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Thea by Genevieve Morrissey

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Poverty, prejudice, her mother’s addiction…in her quest for an education, 15-year-old Thea tries to navigate them all. But will a secret ultimately undermine her efforts?

Thea
by Genevieve Morrissey
Genre: YA Historical Fiction

Oklahoma City, 1925

Fifteen-year-old Thea Carter lives in a small garage apartment—Thea’s seventh “home” in four years—provided by her alcoholic mother’s employer, the morose and enigmatic Dr. Hallam.

School is Thea’s refuge and she’s an excellent student, but the parasitic Mrs. Carter’s instability continually threatens her dream of getting a high school diploma. In an effort to keep her mother employed and the two of them housed, Thea secretly takes on much of her mother’s work while at the same time navigating adolescence, friendships, and first love.

Dr. Hallam, impressed by her drive and intelligence, becomes Thea’s unexpected ally, but in addition to wealth and position, the doctor also has a secret that could ruin him, and shatter his bond with Thea.

“Thea is a coming-of-age tale with a lot of heart and charm. Author Genevieve Morrissey has written a moving story about a young girl’s journey of self-discovery…. Morrissey’s characters truly leap off the pages….. It’s a fantastic coming-of-age story for young adults and even older readers!”
– Reader’s Favorite Review

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Thea is the new historical novel by Genevieve Morrissey, author of the award-winning Marriage & Hanging and the popular Antlands science fiction series. She is an avid student of British and American social history who, through one of those strange little quirks of fate, spends most of her days talking with scientists. In addition to writing, Genevieve enjoys reading obscure books, travel, and solitude.

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THEA info for Silver Dagger Book Tour
Genevieve Morrissey
April 2025

Stuff About Me:

First—I’m not young. Luckily for me, writing isn’t something that requires youth, quick wits, or agility.

I always wanted to be a writer, and I always wrote, but for many years I wrote only for myself. I was sure any criticism of my work would absolutely crush me. I hardened up a little in my middle years and started letting a few people close to me read my books, but even then, I wasn’t brave enough to submit any work to the judgment of the public until the pandemic came along. Then, quarantined and bored out of my mind, I finally took the leap with Antlands and discovered the public I’d been afraid of was actually almost universally kind.

Beyond that, I was born in the usual way, raised in a conventional nineteen-sixties household in southern California, and educated in public schools. I majored in Classical Studies at the University of California, San Diego, but afterwards forgot all the Latin and Greek I’d learned so quickly I was forced to conclude I’d never really learned them at all. After graduation my interest turned from ancient to more recent history, and particularly to American and (to a lesser extent) British social history. I’ve been immersed in that subject for more than forty years now, which has resulted in my accumulating hundreds and hundreds of books with faded bindings and a strong odor of mildew. At this point I’m pretty mildewed myself, not to mention something of a museum-piece for having been married to the same man for more than half a century. He’s a biochemist, which means you may trust that any science in my books has been thoroughly vetted.

Are Your Characters Based on Real People…?

All my characters are real people I know, or composites of several real people. I don’t have a good enough imagination to create a totally original personality.

In the case of THEA, for example, Thea’s mother, Grace, is based largely on my own mother, except that my mother suffered from mental illness rather than alcohol addiction. Like Thea, my mother was a high school student during the 1920s, graduating on the eve of the Depression, and I based Thea’s high school experiences on Mom’s.

Unlike Thea Carter, my mother’s life unfortunately had no Dr. Hallam in it. I was luckier, and THEA was partly written as a tribute to him. Thea herself was based on a contemporary of mine who I admired, and as with all my books (THEA is the sixth I’ve published) minor characters are all amalgams of friends and acquaintances, some of whom recognize themselves and some of whom don’t. My books’ villains are always old enemies of mine, and in the first five drafts, at least, I make them suffer.

What Did You Edit Out…?

As a child, I read all of Charles Dickens’ works.

What I mean by that is that my mother had a lavishly illustrated boxed set of the works of Charles Dickens and in childhood I pored over the pictures, devoured the dialogue, read most paragraphs of six lines or less—and shamelessly skipped all the rest. Later in school, when I was forced to read every word of David Copperfield, I concluded that my earlier choice had been the correct one.

Bad examples can be as useful as good ones. Based on this early research, I try to edit out anything in my books that doesn’t keep the plot marching smartly along, avoid long descriptive passages, and cap the number of characters at fewer than twenty. Deaths and scenes of death-beds are usually limited to one per book (and I try not to make them pathetic).

In early drafts of THEA, Grace Carter had a backstory; Dr. Hallam had a backstory (a long one); Thea herself had more backstory; and in general, all the characters got up to a whole lot more stuff than made it into the final version of the book. In fact, I probably excised an amount equivalent to double what ultimately remained. This is about usual with me, and I believe every cut made the final story better.

Who designed your book covers?

All of my covers except one are the work of Mark Thomas of Coverness. I love them all, and I think the cover of Thea is his best yet.

The cover of The Complete Raffles, Annotated and Illustrated is the work of Sarah Morrissey, and features an image of Raffles painted by J.C. Leyendecker.

Advice I would give new authors?

I find that people are very free about giving advice to writers. The only piece I ever got that I consciously took is this:

First—write a book (or play, or story, or poem, or whatever your thing is).

Second—revise what you wrote. Revise it again. Revise it again. Revise it until you’re sick of looking at it. Revise it some more. Keep revising it until every sentence is as perfect as you can make it.

Third—open the bottom drawer of your desk and drop your manuscript into it.

Fourth—close the drawer. If you feel like slamming it, go ahead.

Fifth—repeat steps one through four until one day when you open the bottom drawer to drop in your manuscript, you find the drawer full. At this point—and not before—you may proceed to step six, which is to attempt to get your latest work published.

I got this advice (I don’t remember from whom) in a time when people still had desk drawers and manuscripts on paper that could be dropped into them, but as that’s usually no longer the case, a contemporary version of this advice might go:

Step one—measure and calculate the volume of an old-fashioned bottom desk drawer. Measure and calculate the volume of a manuscript printed on 81/2 by 11-inch paper. Calculate how many manuscripts of the calculated volume would be required to reach the maximum capacity of said drawer.

Proceed with old steps one through four until the number of virtual manuscripts you have completed is enough to fill the virtual drawer.

Then continue to step five.

If you are math-avoidant, it may serve as a rough estimate for you to know that my desk drawer—actual, not virtual—was filled by Attempted Book Number Eight. Book Number Nine was Antlands, which sold very well, so I think the drawer-filling technique worked very well in my case.

Do you believe in writer’s block?

Yep. With as much conviction as I believe in gravity. Just keep writing.

Pen, typewriter or computer?

I’m so old I’ve written books with all three. I like my computer best because it makes revisions so easy I have no possible excuse to stint on revising.

How long on average does it take you to write a book?

At first, five years. Then three. Then two. To write THEA took only one. As with any skill, practice is everything.

Dream Rider Saga by Douglas Smith

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Douglas Smith is a five-time award-winning author described by Library Journal as “one of Canada’s most original writers of speculative fiction.”

His latest work is the multi-award-winning YA urban fantasy trilogy, The Dream Rider Saga. Other books include the urban fantasy novel, The Wolf at the End of the World; the collections, Chimerascope and Impossibilia; and the writer’s guide Playing the Short Game.
His short fiction has appeared in the top markets in the field, including The Magazine of Fantasy & Science Fiction, Amazing Stories, InterZone, Weird Tales, and many others.

He is a 4-time winner of Canada’s Aurora Award as well as the juried IAP Award. He’s been a finalist for the Astounding Award, CBC’s Bookies Award, Canada’s juried Sunburst Award, the juried Alberta Magazine Award for Fiction, and France’s juried Prix Masterton and Prix Bob Morane.

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When Did You Start Writing? / When did you realize you wanted to be a writer?
I did a lot of writing in high school, but got away from it for many years. I’d always planned to get serious about fiction “someday.” Then, in 1995, I finally decided to try. I started writing what would become my first professionally published story, “Spirit Dance,” but I really wasn’t making much progress. I’d spent, I think, all of July rewriting the same opening scene.
Then, while on vacation, I came across a book called The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron. It’s essentially a twelve-step program for recovering your creativity as an adult, the creativity we’re all born with and which is then beaten out of us by society as we’re told to grow up and get a real job. It’s a wonderful book and one I recommend to anyone who wants to be creative (or more creative), whether that be writing, art, music, acting, or whatever.
But the real impetus for me to get serious about writing came when I returned from that vacation. and read that one of my all-time favourite writers, Roger Zelazny, had passed away from cancer at the far too young age of 56. That was it. Right then, I decided not to wait for “someday” or retirement or anything to start writing. There’s no guarantee any of us will live long enough to have a “someday.” I started producing stories regularly and sending them out to professional markets. I submitted my first story in January 1996—and got my first rejection that same month. But I kept submitting and received my first acceptance letter for “Spirit Dance” on Dec 31 that year, which was a great way to end a year and start a new one.

How did you discover the joys of speculative fiction?
I had two “discovery” periods. When I was eight, a friend introduced me to Robert A. Heinlein’s young-adult SF novels — essentially rocket and ray-gun books. I devoured all of those, but then stopped reading the genre. Then in Grade 11, I had to do a paper in English comparing the works of multiple authors. Amazingly, the teacher included a group consisting of Heinlein, Isaac Asimov, Arthur C. Clarke, and Ray Bradbury, which, of course, was the group I picked. That assignment got me back into reading SF and fantasy.

What writing has inspired you? / Major Influences? / Favourite Authors?
I’d have to say my favourite author and influence on my own writing has been the late Roger Zelazny. His Lord of Light is one of the greatest speculative fiction novels ever written. His stories are often based on mythology, and I’ve always loved myths—Greek, Norse, Egyptian, Native American—so that was one attraction to his work. His prose style is lean but poetic, his stories poignant and mythic and filled with unique characters you want to spend time with. Plus, his work shows the most fantastic range of imagination of any writer I’ve ever encountered. I don’t think I write like him, but I’m sure he’s had an influence.
Ray Bradbury’s short fiction was another early influence. He wrote about the fantastical hiding in our everyday lives, whether the hidden mystery is wondrous or frightening. I love his lyrical prose style, the simple humanity of his characters, and his insight into what it means to be human, no matter what our age. I reread “Something Wicked This Way Comes” recently. When I’d read it as a teenager, I remember loving the book and the kid characters, but not really “getting” the father. Reading it now, as an adult and father, I realize that Bradbury really understood both generations and the changes, choices, and regrets that come with age, and that is where the power of the book resides.
I came to Hemingway late and after he was out of fashion, but his lean prose style amazed me, the way he could say so much by saying so little, and often communicating as much by what he left out, by what his characters didn’t discuss, as what he put on the page.
Other favourite authors include Charles de Lint, Shirley Jackson, Emily St. John Mandel, Amor Towles, Thomas Perry, Thomas King, Ian Hamilton, Neil Gaiman, and Tim Powers. That’s a short list (but a good one).
Some favourite books, including a lot on non-speculative fiction, include Station Eleven, The Queen’s Gambit, A Gentleman in Moscow, Memory & Dream, Ready Player One, Weaveworld, We Have Always Lived in the Castle, Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, Ian Hamilton’s Ava Lee series, and of course, the spec fic classics like Dune, Stranger in a Strange Land, and LOTR.
I’ve also written several short stories inspired in some way by the songs of Bruce Springsteen. He’s an astounding storyteller. In a few lines, he tells stories of everyday people struggling with whatever life has thrown at them, but with an attitude of defiance and hope despite the odds against them.
And Buffy. Major Buffy fan. It remains one of the most creative shows ever to hit TV and is a writing workshop on character development and arcs and dialog.

Why start with short fiction?
I started with short fiction because in spec fic, it’s been traditional to break in writing short stories. But I also think it makes sense to start with the short form before trying to tackle a novel, and I always urge young writers to do the same. Short stories let you learn the craft of fiction much faster than writing a novel. Twenty 5,000-word short stories let you experiment far more with different styles, points of view, genres, story structures, etc. than you could in a single 100,000-word novel. Plus, you’ll be able to find out earlier if your writing is at a publishable level by submitting those stories to short fiction markets.
And short fiction will teach you skills you need whether you write short stories or novels—handling point of view, story structure, use of scenes, characterization, plot, pacing, dialog, setting, world building, information flow, voice—not to mention basic sentence structure, paragraphing, punctuation, grammar.
I moved to novels once all my “short” stories started becoming very long stories.

What I read as a child
I was reading by the time I was four, thanks to my parents reading to me every night at bedtime. It hooked me on books for a lifetime. Reading was a way to have wonderful adventures as a kid and make my world so much bigger than my house and neighborhood and school.
My early favourites were animal stories, which probably led me to my love for writing shapeshifter tales. I loved A.E. Milne’s “Winnie the Pooh” books (apparently my favourite bedtime stories as a young child) and Walter Brook’s “Freddie the Pig” series (the first books I remember knowing how to find in a library). Later it was everything by Jack London. About grade 5 or 6, Robert A. Heinlein juveniles got me hooked on SF, which led to fantasy. John Creasey and Dorothy Sayers introduced me to mystery and crime fiction somewhere in there as well.
I believe that parents can teach kids to love reading by reading them a bedtime story EVERY night, from the day you bring them home. Make it a fun time, something they look forward to and associate with a wonderful experience. And make books a natural thing to have around. Our kids knew we’d say “no” to games, toys, or candy when out shopping—but they could always buy a new book.
And for any wannabe writers, you can’t be a writer if you’re not a voracious reader. Period.

Will Dreycott is a superhero. In his dreams…and in yours.

The Hollow Boys
The Dream Rider Saga Book 1
by Douglas Smith
Genre: YA Urban Fantasy

WINNER OF THE 2023 AURORA AWARD FOR BEST YA NOVEL
WINNER OF THE 2023 JURIED IAP AWARD FOR BEST YA NOVEL

“Thrilling YA fantasy” —BookLife (Editor’s Pick)
“A must-read story for YA fantasy fans.” —Blueink Review (Starred review)
“Inventive, engaging, and boundless fun.” —The Ottawa Review of Books

Vanishing street kids. An ancient evil. The end of the world.
Our only hope? A hero who can’t leave home.

At seventeen, Will Dreycott is a superhero…in his dreams. And in yours.

Eight years ago, Will’s parents, shady dealers in ancient artifacts, disappeared on a jungle expedition. Will, the sole survivor, returned home with no memory of what happened, bringing a gift…and a curse.

The gift? Will can walk in our dreams. At night in Dream, Will hunts for criminals—and his parents. During the day, his Dream Rider comic, about a superhero no one knows is real, has made Will rich.

The curse? Severe agoraphobia. Will can’t go outside. So he makes his home a skyscraper with everything he needs in life—everything but the freedom to walk the streets of his city.

Case, an orphan Will’s age, survives on those streets with her younger brother, Fader. Survives because she too has a gift. She hears voices warning her of danger. And Fader? Well, he fades.

When street kids start vanishing, the Dream Rider joins the hunt. Will’s search becomes personal when Case breaks into his tower to escape her own abduction. Fader isn’t so lucky.

As Will and Case search for Fader and the missing kids, an unlikely romance grows between the boy with everything and the girl with nothing except the freedom Will longs for.

But as they push deeper into the mystery, they confront an ancient power feeding on these forgotten kids to restore itself. And once restored, no one in the world will be safe.

To defeat this creature, Will must do the impossible.

Go outside.

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The Dream Rider Saga, a fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s most original writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

Praise for The Hollow Boys:
“This arresting series kickoff grips from the start as it introduces its inventive milieu, its flawed but fantastically powered hero, its playful worldbuilding, and a host of tantalizing mysteries. … [A] vigorously imaginative scenario. … Takeaway: Thrilling YA fantasy” —BookLife (Editor’s Pick)

“An assured, confident novel … A must-read story for YA fantasy fans.” —Blueink Review (Starred review)

“Inventive, engaging, and boundless fun.” —The Ottawa Review of Books “A fun supernatural tale with well-developed characters and a touch of romance.” —Kirkus Reviews
Praise for Douglas Smith:

“The man is Sturgeon good. Zelazny good. I don’t give those up easy.” —Spider Robinson, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

“A great storyteller with a gifted and individual voice.” —Charles de Lint, World Fantasy Award winner

“His stories are a treasure trove of riches that will touch your heart while making you think.” —Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

On Sale Until Jan 11!
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The Crystal Key
The Dream Rider Saga Book 2

Sequel to the AURORA AWARD WINNER and the Juried IAP AWARD WINNER, The Hollow Boys

“Give me the Crystal Key!”

Will Dreycott is the Dream Rider, the agoraphobic teenage superhero who can walk in our dreams but never in the streets of his city. Case is his girlfriend, a survivor of those streets who hears voices that warn her of danger. Fader is her brother, who is very good at disappearing. Together, they defeated a body swapper and a witch to save the world (The Hollow Boys).

Now, Case battles guilt over living sheltered in Will’s tower home while her street friends still struggle. Blaming his affliction for Case’s sadness, Will searches for a way to live a normal life with the girl he loves—a way to go outside.

But his efforts draw the attention of dark forces. Sinister figures hunt Will in Dream. Intruders scour the vast warehouse of antiquities “acquired” by Will’s missing parents. And a masked swordswoman attacks Will, demanding “the Crystal Key” before disappearing into thin air.

Are they all searching for the same thing? Something from Will’s parents’ shady past? For the swordswoman leaves behind a flowery scent, Will’s only memory from the lost expedition eight years ago that gave him powers in Dream but cost him his parents and his freedom.

A trail of dark secrets leads Will, Case, and Fader to a mysterious world. Trapped between warring cults willing to kill for the Crystal Key, the three friends must master strange new powers that grow stronger and wilder the closer they draw to the truth.

This time it’s not just the fate of the world at stake…but the multiverse.

~ ~ ~

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The Dream Rider Saga, a fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s most original writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

Praise for The Crystal Key:
“The richly inventive Dream Rider adventure continues in this second appealing entry…with an exciting plot… always enlivened by the Smith hallmarks of crack dialogue, fun sleuthing and puzzle-solving, a strong throughline of emotion, a swift pace…and a principled refusal to settle for the familiar. Takeaway: This thrilling superpowered urban fantasy series continues to grip.” (New readers should start with book one.) —BookLife (Editor’s Pick)
“The engrossing second installment of Douglas Smith’s Dream Rider Saga trilogy. … Smith continues to demonstrate an ability to expertly weave multiple complex fantasy elements into a cohesive whole. … This fast-paced story delivers in a big way—and Smith has all his ducks lined up for an explosive conclusion [to the series] that readers won’t want to miss.” —Blueink Review (★ Starred review)
Praise for Douglas Smith:

“The man is Sturgeon good. Zelazny good. I don’t give those up easy.” —Spider Robinson, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

“A great storyteller with a gifted and individual voice.” —Charles de Lint, World Fantasy Award winner

“His stories are a treasure trove of riches that will touch your heart while making you think.” —Robert J. Sawyer, Hugo and Nebula Awards winner

“Stories you can’t forget, even years later.” —Julie Czerneda, multi-award-winning author and editor

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The Lost Expedition
The Dream Rider Saga Book 3

The Thrilling Conclusion to the Multi-Award-Winning Trilogy

Will is the Dream Rider, the superhero who walks in our dreams but never in the streets of his own city. Case is his girlfriend, a survivor of those streets who hears voices warning her of danger. Fader, her brother, is very good at disappearing.

In The Hollow Boys, they defeated a body swapper and a witch to save the world. In The Crystal Key, they battled warring cults to protect an ancient artifact tied to Will’s affliction.

The Chakana. The Crystal Key. But the key to what? To finding answers, they hope, to the questions that rule their lives.

What caused their strange powers? And Will’s crippling agoraphobia? Can he be cured? Why did their parents travel to the jungles of Peru eight years ago? Are they still alive?

Behind every question is the Chakana. What is the mysterious relic? Why will people kill to possess it? What hold does it have on Will?

As creatures from Inca myths haunt the three friends, another attack on the Chakana threatens Will’s life. To save him and solve the mystery of the lost expedition, only one choice remains.

Return to Peru. With the Chakana.

There, they find friends and foes, both old and new. And behind it all, an unseen enemy moving them like pieces on a chessboard.

To win this deadly game, Will, Case, and Fader must master new powers to defeat the most dangerous adversary they’ve ever faced—a god.

At stake this time? Every life, every world, every universe. Everything.

Indiana Jones meets Teen Titans in The Dream Rider Saga, a fast-paced urban fantasy trilogy from “one of Canada’s most original writers of speculative fiction” (Library Journal).

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First Drive by David Fitz-Gerald

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Grab your hat, step into your boots, and strap on those spurs. Your cow pony is saddled up and ready to ride the trail from San Antonio to Abilene.

First Drive
A Seph Vermillion Western Adventure Book 1
by David Fitz-Gerald
Genre: Historical Western Adventure Fiction

Grab your hat, step into your boots, and strap on those spurs. Your cow pony is saddled up and ready to ride the trail from San Antonio to Abilene.
Seph Vermillion grew up dirt poor. As long as he can remember, he’s been pushing a plow and arguing with a mule. A couple of times a year, a trio of bandits ravage the family farm and make off with their savings.
Pa never returned home after the war. Seph’s siblings have been gone so long, he doesn’t remember what they look like. When Ma dies after a long illness, Seph trades the family farm for a horse named Sheriff. The kid next door tells Seph about the Deatherage Longhorn Cattle Ranch. The allure of adventure beckons. They partner up and hit the trail. Lacking skills, they are the last cowboys hired and agree to work for half pay.
The outfit’s top hand, Stoke Moreland, pranks, taunts, and threatens Seph. Why does the seasoned cowboy seem intent on driving him off? Seph doesn’t know much about self-defense, but he is tired of being a victim and feeling violated. How long can he turn the other cheek?
The trail is fraught with hazards from perilous river crossings to the mother of all stampedes. When they realize they’re being tracked, followed, and hunted, a growing sense of doom overwhelms the fledgling outfit of cowboys who are still wet behind the ears. The outlaws that plagued Seph’s past have followed them and they are determined to take the herd. Their plan is simple: pit the cowboys against each other, pick them off one by one, and stampede the beeves.
Since they left San Antonio, the drovers have looked forward to whooping it up at the end of the trail. That was before somebody began killing cowboys. Now, Abilene seems like an impossible dream. Will anybody make it to the end of the trail?
Grab your slicker, fetch your bedroll, and swing up into the saddle. Sign on with the Dagger D, Angry R brand—First Drive is calling your name.

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Get the freebie prequel Farewell to Poesta Creek here!

David Fitz-Gerald writes westerns and historical fiction. He is the author of twelve books, including the brand-new series, Ghosts Along the Oregon Trail set in 1850. Dave is a multiple Laramie Award, first place, best in category winner; a Blue Ribbon Chanticleerian; a member of Western Writers of America; and a member of the Historical Novel Society.
Alpine landscapes and flashy horses always catch Dave’s eye and turn his head. He is also an Adirondack 46-er, which means that he has hiked to the summit of the range’s highest peaks. As a mountaineer, he’s happiest at an elevation of over four thousand feet above sea level.
Dave is a lifelong fan of western fiction, landscapes, movies, and music. It should be no surprise that Dave delights in placing memorable characters on treacherous trails, mountain tops, and on the backs of wild horses.

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Character Profile – Meet Torp: Seph’s Little Brother on the Trail

In First Drive, Thomas “Torp” Orpington is the beating heart of the story—a young cowboy whose tragic past fuels his determination and whose resilience, alongside his bond with Seph Vermillion, underscores the power of brotherhood. Orphaned at a young age, Torp brings vulnerability and grit to the rugged world of the Deatherage outfit. His relationship with Seph offers readers a poignant glimpse into the transformative strength of found family and mentorship.

Torp’s life was shaped by profound loss. First, he lost his mother:

“A drifter killed Ma. Hit her with a big stick while she was coming back from church. Took what little money she had. It wasn’t enough to be worth dying for.”

After her death, his father turned to drinking, only to meet his own tragic end:

“I wasn’t always alone,” Torp said quietly. “Pa slipped on a rock by the river. That’s what they said. I found him there two days later, half in and half out of the water.”

These early tragedies didn’t break Torp; instead, they forged his determination to prove himself in a world where work dominated every waking moment.

For Seph Vermillion, Torp becomes the little brother he never had. Seph sees Torp’s struggles and steps into the role of protector and mentor, offering guidance when others ridicule or dismiss him. In helping Torp navigate his struggles, Seph discovers his own strength as a leader and mentor, forging a bond that shapes both of their journeys. Torp, in turn, looks to Seph as a steady presence in a world that has often been cruel:

“Stoke asked me if you changed my diapers and burped me after meals. He’s calling me a baby, ain’t he?”

Seph wanted to lie to the kid, but couldn’t do it. “Some people like to be mean, Torp. I know it is hard to overlook, but sometimes I don’t think they can help it.”

Seph’s compassion helps Torp navigate his insecurities, but their relationship is not one-sided. Torp inspires Seph with his perseverance, reminding him of the strength found in vulnerability and the courage to keep going.

Though small in stature and often underestimated, Torp works tirelessly to pull his weight. Whether it is riding drag through the choking dust or calming a skittish longhorn, Torp approaches every task with tireless determination. His longing for recognition is encapsulated in his emotional request to Seph:

“Seph… if you ever have a kid, could you name him after me? Just so… just so folks remember I was here.”

Seph’s response—an unshakable promise to carry Torp’s memory forward—cements their bond and shows how deeply Torp’s presence impacts those around him.

Despite his hardships, Torp earns his place on the cattle drive. His underdog spirit and unyielding heart transform him from an orphan to an irreplaceable member of the Dagger D, Angry R crew. Whether managing the cranky beeves at the tail end of the herd or lifting the spirits of his fellow cowboys, the Deatherage Longhorn Cattle Ranch would not be the same without this diminutive drover.

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Dark Sun by Eric Johnson

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The unit was sent to Durham to fight what is essentially a zombie infestation

Dark Sun
C Troop, 1-5 Kommando Book 1
by Eric Johnson
Genre: Military Science Fiction

After the events in 2-4 Cavalry Story 15: In the Pit of Vipers and under a new Troop commander, Captain Karl Bradi, the unit is redesignated C Troop 1-5 Kommando. After their deployment to Earth the unit is resting and refitting, and also cleaning up holdouts on Friesland. Despite this, they are sent to Durham, a planet in the Independent Planets that suffers what is loosely described as a zombie infestation. The unit fights monsters, both real and human, in order to survive on the planet.

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Eric Johnson is a military veteran, and a self-published author who served in the US Army and US Army National Guard for twelve years and three years respectively. He currently lives in Baltimore and spends his time writing stories based on his past experiences as well as using current events to focus on counter-insurgency as well as other related topics. His primary genre is military science fiction (5th Kommando, C Troop 1-5 Kommando, 2-4 Cavalry series, and the Eagle Hammer Universe series), and he has written a few books in other genres as well, including fantasy (Tales of Baromir series).

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NOW AVAILABLE: FINDING EVERDAL!

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Celeste epitomizes high school success: top grades, head cheerleader, even dating the star quarterback. Life couldn’t be better with a picture-perfect family and college on the horizon. But as she drifts off to sleep on the eve of her 17th birthday, Celeste never fathoms waking up over 1,000 years in the future.

Transported to a world both unfamiliar and strangely linked to her own, Celeste discovers she’s the heir to a royal lineage and her mother is a long-lost princess. Yet as secrets unravel and familial rifts emerge, the once harmonious facade of her family begins to splinter.

Navigating impossible choices, Celeste’s journey becomes a quest for self-discovery and strength. In the chaos, she discovers the power within her identity, the importance of family, and the treasures of genuine friendships. Embark on Celeste’s journey as she boldly faces the mysteries ahead, shaping her fate with courage and unwavering determination.

Nina has always been creative, be it art, theatre, film – anything but singing – you don’t want to hear that! She earned her bachelor’s degree in Theatre and Military Science from Eastern Michigan University where she spent most of her time either on stage, rappelling down buildings, or working one of three jobs. After college, she moved to Los Angeles, like so many other actors, in pursuit of her dreams.

She started writing short stories in 2008. Since then, her dreams have gotten bigger and her storytelling ability has gotten better. Her first novel Awaken (the Blood Angel Series) was published in 2012. Since then, she has completed the Blood Angel Series with Beginnings, Revenge, and Pursuit, published the SECTOR C trilogy (The Chosen, The Hunted, and The Bridge), released a stand-alone interactive fantasy novel called The Beast Within, and just published Finding Everdal a portal-fantasy novel which takes readers over 1,000 years into the future.

Nina loves helping other writers discover their voice and has written a series of books designed to help authors of all ages find their way through the writing process. Check out JUST WRITE, SO YOU WANT TO WRITE A BOOK, #WRITINGPROMPTS, and The Invisible You on Amazon today.

In her day-to-day life, Nina is a North Alabama real estate agent, but she has done everything from perform on stage, television, and film to firing an M16 machine gun, jumped out of a C130 aircraft, and given birth – TWICE – but she always returns to her writing.

Though she’ll forever be a Michigan girl at heart, she now lives in the south with her husband and two beautiful children. If she’s not working on her latest story, you can find her playing with her kids, lounging with a good book, or indulging in her unhealthy addiction to Starbucks coffee.

Join her online following on Twitter @Nina_Soden and Instagram @Nina_Soden, visit her online at http://www.ninasoden.com and on youtube at www.youtube.com/c/ninasoden

Disclosure: As part of the Amazon affiliate program, I earn a commission for all sales connected with the links within this post. All profits earned are used for the purposes of writing, editing, designing, formatting, and publishing more books.

Why I Chose to Start a Fiction Podcast as an Author

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Why I Chose to Start a Fiction Podcast as an Author by Alyanna Poe

As an indie horror author, I’m always looking for new ways to promote my work. Having watched the first season of Only Murders in the Building, it got me thinking. There are people that listen to true crime podcasts so thoroughly that they have maps, notes, and theories about the cases they listen to. Only problem is, I’ve got no connections to get details about cases, but I do have a head full of stories.

This birthed the idea of the Indicted Fiction Podcast. I thought, “True crime but make it fiction.” I didn’t want to use the same format as a true crime podcast because who wants to listen to a fake case? Not to mention, the idea allowed for many mistakes. I couldn’t imagine writing a fake crime and investigation just to have a listener tell me it’s not possible and the whole case is clearly a sham. So came the audio diary idea. 

Season one of Indicted Fiction is called “Adam’s Murder.” Can you guess what it’s about? Each episode of the podcast is a chapter of the book I wrote under the same name, and once the last podcast episode airs, the book will be published. Abigail Drummer must work through her grief as she investigates the murder of her brother, keeping an audio diary as she points a finger at everyone she knows. I play the character I wrote, Abigail Drummer. While planning out the idea, I figured an audio diary format leaves me so much creative space. Listeners have told me that she has a quirky awkwardness about her youth and that she’s very relatable and emotional. I’ve never taken an acting or voice over class, and I think the only reason I’m able to convey this emotion is because I wrote the story and it’s so close to me. In 2020 I lost my own brother. In Adam’s Murder I worked through a lot of grief and feelings of guilt, and narrating that work only amplified my emotions. I think in episode three you can actually hear me crying. 

The benefit of narrating your own story is that you understand where to emphasize the words, where to show emotion, and how your character sounds. Abby is awkward. She’s introverted and so unsure about the world around her. Sure, a voice actor would be able to convey this, but I think my listeners/readers are not only making a connection to Abby but also to me. 

Another great benefit is, I was able to do this on a budget, and I can promote this podcast in places I could never promote my books because it’s free. Listeners get a taste of my writing and then can check out my other books or buy the book once it’s published. Not to mention, the podcast is sort of acting as a book launch, building excitement for the publication of the book.

So far, despite having a mic that’s not great and a set up that would make any voice actor cringe, I’ve gotten great feedback. Every week people are excited for a new episode, and I’m so proud of myself for having spread myself into new territory as an author. 

I think any writer could benefit from a fiction podcast. Whether you do a short story per week, add sound effects, or narrate from third person, it’s all doable. 

For anyone interested, Indicted Fiction: Adam’s Murder is available to read on my blog and to listen to on my website, YouTube, and Spotify. And if all goes well, season two of Indicted Fiction will be available to my patrons on Patreon only and will follow a serial killer in prison telling her stories of murder and why she did it.

CLICK HERE TO LISTEN TO THE PODCAST!

Author Alyanna Poe: an author from Northern California with a knack for horror. Poe has been writing since a young age and self-published her first horror novel at eighteen years old. Many ask what her real name is, only to be surprised that she is a born Poe with relations to the great Edgar Allan Poe. She frequently posts interviews with small businesses and authors like herself, short fiction, and articles about writing and marketing to her website authoralyannapoe.com

Check out The Case of Adams Murder: Episode 1

ALSO BY ALYANNA POE

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The Meow Guardians by Maria Vermisoglou

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As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. That means, when you purchase a book using an Amazon link on this site, I earn an affiliate commission. All commission earnings go back into funding my books; editing, cover design, etc.

Title: The Meow Guardians

Genre: Holiday animal fiction

This Christmas the holiday spirit is under threat and only a special stray can save it!

The name’s Ginger, AKA Agent Meow 01. Usually, I spend my free time searching for scraps and getting chased by dogs, like the stray cat that I am.

But this Christmas, everything changes.

When the dog agents from PAWs mess up and leave the human world hanging by a thread, it’s Ginger to the rescue. With my combination of brains, stealth, and daring, I’m the agent they call when the fur starts to fly. Except this time, I’ve got a new partner.

A house cat.

With the clock ticking, this mission seems doomed to failure with so many pheromones about.

Will the Christmas spirit be saved, or will we turn our tails and let the world burn?

Maria Vermisoglou is an International Bestselling author of fantasy and paranormal with an obsession for witches. She loves throwing her heroes into impossible situations. Maria draws inspiration from books, travel, and…the ceiling. (So blame the ceiling!)
Maria started writing when the stories she read became too boring and the voices in her mind too loud.

When she’s not writing, she loves a good riding on the fantasy dragon, but a book can also be exciting, along with a cup of tea.

Nowadays, you can find her in Athens, exploring the mysteries of the ancient world.

Subscribe and enter Maria’s magical portal: https://maraki2311.wixsite.com/creativequillYou can also follow Maria in social media: https://linktr.ee/portal_to_the_unknown

ONE CHAPTER EXCERPT

Chapter One: Duty Calls

It was a sunny morning in an otherwise chilly winter. I lay on a tree branch, reveling in the warmth on my skin. The birds chirped, making my stomach rumble from hunger. While I could leap high, I couldn’t fly, so they rarely became my meal. Besides, all that feathered costume took too much time to dismantle. Sitting under the sunlight was pure bliss until a sharp noise penetrated my ear.

“Agent Meow 01, do you copy?”

I yawned and stretched my tired body. “Can nobody sleep around here?”

“Agent Meow 01, do you copy?”

“Yes! I copy, cut, and paste if you want.” I let the sunlight filter through my eyelids, sat up and scratched my ear. “What is it?”

“Agent Meow 01, the mission is about to start. We need you in headquarters.”

“Of course, how could I forget? Oh, wait! I didn’t forget because it’s freaking November and the mission starts every December!” My voice rose with every word, masking the fear building inside me. If they were calling me a month early, things were worse than bad. A squirrel gawked at me from the oak tree across and tightened its grip on the acorn it held. I pounded my clawed paw, and its fur thinned. With a shake of its pointy ears, the squirrel leaped into the tree hollow.

“There were some complications, which is why we need you forthwith. Please proceed to headquarters with utmost haste.”

I clicked my tongue and huffed, watching my quiet morning dissolve, and problems arise in my future. “I’ll be there in a few.” After a thorough cleanup of my claws on the branch, I licked my paws, removed some insects who had taken refuge in my fur and leaped from the tree.

“Cooold!” I screamed. “I thought the snow would have melted by now.”

An ugly coat of white blanketed the street from the night before when it had snowed like crazy. I retreated, my eyes darted in every direction, in search of dry land. My back collided with the tree, signaling the end of the path. Still, my paws were dipped in the snow, making me shiver from whiskers to tail.

 Some passerby laughed at my predicament, but carried on their way. Probably because I was a cat. And a secret agent. But they had no knowledge of the latter because they were humans.

People in gumboots crossed the crunching streets, shivering in their coats. Children yelled, throwing snowballs, and I glared at them, observing the wet balls of death flying through the air, in case any of the snowballs closed in on my location. Cars moved on the streets at a snail’s speed, the drivers cursing.

“Well, if you hadn’t been living in abandoned buildings and pipes, you might have realized that,” the voice from my earphone sounded amused.

“I will have you know pipes have a great reserve of rats. Do you know how delicious they are?” I licked my whiskers at the thought of their juicy flesh as they went down my throat.

“You’re not made of sugar, agent. Get on with it.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’m a dame, but made out of red granite not sugar.”

My body trembled, and my teeth chattered like castanets in a flamenco dance. When a father passed in front of me hauling his son, who was covered from top to bottom with warm clothing, I felt a pang of jealousy. Wet drops brimmed in my eyes, blurring my vision and obscuring the polar weather. I quickly detected the best path to the headquarters without becoming an ice cube and grinned when I came up on the first means of transport. I jumped on an old lady’s shopping trolley when she happened before me and waited till she reached the red light in the avenue, leaped on an oh-so-terribly cold bush and continued my journey, changing means of transportation, avoiding the patches of snow as much as possible. Annoyed at the constant rattling of my teeth, I clenched my jaw and sped up to get away from the icy mattress before I suffered a heart attack. Oh, how I hated cold!

When Tails of the City, a local pet shop, swam in view, I breathed in relief and pressed my legs harder, licking my mouth in anticipation of the warm secluded room with the machine that spat heat. My nose twitched at the prospect of treats and canned fish. Mice I could catch, but I would never get near that treacherous water.

“Hey, kitty, are you hungry?” The shopkeeper welcomed me with a smile.

I blinked. Is she expecting me to answer to that stupid diminutive? Keeping my eyes on her face, I waited.

“Someone is not in a good mood today.” Her mouth quirked. “Is it the snow?”

I hissed.

The woman enveloped with the wet smell of dog food laughed and padded to the back of the store, giving me the chance to slip to the aisle with the cat products. Passing by the discarded empty boxes, I gritted my teeth, resisting my urge to jump right in and proceeded to my destination. I lifted my head, sniffing around, and my senses turned crazy. The massive packages lined up on the shelves teased my nose, causing my mouth to water. So many wonderful flavors to choose from and so not the time to do it. I climbed on the top shelf which hosted transportation boxes, beds, and finally came to a stop in front of the pink cat cube.

I entered and pressed the button that made a monitor come to life.

The pet shop was the entrance to a secret base for the Pat & Purr, which was an organization for cat agents. We had many bases across the globe, with state-of-the-art technology and special toys to help our mission.

The computer voice asked the familiar series of questions, so I answered quickly before the human came looking for me. The lights on the screen faded, and the floor opened beneath my feet. I slid down a pipe, and I yelled, enjoying the trip. I loved amusement parks, especially slides that transferred you from one place to another at lightning speed.

After my soft landing on the white carpet, I walked to the sliding doors that parted and I entered the heart of our organization.

Pat & Purr, the secret cat organization that worked for humans under their nose. I’m telling you, if it wasn’t for us, they would have destroyed the planet. Not that they haven’t tried it already.

It was quiet. Very quiet. The main room, where on a normal day, my colleagues would type in their computers, assess distress signals, fabricate modern devices or chase their tails, was empty.

I swallowed the nervousness dancing in my stomach and studied the desks where the monitors sat quietly, the chairs against them and shifted my gaze, in search of any sign of life. The sticky notes on the pastel blue tapestry where we sometimes stuck memos didn’t shed any light on the mystery, so I moved further to the agency.

“This is strange. Am I too early?” My ears folded, and I meowed loudly. “I am losing my form.”

“Nah. They’re waiting for you in the mission room.”

I rolled my eyes when Sandy, a dirty white cat with a burned tail and goggles on his swollen eyes, came into view behind the master computer.

“I didn’t realize I was such a famous figure. Aren’t you coming?”

“Nah. I have to run some algorithms and put the final touches on your accessories. Time is of the essence, so I’ll just listen from the radio.” He lifted a screwdriver as a greeting. “Have fun, Ginger.”

Chuckling, I padded the way to the mission room, my thoughts swirling. Sandy’s words did nothing to ease my nervousness, adding more mystery to the tangling jungle of unexplainable occurrences. My paws tingled once they touched the fluffy rug, and I rolled on my back, dug my claws on the carpet, rubbed the itchy spots and relished the sensation of velvet against my fur before I got back on my feet.

Pat & Purr had pipes leading to offices and storage rooms, and of course, the playroom. We cats loved slides, boxes, and naps. Our organization was built to give us a haven to be ourselves without the presence of humans.

I slid down the red pipe and landed right outside the door which harbored the mission room where we held all our important meetings. My paw froze in the air and I stalled. I’ve never been to the mission room. Even my tail was nervous. Like all cats, I could feel change and this one blew unpleasant vibes. When I pushed the door, my whiskers flicked from the massive presence of cats, which explained the emptiness in the offices. All cats were gathered here.

The mission room didn’t only look like a mission room, but it smelled like business, too.

Grey walls coated the circular room that broke the tradition of colorful rooms of the agency. The floor emitted the vibrant aroma of freshly cut wood, although claw marks decorated their surface and the paint glistening on the walls gave the impression they were painted recently. My anxiety spiked when I gazed at all the furred bodies and the papers flying around. Arrays of chairs spread in the room where cats were already sitting. The silence was deafening. Only the voice from the speaker sounded, peppered with scratching noises of ears, tapping of claws against the wood, and stretching of stiff limbs. The glowing monitors drew my attention to the tail of the mission room. I felt the food I swallowed yesterday stirring in my stomach. I flashed back to my first day as an agent, when I’d met the Board of cold-blooded killers. Otherwise known as Pat & Purr’s Board. The vested cats typed feverishly on computers while they answered phone calls. When the Russian blue penetrated me with his yellow eyes, I decided to scram.

“This can’t be good.” I inspected the room, confused by the vast meow population, in search of a place to curl while the speech was still underway. My eyes fell on an empty seat and I grinned, but my grin melted when I realized it was in the house cats’ seats.

While agent cats generally got along with each other, since we all sought the same goal, there was a broad gap between strays and house cats. We strays were laid back, ate what we could find and struggled with everything. Since we lived in the streets, we had to protect ourselves, toughen up and sharpen our claws for imminent attacks. The menu of our enemies contained many pages.

House cats had the whole enchilada. A house to pass the chilly winter nights and hot summer days, nice food waiting for them every minute of the day—they were fat!—and love. But they were whiny, slow and indifferent. We stray cats called them cat queens. If we dared to sit next to them, they would call us every name under the sun, not accepting to be close to a cat of lower status than theirs. Rubbish! We all lived on the same earth therefore, they should be helping us, not giving us more obstacles to deal with.

I spotted an empty seat in the stray cat aisle in the middle. My whiskers trembled and I coughed at the pungent scent of sandalwood and fish the Head of Pat & Purr carried who delivered his speech with passion and determination. I wrinkled my nose, hoping I didn’t have to face him today. My stomach rumbled. I crossed rows of dark and colorful cats, passed under swinging and curly tails until I climbed to the seat, curling on the fuzzy pillow.

“Every year, we make sure humans find happiness at Christmas. Our agents work hard, infiltrating homes and move strings so that they can make that happen.”

I yawned. “Let’s catch up on some much needed sleep.” I had barely closed my eyes when I heard paws shuffle from the neighboring seats and meows fill the room. I stirred in my chair.

“You’ll find your assignments on your desks,” the Head of Pat & Purr announced.

He was a British shorthair silver tabby with the most beautiful green eyes a cat could possess. However, his charming qualities stopped there. He was annoying as hell and sluggish. The black bow around his neck set him apart as a house cat. Even if he was a stray, someone would pick him up solely for his beauty.

Screens sprung in desks, throwing up papers from the slot on the side, so I turned my attention to mine. My desk was a wooden circular thing anchored to the chair, and no screen popped up like the others. I punched it and raised my eyebrow when it remained immobile. The cats started jumping off their seats, dragging chairs as they left the room, muttering things among themselves.

I debated whether to go to the silver cat or follow the clowder when a sharp female voice boomed.

“Whoever has no assignment should report to the front desk immediately.”

I looked at the silver tabby and noticed him pace on the desk, conversing intensely with a Siamese female, their tails twitching.

Clearly, there was something wrong, or they wouldn’t have called us mid-November. We took on the mission at the beginning of December and had the whole month. Seeing how he gestured at the calendar, time was of the essence.

“Time to find out who messed up.” I leaped from my chair and made my way to the wooden floor decorated with claw marks.

When the two cats sniffed my presence, they lowered their voice to whispers. The Head cat of P&P punched the desk, ending the conversation. He arranged his bow tie better before addressing me.

“Yes?”

“Agent Meow 01, reporting for duty.”

“I presume your screen didn’t pop up?” He rummaged through the pile of papers in his office.

“I wouldn’t be here if it did.”

“Yes, yes. There are certain circumstances…yes.” He leafed through his papers, mumbling among himself. “There you are. Agent Meow 01, oh, you’re many years in the force.” He finally looked at me, studying me with renewed interest, but his eyes glided toward the back of the mission room where the cats of the Board typed on their fancy screens while they spoke loudly on the phone. My ears flopped. They reminded me of humans who were so absorbed with their work they didn’t see the world around them. As far as I was aware, the Board were lap cats who did secretary duty and acted like they had the best job in the world while we were servants who occupied space.

Our assigned number signified when we joined the force. I was the first recruit in ‘01, hence the code name. The rest of my details were on the fancy papers they made me paw and fairly certain the Head cat of P&P would bring up in a minute or two.

I tapped my foot down, annoyed by his lack of energy. Everything pointed out to the severity of the situation—his assistant paced as she checked her clipboard, the blinking red lights on the monitor behind him suggested an urgent call—and yet, he acted sluggishly.

“And you’re a ginger tiger cat?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s unverified at the moment.”

His eyebrows shot up and his lined forehead creased. The miracle of eyes darted between me and his papers. “Really?”

I tilted my head, my ear touching my shoulder. “No, sir. I am, as you can see, a very orange striped cat, a fact anyone can determine if they look at you!” I pounded on the floor and he jumped in the air, landed on the desk, scratched the surface and almost fell back.

The Siamese cat stifled her giggles between coughs and hisses but buried her face behind a paper when The Head cat of P&P glared at her. “Strays are so rude.” He licked his paw, leafed through his papers, but he seemed more alert, his gaze wary on me, as if he was afraid I’d start throwing punches.

“I’ll tell you where your manners go when you starve or when a dog is after you because his master ordered him to sick’em,” I growled, ruffling my fur, and decided to put an end to this conversation before we dove into politics. “Why are we starting the mission now? It’s early.”

“Because the dogs messed up!” The Head cat of P&P hissed, losing his indolent attitude. He banged his paw on the desk and pressed his claw hard between his teeth. “The dogs messed up, and we have to clean up the mess, as usual,” he said in a more controlled voice.

I raised my eyebrow and almost felt sorry I attacked him. His docile attitude masked anger.

“Never leave a cat’s job to a dog.”

For the most part, I found them irritating and stupid unless they belonged to Paws—the secret dog unit which had the same role as ours, but started their mission in November. They might be annoying, but they got the job done. Or at least, I thought they did.

“Messed up, how?” I half-lidded my eyes, observing the Head cat of P&P rock back and forth, my back foot nervously tapping the wooden floor like a pendulum.

“Every Christmas, our agencies work hard to bring happiness to the human world,” the Head cat said, prowling.

I waved my paw. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard your speech a dozen times, but you never tell us why. What did the dogs do that was so bad? Why do we have to make humans happy, and why is Christmas our deadline?” The questions slipped through my mouth on their own and I waited, hoping for an honest answer.

When Pat & Purr recruited me, they gave me a purpose. Every December, I felt like I was a guardian of some sort and people would treat me better, spare some food and cuddles. However, I learned the hard way that they could be as mean at Christmas as on normal days. I still did my job in the best possible way, but I didn’t know why I did it anymore. Perhaps for the luckier cats, I guess. Or for the kicks. Or for the cool gadgets I briefly obtained for my mission. Any of these reasons could do, or none at all.

But this time, I needed genuine explanations of why I should work like a dog mid-November before people even started to think about presents, celebration dinners and decorations.

The Head cat of P&P sighed and turned to the Siamese cat. “Can you brief the others while I have this conversation?”

“Yes, sir!” The Siamese cat fished some papers from the mess of his desk and left, wagging her tail.

I frowned at The Head cat of P&P, who scratched his chin. “What conversation, sir?” His cologne misted the air in a thick cloud, tickling my nostrils.

“You’ve lost your interest, haven’t you?”

I was taken aback. It had crossed my mind that he would chide me or give me a lecture on duties, but this was not in today’s forecast. “Well…” I moved my head left and right, trying to come up with an explanation, but I wasn’t the evasive type. “I don’t feel the thrill I used to. It’s just a way to fill my days in December, so I would like to know the reason we must do all these things. Especially since humans don’t treat us well.”

The Head cat’s nostrils fluttered. “Many moons ago, when humans were created to walk this earth, a witch determined they needed cats to guard them against the adversities.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, a what?”

“A witch,” the Head cat of P&P repeated without hesitation. “They’re not just tales humans tell their children as bedtime stories. Witches are real.”

I took a step back, struggling to wrap this idea around my head. I could believe in things such as birds, dogs, anything natural and logical, but witches were over the top.

Sometimes, on wintry mornings, I slipped in coffee shops when there was a storytelling gathering because every cat knew wherever there’s gathering, there’s food. It was entertaining and educational, if you liked stories with witches who saved the world with their powers and potions or fell in love with the dashing human. But that was all they were. Stories.

I gazed directly at the emerald shades of his eyes, studying the irises. A cat’s eyes revealed everything. Once I got the full picture, I stepped away. He wasn’t lying, or at least, he believed what he said.

“And what does a witch have to do with cats?” I cringed. I couldn’t believe the words coming out of my mouth.

“She appointed us to bring happiness to the humans, but if we failed to complete our duty, we would disappear and so would the world. We are the guardians of balance, happiness and mischief.”

“This is…but…” I shook my head and stayed silent. The words failed to express the vast hole in my chest dripping in the pit of my existence. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I joined?” I stirred the conversation to things I understood before my brain exploded.

“You weren’t ready.” He sighed. “Stray cats are more prone to lose their path, and also more disbelieving because of their past.” He tilted his head.

I nodded. “There must be a more logical explanation than a fairytale. It doesn’t make sense that our fate is predetermined.”

“Do you believe in the magic of Christmas?”

“Of course I do. What does this have to do with anything?”

“Then you believe in fairytales,” he decided. “The witch is real and so is the happiness she brings every year with our help.” He collected the papers in his office into a pile and grinned, the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “If the required number is not met, destruction will be upon us. The dogs failed on their quota, so we have to double our numbers to cover the loss.”

“I don’t believe in witches, but the balance thing makes more sense.” I forced the conversation on the darkest corner of my head and held out my paw. “Where are my cases?”

The Head cat of P&P pushed a paper toward me and my mouth dropped. Blinking rapidly, I studied the printed addresses that covered the entire sheet and continued on to the next page. Sweat gathered on my eyelids and I mopped my forehead with a swift move of my paw. “There are over fifty cases listed.” My small heart complained at the sight of so much ink. This year would be the death of me if I had to cross the country walking on snow. “They used to be barely ten.”

“There are a hundred and fifty.”

My pupils dilated, and I coughed. Punching my chest, I meowed a shriek. “A h-h-hundred?”

“Why do you think I have been yelling at the phone for a week with the absurd dog leader who returned only excuses and yelps?” He snorted. “You will have a partner in this one.”

“A p-partner?” My claws scratched the wooden floor as I backed away.

Deep breaths. I imagined the sun warming my face, flowers spread their intoxicating aroma, and lines of rats waiting for me to devour them. My rough tongue whisked away my anxiety as I licked my mouth, and a certain calmness settled over me. I calculated the possibilities of getting the job done on my own, considered all the variables such as weather and hostile humans, and came to the ugly conclusion it was an impossible task. Given this day had only a few hours left, I couldn’t count on getting much done today. So the logical being in me agreed a partner would be a good move.

“And the dogs,” the Head cat of P&P curled his lips, spitting as he pronounced the word, “have offered their full cooperation.” He paused. “As much as I despise them, I advise you to get their help when you need it. Time is of the essence. Your deadline is December 6. Don’t forget. Should any of the teams fail, destruction awaits.” After an ominous pause, he lifted a claw, pointing to the back of the room. “Lucinda will give you the rest of the details. Good luck and keep your claws sharp, agent.”

I nodded. “Yes, sir.” I padded the way to the exit, panting. My head pounded from the unexpected revelation and I was uncertain how I felt about it. Mystified for sure, but no longer lost and uninterested, which was good, given the current situation. “I hope they don’t pair me with a house cat, or this mission will be a guaranteed failure.”

LINKS:

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3DZNwPQ

Books2Read: https://books2read.com/MeowGuardians

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/59660911-the-meow-guardians

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/the-meow-guardians-a-holiday-mini-by-maria-vermisoglou

Renee S. DeCamillis ~ Author Interview

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Renee S. DeCamillis is the author of the psychological thriller/supernatural horror novella The Bone Cutters, published through Eraserhead Press as part of their 2019 New Bizarro Authors Series.

Check out our interview on YouTube:

Check out renee’s books below!

(Click on the cover images to order your copy)

(As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. That means, when you purchase a book using an Amazon link on this site, I earn an affiliate commission. All commission earnings go back into funding my books; editing, cover design, etc.)

The Bone Cutters – Horror Fiction, Psychological Thriller, Supernatural Horror, Bizarro Fiction, Addiction Horror, a novella from the 2019 New Bizarro Author Series from Eraserhead Press.

Follow her on Social Media here:

The Hush Sisters by Gerard Collins #giveaway

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As an Amazon Associate, I earn from qualifying purchases. That means, when you purchase a book using an Amazon link on this site, I earn an affiliate commission. All commission earnings go back into funding my books; editing, cover design, etc.

GERARD COLLINS is a Newfoundland writer whose first novel,nbsp; Finton Moon , was nominated for the International Dublin Literary Award and won the Percy Janes First Novel Award. His short-story collection,nbsp; Moonlight Sketches , won the NL Book Award, and his stories have been published widely in journals and anthologies. He lives in southern New Brunswick.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Amazon * Goodreads

The Hush Sisters by Gerard Collins ~ Genre: Gothic Fiction

***49TH SHELF UTTERLY FANTASTIC BOOK FOR FALL***


Sissy and Ava Hush are estranged, middle-aged sisters with little in common beyond their upbringing in a peculiar manor in downtown St. John’s. With both parents now dead, the siblings must decide what to do with the old house they’ve inherited. Despite their individual loneliness, neither is willing to change or cede to the other’s intentions. As the sisters discover the house’s dark secrets, the spirits of the past awaken, and strange events envelop them. The Hush sisters must either face these sinister forces together or be forever ripped apart.

In The Hush Sisters, Gerard Collins weaves psychological suspense with elements of the fantastic to craft a contemporary urban gothic that will keep readers spellbound until the novel whispers its startling secrets.

Add to Goodreads * Amazon * Chapters Indigo * Breakwater Books

Would you like a chance to win a $15 Amazon giftcard, ebooks of Finton Moon, and Moonlight Sketches by Gerard Collins? Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

Where were you born/grew up at?

I was born at the cottage hospital in Placentia, Newfoundland. I grew up in Bond’s Path, just a five-minute drive from that hospital. Placentia, or Plaisance in French, was the original French capital of Newfoundland before the English triumphed in battle and moved the capital to St. John’s. I was the youngest of five boys, and my only sister was born five years after me. I attended a one-room schoolhouse for the first few years, and we didn’t have a telephone until I was in high school. To this day, I despise telephones. I can remember having to break the ice in the well a few yards from the house in order to haul water from the well for tea on winter mornings. In my high school years, and for a couple of years after, I hauled a lot of water and wood.

If you knew you’d die tomorrow, how would you spend your last day?

There are at least fifteen different answers to this question, and they’d all be fine with me except for the fact that each one means my last day on earth. I’m a “Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night” sort of person, and I have always known I would kick at the darkness even when death was inevitable. It’s all a part of my underdog complex, I suppose, but it’s also a part of the fact that I love this life, this earth, and the people in it, for the most part, and I can’t imagine not savouring every last breath. That said, I’d probably like most of all to spend my last day at The Brazen Head pub in Dublin – it’s the oldest pub in the country, supposedly – having a few pleasant pints, a good supper, and writing all day long. Maybe a music session in the evening.

Who is your hero and why?

I don’t really have heroes, but there are lots of people I admire. The closest thing I have to a literary hero would be Stephen King who started out as a teacher, with not much money, and just followed his heart and did the one thing (writing) he knew he was good at, and made a great life for himself. Margaret Atwood is another one I admire greatly because it’s harder to be that successful as a Canadian writer, but also – and especially – because she speaks truth and wisdom. I could just listen to her talk about literature and life forever.

What kind of world ruler would you be?

I wouldn’t want to be world ruler because I know I would throw myself into the job every minute of every day and never have a moment’s inner peace. I’d be kind and as wise as I could manage to be, but I’d be a dictator when it came to doing the right thing. I can see all sides of an issue, but it would likely come down to doing the greatest good for the greatest number, with allowances for differences as long as those difference weren’t born out of ignorance or arrogance.

I do have this streak of letting my neighbour go to the devil in his own way. In other words, if someone is determined to self-destruct, and I know there’s not much I can do about it, I’ll just let him or her do that. But if I know there’s good to be done and that I can actually affect someone’s life for the better, I’ll usually take it upon myself to do that.

If there were one world ruler, then global warming might be easier to tackle, as would the economy, which might be a hybrid of socialism and capitalism. I think we could share with each other and not let money be the main factor in such decisions. World poverty would have to be tackled and would be easier under a single world ruler, and I think we could also do something about inequalities of all sorts, particularly regarding gender, race, and economic class.

Looking back on what I just wrote, it sounds like I’d be a boring ruler, but I do know that I have a keen sense of humour, though it can be a dark one. So, if the state had enemies – as I’m sure it would – I’d have patience, kindness, and tolerance up to the point where I couldn’t afford to anymore, and then I’d devise a scheme for doing away with those people, perhaps not literally, but at least in a funny way that was not without a touch of irony.

What are you passionate about these days?

Mostly about writing. I’m keenly aware that we only get so much time on this earth, and I’m determined to make the most of it. Writing isn’t just work to me – it’s also play. It’s me being at my very best, and so it can feel selfish to want to do it all the time, or to talk about it to other people all the time, but, really, I’m just trying to figure things out, which is what I was born to do, apparently, even if I never really figure anything out. It’s the process that matters, and it’s the process that I’m passionate about – that, and just living the best life possible. So, travel, good food, good company, and good beer are a necessary part of that for me – as long as there’s writing, which includes moments to stop and not think about anything. Maybe, ultimately, I’m passionate about peace of mind, which largely eludes me.

What do you do to unwind and relax?

I try and lie still for a few minutes, to not think about anything. That rarely works or, if it does, I fall asleep. Sometimes, the world can just be a bit too much for someone who suffers from post-concussion syndrome and just needs a respite in order to reset and move on. But I also love playing guitar and singing, which I don’t do nearly often enough, especially with my partner Jane, who is a lovely harpist, pianist, and singer, as well as writer. We enjoy the traveling, pubs, singing, and all that stuff together, so sitting by a crackling fire and playing music together is about as good as it gets. There’s TV sometimes, too, and for me it can be something like CNN or, more likely, something like Game of Thrones or The Crown – lots of underdogs in those shows. I love movies but can barely find time for them these days. Same with books – I love reading, but I don’t find nearly enough time for them unless I force myself to make time. I guess what I’m really saying is that I work most of the time but when I do relax, it’s with something mindless that doesn’t require anything of me.

How to find time to write as a parent?

For most of my life, I wasn’t a parent, but finding time for writing has never been easy. I often teach university English – on campus in St. John’s for two decades and by distance these past few years – and during the semesters, I focus almost exclusively on that. Nowadays, I offer writing retreats and workshops, mentoring, and all sorts of things related to writing. But only writing is writing. Somehow, despite all that and a few medical setbacks (not “health,” per se, since I’m completely fine now) from which I had to recover, plus major changes in my life in every single way (which includes separation, divorce, moving away from Newfoundland and my job, friends, and just about everything I’d known for so long, then settling into a new place where I lived for six years in a cottage by a lake in the woods, learning how to be an effective teacher by distance – somehow, I still have managed to write three books of which The Hush Sisters is one, and there are two others waiting for publication. This past August, I moved into a huge farmhouse with my partner, and she already had two kids, one in university and another now in his last year of high school. But they’re pretty self-sufficient. I like to eat meals together and watch some shows together, and that sort of thing. Teenagers take up a lot of space and tend to make some noise – which is all fine and natural – but I have an office space upstairs and far away from everything so I can focus on my writing and other work there. I’m pretty lucky in that way.

As for finding time to write, I will say that it is definitely harder for female parents to find time. But I also have to say that it’s never easy for anyone and harder for some. The world doesn’t want you to be a writer. It’ll throw things at you, give you things, set traps of distraction everywhere. Children, I’m sure, demand your attention in an urgent and necessary way that’s not like anything else. But there are all kinds of emergencies – though I also say only the end of the world is the end of the world, and the only things that are matters of life and death are a) life and b) death – just as there are jobs, social gatherings, weddings, funerals, dishes, vacuuming, TV shows to watch, and all sorts of things, and most of them wonderful. But only writing is writing, and if you are really going to make a go of it, you have to make time for it.

If you don’t make time for writing, then writing isn’t as important to you as some of these other things or, more to the point, writing isn’t as important to you as not writing. If there’s a choice to be made, sometimes, at least, you have to choose writing. Even children, after a certain age, are able to take care of themselves to a degree. But then it’s a matter of what you do with your time – and not just writing when you have the time, but writing when you actually feel up to it, when you can muster the creative energy to do a decent job of it and give yourself something to revise later.

I am happy to be one of many tour hosts sharing information on The Hush Sisters by Gerard Collins.

#Theredheadedauthor Presents the November 2020 New York Times TOP 10 Best Sellers – YOUNG ADULT

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As an avid reader of fiction (and an author who one day hopes to make the list) I LOVE-LOVE-LOVE checking out the New York Times Best Seller list. So, here it is… The independently ranked top 10 Young Adult selections for November 2020!

If you’ve read any of the TOP 10 selections and recommend them, please comment below and let me know. If you see something you like and plan to pick up a copy, you can do so by clicking on the cover image, the title or the [BUY IT HERE] button.

As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases.

#1 The Hate U Give

by Angie Thomas

A 16-year-old girl sees a police officer killer her friend.

BUY IT HERE

#2 Stamped

by Jason Reynolds and Ibram X. Kendi

An exploration of racism and anti-racism in America.

BUY IT HERE

#3 A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder

by Holly Jackson

While trying to solve a murder-suicide case for her senior project, Pip now finds her life in jeopardy.

BUY IT HERE

#4 Hocus Pocus and The All-New Sequel

by A.W. Jantha

Poppy fights to save her family from the Sanderson sisters.

BUY IT HERE

#5 All This Time

by Mikki Daughtry and Rachael Lippincott

Two teenagers suffering from loss find healing in each other.

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#6 Punching The Air

by Ibi Zoboi and Yusef Salaam

Convicted of a crime he didn’t commit and sent to prison, Amal uses the freedom of art to overcome his incarceration.

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#7 One Of Us Is Lying

by Karen M. McManus

For five students, a detour into detention ends in murder.

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#8 The Black Kids

by Christina Hammonds Reed

A wealthy Black teen’s life is shaken up during the 1992 Los Angeles riots.

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#9 The Lost Book of the White

by Cassandra Clare and Wesley Chu

Magnus and Alec must retrieve the Book of the White, which is stolen from their apartment.

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#10 Dear Justyce

by Nic Stone

Quan, an incarcerated 16-year-old, takes solace in correspondence with his friend Justyce.

BUY IT HERE

When you purchase a book using a link on this site, I earn an affiliate commission. All commission earnings go back into funding my books; editing, cover design, etc.