by the decon spray. In the warmth and vibration, I shuddered as the last of the physical characteristics I’d adapted to pass as male shifted back into my neutral, sexless state. My crewmates didn’t expect me to assume a gender, something for which I remained grateful. Without hormone stimulation to drive the change, the process was more painful, and my shoulders complained against the grind of bone and muscle.

    I tamed my wavy brown mop as best I could, drawing it into a short, braided queue at the back of my neck before putting on the dress black uniform hanging in my quarters. The white starburst of diplomacy blazed in holographic relief on my left shoulder with the multiarmed spiral of the Remoliad’s sigil on the opposite sleeve.

    To be back in the uniform of an ambassador felt strange. Transient reflections in the narrow window showed a me I hadn’t acknowledged in over two years. I barely recognized the echo of who I used to be, a transparent ghost against the stars outside.

    The reason I had been pulled out of the field began to make sense, though I still didn’t know what the assignment entailed. Time to find out.

    At the closed door of Sumner’s ready room, I tugged at the tunic’s high collar, squared my shoulders, and tapped on the panel to request entry.

    “Commander. Permission to enter?”

    “Granted.” The door slid aside with his verbal acknowledgment. I stepped through.

    Silhouetted by the flicker of busy data screens behind the desk, Sumner wore a black uniform with insignias of diplomatic service similar to mine but without the starburst rank of ambassador. Instead, he wore the pips of an officer in the Remoliad Fleet on the high neck of his collar. He stared at the screen of a PDD, his expression dark and troubled.

    Sumner glanced up and a crooked grin formed on his lips as he rose. “Ambassador Tamareia. I haven’t seen you in a while.”

    His vocal inflections sounded almost normal, but his eyes still held frost. We were never this formal with each other, a sign of the tension between us.

    “I haven’t seen me in a long time either. It feels very strange.” I took a deep breath. “I would like to apologize for my insubordination, especially for what I said in med bay, Commander. I was out of line.” Embarrassment burned in my cheeks, and I lowered my gaze. “I owe Melos and Ziggy more than an apology. I was under the influence on a mission, and I put the lives of my teammates in danger. I will accept the consequences of my actions as you deem appropriate.”

    “Grab a chair.” He gestured opposite his desk, and I sat. “I think I owe you an apology as well. I’ve gotten used to autonomy. When some bureaucrat tells me to drop whatever I’m doing and pull my operatives in the middle of a potentially productive mission, it pisses me off. The order to recall you came from so far over my head I got vertigo. The rest is just the frost on the comet, and it pushed me over the line.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for the vendetta remark.”

    “No, you were right. I needed to be reminded why I’m here. You promised only that I will be involved when we take them down, not that I would be the instrument.” No matter how badly I wanted the privilege, I had a bigger job to do. “Who told you to recall me?”

    His mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “The Remoliad security council.”

    My eyebrows threatened to merge with my hairline. “The security council has authority over the Penumbra?”

    “Technically. My superior answers to the secretary general, but it’s almost unheard of to receive a direct order from any office.”

    “I don’t understand.” I frowned. “Did my mother have anything to do with this?”

    “No, Ambassador Urquhart isn’t involved as far as we can tell. We checked since the order was so specific. But I just received more details.” He handed me the data device he’d been scowling at when I came in. “Against all previous declarations of disdain for galactic alliance, the Ursetu recently issued an emergency petition for their planet to become a member of the Remoliad.”

    I narrowed my eyes at him and took the PDD. “I saw something about that in my debriefing file. The crown princess is dead?”

    “Yes. The queen and her grandson, Prince Razaxha, are still alive.”

    “What happened? Was the planet attacked?”

    “Yes and no.” He swept his hand and a heads-up display swirled into view between us. “I’ll warn you up front, this is brutal.”

    The wreck of some immense ship blighted the forested grounds of a ziggurat-like palace, silhouetted against the backdrop of a sharp black mountain. Columns of smoke and flames traced the outline of warped and twisted debris. The recording lens zoomed in on a section of the disaster where tiny flashes of light sparked and died. As the picture enlarged, I sat forward in shock.

    “Enhance this area.” Sumner circled the spot on the heads-up and spread his fingers. The portion of the holovid expanded, grainy, blurred, and blocked by foliage, but I made it out plainly enough. Enormous, gray-skinned figures piled out of the wreckage.

    Shontavians.

    The four-armed beings appeared unstoppable as they swatted aside the Ursetu and their guns, snatched up the soldiers with their sharp-taloned hands and—

    A psychic memory of the taste of blood and entrails hit me so hard I fought the urge to vomit.

    “Stop the playback!” I drew heavy breaths through my nose until the nausea passed and my heart stopped pounding. Sumner swept his hand over the enlarged holo, reducing details to a safe distance as my mind attempted to process what I’d seen.

    A ship hadn’t crashed in the middle of an Ursetu city. It was the orbiting laboratory where Shontavians were engineered and kept isolated until their sale to whomever bought their mercenary services. It crashed into the planet or was deliberately brought down.

    By whom?

    The Ursetu faced monsters of their own making—huge, intelligent creatures with the serrated teeth and claws of a predator, created solely for fighting wars. And they had a craving for sentient meat.

    Author Bio

    E.M. Hamill

    Elisabeth “E.M.” Hamill is a nurse by day, unabashed geek, chocoholic, sci fi and fantasy novelist by nights, weekends, and whenever she can steal quality time with her laptop. She lives with her family, a dog, and a cat in the wilds of eastern suburban Kansas, where they fend off flying monkey attacks and prep for the zombie apocalypse.

    Her other books include the acclaimed sci fi novel Dalí, the snarky urban fantasy Nectar and Ambrosia, and several short works of fiction. Visit www.elisabethhamill.com for a full list of literary work.

    Author Website: https://www.elisabethhamill.com

    Author Facebook (Author Page): https://www.facebook.com/EMHamill

    Author Twitter: @songmagick

    Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16592440.E_M_Hamill

    Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/e-m-hamill/

    Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B00JY0FV8S

    LOGO - Other Worlds Ink

  • Guest Author: Anne Barwell

    Anne Barwell's Website and Blog: Drops of Ink

    Today I get to welcome back a long time friend. Anne Barwell and I have known each other for years. A librarian with a library system in New Zealand, Anne made it possible for my Champion of the Gods series to be available in her library system. Anne is here today to talk about Slow Dreaming which re-released after her publisher returned to her the rights to her books.

    Welcome back to the World of Make Believe, Anne!

    Slow Dreaming

    Thanks for hosting me today.

    Slow Dreaming is a story close to my heart for several reasons.  Firstly it’s set in Petone, where I grew up.  I’ve sat on the same wall along the waterfront that Jason and Sean do, and I’ve skimmed shells along the water.

    My dad and I used to walk along there regularly, so Jason’s memories of doing that with a father he isn’t sure he’ll see again drew on my own experiences—except for the fact that the waterfront has changed a lot in his time from the present.  My dad passed away seven years ago, and revisiting that scene brought back a lot of memories, so it felt right to dedicate the book to him.

    Local readers will be able to spot several landmarks in this story.  Many of the stories I read are either set in different countries, or in different parts of New Zealand. I’m aiming to do something about that and have two contemporary romances coming out in 2020 set in the same area, and an urban fantasy/paranormal romance in 2021 which takes places in Wellington.

    Secondly I’ve always loved stories about time travel, and I’m a big fan of the timey wimey.  So being able to set one locally was fantastic.

    This story is my first foray into time travel, but it won’t be the last.  I do have other stories planned in this series, and Sean and Jason’s adventures are only just beginning.

    Click to buy Slow Dreaming by Anne Barwell at your favorite eBook stores.

    Blurb:

    A Tempus Institute Story.

    Should he change the past for love?

    As an agent for the Tempus Institute, Jason Adams’ task is to observe the past, not change it. But when he’s sent to 21st-century Wellington, New Zealand, during the last week of aspiring songwriter Sean Henderson’s life, Jason finds he can’t just watch from a distance. He and Sean quickly become friends and then lovers, and when the song that’s haunted Jason for years connects them in a way he never anticipated, he’ll risk changing history for the chance of sharing a future with Sean.

    Author’s note:  This story was originally published in 2012 by another publisher. This edition has some added content, and uses UK/NZ spelling to reflect its setting.

    Click here to buy Slow Dreaming at your favorite eBook seller.

    Excerpt:

    Sean pulled his jacket tighter around himself as a shiver went through him. His old gran would have said someone had walked over his grave. “Who the hell are you, Jason, and what’s so secret that you can’t be honest about where you’re from?”

    “No one special.” Jason bit his lip then looked out to sea. The crests of the waves were almost white, closer to a dirty grey, as though hiding secrets of their own. “I’m not asking for anything from you, Sean, and I promise I don’t mean you any harm. I just thought… I’m only here for a few days and I’d rather not spend them alone. That’s all, and all it’s ever going to be.”

    Something about Jason tugged at Sean. He moved closer, his instincts winning out over his better judgment. Whatever Jason was involved in, whatever this assignment was, it was eating at him. He sounded as though he could do with a friend. Sean could do that. In fact, it might be just what he needed too.

    “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I like you, Jason. I’m probably crazy, but there’s something about you that screams at me that I want to get to know you better.”

    “Yeah, okay.” Jason smiled wanly. He reached out and tentatively took Sean’s hand in his. “I can’t tell you the specifics of my assignment, or about this article I’m writing, but I won’t lie to you, not anymore.”

    Sean nodded and squeezed Jason’s hand, the skin-to-skin contact a welcome warmth. “Where are you from, Jason?” Surely the question wouldn’t conflict with the rest of Jason’s whole need-to-know thing?

    “Here,” Jason said softly. “Not some other country like I told you, but here.”

    “Here?” Sean raised one eyebrow. He couldn’t help but glance out towards the harbour again. “But you just said you never thought you’d see the sea. You can’t live around here and claim to never have seen it. We’re in a small country surrounded by water.” He shrugged. “Ruth’s lived here since the sixties. She says this beach looks much the same now as it always has and that it’s just the suburb itself that’s changed. Petone used to be all secondhand shops. Now it’s cafés and the like.”

    “I guess a kid’s memory of a place is different from the reality of it so it wasn’t quite what I expected.” Jason’s eyes glazed over. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’m not very good at explaining myself, am I?”

    “I thought you were a travel writer,” Sean teased, regretting the words when Jason bit his lip and turned away.

    “Yeah, well, I never said I was a good one,” he murmured.

    About Anne

    Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand.  She shares her home with Kaylee: a cat with “tortitude” who is convinced that the house is run to suit her; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date, it appears as though Kaylee may be winning.

    In 2008, Anne completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.

    She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth. She also hosts and reviews for other authors, and writes monthly blog posts for Love Bytes.  She is the co-founder of the New Zealand Rainbow Romance writers, and a member of RWNZ.

    Anne’s books have received honourable mentions five times, reached the finals four times—one of which was for best gay book—and been a runner up in the Rainbow Awards.  She has also been nominated twice in the Goodreads M/M Romance Reader’s Choice Awards—once for Best Fantasy and once for Best Historical.

    Where to Find Anne

    Website & Blog | Facebook | Facebook Group | Joint Facebook Group | Twitter

    Click here to sign up for Anne’s newsletter.

    Anne Barwell's Facebook Group: Anne's Books and Brews

  • New Release Blog Tour — A Fall in Autumn; by Michael G. Williams

    Michael G. Williams has a new queer sci fi book out: A Fall in Autumn.

    Cover for A Fall In Autumn by Michael G. Williams

    WELCOME TO THE LAST OF THE GREAT FLYING CITIES

    It’s 9172, YE (Year of the Empire), and the future has forgotten its past.

    Soaring miles over the Earth, Autumn, the sole surviving flying city, is filled to the brim with the manifold forms of humankind: from Human Plus “floor models” to the oppressed and disfranchised underclasses doing their dirty work and every imaginable variation between.

    Valerius Bakhoum is a washed-up private eye and street hustler scraping by in Autumn. Late on his rent, fetishized and reviled for his imperfect genetics, stuck in the quicksand of his own heritage, Valerius is trying desperately to wrap up his too-short life when a mythical relic of humanity’s fog-shrouded past walks in and hires him to do one last job. What starts out as Valerius just taking a stranger’s money quickly turns into the biggest and most dangerous mystery he’s ever tried to crack – and Valerius is running out of time to solve it.

    Now Autumn’s abandoned history – and the monsters and heroes that adorn it – are emerging from the shadows to threaten the few remaining things Valerius holds dear. Can the burned-out detective navigate the labyrinth of lies and maze of blind faith around him to save the City of Autumn from its greatest myth and deadliest threat?

    A Fall in Autumn Buy Links

    Falstaff Books | Amazon US | Amazon UK | Amazon CAN | Goodreads

    Giveaway

    Michael is giving away an eBook copy of “Perishables,” book one of The Withrow Chronicles, with this post:

    Everybody hates their Homeowner’s Association, and nobody likes a zombie apocalypse. Put the two together, and Withrow Surrett is having a truly craptastic night.

    Enter via Rafflecopter:

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Direct Link: http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/b60e8d4765/?

    Excerpt

    I figured out a long time ago the biggest freak int he whole show gets two things: spat on and space. I could handle one if it got me the other. The future has forgotten its past.

    This excerpt comes from the second chapter of the book. To set this up, I’ll note that Valerius is a private eye in the far future. In his time, androids are referred to as “golems” and they’re considered to be sort of living saints: they embody the best of a former age, and they tend to wrap themselves in mystery in a way Valerius finds at least a little off-putting.

    Valerius has awakened bruised and battered after getting beaten up by his last client. Alejandro – who is a golem – found him after and helped get him on his feet. Valerius then returned home, passed out, and had to hide from his landlady the next morning because he’s perpetually late on his rent.

    I let out my breath and sat up, pulled on trousers, and stretched to the sound of a hundred popping joints. Whatever kept the landlady at bay was good enough, even if that meant hiding and holding my breath. I cared far less about paying her rent than where I would get food or smokes—oh wait, I’d quit smoking—or a cup of coffee.

    Coffee, I thought. The memory of the stuff was almost enough to wake me. I ran out of Buenos Dias Blend the day before, and I didn’t have a penny to spend on more. I inspected a bottle of Old Indefatigable on top of the filing cabinet. Whiskey in a coffee cup wouldn’t be anything new, and neither would whiskey first thing in the morning, but something about whiskey from a coffee cup first thing in the morning seemed unacceptably perverse.

    I lifted the bottle and put my hand on the stopper, but there was a second knock, one much quieter and more reserved. It sounded an awful lot like a customer’s knock: the sort of knock that said they were sorry for bothering me but sorrier for having a problem in the first place, and still not as sorry as they would be to pay. I put the bottle back on the file stand and nudged the button to unlock the door.

    Alejandro opened it and stepped inside as quietly as a cat in a bassinet, then closed it behind him with a click the baby would have slept through. Normally, the hinges squeaked and the door took jiggling to get closed. I’d always heard a golem’s senses were way beyond ours, but I had no idea. I blinked and set down my coffee mug, still empty of whiskey or coffee or anything, and nodded. “Well.” I tried not to look surprised. I probably failed. “Okay.”

    Whereas it had been dark and dramatic a few days ago, Alejandro’s skin was now an off-white with hints of gray where an egg’s shell might have shades of beige or tan. His hair changed to a deep reddish purple. I had assumed golems were fixed in their appearance, and in that moment, it occurred to me to wonder why I ever assumed that in the first place. No reason they can’t swap things around like any Plus.

    Taking in his choices of colors, my mind kicked around words like “eggplant” and “burgundy” before deciding they fell short. The golem’s hair was pulled back and tied into a neat ponytail. It hung so that it hit the middle of his back exactly between where his shoulder blades would have been if he were a living man. He stood maybe two meters tall, maybe taller, easily several centimeters taller than I am, so I had to look up a little to meet his eyes. It had a sobering effect: he seemed instantly superior in the social hierarchy.

    I reminded myself everything about a golem is literally by design. If he was tall enough to make most people look up to him, it could only be a deliberate choice, almost certainly meant to convey authority—one I found, ironically, a little off-putting.

    Alejandro had good cheekbones, a pair of pale and expressive lips, eyebrows that jutted at a barely noticeable obtuse angle over his eyes, and a prominent Adam’s apple. I thought that was an unusual touch of mimicry for something otherwise obviously constructed. Why bother with the laryngeal prominence if anyone could tell he was made of some kind of cellulose and bioplas? The various design choices taken together suggested ambivalence: maybe a team expressing in their work some internal conflict about how human he should or shouldn’t be, or maybe a Doc Frankenstein somewhere who was never quite at peace with the idea of his or her creation.

    My initial over-analysis of his design and execution bothered me in the way I was always bothered by my detective’s reflex of seeing motives behind every detail. But, I also knew a part of what bothered me about him was what bothered me about the idea of golems in general: no one knows who made them or where they came from. All anybody knows is they’re ancient. Sometimes they’re very kind, and sometimes they’re assholes, and sometimes they’re just sort of there, dissociated and distant in a way some people read as snobbery, and regardless of what they’re like socially, absolutely none of them will admit their origins. They’ve been asked plenty of times, of course, and the urban legend goes that once in a while one of them will open up enough to say she or he doesn’t know whence they came. I never liked that answer. It’s the sort of non-answer politicians give when they want to make you feel like they answered your question. It’s a deflection. I hate people who play that sort of game.

    The fact Alejandro was drop-dead gorgeous—as walking, talking kewpie dolls go—didn’t help me get over my prejudices. If anything, it made me wary. The most dangerous thing in the world is a good marketing campaign, and he looked like a doozy.

    “I hope you don’t mind I’m here.” He murmured it with a small smile that seemed genuinely apologetic rather than the cocky sort of ironic I would have expected from some biological Casanova. “I was concerned about you.”

    I arched an eyebrow. Neither of us moved. I stood between the cabinets and my desk, Alejandro right inside the door, maybe five meters away. A little sunlight slid down the slats in the still-closed blinds in my window, and I still stood barefoot in dingy denim trousers and no shirt. “You figured out who I am.” I pointed a thumb at the handset on my desk. “You could have called.” I picked the cup back up.

    Perverse or no, I was going to fill it with whiskey.

    Partly I love this scene because it’s the moment Alejandro becomes Valerius’ client, which is the engine driving the rest of the book. But partly I love this scene because it’s sort of the last gasp of the old Valerius, before he hears Alejandro’s story, before everything changes for him. It’s the last time we see a version of Valerius that truly believes he’s all washed up and wrung out. He doesn’t think there’s any reason left to try – at anything, really – and that nihilism is eating him alive. I realized as I wrote the book that Valerius hated himself for all sorts of reasons before Alejandro came along, and though this isn’t a romance, it’s certainly a deep and meaningful relationship that develops into a lifeline for Valerius, a way to imagine a future for himself. (And, for various reasons, that’s strongly bittersweet.)

    Valerius can be a jerk to people, and meeting Alejandro doesn’t “fix” him, but it does shift his perspective. It creates an opportunity for Valerius to re-learn a little more empathy, and to step back from the edge of the abyss of his own problems and get some perspective on them. Any detective story is ultimately about someone who feels empathy for others, because that’s their secret to figuring out the mystery. But at this point in his life, Valerius’ empathy has kind of dried up. The only way to learn empathy – or to re-learn it – is often to receive it from others, and that happens for Valerius in this book at exactly the time when he needs it most. This story becomes a way for Valerius to feel like he can still make a difference in the world, still have purpose, no matter what else he has weighing on him or how much time he might or might not have left.

    What are you working on now, and when can we expect it?

    I’ve just signed a deal for 4 more books in the world of A Fall in Autumn and will be writing the sequel over the summer. I can’t wait! I expect the second book, to be titled New Life in Autumn, will be out a year from now.

    Later this year I have several other works, already finished and coming out from Falstaff Books:

    Nobody Gets Out Alive will be coming out sometime soon, probably over the summer. It’s the fifth and final(-ish) book of The Withrow Chronicles, my suburban vampire series about a guy who became a vampire in the 1940’s and has declared himself the boss of all of North Carolina’s blood-drinkers. The series is a ridiculously fun sequence of genre mashups – vampires and zombies, vampires and superheroes, vampires and spy thrillers, vampires and war, vampires and their witch frienemies – telling a story that gets increasingly complex as Withrow slowly but surely learns the world of the supernatural is much bigger than he thought.

    I also have the four-novella San Francisco urban fantasy series, SERVANT/SOVEREIGN. It starts with Through the Doors of Oblivion, and it’s about some of the most evocative moments in San Francisco’s history – such as the 1906 earthquake and fire – and witches and demons and time travel and real estate scams. I’m just exceptionally proud of it, and I get to really focus on the features of San Francisco I most adore, which are not necessarily the parts of the city they try to highlight for tourists. I don’t know exactly when that one is due out, either, but it’s made it through the content edits and the copyeditor and it’s now with the proofreader, so it’s getting close!

    And, last but not least, I’ve reached the rights-reversion point on a bunch of short stories I sold years ago so I’m possibly going to reclaim those rights and produce an anthology of short stories and nonfiction essays I’ve written for various venues. That’s a maybe, though. We’ll see.

    Thank you so much for having me – I really appreciate your and your readers’ time and attention. I hope you enjoy A Fall in Autumn and I would love to hear from you about it!

    Author Bio

    Michael G. Williams Author Photo

    Michael G. Williams writes wry horror, urban fantasy, and science fiction: stories of monsters, macabre humor, and subverted expectations. He is the author of three series for Falstaff Books: The Withrow Chronicles, including Perishables (2012 Laine Cunningham Award), Tooth & Nail, Deal with the Devil, Attempted Immortality, and Nobody Gets Out Alive; a new series in The Shadow Council Archives featuring one of San Francisco’s most beloved figures, SERVANT/SOVEREIGN; and the science fiction noir A Fall in Autumn. Michael also writes short stories and contributes to tabletop RPG development. Michael strives to present the humor and humanity at the heart of horror and mystery with stories of outcasts and loners finding their people.

    Michael is also an avid podcaster, activist, reader, runner, and gaymer, and is a brother in St. Anthony Hall and Mu Beta Psi. He lives in Durham, NC, with his husband, two cats, two dogs, and more and better friends than he probably deserves.

    Website | Facebook (Personal) | Facebook (Author) | Twitter | Instagram | Goodreads | Amazon

  • Blog Tour—Comes A Horseman; by Anne Barwell

    Blog Tour—Comes A Horseman; by Anne Barwell

    Today’s guest, Anne Barwell, hails from New Zealand. She is wonderful story teller and an even better person. Anne’s giving nature comes through in the passion she brings to her writing and the way she works to give the readers all that she can. The Echoes Rising is a terrific historical fiction series and I hope everyone reads on to learn more (and of course get the books!)

    Working With History – Anne Barwell

    Thanks for hosting me today as part of my blog tour for Comes a Horseman, the 3rd and final book in my WWII Echoes Rising series from DSP Publications.

    I have a Rafflecopter running as part of the tour so be sure to enter. DSP Publications also have the ebooks for Shadowboxing (book 1), and Winter Duet (book 2) on sale from 17th July-August 4th.

    One of the daunting things about writing an historical is the research involved. But, on the flip side, often real events can inspire plot, and even get the characters out of a corner. In Shadowboxing, the first book in my WWII Echoes Rising series, I needed to get my characters out of a heavily guarded building, and couldn’t figure out how. History came to my rescue! I adjusted the dates in the story by a few weeks, and the Allied bombing of that area at the time gave my characters the break they needed. Sadly one of their own lost his life as well.

    Historical events play a big part in Comes a Horseman. When I started writing the series, I knew I wanted it to finish with D-Day—the Allied invasion of Normandy on June 6th 1944. The lead up to that event is well documented too, so my timing had to be just right. I needed to have my Allied team in Normandy so they’d be there to hear the original coded broadcast to the resistance on 1st June so they knew the invasion was coming. I also had to get the weather right, as that impacted the date which originally was going to be a couple of days earlier. Not only that, but I needed to find out when the area was bombed and the specific times—as well as dates—of the crucial events leading up to, and of, the invasion.

    When I started reading up on D-Day I discovered a rather cool coincidence. The Paul Verlaine poem which was broadcast over the radio as the coded signal to the French Resistance contained a line about the “heavy sobs of autumn’s violins”, and one my characters—Kit Lehrer—is a violinist. It was as though everything fell into place and not only that, had meant to be this way all along. I’d love to say I planned it that way, but I didn’t.

    The attitude of Standartenführer Holm towards the imminent invasion is taken from historical accounts too. The Germans weren’t expecting an invasion in Normandy, so their attention was elsewhere. And the idea that the Allies would broadcast to the resistance on the B.B.C.? Ridiculous.

    The timing of the action of the last few chapters of the book was crucial. I needed to have the bombs drop on my characters at ground zero so the timing was historically accurate. I wrote those last few chapters with an historical timeline written in my notebook for the series, and adjusted the timeline of previous chapters so that everything meshed. It also solved several problems the characters needed to figure out in order to complete their mission the way they’d decided it needed to play out.

    I’ve learnt a lot more about WWII while writing this series than I ever thought I would, and despite the work involved, I’ve really enjoyed it. I still have a notebook, a folder, and bookcase full of information about the period, and although this team’s story is told, I wouldn’t be surprised if that information proves useful in another story sometime.

    There’s always newsletter free stories and the ilk too. I’ve spent so many years writing these guys, I doubt they’ll disappear altogether. I kind of hope they don’t.

    Blurb:

    Comes a Horseman – Echoes Rising Book 3, sequel to Winter Duet

    France, 1944

    Sometimes the most desperate struggles take place far from the battlefield, and what happens in secret can change the course of history.

    Victory is close at hand, but freedom remains frustratingly just beyond the grasp of German physicist Dr. Kristopher Lehrer, Resistance fighter Michel, and the remaining members of the team sent by the Allies—Captain Matt Bryant, Sergeant Ken Lowe, and Dr. Zhou Liang—as they fight to keep the atomic plans from the Nazis. The team reaches France and connects with members of Michel’s French Resistance cell in Normandy. Allied troops are poised to liberate France, and rescue is supposedly at hand. However, Kristopher is no longer sure the information he carries in his memory is safe with either side.

    When Standartenführer Holm and his men finally catch up with their prey, the team is left with few options as they fight to keep atomic plans from the Nazis. With a traitor in their midst, who can they trust? Kristopher realizes he must become something he is not in order to save the man he loves. Death is biding his time, and sacrifices must be made for any of them to have the futures they want.

    Buy Links:

    DSP Publications: 

    Amazon: 

    Excerpt:

    Matt nodded, his lips moving although he did not speak. He was counting, Michel realized, as they pulled away from shore, and using the rhythm of his movement to distract himself from the darkness.

    The moon’s light highlighted the waves lapping around the boat—the water seemed to reach toward them before diving back again. Ken and Matt quickly settled into a unified motion, both focused on what they were doing, although Ken glanced at Matt a couple of times.

    Frej signaled for Matt and Ken to change direction slightly and rest the oars. They did that for a few moments, letting the boat drift with the current. If Michel squinted, he could see the outline of the bridge in the distance and several shapes moving at either end of it. The guards on duty would hopefully stay focused on the bridge itself and not notice a small rowboat sneaking over the border. The area was well guarded, but as it had been secured for quite some time, they would not be expecting trouble.

    On the other side of the boat, Liang quickly turned and leaned over the side. As soon as he started to make a gagging noise he shoved his hand over his mouth to silence it. If his seasickness got any worse, it would be difficult to mask the noise of him vomiting over the side of the boat. He was doing his best to silence his dry heaving, but his hunched posture suggested he felt miserable and unwell.

    Frej leaned toward Ken and gestured. Ken nodded, rested the oars again, and then he and Matt changed direction. Matt was still counting under his breath, and he gripped the oar tightly.

    “Who’s there?” The shouted question shattered the silence.

    Kristopher glanced around, an expression of panic on his face.

    Michel put a hand on his arm to calm him but didn’t dare whisper the reassurance he wanted to. He turned around and strained his eyes, trying to find the source of the disruption. Matt and Ken stopped rowing, the boat drifting back the way they’d come, caught by the current.

    He heard boots against wood in the distance—the unmistakable sound of men running, probably over the bridge crossing the Rhine south of their position. “No farther or I’ll shoot,” one of them yelled.

    Frej got down on the floor of the boat. Michel and Kristopher followed, then Liang. Matt kept hold of his oar, trying to keep it as still as he could. He leaned down into a crouch, as did Ken.

    Gunfire sounded from the bridge. A couple of shots in succession before stopping. Michel heard an engine, a vehicle approaching. A door slammed, and then everything went quiet again. Logically he knew the bridge was a good few kilometers away, but Frej was right about noise carrying on the water. If felt too close for comfort.

    Frej waited a few minutes. “Row,” he whispered urgently. “While they are distracted.”

    Rafflecopter giveaway:

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

    Other Tour Stops:

    July 25 – MM Good Book Reviews

    July 31 – Scattered Thoughts and Rogue Words

    August 1 – Two Men Are Better Than One

    August 1 – Top to Bottom Reviews

    August 1 – Genre Talk at The Novel Approach Reviews

    August 2 – Love Bytes Reviews

    August 3 – Andrew Q. Gordon

    August 3 – DSP Publications Blog

    August 4 – Nic Starr

    August 4 – Alpha Book Club

    August 7 – My Fiction Nook

    August 8 – Divine Magazine

    August 9 – Aisling Mancy

    August 10 – Lucy Marker

    About the Author:

    Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand. She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.

    In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.

    She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth. She also hosts other authors, reviews for the GLBTQ Historical Site “Our Story” and Top2Bottom Reviews, and writes monthly blog posts for Authors Speak and Love Bytes.

    Anne’s books have received honorable mentions four times and reached the finals three times in the Rainbow Awards.  She has also been nominated twice in the Goodreads M/M Romance Reader’s Choice Awards—once for Best Fantasy and once for Best Historical.

    Where To Find Anne:

    Website & Blog: 

    Facebook:

    Facebook page: 

    Google+: 

    Instagram: 

    Twitter: 

    Goodreads: 

    Dreamspinner Press Author Page:

    DSP Publications Author Page:

    Queeromance Ink Author Page:

    New Zealand Rainbow Romance Writers:

     

     

  • Champion of the Gods

    Champion of the Gods

    It took the Seven to make the world. Each to rule Their own. Until One wanted to control them all.

     

    In the Great War of ancient times, Neldin, the God of Death, sought to rule the world. He almost succeeded, but Kel, the Champion of the Six, destroyed Neldin’s bridge into the world and closed the Eight Gates of Neblor. Some thought forever.

    But Neldin returned. His servant, Meglar, surprised his enemies and all the great wizards who opposed him. The Six chose a new Champion to save the world. Young and untested, Farrell struggles to unite those who oppose Neldin. With each confrontation, however, his task seems ever more impossible.

    Champion of the Gods is a five book epic fantasy series. 

    To learn more about each book and to find buy links to various retailers, click the book title below.

    Book I – The Last Grand Master

    Book II – The Eye and the Arm

    Book III – Kings of Lore and Legend

    Book IV – Child of Night and Day 

    Book V – When Heroes Fall (Coming 2018)

    Here are some links to help you find out more about the series and the world of Nendor.

    The world of Nendor:

    Geography and Climate:

    History and Politics:

    Religion and Magic:

    Food, Drink, Holiday’s and Culture:

    The Kingdom of Yar-del:

    People, Gods and Places

    Grand Master Kel:

    Grand Master Heminaltose:

    Queen Zenora:

    Meglar:

    Neldin:

     

  • The Secrets in My Scowl; by A. E. Via – Excerpt and Giveaway

    The Secrets in My Scowl; by A. E. Via – Excerpt and Giveaway

    Today, the lovely A. E. Via is taking over the Land of Make Believe to tell everyone about her latest release, The Secrets in My Scowl. I’m not giving nothing away when I say I do love a story where the lawyer gets his HEA. Call it looking out for my own. Check out the blurb, read the except and then go get the book. (Did I mention she’s giving away a Fire Tablet!! Read through to find out how to enter.)

    Blurb:

    secrets-inmy-scowl-customdesign-jayaheer2016-3drender-iphoneSparks ignite and tempers flare when a sexy, optimistic wedding planner moves his business in across the hall from a jilted, divorce lawyer’s practice.

    “Look smart ass. This is the last time I’m going to remind you about breaking sections of the lease. If there’s a next time, I won’t stop until you and your frilly, white wedding shit is thrown out of here. Do you got it?!”

    Wylde looked in Jacob’s pained eyes and answered in his deep voice. “Yeah, counselor. I got it.”

    From high school, up until he became a successful attorney Jacob Snowden was convinced that love had it out for him. “Everyone left,” were the words he lived by. His mother, his high school sweetheart, his father, and his fiancé, all left Jacob just when he felt it was safe to let down his guard. Not any longer. Jacob was a determined man, set at keeping people at a distance. If his six foot one, military-made body didn’t scare people off, his permanent scowl surely did. At almost forty, Jacob’s social life was non-existent, but he told himself his work fulfilled him. He helped people get out of their loveless marriages. Jacob Snowden was one of the best divorce lawyers on the east coast and was damn proud of it. So, imagine his disdain when a wedding planner moves into the suite directly adjacent to his… an insanely masculine, male wedding planner.

    Wylde Sterling had made quite a name for himself in his hometown of Roanoke, Virginia, working for a wedding planner that catered to the elite. He was known for his charm and impeccable taste. Yep, he was incredible at giving couples the wedding of their dreams. But he wanted nothing more than to plan his own. After striking out in love more times than he cared to admit, Wylde decided to start his own business in a new city, hoping Richmond would give him a fresh start. Things started out wonderfully – until he started to piss off the angry divorce attorney next door.

    Wylde could see past Jacob’s mean scowl, knowing there was a reason for it. It was the man’s defense mechanism, his means of keeping people away. Everything in Wylde told him to stay away, but he believed Jacob just needed to meet a man who had been hurt as badly as he had.

     

    Cover Artist – Jay Aheer

    Publisher: Via Star Wings Books

    Release Date: October 28, 2016

    Buy Links:

    Amazon Buy Link: 

    AllRomance: 

    Smashwords: 

    Goodreads:

    Excerpt:

    “Jacob, please. Please just listen a second. It’s not what it seems.”

    Jacob shook his head in disgust at the cliché and turned to storm out the door, crushing the flowers under his boot as he did. The roaring in his head was loud, but the repetitive “I told you so” screamed even louder. God, he felt so foolish… again. He’d been played like one of the many instruments Mark had mastered.

    Jacob’s long legs ate up the parking lot as he moved quickly to his car.

    “Just give me one minute to explain. Jacob don’t go, I’ll send Reggie away right now. Please let me talk.” Mark jumped in front of Jacob’s path, almost making him fall for the second time today.

    Jacob growled in his face. “Move, or I’ll move you myself.”

    “No. I don’t care. Not until you let me explain.”

    “Explain! Explain what? That you’re fucking your best friend behind my back?”

    “No! I swear, I’m not!” Tears ran freely down Mark’s red cheeks and his voice was hurting Jacob’s head the more he tried to convince him he hadn’t seen what he did.

    Jacob gripped Mark’s biceps and yanked him into his chest. “Then why are your goddamn pants undone, huh? You let him touch your dick, Mark? You let him touch what you promised was mine?” Jacob’s voice was low and lethal as he pushed Mark away, but his heart ached so deeply. He grabbed at his chest and another wave of agony washed over him when he realized what his hand was pressed against. The cry he let out was one of pure suffering. “You proposed to me, goddamnit. What the fuck was that… a joke?”

    “No, I swear to god. I am yours, Jacob.” Mark cried louder. Jacob moved around him and Mark must’ve realized he was almost out of time because his pitiful explanation began to fly out of his mouth like projectile vomit. “I called Reggie just to talk. I was upset about the way I proposed and how you wouldn’t answer me. He came over and said he just wanted to keep me company. I don’t know… I don’t know how we started kissing. I was just so lonely. I’m always by my fucking self! I miss you all the time.”

    “I was just here this past weekend. Well, I guess I know now who warms your bed when I’m not in it. All I asked was for a little patience.” Jacob refused to sob in front of this cheating bastard. Whether he believed Mark or not, he could never fully trust him again. Once a cheat, always a damn cheat. When he became a lawyer, he may spend long nights in the office or days at a stretch out of town on a case, and he refused to have to worry if his husband was being faithful at home.

    About the Author:

    ae-author-picA.E. Via is an author in the beautiful gay romance genre and also founder and owner of Via Star Wings Books. Her writing embodies everything from hopelessly romantic to adventure, to scandalous. Her stories often include intriguing edges and twists that take readers to new, thought-provoking depths.

    When she’s not clicking away at her laptop, she devotes herself to her family—a husband and four children. Adrienne Via has tons of more stories to tell, but she really would like to hear yours. Via Star Wings Books is currently accepting submissions for established and aspiring LGBTQ authors.

    Visit my site to learn more! Go to A.E. Via’s official website http://authoraevia.com for more detailed information on how to contact her, follow her, or a sneak peak on upcoming work, free reads, VSWB submissions, and where she’ll appear next

    Where to find A.E.

    Author Official Website: http://authoraevia.com

    A.E. Blog: http://authoraevia.com/blogfann.html

    Facebook Author Page: https://www.facebook.com/aeviaauthor

    Facebook (Friend me): https://www.facebook.com/authoraevia

    Twitter: https://twitter.com/AuthorAEVia

    aevia-logo-jayaheer2015-white-black-large-copy

    Giveaway:

    Click the Rafflecopter link below to enter for a chance to win a 7″ Fire Tablet.

    a Rafflecopter giveaway

  • Guest Post—Shadowboxing; by Anne Barwell

    Guest Post—Shadowboxing; by Anne Barwell

    Knights and Pawns

    Thanks for hosting me today.

    The line between hero and villain is not always as clear as one would think. As a writer I find it much more interesting to write villains who are convinced they’re doing the right thing. In their mind they are the hero fighting for a cause they believe in.

    In Shadowboxing—book 1 of my WWII Echoes Rising series—there are several men and a woman who have various ways of justifying their actions. The title for this blog post comes from a recurring chess theme within the story, and the fact that several of the characters enjoy the game, both on the board, and in reality.

    SS Standartenführer Karl Holm, the main antagonist in the story, is an interesting character to write. In his mind, his intentions are honourable, and he doesn’t see himself as a villain. Even when he’s interrogating his prisoners, he convinces himself that they brought their torture on themselves. After all, he gave them the opportunity to co-operate, right? He prefers to use good manners and intelligent conversation in order to get the information he requires, only stooping to distasteful violence when it is necessary. Having lost family in the last war, he has little time for traitors and is loyal to the Fatherland.

    On the other hand, his subordinate, SS Obersturmführer Reiniger is a man who enjoys violence and hurting people. He is a bully, and unfortunately in a position of power, and will use that to get revenge on those who made him lose face. I’ve written a couple of scenes from his perspective and it was a very unpleasant experience. However, the scenes flowed really well—should I worry about that?

    Margarete Huber is a different kind of foe, and although she may appear to be on a particular side, she plays her own game. She isn’t military but has family connections to the person in charge of the project that Holm and Reiniger are tasked to protect. This gives her power that she has no qualms in using for personal reasons, which makes her very dangerous. She is also very manipulative, and influences people and situations from a safe place behind the scenes. Margarete likes to think she can predict everyone’s moves so when someone does something she does not expect, or turns down her advances towards them, she wants to know why. Not only that, but she wants to ensure it does not happen again.

    Which of the three would you think is the most dangerous?

    Blurb:

    Echoes Rising: Book One

    ShadowboxingBerlin, 1943. An encounter with an old friend leaves German physicist Dr. Kristopher Lehrer with doubts about his work. But when he confronts his superior, everything goes horribly wrong. Suddenly Kristopher and Michel, a member of the Resistance, are on the run, hunted for treason and a murder they did not commit. If they’re caught, Kristopher’s knowledge could be used to build a terrible weapon that could win the war.

    For the team sent by the Allies—led by Captain Bryant, Sergeant Lowe, and Dr. Zhou—a simple mission escalates into a deadly game against the Gestapo, with Dr. Lehrer as the ultimate prize. But in enemy territory, surviving and completing their mission will test their strengths and loyalties and prove more complex than they ever imagined.

     

    Buy Link:

    DSP Publications:

    Excerpt:

    Michel froze when several gunshots pierced the quiet Berlin night. “Kristopher…,” he whispered. No. Please no.

    Beside him, Matt’s head jerked up. He swore loudly. A few moments later, another lone shot followed the first couple.

    Walker and Palmer skidded to a halt, doubling back from where they’d gone on ahead.

    “Elise’s Kaffeehaus.” Walker panted, trying to speak and catch his breath simultaneously. He and Palmer appeared to be much younger than their companions; Michel wouldn’t be surprised if this was their first assignment in the field. “Gestapo….”

    “Matt….” Ken’s previous harsh timbre was replaced by something much gentler, but Matt ignored him and shook his head.

    “No.” His voice shook, his words partly echoing Michel’s thoughts. “Not Elise. Please, not her, not now.” Matt leaned heavily against a nearby lamppost, his eyes glazed over.

    “We don’t know who fired the shots, sir.” Palmer took over the explanation. At least he could pass for German if he stayed quiet and kept his head down. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that, but there were no guarantees as to which way a particular mission might go. Michel had had that fact reinforced on more occasions than he cared to remember, but too many lives depended on them with this one. It had to succeed. “The Kaffeehaus is swarming with Gestapo, but there is no sign of anyone else.”

    “We need to ascertain precisely what has happened before we move in. In order to do that, we will have to get closer.” Ken took charge—although Matt was the ranking officer, he appeared to be in no state to give orders. Whatever his relationship to Elise, this was not the time for him to be dwelling on what might be happening in the Kaffeehaus. Getting Kristopher and the plans to safety was still their priority.

    “It’s damn obvious that someone’s been shot.” Matt visibly pulled himself together, although his voice hitched slightly before the word “shot.” “We need to get in there quickly in order to minimize damage. Gabriel, take Walker and Palmer and secure the back entrance. Lowe, Zhou, you’re with me. We’ll secure the front.”

    “What if there’s another exit?” asked Liang, disengaging the safety on his handgun.

    Matt shook his head, his matter-of-fact tone verifying prior knowledge of both the Kaffeehaus and its owner. “There isn’t. Not unless Elise has done some major renovations, which I doubt.”

    “We’re probably more than outnumbered by Holm and his men.” Michel pointed out the inadequacies of the plan. “It would be more sensible to size up the situation first, as Lowe suggested, before we move in. The shot might be merely a warning. We don’t know for certain that someone is injured. If Dr. Lehrer and Elise have been captured, it would pay to wait until….” His voice trailed off, a grotesque image entering his mind—Kristopher lying on the floor of the Kaffeehaus, his fair hair stained red with the blood dripping from a single bullet hole to the temple. Michel quickly pushed it away. Holm needed Kristopher. He wouldn’t risk killing him. Elise could be used to ensure Kristopher’s cooperation. It made more sense that they were both still alive.

    “I don’t care.” Matt’s previous calm was replaced by an edge of desperation that made him both unpredictable and dangerous. “I’m not just sitting here and waiting. To hell with procedure.”

    About the Author:

    Anne Barwell lives in Wellington, New Zealand. She shares her home with two cats who are convinced that the house is run to suit them; this is an ongoing “discussion,” and to date it appears as though the cats may be winning.

    In 2008 she completed her conjoint BA in English Literature and Music/Bachelor of Teaching. She has worked as a music teacher, a primary school teacher, and now works in a library. She is a member of the Upper Hutt Science Fiction Club and plays violin for Hutt Valley Orchestra.

    She is an avid reader across a wide range of genres and a watcher of far too many TV series and movies, although it can be argued that there is no such thing as “too many.” These, of course, are best enjoyed with a decent cup of tea and further the continuing argument that the concept of “spare time” is really just a myth.

    Anne’s books have received honorable mentions four times and reached the finals three times in the Rainbow Awards.  She has also been nominated twice in the Goodreads M/M Romance Reader’s Choice Awards—once for Best Fantasy and once for Best Historical.

    Where to find her:

    Blog: http://anne-barwell.livejournal.com/

    Website: http://annebarwell.wordpress.com/

    Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/anne.barwell.1

    Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115084832208481414034/posts

    Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/4862410.Anne_Barwell

    Dreamspinner Press Author Page:

    http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/AuthorArcade/anne-barwell

    DSP Publications Author Page:

    https://www.dsppublications.com/authors/anne-barwell-49