RESEARCHING TIPS: Fantasy Writers, Are You Guilty of “Copy-Pasting” Cultures? Here’s the fix. by Z. Lindsey – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Z. Lindsey will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

RESEARCHING TIPS: Fantasy Writers, Are You Guilty of “Copy-Pasting” Cultures? Here’s the fix.

Human culture is complicated. Add elves, orcs, lizardmen, and more to that, and things get very complicated. When you’re writing about fictional cultures, it’s tempting to find a culture you like from the real world and ‘copy-paste’ it into your story.

On Facebook science fiction and fantasy writing groups, I see questions like, “How can I sensitively base my mountain-dwelling dwarven miners off of ancient Mongol culture?” (This question is based on a real post, but I changed details to avoid shaming a specific writer, because this is not about shaming.) As an anthropologist, I know how to address this–but it may not be the answer the writer wants to hear.

Sometimes writers will say that it’s their right to write about anything they want, whether sensitive ears are offended or not. If I want to base my lizardmen on the Aztecs, who’s to stop me? But the issue isn’t some culture war question about who has the right to write about what. If you base your lizardmen on the Aztecs but profoundly fail to understand Mexica culture, those of us who study these things will not be offended. We’ll think you’re dumb. I assume no writer wants that.

So how can you base your dwarven miners off of Mongolian culture without coming off as a dope?

The answer, I’m sorry to say, is you probably can’t. Culture develops very much in response to its environment and its neighbors. That means starting with an existing culture is usually doomed to failure.

Mongol culture as we understand it today began on a plateau. While there are mountains around, that’s not where the ancient Mongols grew up, and Mongols didn’t usually harvest minerals by digging deep into the mountains like we typically imagine dwarves doing. Even today, most mines in Mongolia are open-pit mines, not in the mountains.

So there’s dissonance taking dwarven miners and putting them in Mongolian clothing. Your dwarves can be Mongols, but why would they use yurts, for example? Yurts work best on flat land because of their construction style. In the mountains, you can take advantage of caves for shelter.

If you say, “Fine, they won’t use freaking yurts,” well, home is where activities like cooking take place. Without yurts, you’ll have to reevaluate food culture and how people cook. In the end, what is Mongolian about your dwarves? They look like it? Superficial appearance is a road to racial stereotyping.

The other option is not doing that.

Instead, say, “My dwarves need to be miners for my story, so how did ancient cultures who mined live? What kind of houses did they have? What social patterns were common?”

This research might seem more abstract. You can’t google “Mongolia” and read the Wikipedia article. But I suspect you’re doing more than that already. It’s not a matter of doing more research, but shifting the focus. Focus on how a variety of real-world cultures adapt to environments similar to the ones in your story.

If we want to emulate Mongols, we’d probably have our dwarves make incredible woodcarvings. Mongols were famous for wooden sculptures. But maybe our dwarves don’t have many trees on the high mountains where they work, so they create incredible sculptures out of stone. Maybe they even find wood art to be repulsive. They work with stone all day, so why not? Wood is for the elves!

Focusing on the environment does two things: 1) It lessens the chance of creating stereotypes and unflattering portrayals of real cultures. That’s because your base point is an environment, not a people. And 2) It gives you more freedom, because you’re not bound by the facts of a real culture. You can build elements into your story that you want to, regardless of facts. If your dwarves still look Mongolian after all that reverse-engineering, there’s nothing wrong with that. They’ll look like that for logical reasons, not because you thought Mongols looked cool.

You don’t have to throw away your visions of rugged mountains. But if that’s where you want your story to take place, research how people adapt to the mountains. There are lots of fascinating details, like higher infant mortality rates because of oxygen issues! I recently wrote a story about a young woman who comes down from the mountains while pregnant to ensure her child comes to term … only to find a devastated and apocalyptic world waiting for her.

Rather than picking real-world cultures to emulate in your fantasy (especially when creating monsters), consider researching how people respond to certain environments. A great starting point is The Alternative Introduction to Biological Anthropology, by Jon Marks. And don’t copy-paste!

Some heroes have swords. Essimore Darkenchyl has a pen. But it’s a magic pen.
Some wizards have spellbooks. Essie has Gossen’s Guide to Shipping Law. But it’s a current edition.
Some sailors have . . . experience. Essie has a new diploma and a year-long contract, and her people have won wars with less.
And that’s good, because between stolen weapons, a coup, and a strange disease creeping in around her and the crew, she might need to win a war.
In a world that blends traditional fantasy with the Age of Exploration, Essie knows a pen is mightier than a sword, especially since hers sometimes shoots lightning.

But what she thinks is a routine political dispute turns out to be something much, much more, and she may have finally met the one problem she can’t talk her way out of.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Essie cleared her throat. From her backpack, she removed the letter of service that granted her travel permission to sail on the ship. It was folded neatly into thirds, with a glittering blue wax seal on it.

“Essimore Darkenchyl at your service, sir. I’m your new fully licensed shipping coordinator with Power of the Pen. It’s an honor to be aboard.”

The captain took the letter without opening it, folded it in half with no regard for the beautiful wax seal, folded it messily again, and jammed it into his pocket. The whole time, Essie winced.

“Right-o.” As he smiled, the older man’s cheeks dimpled and his white teeth shined in the sun. “Well, I thought we were leaving without you, but here you are. Good on you. Great. Yeah.” The captain turned to the teenager at his side. “Grab her bag and get her stuff to her room. She can hang out there til dinner.”

As the teenager shouldered her bag and grunted, she and the captain looked at each other, the captain with his beaming smile. Once the teenager left, she said, “Thanks for welcoming me onto your ship.”

“Yeah. Fully licensed, you say?”

“Absolutely!”

“Okay. Have a nice one. See you at dinner.”

“Don’t we need to . . . uh . . . onboard?”

“You’re already on board. You managed that just fine.”

“But . . . signing things. Paperwork. Reviewing the staff log. Staff log, sir!”

The captain’s smile faded, but reappeared so fast she wasn’t sure if she’d seen it go.

“Okay, fine. Let’s talk in my cabin.”

About the Author Zac Lindsey is an anthropologist and a linguist who focuses on the Maya people of Quintana Roo. Since childhood, he’s had a not-so-secret love of weird, silly, and well-structured fantasy. When other people’s parents were reading them picture books, his mom was reading him Terry Brooks. He typically writes hopeful and character-driven fantasy.

Today, he lives in Quintana Roo, Mexico with his wife, daughter, and various stray cats.

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What Thia Taught Me by K. M. Warfield – Guest Post and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. K. M. Warfield will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Thia Taught Me

My thanks to Long and Short Reviews for hosting me!

One of the main characters in my Heroes of Avoch trilogy is named Thia. One of her biggest obstacles is herself. In ‘Scales and Stingers’, she has zero self-confidence. She’s not had an easy life, and it’s made her practically unable to trust anyone. She can’t take someone at their word; it must be backed up by actions.

She knows she’s good at what she does but refuses to step out of the shadows and be seen. It’s not the best life, but she knows what to expect. She’s not living, though. She’s existing, going through the motions, surviving. But that’s it.

I’ve had some problems. Undiagnosed and ignored PTSD led to depression and anxiety. In writing Thia’s journey, I found myself seeing the trap I fell into with my own life. I was raised to not talk about my achievements, not actually admit to anyone or myself that I could be good at something. I got very good at hiding behind sarcasm (something else Thia tends to do) and dreaming of things I knew I was capable of but terrified of going for them. By having Thia confront that in herself, grow past it, I started to believe I could.

One major step I took recently was realizing that this series is good. Not everyone will agree with me, but I know it matters. To me, to my friends whose characters I stole for the books. And I don’t feel guilty for saying it. I no longer feel the need to add some sort of self-deprecating comment after saying it. It’s okay to embrace what I’ve accomplished with the series, be excited for others to read it.

As Thia grew into her strength and sense of self, she took me along with her. Kicking and screaming at points, but I wasn’t exactly nice to her either. Facing our inner demons are rarely battles won without scars, though. I’m finally letting some of those heal instead of picking at them until they bleed. That’s Thia’s doing.

K. M. Warfield
Author – Heroes of Avoch trilogy
She/Her

An ancient relic. Two solitary quests. A chance to prove one’s worth.

After an intense battle against the malicious Goddess, Lolc Aon, and freeing the Fallen citizens of Byd Cudd, Jinaari and Thia are presented with new challenges while in the public eye. Even though Thia has been granted nearly unlimited healing power through the God Keroys, many still doubt her because of her Fallen lineage. Jinaari does his best to support her, but his lessons are cut short after his sister is kidnapped.

Faced with life altering obstacles, will Jinaari keep his vow to protect Thia even from afar? Can Thia learn to trust herself and win over the public? Or will it be too late?

Enjoy an Excerpt

Jinaari looked at his friend, “You and Pan kept all three of us alive, brought us back here. That’s plenty.”

Adam shrugged. “I know that’s what you needed us to do. It doesn’t feel like enough, though. You two do all the heavy lifting while we barely make a dent.”

“Stop that,” he stared at the warlock. “I couldn’t have gotten her away from Lolc Aon alone. Not in one piece. You kept that spider from getting her, too.”

“After I led her into the nest in the first place,” he grumbled.

“Hey, I told everyone to check the wall and she ended up falling into a pit because of it. That doesn’t matter. We’re a team. You and Caelynn know what to do so well that I don’t have to tell you. I trust it’s going to happen, and it does. Thia’s learned a lot since she first came to us. She trusts you and me. I don’t worry about anyone else dying because I know she won’t let it happen. She’s too damn stubborn.”

The blonde man nodded. “You’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Jinaari said as he sat back. “I’m glad you finally admit it.”

“You’re also arrogant, insufferable, and demanding,” Thia’s voice made him twist in his chair.

Caelynn stood next to her. The blue tint of her skin had faded. It wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t as prevalent as when they’d first come back. The bard’s face was tired, but happy.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

About the Author:Born in the late 1960’s, K. M. has lived most of her live in the Pacific NW. While she’s always been creative, she didn’t turn towards writing until 2008. Writing under the pen name of KateMarie Collins, she released several titles. In 2019, the decision was made to forge a new path with her books. The Heroes of Avoch series, along with a new pen name, is the end result.

When she’s not writing, she loves playing Dungeons & Dragons with friends, watching movies, and cuddling up with her cat. K. M. resides with her family in what she likes to refer to as ‘Seattle Suburbia’.

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What Does It Take to Make a Sci-Fi Author? by A.M. Griffin – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A.M. Griffin will be awarding a $20 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Hey Party People!

For those who don’t know me, I’m A.M. Griffin, avid reader cosplaying as a sci-fi author. I’m taking over Long and Short Reviews to introduce myself. While I’ve written in multiple genres, sci-fi is my first love. I’ve always been curious about space, aliens and life on different planets. As a young girl, I wrote many short sci-fi stories. Or should I say that I “started” many sci-fi shorts (I don’t think I finished any) (this is a no-judgement zone lol). I published my first sci-fi novel in 2012 and haven’t looked back since. That series, Loving Dangerously, will forever hold a special place in my heart and the first in the series, Dangerously Mine, will forever by my favorite book as it’s the first that I’ve finished to completion.

So, what does it take to make a sci-fi author?

Sci-Fi Author Ingredients:

1 cup Introvert
3 cups Weird
6 cups Overactive Imagination

Mix all the ingredients together and season to taste with a pinch of snark, feisty, sleepiness and addiction to doom scrolling through social media. The bake time would depend on the specific individual.

The Hunter. As the new Game Warden, Xrez Ym’ihla brings patrons from across the galaxy to track prey in a game built to enslave the weak and mate the strong. The business is a long running family legacy and Xrez is determined to succeed as his father had before him. He hadn’t meant to let one human occupy his thoughts, mind, and body.

His lies may come back to haunt him, but if he reveals the truth, he’ll ruin his chance to capture the heart of the one he wants.

The Prey. Esme Valdez had her entire life planned from an early age. As a chemist, her life was average and mundane, just the way she liked it. Until the impossible happened. Never did she imagine being abducted by aliens and forced to participate in a survival of the fittest game called The Hunt. If she survives and makes it to the end, she’ll be freed. If not, she’ll be forced to mate the one who captures her.

Esme is determined to win at all costs, even if it means putting her trust in a sexy alien who taunts her in the most delectable way.

Their love was built on betrayal. Can she trust him with her heart and life?

Enjoy an Excerpt

“Property,” she said, finally finishing her sentence. She didn’t recognize anything. Not a God. Damn. Thing. “We aren’t on my property.” Her voice didn’t sound right on her ears.

“So you didn’t kidnap me and give me this fancy new BDSM collar?” He tugged on something about two inches wide and silver around his neck

Esme fumbled at her neck, finding a collar of her own. It felt like metal, not thick, but seemed sturdy and cold on her skin. Her fingers trembled as she followed around the circumference. There wasn’t a way to unhook it. Her breathing picked up. Her chest heaved.

This was wrong. So very wrong.

The man shrugged. “I mean, if you’re into BDSM, I won’t judge you. But as I said, I’m through with all the weird shit.”

Esme clenched her fists in frustration. Tears welled in her eyes. Her heart felt like it was one beat away from exploding. “Hey, nitwit, this isn’t just about you. I think we’re all in the same boat here. I woke up probably the same time you did and just assumed I was home, because,” a hysterical chuckle left her mouth, “where else would I be on a friggin’ Friday night?”

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s Sunday night. I just played Comerica Park in Detroit.”

Esme frowned and shook her head. “No, I’m positive. The last thing I remember is coming home from work and thinking about binging on Netflix. It’s what I do every Friday night.”

He snorted. “Well, that’s sad.”

“Hey! We all can’t play at Comerica Park.” She exhaled loudly. “What is that anyway and why are you dressed like an over the top rock star?”

She’d heard of Detroit, even visited once when she’d lived in the United States to attend college. Her mom had a distant cousin who’d live near the United States and Canada border, and she’d spent a Christmas with them instead of flying all the way home to Mexico.

The rockstar guy brushed off his pants and straightened his clothes. “It’s called ‘stage presence,’ baby.”

“Oh, my God. Can you guys keep it down? Some of us are trying to sleep,” came a tired voice from a shadowy corner.

Rockstar guy held up his hand and pulled each finger down slowly.

New guy scrambled to his feet. He was a lot bigger than rock star guy and bigger than most men she knew. He had on army fatigues, military boots, and dog tags hanging from his thick neck. He scowled. “Wait. Where the hell am I?”

Rockstar guy smirked and dropped his hands. “And there it is.”

About the Author: A. M. Griffin is a mother of three, dog owner (and sometimes dog owned), a daughter, sister, aunt and friend. She’s a hard worker whose two favorite outlets are reading and writing. She enjoys reading everything from mystery novels to historical romances and of course fantasy romance. She is a believer in the unbelievable, open to all possibilities from mermaids in our oceans and seas, angels in the skies and intelligent life forms in distant galaxies.

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If I’d Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book? by Robyn Singer – Guest Post and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess fish Promotions. Robyn Singer will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

If I’d Never Heard of Me, Would I Read My Book?

A question like this is a tough one, especially as I don’t read nearly as many novels nowadays as I did when I was younger. I’m sure many of us in our 20s and 30s can recall speeding through a book in a day or two when we were kids, but now needing a week or month to finish one. Let’s say that I’m a passionate reader with no professional connection to my publisher, Cinnabar Moth, and The Order of the Banshee happened to come across my dash as a
recommendation.

Based on the gorgeous cover, my attention would immediately be drawn. I almost exclusively read books with female protagonists, the framing makes it seem like there’s a deep emotional connection between the two women on the cover, the shattered sword between them is a dynamic visual, and the women’s contrasting red and bluish-black hair, combined with their depressed facial expressions, would make me think of my favorite tv show in recent years,
Arcane. Looking at the description of the book, my attention would be further captured. The tagline hinting at this being a story set after “Happily Ever After” would sound right up my alley.

The first paragraph of the summary establishing that the women on the cover are married and that this is a space opera with found family, and a thief as the main protagonist would almost certainly seal the deal for me, but it would also make me question if this book was a sequel.

Sure enough, after a quick Google search and most likely a cup of coffee, I’d find that The Order of the Banshee is a sequel to last year’s, The Sunrisers. I might ask the person who put the book on my dash if The Order of the Banshee could be read on its own, but even when they said, “Yes”, I’d still probably want to read The Sunrisers first, so I could see how the series
leads, “professional thief and amateur noodle critic” Yael Pavnick and former military captain, Molina Langstone, first got together. Lesbian childhood friends to enemies to lovers would be impossible for me to pass up.

I wrote these books to be everything I want in stories, with the series protagonist, Yael, being specifically designed to be everything little me would have wanted in a hero. Yes, I would absolutely read both The Order of the Banshee and its predecessor, The Sunrisers, even if I’d never heard of me. I suppose it wasn’t such a difficult question after all.

It’s been five years since Yael and Molina reunited. Yael is one of the richest and most infamous thieves in the universe and a member of the Order of the Banshee. She is rising through the ranks of the elite organization with her wife and her ride-or-die best friends, Aarif and P’Ken, at her side, and she’s even running her own school for thieves. Molina, former captain in the universe’s premiere peacekeeping organization, the Sunrisers, is happily married to Yael and tells herself that’s enough.

Their seemingly perfect lives are interrupted when they receive news of the death of Molina’s father. When Molina returns home for his funeral, she reunites with her former friend and now enemy: Kaybell, the emperor of the Cykebian Empire. Kaybell, eager to mend the relationship, informs Molina that her father was murdered and offers to help Molina find those responsible and bring them to justice.

While Molina and Kaybell hunt the people responsible for her father’s death, Yael is hunted by an invincible assassin – one with a terrible secret. These two seemingly unrelated events are more connected than Yael or Molina could possibly imagine.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Yael was never peaceful in her sleep. Sometimes it was adorable, as she’d blurt out lines from her ridiculous dreams and punch and kick the air. Other times it was annoying as Hell, as she’d sleepwalk, go to the fridge, and stuff food in my mouth. And usually it was weird food she and Aarif liked that I wouldn’t normally touch. But sometimes, it wasn’t adorable or annoying. Sometimes it was scary.

“Ahh!” Yael shrieked, shaking her knees. “Ahhh!”

“Yael, baby, wake up,” I said, getting on top of her and resting my hands on her face. “Wake up!”

Yael’s eyes jolted open and she tried to throw me off her. That had happened a few times before, but I’d learned how to grab onto her so I stayed in place. As Yael panted, she wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed me like one of the stuffed animals she’d had as a kid.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “It’s okay. You’re home. You aren’t back there.”

Yael’s warm breath continued to blow against my ear. “It hurts. It shouldn’t, but it does. Every other week…I’m on the Noriker. And every time I close my eyes, I see that bitch.” Yael roared, slamming her fists down on the bed, shaking the entire room. “I could have killed her. Instead, she’s the fucking emperor.”

About the Author: Robyn Singer is a lifelong New Yorker, and since she was a kid playing with her action figures, all she’s wanted to do is tell stories. She went to SUNY Purchase to get a degree in Playwriting & Screenwriting with a minor in Film and has produced several comic books, but she’s always had her eye on becoming a published novelist.

As an Autistic, bisexual trans woman, diversity and inclusion in stories are vitally important to her, and she seeks to represent as many groups as possible in her work. While she wants to show characters of marginalized groups experiencing joy, she also draws inspiration from real-world problems which bother her.

The Sunrisers (Cinnabar Moth Publishing, November 2022) is her debut novel. Order of the Banshee is book in the The Ricochet Trilogy. Robyn was the author in residence for quester 1 of 20222 for Cinnabar Moth Literary Collections. She writes novels and short stories of all genres and for all ages, and she continues to produce comic books. Her ongoing series, Final Gamble, began publication by Band of Bards in 2022.

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Character Creation by Chad Hunter – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. The author will award a randomly drawn winner a $10 Amazon/BN gift card. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Character creation is the foundation of any story. I have found that if you know your protagonist, antagonist or even supporting characters well, they will almost write the story for you. These are my essential steps for moving the people in my imagination to paper (or screen!)

1. Knowing the background that the audience knows (and doesn’t) – It is important that I know everything about the character that the audience does and does not. When you know their backstory, you know what drives them and what they fear. When you know a secret about the character, it can help influence their actions in a “show don’t tell” fashion. It is also very important that you never mention their secret or tell it in a story. It doesn’t have to be big but it has to be something untold. I find that this creates a unique bond between you and your creation.

2. Using my senses – What do they look like is an obvious start but what do they sound like? Do they speak loudly and with confidence or do they speak in a soft tone with hints of insecurity? Do they smell like they wear perfume or cologne? When you shake their hand or touch their skin, are they warm or cold? I find that using my senses to fully embrace a character’s traits greatly fleshes them out and makes it easy to give these descriptions to the reader. It also gives me insight into who they are and what they stand for. A character who speaks meekly may have trauma in their backstory. Someone who stomps with every step may be intimidating or overcompensating. A villain with a warm smile may believe he or she is in the right and still be a good person doing terrible things, etc.

3. Having coffee – Lastly, in my imagination, I have coffee with the characters. Regardless if they are a zombie from the future, an alien space captain or a college student hacker, I imagine sitting and having coffee with them. It gives me more input into their nuisances and three dimensionality. How do they interact with not only me but the environment? Do they order a complicated drink or go for something simple? Are they relaxed or impatient about their time and why? Coffee is one of those great equalizers that allows us a chance to lower our guards and connect. This is true for the real and the imaginary and if they’re in your head, who is to say that they’re not kind of real already?

Get creating.
Chad

Without warning, the demonic computing device rose up. Red arcs of crackling electricity snapped out from the server and struck the men and women in the chest. Involuntarily, they each screamed out in dying shrieks. Each worshiper hovered off the floor, transfixed and held for feeding.

DedKode moved forward but James knew it was too late. He placed his hand out and stayed the young, undead hacker.

The worshipers continued to undulate and now fluids ran from their orifices; heavy thick drops collected in puddles beneath each of them.

Faces sunk in.

Eyes rolled back.

Limbs twisted and cracked.

After what seemed like hours, but was only minutes, of watching these men and women sucked dry of their lives, the bodies collapsed to the flooring. Several landed in the pools of their bodily fluids – that which the server did not demand.

The server hovered still, humming like a thousand computer room fans and the singing of a damned chorus. The crimson energy that had drawn life from the worshipers crackled and snapped in oscillating arcs around the device.

The room was still empty as DedKode’s hacks were still running and fooling the security systems.

“What’s the plan now, Devon?” James asked, keeping his eyes on the demonic equipment hovering either obliviously or without care at his presence. “Do we still try to shut this thing down and take it back or—”

Suddenly DedKode held his hooded skeletal head. Palladino’s attention shifted to his teammate.

“What is it?”

There was a feeling that stirred up from a buzzing between where DedKode’s ears once were to a deafening roar he could not ignore. It was an energy, a swelling that circled the room, and DedKode could feel it in part. “Shit, King James, look —”

He pointed a gloved bony finger towards the now pulsating vibration only he could feel. The zombie hacker directed Palladino’s gaze to the dead, robed corpses.

They were rising to their feet.

Their hoods fell away and it was clear that they were once alive and were now resurrected dead. Jaws were sunken in, eyes pulled back into black sockets completely void of life. Mouths hung in slow, smacking moans and patches of hair fell with each step, covering the floor along with tears of desiccate flesh.

Arms lifted up and bony hands reached out in trembling grasps.

A hoarse cry rumbled from within breathless, shrunken lungs.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The street was once Lake Shore Drive.

It had been considered one of the most beautiful stretches of road ever constructed. From nearly any point on the arterial Chicago road, one could stop and see the lake, Museum Campus, and other aspects of sheer magnificence.

Testaments to humanity’s architecture, designs, and vision literally reached up to the sky. Willis Tower was legendary. Floors and floors of beautiful windows that once caught the rising sun were now almost completely shattered. Unimaginable amounts of flesh-cutting shards of shining triangles littered the streets.

The Cloud Gate, lovingly referred to as “The Bean,” was a mind-boggling, visually-stunning stainless-steel sculpture that had once captured the imagination of both locals and visitors. Its mirror-like surface played tricks with reality, reflecting the city’s vibrant life in mesmerizing ways.

Now, the Bean was covered in scarred marks and awash in dark splotches of foul-smelling liquids. Instead of laughing faces and optically-twisted visitors, what reflected in the artistically crafted curves was now a sea of countless reddish white deathly stares of layers and layers of skulls laying under the landmark.

The air was layered with gut-churning rancidity not unlike the reek of meat left exposed atop rank garbage in offensive summer heat.

Even on a chill-bitten fall night, the gore was overpowering to all aspects of human interaction.

Nearby, the Crown Fountain had once captured onlookers with its interactive art, projecting the faces of Chicagoans on towering screens, spouting water from their mouths into the reflecting pool below. Tonight, the fountain did not spray immaculate pristine waters but instead bubbled from time to time, as would a swamp. The fluid within was greenish in color and reeked of acidic bile and vomit. Flies had made the site a place of egg laying and maggot rearing.

The Adler Planetarium once world-renowned for its celestial studies was a broken half-dome. Immense cracks ran atop the once majestic structure that had brought countless visitors from across the globe.

The Field Museum had been a cauldron of the past and the present with future aspirations and wonder. It was once the place where history was held in honored perpetuity. Now, whatever remained of mankind’s history had violated and pulled from the museum’s halls.

Glass cases had been shattered.

Exhibits had been torn out and thrown asunder.

Red, pink and white littered the stairs as intestines, blood and bone made a carpet atop the museum’s walkway.

Chicago was a city known for its sides – its South Side, North Side and West Side. Each was unique from its ethnic communities to its dominant food vendors and carts to its well-known struggles of parking. Yet now, there were no sides anymore.

Now all that was gone. Sides were identical – each area of the city, like each area of other metropolitan sprawls across the globe – were miles and miles of death.

About the Author: Chad Hunter was born in East Chicago, Indiana. Raised by a single mother in the city’s Harbor section, he is the youngest of four. Growing up in the Midwest and a proudly self-proclaimed “Region Rat,” Hunter has written and published several books and novels. He has written for magazines and newspapers throughout North America and has been published in several languages. His writings have been called sophisticated yet humorous, sharp witted and unrelenting.

Most often, Hunter’s writings have been considered so wide and diverse that they span a scale that would include multiple writers with multiple forms. If anything binds his varied styles, it is Hunter’s theme of the human condition, humor and family closeness – all to the backdrop of romantic love, vibrant remembrance and even monsters themselves.

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The Travelling City by Adrienne Miller – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Adrienne Miller will be awarding a $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

After a hundred years of watching humans make bad decisions, anyone would be sick of their job as peacekeeper.

Reihan, a seaver created to deal with humans who lose control over their manifestation abilities, is no exception.

Worse still, virtually all humans in the Travelling City can manifest.

That is, shape reality according to their more or less well-formed and often poorly thought-out designs.

That alone would be enough to keep her busy, but then there are people like Phillippe.

Phillippe, who drenched himself in the city’s collective subconscious to strengthen his inborn powers.

Even though he shouldn’t be, he seems fine, crowned as the new star escort in the Brothel of Transformative Curiosities.

But Reihan has seen this story play out before. And Phillippe is far too charming, far too kind, and far too inconsolable for her to simply look away.

The Travelling City is a dark fantasy mystery packed with romance and even more existential dread; set in a whimsical, bizarre and ever-changing world.

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“Why would you say that to me?”

Phillippe’s voice was still shrill, but it assumed a layer of calm that Reihan found unusual. His eyes fixated on her, almost as if he was intrigued by the callousness lurking behind her words.

“Because I didn’t cause this, Phillippe. Because I was created to solve a problem that you humans could so easily avoid if not for your petulant greed and insistence on breaking every rule, no matter how well-meaning.”

“We had no choice”, Phillippe replied, still with that eerily resigned tone of his.

“I don’t believe that. All you people can manifest at least to a degree. You’ll never truly go hungry, and you’ll never truly go cold. Hells, if you get sick, you can make yourselves healthy, and when you get old, you can make yourselves young, at least for a little while. Everything else is a choice.”

“You don’t know – you wouldn’t understand.”

About the Author:Adrienne Miller writes in the genre of Dark Fantasy; combining beautiful aesthetics with existential dread. Her stories feature complex romances, found family dynamics, and storylines centred on world mysteries.

She has grown up with both classic and new Fantasy, from Michael Moorcok’s Eternal Hero series, Michael’s Scott’s “Thraxas” magical detective romps, to quiet and heart-felt Science-Fantasy by Becky Chambers.

The Travelling City is inspired by her love for the imaginative worlds of old-school role-playing games like Planescape Torment and the intricate character work of urban fantasy authors like Holly Black.

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What Kind of Writer Am I? by Lachi – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a voritual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Lachi will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What Kind of Writer Am I?
Before anything else, I am a world-builder. It’s difficult to get engaged in character motivation without being deeply engulfed in the scene. I believe the setting itself is a main character and deserves to be well developed, have its own voice, and its own sense of humor, loss, love and pain.

I also hold character development right up there beside stage setting. Through immersive multi-POV with quippy, distinct internal monologue, I really love exploring 4-dimensional characters who kick butt, but whose motivations grow and change along with circumstances, and whose generational traumas seep through in unexpected ways. As an author with a disability, I also like to make sure disability is represented in everything I write, whether it be a main character working through their neurodivergence to socialize or a side character casually dealing with random bouts of inaccessibility.

In ‘Death Tango’, a horror-tinged whodunit mystery wrapped in Sci-Fi, I get the opportunity to dive headfirst into all of these passions in a future cyber-laced New York City run by corporations and robots alike, where folks work from home, order in, and communicate via second life-esque social media. And our four headstrong mains must work to overcome their own traumas to figure out how to save the city from a growing plague.

In a Utopian twenty-third-century New York City, where corporations have replaced governments, AI dictates culture, and citizens are free to people-watch any other citizen they choose through an app, this horror-laden Sci-Fi Thriller follows four mis-matched coeds as they attempt to solve the murder of an eccentric parascientist. Only someone or something able to navigate outside the highest levels of croud-sourced surveillance could get away with murder in this town. If the team can’t work quickly to solve the case, New York City will be devoured by a dark plague the eccentric had been working on prior to his death, a plague which, overtime, appears to be developing sentience.

Enjoy an Excerpt

It is nine years ago. I stand alone on an unstable rock. Beneath that rock are a few precarious slabs of granite. Beneath the granite lies a hundred feet of air, of silence, of potential bone-shattering death. Surrounded by a dusk sky, Mount Venom—the cliff aptly named for the lives it has claimed—stretches endlessly beneath my quivering legs and far beyond my blurring vision.

Through the blaring wind, I hear several SOIs—School of Intelligence kids—hurl down demoralizing insults from the cliff’s edge. “She’ll never make it!” “Fall and die, swine!” Each year the SOIs goad us TFs—Testing Facility subjects—into scaling the cliff. If successful, the TF is accepted as an equal, putting an end to constant ridicule and torment. There is little sympathy for those who accept the challenge and fail. I tell myself to reach for the next stone along the slope, to keep my hands steady, to breathe.

I near the finish line.

Every inch of my body tastes it as much as my mouth tastes it. Get there; say nothing; feel no pride. My face wet with tears and mucus, my fingers slippery with blood, I feel around for my next grip and pull on my burning calves. I have only two heaves left. Two heaves, and no more being treated like trash.

I notice a small gap between two large stones above me. As I place my dampened hands into the hole for leverage, the rubble on which I stand gives out. My legs dangle freely. I have the willpower to lift my body onward, but my concentration is broken by a pair of black-gloved hands that pop out of the fissure above me.

Someone is hiding behind the rocks.

Tech Sports knitted in thin red stitching on each glove slides into view. My body ignores the anxiety presented by this new predicament, and I continue to lift. The gloves grab both my forearms and yank. I am now dangling by the grip of those hands; I am now at their complete mercy.

“Friend or foe?” I manage to growl between pained gasps, the wind forcing hair into my mouth.

“You’re so close,” replies a male voice I can hardly distinguish.

“I know! I know! Help me up!” I yell. My legs work uselessly to find hold. Receiving no verbal or physical response, I wriggle my shoulders. “Hey! Help me up!”

“Beg me!” the voice demands, barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. I fend off a rapidly growing well of despair. Despair is a choice, a manifestation of surrender.

“Please!” I bark, the word taking with it all of my remaining willpower. I look up wide-eyed at the gloved hands, ignoring the falling stones as I await my fate.

“This is for putting in the application!” he yells, and with a quick jolt he lets go of my arms.

I fall.

I keep my eyes open, desperately hoping for something to grab, but all I see are a mix of gray sky, red rock face and my flailing arms. I hear my bones smash against the jagged teeth of Mount Venom and scream one long uninterrupted exhale, silenced only by the jarring collision of the back of my skull against the cold, hard pavement.

I don’t feel the fracture. I only hear it between my ears. Pop.

I lie at the foot of Mount Venom, looking up at dark clouds, a metallic taste oozing over my tongue, a harsh pain working its way down my neck. A thick puddle coalesces under my head as onlookers gather.

My vision snaps away instantly with a blink. Surrounding echoes fade slowly as the internal sound of my curtailed heartbeats takes over. Suddenly I feel cold and heavy. I am motionless, no longer taking in oxygen.

After an onslaught of euphoria, I feel my brain flatten. I hear its slight gummy movements of deflation against my last few heartbeats. And somewhere between no longer feeling the ground beneath me and no longer feeling the air around me, I realize I am dead.

I perceive only a black vastness about me. Like an autumn leaf I float in the Cartesian circle that is the keen awareness of my nonexistence. A mix of bliss and terror. I try to hold on to something physical, something I can understand. “You are safe. You are safe,” I repeat, exercising the remnants of my inner monologue.

Then I begin to see things.

A single bright blue diamond, about the size of a fist, appears five feet before me. It is soon joined by two more on either side, followed by two more still, until a string of blue diamonds surrounds me. I realize I can see my entire periphery, no longer limited by physical eyes. A light source switches on behind me, revealing that I am floating at the center of a rotating diamond-rimmed disco ball.

Trying to locate the light source, I push my perception upward, downward, left, right, only to find that I, myself, am the source of that light. The speed with which the disco ball spins steadily increases, faster and faster, until all is a blur of spinning frenzy. Suddenly thousands of quick snapshots of familiar faces speed toward me: my friends, my bullies, the dark skin of my estranged father, the Spanglish ravings of my drunken mother, their parents, their parents’ parents. Images of a cottage in France, a village in Africa, past wars, ancient discoveries, tree scavenging, gasping air, breathing ocean, swimming in gas, feelings of remorse, loss, shame, excitement, immense love, bitter anguish, and a desperate need for acceptance. Every imaginable emotion ravages me whole.

I experience my consummate past. A massive rewind that stops at a sweeping explosion. A sphere of white fire so bright, it could hardly be described as fire. I am an endless wave of raw emotion drowning in the unyielding flames. And in that eternal instant I understand everything.

Again, all fades to black, the warmth, the understanding. And though the blackness around me is infinite, I sense a presence. I am not alone.

“Look around you,” the presence communicates to me, not through sound, sight or touch, but through direct understanding. I am certain it is—at least in part—a being other than myself. I hold fast to my mantra. “Do not fear,” the presence continues. I allow the mantra to fade. “Do you see how far the blackness reaches, stretching beyond infinite horizons? That is how much you do not know, how much you’ve yet to learn.” A brief silence. “Fear is the great enemy of knowledge, and you, Rosa, are the switch between them.”

“Me?” I manage to convey through the slivers of my consciousness.

“Us.”

“Us? How? Why? What do you mean?” My figurative words come childlike and excited.

“You already know how,” the presence responds as it fades. “You already know why.” I feel a growing bitter loneliness as the presence drifts away.

“Wait!” I yell. The blackness around me congeals to a bumpy dark brown. “Come back!” The glistening euphoria gradually declines as my flattened brain begins to restructure. A physical atmosphere swiftly surrounds me, and a palpitating sensation starts beneath me, causing me to rise and fall. The pulsing sensation reveals itself to be my heart grappling for a pulse.

A crashing ocean of white noise fills my head. I feel that I have a head. A body. Arms. A face. My face.

I open my eyes as the rush of noise fades to the sound of an open room. I am lying on a bed in the infirmary, surrounded by the school nurse and Dr. Ferguson himself, their blurry faces examining my head wound.

Dr. Ferguson bends forward. “You had a very nasty fall, Ms. Lejeune. Do you remember that?” He watches a nurse as she dabs a cloth at my face. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

About the Author:Lachi is an internationally-touring creative artist, writer and award-winning cultural activist living in New York City. A legally blind daughter of African immigrants, Lachi uses her platform to amplify narratives on identity pride and Disability Culture. In her public life, Lachi has helped increase accessibility to the GRAMMY Awards ceremonies as well as create numerous opportunities for music professionals with disabilities, through her organization RAMPD. Lachi also creates high-quality content amplifying disability. She has hosted a PBS American Masters segment highlighting disabled rebels and releases songs such as “Lift Me Up” and “Black Girl Cornrows” that elevate disability and difference to the pop culture market. Named a “new champion in advocacy” by Billboard, she’s held talks with the White House, the UN, Fortune 100 firms, and has been featured in Forbes, Hollywood Reporter, Good Morning America, and the New York Times for her unapologetic celebration of intersectionality through her music, storytelling and fashion.

In her free-time Lachi writes sci-fi and fantasy novels with diverse, headstrong characters, focusing heavily on atonal world-building, quip-ridden character development, likable villains and psycho-spiritual discourse.

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Quantum Reaction by Marc Wayne – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Marc Wayne will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Life-altering tech is on the horizon, and someone wants it stopped—permanently. Can a murder witness escape paying the ultimate price?

Near future. Angela Kapp struggles with her past. Working remotely from an isolated cabin in a dead-end customer support job, she drinks too much and spends her days avoiding the world. But while on shift using a visual-interpretation headset to assist a blind person, the cynical loner is horrified when she virtually experiences the other woman’s gruesome slaying.

Shocked the next day when she recognizes the killer closing in on a second sightless client, Angela shouts for the software engineer to run. And after learning that he and the first victim are connected by a soon-to-be-released teleportation innovation, she convinces him to go to ground in her secluded home… only to become a target herself.

Can her paranoia and his unexpected skills thwart a sinister plot?

Quantum Reaction is a gripping science fiction mystery. If you like resilient heroines, unique blind heroes, and high-adrenaline action interwoven with humor, then you’ll love Marc Wayne’s flash forward to adventure.

Buy Quantum Reaction to take a leap into tomorrow today!

Enjoy an Excerpt

Angela recognized the tall, powerfully built man with red hair who had strode into the building from the far door, a gap in his front teeth appearing when he smiled at the security guard.

“That’s him!” she yelled.

“Who?” JT had frozen in response to Angela’s panic.

“The killer. He’s at the far door,” Angela spit out the words.

JT’s head swiveled in that direction as Angela leaned in to confirm the sighting. “Keep looking that way,” she instructed as she remembered this time to snap a picture of the killer on her phone.

The killer caught sight of JT, his expression quickly morphing into grim determination. He took a stride toward JT, ignoring the identity check before the security guard reacted.

“Sir,” called the guard.

“He’s coming toward you.” Angela’s throat tightened, but she maintained her poise. “You’ve gotta get out of there. Turn to your nine o’clock.”

Two years of working together had JT reacting immediately.

“Now run.”

“Run?” questioned the blind man, even as his legs started moving anyway.

“Door opens automatically. Way’s clear.” Her voice was no longer panicked but rather conveyed certainty. She wasn’t going to lose another client—she’d get him to safety.

About the Author:

Marc Wayne writes thrilling sci-fi mysteries. After publishing 8 novels in another genre under a different name and having several best-sellers, he has turned to his first love: sci-fi.

His years of marketing leadership positions in Silicon Valley honed his writing skills and sense of humor. Writing fiction was part of Marc’s everyday work for many years—these were just called ads, emails, and other marketing materials.

To Marc, it often felt like he was living at the intersection of technology and the future, where things you dreamt about could often become possible. After that, writing near-future sci-fi hasn’t felt like such a stretch.

Quantum Reaction is on sale for $0.99 during the tour at Amazon.

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War of the Animals by Jonathan Decoteau – Spotlight and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jonathan Decoteau will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Mankind struck first. This time, nature fights back…

A failed effort to weaponize animals awakens their intellects. The military responds by creating death camps to exterminate infected animals. Moon Shadow, an Arctic white wolf, unites with White Claw, a polar bear king, to form Animus Nor, the first animal republic, to negotiate peace. The uneasy peace is broken with the rise of Azaz, lord of the grizzly bears. Azaz attacks human settlements, considering humans an invasive species that wreaks havoc on bears and the environment. A world war breaks out as animals face humans and each other to see who will rule the world.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The War of The Animals series asks: What if animals rose up against humanity’s pollution of the environment and destruction of their habitats? What if it was a fair fight? This excerpt is from the first chapter and introduces Moon Shadow, queen of the wolves, the protagonist of the early books.

Moon Shadow shook the harshest of the white winds off with an afflicted whimper. Her paws—icicles lined with nails—winced in their impending numbness. Still, Moon Shadow ran forward. In the distant echo of dreams, she remembered what it was like to live in the world before the end of worlds. An illegally smuggled white Arctic wolf, Moon Shadow knew the love of her former masters before the new age. The tiniest of the humans reminded her of her own pups, tiny balls of white fur that she hoped to coddle until it was their time to hunt. Yet, the same masters took her pups from her, putting them up for the highest bidder to steal. Even after seeing more of the great North American continent than she had ever dreamed of in her life of relative leisure, Moon Shadow had seen no sign of her pups. She wondered if they were now grown with pups of their own. In her heart, she knew it was unlikely that they survived The Rapsys, or Opening of Eyes, as the street dogs of her former town rather poetically referred to this massive change that shook the very marrow of their bones.

About the Author:I am a nature lover who lives and teaches in beautiful, pastoral New England.

The War of the Animals books were inspired by the 2020 pandemic lockdown. I remember driving by animals that freely roamed the streets after we were in lockdown (I was getting groceries—not ignoring state mandates—I promise!). I felt for the first time how much the animals were in lockdown whenever we weren’t. That inspired the idea of a variety of animals having voices and speaking up for the earth. I started writing the books shortly thereafter.

Check out my website (with character profiles and links to other work).

Website

The eBook can be downloaded for free at most major online retailers, including at the following: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or iBooks.

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What would I tell an aspiring author? by Nicholas Dufresne – Guest Blog and Giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Nicholas Dufresne will be awarding a $15 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

What would I tell an aspiring author?

Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end, stop. It might sound simple, but in practice, it’s incredibly hard to do. So much of yourself goes into the world and characters you create that it can be hard to make something complete. Something whole. Something you’re satisfied with.

This piece of advice resonated with me when I was working on my novel. I had within me something I wanted to share with the world and knew the only way I’d be able to do so was if I sat down and did it myself. Whenever I was stuck writing in a slog, I would think about finally writing down the words “The End” and it gave me the motivation to continue.

A story can be daunting to pen down but can be broken up into tiny, much smaller pieces that you can chip away at until it’s done. You don’t need huge writing sessions where thousands of words flow out of you and into your manuscript. Just do what you can when you can and always keep moving forward.
Each person has within them a voice just waiting to be heard by the world, and I think this is what makes every piece of literature unique. Through written words, you get a glimpse into somebody else’s mind as they breathe life into a story only they could dream up.

It can get hard, finishing that story or editing that chapter but I assure you it’s all worth it in the end. To see other people immerse themselves in your creation and form thoughts and opinions on your story you never thought possible is a wonderful feeling.

Nothing can compare to holding your book in your hands for the first time and realizing that you’re the one that made it all possible. Seeing and feeling a tangible result to all that effort I put into mine made so incredibly proud of what I had accomplished.

It took months to write my first draft and years before it was finally published. And yet, I never stopped chipping away at it, one step at a time. No matter how hard it got, I kept at it. I didn’t wait for motivation to strike me before deciding to write anything down. I wrote and made the inspiration come to me because every word I added gave me new ideas for the next one.

My story was constantly on my mind, and I think up new scenes wherever I go. When I think I find something that works, it leaves me excited to sit down and flesh it out. So far, I’ve written four books in the Genesis Saga series but have only published the first one. I started at my story’s beginning and when I get to the end, I’ll stop.

I just haven’t gotten there yet.

Adrian thought his time as a human experiment was over, that he was done suffering and had finally died. Never did he expect to wake up somewhere new, somewhere alien and far different than he could’ve ever imagined.

Has he found salvation, or is a test subject all he’s destined to be?

***

When a scouting mission brings Reya and her team to a star sector that doesn’t support life, they stumble into far more than they first bargained for. The planet they thought was deserted contains secrets with far-reaching consequences.

Enjoy an Excerpt

The last thing he remembered was his futile struggle against the blue. Everything had been blue. He’d felt himself fade as the last vestiges of life fled from his body. His mind had shut down, turning itself off. And then, everything went black.

The darkness.

That crushing, never ending darkness.

Adrian shivered for entirely different reasons as his body heat leached away into the ground beneath him. He breathed deep lungfuls of air, immersed in the simple feeling of being. Blinking owlishly, he rid his eyes of the substance that clouded them while he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling.

About the Author: Nicholas Dufresne is a Canadian writer from Montreal. An avid reader and lover of stories, delving into the worlds created by others is a passion of his that inspired him to write one of his own to share with the world. Fantasy and science fiction are his preferred genres, both to read and write. When not reading or writing, he’s probably dreaming up new worlds to explore.

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