BLOG TOUR: THE NEW WORLD (THE NEW WORLDS TRILOGY BOOK 1) BY JAYE C WATTS + EXCERPT

The New Worlds - Jaye C. Watts

Jaye C. Watts has a new queer sci-fi book out (transgender, poly, non-binary, pansexual, lesbian): The New Worlds.

The year is 2293 and the Truth no longer exists. In the future there are many truths, giving rise to many worlds, but each must be kept separate.

Born to protect these truths, Axton Bryce patrols the New Worlds Star System—to observe, participate, and gather information. But as she learns the ways of each world, she must also hunt for those who defy their world’s truth: the Outliers.

While stationed on a nearby planet, Axton meets the charming Ambassador Bray Wilde. As the two become close, Axton reveals a painful secret—the loss of her first love, exiled as an Outlier.

Longing to see beyond their own world, the ambassador proposes a rescue mission—one that will bring both friends and foes, and ultimately a fight for freedom. But first, Axton must make a choice: between a life-long allegiance… and the chance to claim a truth of her own.

Warnings: indoctrination, brainwashing, threatening with a weapon (guns & a bomb)

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Excerpt

The New Worlds banner - Jaye C. Watts

I clenched my fists. “Focus,” I told myself. Grabbing my communication cuff, I fastened it around my wrist. “INS communications, activate.” I opened my wardrobe and reached for a freshly pressed uniform. “Aurelia, give me today’s briefing.”

It lit up and responded. “Your next assignment will be on the Amorous World for a standard duration of three months. You are scheduled to depart today at zero six hundred Geo Time and arrive at zero eight-forty Geo Time. The latest reports on the Amorous World are available for your review. Do you wish to accept, Mediator Axton Bryce?”

I crouched to lace up my boots. “I accept.”

“On behalf of Chairman West and the Individual Nations Secretariat, we thank you, Mediator Axton Bryce, for your work in protecting the Truth of many truths.”

I rose to my feet, skin prickling at the back of my neck. Though I couldn’t see it, I could feel it: two lowercase t’s under one capital T, branded at the top of my spine—a permanent part of me ever since my Veneration five long years ago.

I reached back, digging my nails in, tempted to tear the tattoo right from my skin. “She should have been there,” I whispered. If only she’d kept those thoughts to herself.

I grabbed my utility belt and wrapped it around my waist, ensuring the gun was secure. Staring at myself in the mirror, I straightened the collar of my shirt. I’d never been to the Amorous World before. Perfect, I thought. Some fresh scenery was just what I needed.

* * *

I checked my cuff—zero five fifty-five, right on schedule. Marching across the launch deck, I carried one efficiently packed piece of luggage. I never glanced back when boarding my ship; Brokazaria’s endless acres of skyscrapers would still be here when I returned. Instead, I looked up. The early-morning sky was just waking. Aside from Primus B—the Middle World’s secondary, and thus miniature, sun—not a star was in sight. As I approached my ship, the roar of its engine reminded me that soon the stars would be all around me.

I turned and gave the official salute to a line of NI Security standing at attention. In unison, the humanlike Machines returned the gesture, crossing their arms to form a lowercase letter t. Sergeant L43 pumped his eyebrows, prompting me to raise one of mine in response. Hard to believe they were once called “AI.” New Intelligence, we were told, was a much more appropriate term.

L43 stepped forward. “Afternoon, miss.” He grabbed my bag, allowing me to ascend the ladder.

“Thanks,” I said. I climbed to the top and crawled through the hatch.

“Catch!” the NI yelled, tossing up my luggage.

With a reflex just quick enough, I caught the bag. “Sergeant!” I scolded. “What if there was something fragile in there?”

“You humans,” he replied. “Always afraid something’s gonna break. Your luggage, your bones, your bodies… not to mention your hearts and minds.”

I rolled my eyes at the cheeky Machine. “Watch it, L, or I’ll get them to reboot you.”

Unperturbed, the Machine grinned and waved. “I’ll miss you, too. Bon voyage!”

“See you in three months,” I muttered, closing the hatch behind me. I immediately got busy flicking switches and hitting buttons. Muscle memory took over as I continued the launch prep with complete focus. Not a moment later, a blue light illuminated my cuff, drawing my attention. Blue indicated a direct message from Chairman West himself, Secretary-General of the Individual Nations Secretariat.

“Play address,” I said, eager to hear our leader’s words.

A ghostlike image projected from my arm, transporting the man’s titanic figure into my control room. Neatly trimmed grays blended inconspicuously into the rest of his dark hair, swept back to frame a chiseled face. Salt-and-pepper stubble outlined a pair of smiling lips—the beginnings of a goatee that never quite came to fruition. As always, a perfectly pressed suit hugged every one of his bulging muscles.

“Greetings, my children!” The chairman’s voice rumbled from a gaping grin, complete with gleaming teeth. “Today is a very special day, not only for the New Worlds Star System but for some of our most dedicated Mediators.”

My ears perked up as I waited for more.

“Today marks two hundred and fifty years of living in an interplanetary alliance, free from the terrors of war, safe from the dangers of Plurality! A quarter of a millennium since the United Nations of the Old World became the Individual Nations of the New Worlds, marking humanity’s Great Dispersion!”

A swell of pride surged in my chest. I was part of something big and important.

“All of this would not be possible without you,” he declared, “our magnificent Mediators. You have been instrumental in our coordination with each world, fostering the cooperation necessary to manage the complexities of a resource-based economy spanning a system as vast as ours. And!”—the chairman raised a finger, flashing one of his many gold rings—“most importantly, you have upheld the sovereignty of every truth within it.”

I gave a humble nod, as though he could see me.

“Lastly,” the chairman said, “further congratulations to the Mediators of unit 245. Tomorrow is your quinquennium! Five years of serving as peacekeepers, saviors, Mediators! Father Chairman West and the INS commend you.” His thick forearms crossed in a salute, only to vanish as the feed cut out.

I took a moment to absorb his words, stunned by how many years had passed. Then I checked my cuff—Time to go.

I finished preparing for the launch, my movements steady and certain. We had done it. Peace among the planets for over two centuries.

I paused, letting my mind drift…

It had to be worth it.


Author Bio

Jaye C. Watts

JAYE C. WATTS (he/they) is a queer and trans sci-fi writer living on Lək̓ʷəŋən territory in Victoria, BC, Canada. He holds a bachelor’s degree in Sociology, with a minor in Technology and Society, as well as a diploma in Professional Recording Arts from the Art Institute of Vancouver.

When he isn’t writing, Jaye can be found falling down rabbit holes of all kinds thanks to an unquenchable curiosity and lust for learning – homeschooling will do that to you.

Jaye also loves classic jazz, mixing cocktails, biking all over the city, and of course, people watching.

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

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/jayechristinwatts/

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

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jayecwatts/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/156707355-jaye-c-watts

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/Jaye-C.-Watts/author/B0FVL8XMKW

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Now please enjoy this excerpt for The New Worlds

The Center loomed before us, a giant, shimmering pearl nestled in the middle of the donut-shaped university.

Trapp halted at the edge of the surrounding lawn, flicking off his headlamp. The rest of us gathered behind him, staring in awe at the breathtaking view.

I’d seen the landmark before, but only during the day. At night, the shining sphere transformed into something otherworldly. To the people of the Quantified World, the Center was akin to a giant crystal ball—all-knowing and all-powerful. I took in the dazzling show, watching its ethereal light cascade across the reflective solar panels covering the surrounding university.

“Whoa,” Bray whispered, their voice reverent.

“Good golly,” Logan uttered.

Medallia didn’t speak, only inhaled deeply through her

nose. Trapp released a satisfied exhale, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all night.

I stood silent, shaking my head in disbelief at how damn lucky we were. Lucky to have made it this far but also lucky this mesmerizing display continued through the night. Strange, given the fact that no one—aside from the occasional NI and rogue Outlier—was awake to see it.

Then again, this was more than just a machine.

I almost felt hypnotized by the swirling neon patterns, their movements dictated by aesthetic algorithms. For the first time, I understood why so many worshipped this construct. Numbers weren’t just functional; they could also be beautiful.

With the rest of the world fast asleep, the omniscient sphere drew me in. Heart rates, body temperatures, brain waves, even dream activity, all coming together in a colorful symphony of light.

“All this,” I marveled aloud, “from a bunch of ones and zeros.”

Bray turned to me, furrowing their brow. “Ones and zeros?”

I turned to meet their gaze. “Oh, um… I was referring to binary code.”

Their forehead crinkled even more.

“It’s a type of language,” I explained. “For computers. But not with words, just numbers. Ones and—” I stopped myself, and instead summarized. “It’s… technology stuff.”

Bray lifted their chin, acknowledging my poor attempt at clarification before turning back to the glowing orb. Any explanation involving the “t word,” as they called it, received little more than a placating nod from them.

Without warning, Trapp began tromping across the lawn, his patience for sightseeing all used up.

Logan and Medallia followed suit as I nudged Bray into motion before bringing up the rear.

As we walked, the sphere’s light continued to play across the grass. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the calm before the storm; a sense of peace coated the atmosphere, even as it charged with unimaginable possibilities. So close, I thought, and yet still so far. Hard to believe we were mere steps from Trapp’s door through time, while our final destination lay light-years away.

Our footsteps left faint trails in the dew-coated grass, leading us to a set of doors. Trapp pressed his thumb against a small black scanner embedded in the frame. After a brief pause, the device beeped, unlocking with a soft click.

Amused, Trapp wiggled the digits on his right hand and muttered, “Guess they should’ve taken my fingers, too.”

Once inside, Trapp reactivated his headlamp. The spot‐light beamed down the curved hallway, casting skittish shadows across classroom doors. The walls on either side displayed an array of infographics: pies, bars, bubbles, grids and graphs—statistical analyses whose end results were surprisingly artistic.

While trying to decipher some of the informative shapes, a low-pitched hum caught my attention.

I turned my head toward the sound. Emerging from the shadows was a clunky bot, its movements slow and methodical. The machine hugged the wall as it moved, resembling a lumbering mechanical rodent.

Beside me, Bray flinched, their body jolting as if startled by a wild animal. Their wide eyes darted toward me, like a child searching for guidance in their parent’s reaction.

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s just a robot”—a word I would never use on the Machine World. “It’s governed by preprogrammed instructions, which look to be nothing more than tidying up.” I lifted my boots, one after the other, hoping we hadn’t tracked in any mud.

Bray’s gaze returned to the machine, their fear giving way to tentative curiosity. While they kept a safe distance, Logan stepped closer, crouching to greet the bot.

“Well, hello there, little fella,” he said, grinning.

“Cleaning in progress,” the bot replied “flatly. “Step aside please.”

Logan chuckled, rejoining us as we continued down the hallway. He spun slowly, taking in everything the dim light allowed. “So these were your ol’ stomping grounds, eh, Trapp?”

“If by ‘stomping grounds’ you mean where I learned how to transcend time and space,” Trapp replied, “then yes.”

Bray cast one last glance back at the retreating bot before asking, “Were you a teacher here?”

“I was primarily a researcher,” Trapp said. “I only taught to gain access to the labs. I’d much rather make new discoveries than teach others about old ones.”

Trapp came to a sudden halt, stopping so abruptly Bray nearly bumped into him. Turning his head, he lit up a windowless metal door with a sign stating its purpose:

PARTICLE PHYSICS LAB RESTRICTED ACCESS

Trapp smiled with his eyes. “We’re close now,” he said, his words laced with determination. “Just a few more steps.” He pressed his thumb against the small scanner to his right, unlocking the door to a new world… an old world, rather.

The Old World.

Blog Tour: The Challenges of Writing About Witchcraft by Sherri L. Dodd Guest Post + My Review of Murder Under Redwood Moon

Please enjoy this special guest post from author Sherri L. Dodd

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When I began writing the Murder, Tea, and Crystals Trilogy, I wanted the story to be authentic, and realized that I would need to reach beyond my own insufficient knowledge of modern-day paganism. Luckily, I had met a couple of witches at my local crystal shop and had recently hosted a Halloween party where the tarot reader informed me that she, too, was a witch. Three to share, and the latter gave me a taste of the lifestyle. Not wanting to go alone, I invited her to attend a Samhain event with me. Her response was, “Oh no. I don’t go to those things because everyone is always trying to out-witch each other.”

So, I found with today’s witchcraft movement. Like the Christian denomination, to be a witch is a very general term. When you say someone is Christian, you know they believe in one God, and Jesus as the son of God sacrificed himself for mankind. Voila—neatly wrapped in a nutshell. But fine-tuning leads to disputes, such as Catholics believe that Mary was a virgin, 7th Day Adventists hold Saturday as the Sabbath, and the Christian Scientist enforces healing through prayer, alone. Look at the holy wars which have shown everyone thinks it’s their way or the highway. If you think that is chaotic, try putting Neo-Paganism into a tidy catchall box.

First, there are many core belief systems—Celtic, Greek, Norse, and Roman Pantheons, to name a few. A witch can worship anyone from Hekate to Brigid to Saturn to your favorite Marvel character; he, that carries a big thick hammer. Further, sometimes you worship more than just one God or Goddess. You can worship two, three, or ten. Occasionally the many different deities are from the same source—in Hindu’s case, Brahman. That means, one witch may worship Kali, yet, the witch worshiping Ganesh is tapping into the same Hindu divine power. Finally, the priests of the Salem Trials probably roll in their tombs knowing that some Christians consider themselves witches through their ability to heal or manifest. This, I know, because my mother has shared that when she was a teen, my devout Baptist grandmother proclaimed herself “a witch for Christ.”

To me, this is all quite fascinating. I have studied different religions and philosophies since my early twenties, so witchcraft falls aptly into the subject. BUT, for some reason—feminist witches blame the oppressive patriarchy—witchcraft remains taboo. Even today, if you put a book entitled Green Witchcraft II on your coffee table or a copy of Modern Witchcraft on your nightstand, your housecleaner may start rumors that you worship the devil or are a nutcase who believes in magick. Either way, I have found that to be a misrepresentation of the today’s modern witchcraft.

Another challenge when writing about witchcraft is the reverence factor. While I respectfully pursue this venture, I believe, as with all measures of spirituality, I can only graze another person’s truth when writing about core belief systems. No matter what is written, some will agree, and some will want to write their congressman about the spread of false information. Luckily, being a redhead since long before it was cute, I have learned to ignore what others think of me or what I write, and this includes my thorough study of witchcraft. I laugh off the derision. Actually, now, I cackle.

Book Summary

At the age of eight, Arista Kelly was frantically swept up by her parents and whisked off to an isolated town in the California redwoods. Two days later, her parents were gone.

Now at the age of twenty-three, she has settled quite nicely into an eclectic lifestyle, much like her great aunt, and guardian since childhood, Bethie. She enjoys the use of herbs and crystals to help her commune with the energy and nature around her and finds pleasure in the company of her beloved pet, Royal. Usually quite satisfied with her mundane life high in the Santa Cruz Mountains, life becomes unsettling when a new recurring vision of an ominous tattoo as well as increased activity from the ghostly presence within her own cottage invade her once-harmonious existence.

But life in this mountain sanctuary takes an even darker turn when the body of Arista’s former classmate is found in the nearby river. As other young young women fall prey to a suspected serial killer, Arista realizes that the terror is coming to her.

The Review

This was such a compelling, gripping murder-mystery-meets-witchy-supernatural-horror YA thriller. The natural fusion of genres was so well done in this novel, and the visceral imagery between the gorgeous Santa Cruz mountains and the chilling murders that drive this narrative forward, all come together to create a stunning blend of romance/fantasy meets YA supernatural occult horror read that is intense and inviting all at once.

The heart of the narrative is really the character dynamics. Arista is a compelling protagonist, taking the reader on a personal journey of growth as she goes from a studious, harmonious witch connected to the natural world around her to a strong, powerful young woman who is thrust into a shocking mystery and uncovers new abilities and secrets she never thought possible. The small-town setting becomes a character in itself, adding depth to the unfolding mystery and significantly elevating the tension and atmosphere with each chapter.

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The Verdict

Thrilling, compelling, and entertaining, author Sherri L. Dodd’s “Murder Under Redwood Moon” is a must-read novel. The twists and turns this story takes, the slew of suspects that keep the reader engaged as the plot unravels, and the monster at the end of the book are all revealed. The compelling character dynamics will keep readers on the edge of their seats and eager for the next entry in the series. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!

Rating: 10/10

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About the Author

Sherri was raised in southeast Texas. Walking barefoot most days and catching crawdads as they swam the creek beds, she had a love for all things free and natural. Her childhood ran rampant with talk of ghosts, demons, and backcountry folklore. This inspired her first short story for sale about a poisonous flower that shot toxins onto children as they smelled it. Her classmate bought it for all the change in his pocket. It was not long after that her mother packed the two of them up and headed to the central coast of California. She has ping-ponged throughout the area ever since.

Her first real step into writing was the non-fiction fitness book, Mom Looks Great – The Fitness Program for Moms published in 2005, and maintaining its accompanying blog. Now, transmuting the grief of her father’s passing, she has branched into Fiction, specifically the genre of Paranormal Thriller with generous dashes of Magick Realism! Her Murder, Tea & Crystals Trilogy released book one – Murder Under Redwood Moon – in March 2024. Book two – Moonset on Desert Sands – released in March 2025, and the final book in the series – Hummingbird Moonrise – became #1 New Release in Occult Supernatural on Amazon in October 2025!

You can follow the author at:

Website: www.sherridodd.com

Instagram: @Sherri.Dodd.Author https://www.instagram.com/sherri.dodd.author/

Purchase a copy of Murder Under Redwood Moon

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Murder-Under-Redwood-Moon-Paranormal/dp/1685133886

Barnes & Noble:  https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/murder-under-redwood-moon-sherri-l-dodd/

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/murder-under-redwood-moon-a-thrilling-paranormal-murder-mystery-sherri-l-dodd/21145506

You can also add this to your GoodReads reading list 

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/206022905-murder-under-redwood-moon

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Blog Tour Calendar

November 24th @ The Muffin

Join us as we celebrate the launch of the the first book in Sherri Dodd’s Murder, Tea & Crystals trilogy: Murder Under the Redwood Moon. Read an interview with the author and enter to win the whole trilogy. Two winners!

https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com

November 25th @ All Things Writing

How does an introvert survive book promotion? Author Sherri Dodd tells us how she promoted and lived to tell the tale!

https://www.caitrincking.com/blog

December 1st @ Word Magic

What is Magick Realism? Author Sherri Dodd shares her take on the genre of her trilogy Murder, Tea & Crystals.

https://fionaingramauthor.blogspot.com

December 2nd @ Cozy Home Delights 

Get Ashley’s take on Murder Under Redwood Moon, Sherri Dodd’s paranormal murder mystery.

December 3rd @ Chapter Break 

Enjoy a good crime read? Mystery author Sherri Dodd shares a few of her favorites today at Chapter Break.

https://chapterbreak.net/

December 3rd @ Cozy Home Delights 

Sherri Dodd, author of the Murder, Tea and Crystals trilogy, tells us about her Three Favorite Barbies.

December 4th @ Knotty Needle

Judy’s posting her review of Murder Under Redwood Moon by Sherri Dodd.

http://www.knottyneedle.blogspot.com

December 9th @ Words by Webb

Like your mysteries with a twist? Check out a paranormal mystery: Murder Under Redwood Moon.

https://www.jodiwebbwriter.com/blog

December 10th @ Kaecey McCormick

Kaecey is getting writing tips from Sherri Dodd in today’s author interview.

https://www.kaeceymccormick.com/

December 12th @ Author Anthony Avina

Novelist Sherri Dodd shares the Challenges of Writing About Witchcraft & Anthony reviews the first book in her trilogy: Murder Under Redwood Moon.

https://authoranthonyavina.com/

December 14th @ Boots, Shoes and Fashion

Stop for an interview with Sherri Dodd, author of the Murder, Tea & Crystals trilogy.

https://bootsshoesandfashion.com

December 17th @ A Wonderful World Of Words

Don’t miss your chance to read a review of Murder Under Redwood Moon and a chance to win the entire trilogy!

https://awonderfulworldofwordsa.blogspot.com/

December 21st @ Boys’ Mom Reads

Escape the holiday craziness with a dash of magic when Karen reviews Murder Under Redwood Moon.

https://karensiddall.wordpress.com

BLOG TOUR: THE TALKING CURE (A SEAN JOYE INVESTIGATION) BY KATHY L. BROWN

Kathy L. Brown has a new queer urban fantasy mystery out (ace, pan/bi, gay): The Talking Cure.

Sean Joye Investigations, Book 2

Haunted woman claws her way back to reality by reconnecting with her magical powers in The Talking Cure, a supernatural Yuletide follow-up to The Big Cinch.

Committed to an insane asylum, Violet Humphrey is isolated on the Illinois prairie with only her own thoughts and a persistent new voice in her head for company. When she is accused of murder, Violet suspects her road to both freedom and recovery lies through confronting her painful past and solving the crime. Magically summoned, Sean Joye skids through an ice storm to help Violet, but can they catch the killer and defy an eldritch horror before Violet loses her tenuous grasp on reality?

“The Talking Cure is a marvelous story—an Agatha Christie-style murder mystery infused with a strong sense of the Weird… and a hearty dose of magic on the side. It’s ideal for all fans of the sinister, the surprising, and the strange.” —Cherie Priest, award-winning author of Boneshaker

Warnings: suicidal ideations, references past harm to child.

About the Series

The Sean Joye Investigations series embeds readers in a magic-laced 1920s era St. Louis. The world has barely survived a brutal global war, disease pandemic, and rampant ethnic violence. The cosmic balance is off kilter, and corrupt energies seep through widening cracks in reality. That foul rot has touched Sean Joye in myriad ways. A disillusioned veteran of 1922’s Irish Civil War, he traveled to America to escape supernatural attention, forget his assassin past, and forge a clean new life. Can Sean now master the magical abilities he has rejected for so long in time to protect the innocent and save his own skin?

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Excerpt

The Talking Cure meme

Cold air invaded the room, and the flames crackled in greeting. Out in the foyer, I could hear Carrie as she passed off the arriving board members’ coats and bags to an orderly dragooned into footman duty—“Good evening, Doctor. Ah, Doctor, you remember Doctor? And here’s Doctor, right on time.”

I scooted as far away from Dr. Elsass as I could, making for the Christmas tree in front of the parlor windows. Its sharp green scent tried its best to counter the guests’ stench. As much as I avoided the director, I could still hear him chirping in the background. “We’ll talk about that, of course.” His voice dropped to a whisper, but the words flew across the room to me like bright budgies. “Do you think that wise, Emerson? She is in a most fragile state.”

I found Nurse Martin leading my other roommate, Berta, and two additional patients in tree decoration. “Ah, Violet, thanks for joining us.” She held out a sturdy cedar ornament. “Care to help?”

I took it and clung to its warm scent for protection, but despite knowing better—the men would just upset me—I couldn’t help watching their dispute. Dr. Elsass was a chess master, and we were all merely pieces in play. Even this Emerson fellow.

“Don’t you believe in your Talking Cure? She seems much better to me.” Emerson glanced down at his wife and grinned, showing lots of teeth.

The rumor among the maids and kitchen staff was that Blanche was besotted with our therapist, Dr. Ibrahim Cole. Although she was here for “female hysteria”— whatever that was—I had never met a less hysterical female.

Blanche diligently ignored her husband and Dr. Elsass, engrossed as she was in the sketchbook that was never far from her side.

“Aren’t you, darling?” Emerson said, paying no attention to her activity. “Wouldn’t you like a break from chewing off Cole’s ear? You can talk to me if you feel down in the mouth.”

Blanche looked up. “I would like to see my dog.”

Ah, I thought. She was paying attention. I bet she notices more than she lets on.

“See? She’s fine.” Emerson exclaimed to Dr. Elsass, as if he’d cured her female hysteria himself.

“Perhaps a weekend pass,” the director mused, pretending to consider the matter. “We’ll discuss it at the staff meeting. Mrs. Emerson has made remarkable progress, it is true.” He glanced around the room, caught my eye, and beamed. Damn. “And speaking of remarkable progress, you know Mrs. Humphrey, I’m sure.”

Emerson strode across the room and held out his hand. “Percy Emerson. We’ve met, but you may not remember. I knew your father from the Piasa Club.”

I made myself take his hand, briefly, despite his rotten odor. And the maggots I could see writhing about on his palm. Not real, I told myself. Not real. “Please call me Violet.”

“And you should call me Percy. I’m…Sorry for your loss.”

I nodded and made for the tea cart, aiming for a napkin to wipe his stench off my skin. My losses were many. To which did he refer?

Percy drifted back to Dr. Elsass and winked. “Nice try. As I was saying, Blanche is much more…tractable…than before.” He patted his wife on the head. “But your cure takes an awful lot of time and buckets of cash—who’s to say she wouldn’t have snapped out of it on her own?”

For her part, Blanche seemed oblivious to the conversation that was transpiring, intent as she was on sketching the Christmas tree. Percy at last noticed the sketchbook on his wife’s lap. “That’s nice, honey. Gonna puts some colors on there? Lots of green and red?”

She looked up at him, her face blank. Eventually, she said, “Do you think I should? I was interested in the pattern, you see, the way the light—”

“Oh, yes, definitely. Christmas trees are green. With red balls. That might be good enough for a holiday card, if you color it up right.” To Dr. Elsass, he said, “Nice little scam you got going here, doc.” His voice boomed over the chittering noise of the room. “Well played.”

The guests ceased their conversations and turned to the two men. Dr. Elsass and Percy stared at each other for a long minute. At last, the director laughed out loud. “Ah, Mr. Emerson. Always a kidder, as the young people say.”

The room grew darker as the afternoon faded, with just the glow of the hearth and the lights on the Christmas tree. When a fresh contingent of board members lumbered into the parlor, the parrot squawked, and the elderly tree trimmers equally took fright. Dr. Elsass approached the new arrivals, arms outstretched. “Come in, gentlemen. Have a hot drink. There will be ‘something stronger,’ and a fine meal presently.”

Suddenly, a passing shadow blocked the glow from the fireplace, a darkness that smelled of decaying fish, sulfur, and algae bloom. Then Berta, who’d been so calm, sank to her knees, her eyes darting about, and croaked in a wavering voice, “Dagon lives. Mighty Dagon. Dagon. Dagon. Dagon.”

The bird joined in as a chorus, “Dagon, Dagon, Dagon.”

Having no idea to whom or what they referenced, I was struck for a moment with total conviction that Berta, and perhaps the parrot, knew some secret of infinite portent. I utterly believed them, the words a carillon to my ears. I took a deep breath. This wouldn’t do at all. I’m sure it was just what Carrie had been worried about, one of us crazy people acting crazy at the normal-people party.


Author Bio

Kathy L. Brown writes speculative fiction with a historical twist. Her hometown— St. Louis, Missouri, USA—and its history inspires much of her fiction.

The haunted 1920s world of the Sean Joye Investigations book series was conceived in a creative writing workshop in 2004. The idea wouldn’t go away, and Kathy published two Sean Joye novellas while working on her first novel, The Big Cinch, released by the Montag Press Collective in December 2021. The Big Cinch won the 2022 Imadjinn award for best urban fantasy novel.

After spending the pandemic editing and publishing a secondary-world young adult fantasy, Wolfhearted, Kathy wrote the next Sean Joye investigation, The Talking Cure. It will be published in November 2025. A Sean Joye short story, “The Pixie Job,” appears in the 2024 Marathonarium Anthology: Volume II.

Currently she is preparing a high fantasy novella in the Wolfhearted world for publication in 2026. Learn more at kathylbrown.com.

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

Author Facebook (Personal): https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=590229717

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

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/kathylbrownwrites/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/18298845.Kathy_L_Brown

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/kathy-l-brown/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/author/kathylbrown

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BLOG TOUR: DOWN THE RIVER (RIVER CITY BOOK TWO) BY J. SCOTT COATSWORTH + EXCERPT

Down the River - J. Scott Coatsworth

QSFer J. Scott Coatsworth has a new queer contemporary magical realism book out, River City book 2: Down the River.

Nine years have passed since a group of strangers first met at a magical little restaurant in East Sacramento called Ragazzi. They have all been touched by its subtle magic, and have become a family.

With the tragic death of one of them, the ripples spread through the entire group, exposing secrets and revealing truths that many of them would rather not face.

Dave and Marcos are battling their own demons. Matteo seeks an embezzler at Ragazzi, while Diego struggles to hold on to his son, Gio. Carmelina fears Daniele won’t take no for an answer. And both Ben and Sam are dealing with tragic losses that have turned their lives upside down. Into the mix come a few new characters—Ainsley, a Sac State student studying to be a doctor; a mysterious strange who is stalking someone in the group; and a few new love interests who may have agendas of their own.

It’s 2024, and the cast of River City is back. What secrets will be revealed before the last page turns?

ABOUT THE SERIES:

The River City series is a heady blend of secrets, friendships, a little bit of magic, and a bunch of Italian cooking that will warm your heart.

Warnings: Death of several characters.

Get It At Amazon | Publisher | B&N | Kobo | Apple | Smashwords | Vivlio | Universal Buy Link


Excerpt

Down the River meme

Ainsley Kim stared out of the window at the cars as they passed on Folsom Boulevard in a steady row of sparkling red and white, their lights scattering and twinkling like fairy dust across the rain-splattered glass. It was mesmerizing—so much life out there… and in here, as she was rudely reminded by the diner clearing his throat behind her.

“So sorry!” She spun around, reaching for the Toast point-of-sale device that hung from a custom-made pocket in her clean white apron that said Ragazzi in neat black letters. She turned her attention back to her customers. “Are you ready to order?”

The one who’d cleared his throat was a sharply dressed man in his mid-fifties—lawyer if she’d had to guess—his neatly trimmed black hair turning silver on the sides. He glared at the menu as if it were opposing counsel, squinting through his wire-framed glasses and scowling. “Damned print is so small on these things.”

His dining partner, another man in a black suit and tie, but without a hair on his head, chuckled. “You’re just getting old, Andy. Order the tagliatelle. It’s what you always get.” Bald Head offered her a warm smile. “So sorry for my partner’s behavior. Rough day in court today.”

Ainsley hid a grin. She was good at reading people. “Not a problem. So… the tagliatelle?”

Andy nodded. “Sure. With arrabbiata sauce. And ask the chef to make it a little extra spicy.”

She tapped it into the POS, feeling more like a glorified data entry clerk than a waitress. “You got it. And you, sir?”

“Don’t let him fool you. Kel knows what he wants. He just likes to play with his prey.” Andy grimaced, then managed a weak smile. “Sorry for the foul mood. I hate losing.”

Rich, white, and a lawyer to boot? You have no idea what losing is. “Not a problem.” She flashed him her best you’re the customer so I’ll pretend I like you smile.

“I’ll have the gnocchi in a ragu sauce, and an appetizer of your delightful burrata.” Kel flipped the menu over. “Add a glass of Chateau Ciel. I, unlike my friend here, had a lovely day. Signed a new artist for the gallery, a talented Korean painter named Jun Seo Jang.” His eyes fixed on her. “Do you know him?”

Ainsley blinked, caught between the casual racism of assuming that all Koreans knew each other—maybe he didn’t mean it that way?—and the fact that she did actually know them. Or of them, anyhow. Jang was one of her idols.

Customer service won out. “Yes. They are very good. I studied them in art class.”

Kel grinned. “Then you must come see his… their pieces. Sorry, old dog, new tricks. I’ll be getting the first of them next week.” He pulled out his wallet and extracted a card. “Kelton O’Malley, Red Roof Gallery.”

She took it, staring at it. It seemed to sparkle under the restaurant’s mood lighting. She blinked and the sparkle went away. She stuffed it in her pocket.

Nobody used business cards anymore. So old school. “Thank you. I’ll try to come by. It’s a bit busy, with school and work and all…” And taking care of her mother.

“Ah, what’s your major?”

“Molecular biology.” It came out automatically. Her father had wanted her to “make something of herself,” not just be another poor immigrant like himself, working at minimum wage jobs. She’d been at it so long, doing what her parents wanted her to do, that it almost seemed like she wanted it, too.

“Impressive.” He winked. “Still, it’s good to hear that you have an appreciation for the arts as well.”

She blushed. That comment hit a little too close to home. “I’ll find some time to stop by.”

“Wonderful. Jun Seo will be there next Thursday night, if you want to meet… them.”

Ainsley touched the edge of the table to steady herself. “They’ll be here… in town?” She was already calculating how she could rearrange things to be at the gallery.

“They personally supervise the set-up at all their new galleries.” He grinned. “See, that whole pronoun thing’s not so hard.”

She suppressed a snort. Boomers were always making such a big deal about it. “Let me get those orders in for you.” She gave them a small bow—ingrained behavior from two decades growing up in the Kim household—and slipped away.

“Need anything here?” she asked her next table, a young gay couple from the looks of it, who were busy staring rapturously into each other’s eyes like a couple lovestruck teenagers.

“Just some water,” the blond said, never breaking his gaze, his hand wrapped tightly around the other man’s. A single plate of pasta sat between them.

“You got it.”

A two-for-one, or twofer, they called it—when two clients shared a dish, usually to save costs.

Matteo had needed to raise prices again last month to account for inflation. Luckily Ragazzi was doing well enough that they’d expanded into a new addition, taking over the old bar next door for Diego’s cooking classes.

She twirled through the restaurant like a ballerina, checking on tables, her footsteps lighter than they’d been in months. Jun Seo Jang was coming to town. She had so many questions for them.

How did you find your inspiration? When did you know you wanted to be an artist? How did you let your parents down gently?

Ainsley Kim had a secret.

She wanted to be an artist more than anything else in the whole wide world. She wanted to create things, pieces of art that would make people frown and smile and nod knowingly as they stood in front of them, stroking their chins. Like her father did as a hobby.

She wanted to meet Jang, but she also wanted to become them.

The thought of life as a medical researcher left her cold, but her parents had invested so much in that dream, both money and hope. How could she bear to disappoint them?

Maybe it was better if she didn’t go to the gallery on Thursday. Better for everyone involved.

Right?


Author Bio

J. Scott Coatsworth

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

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

A Rainbow Award winning author, he runs Queer Sci Fi, QueeRomance Ink, Liminal Fiction and Other Worlds Ink with Mark, sites that celebrate fiction reflecting queer reality, and was the committee chair for the Indie Authors Committee at the Science Fiction and Fantasy Writers of America (SFWA) for almost three years.

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

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworth

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/jscottcoatsworthauthor/

Author Mastodon: https://mastodon.otherworldsink.com/@jscottcoatsworth

Author Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/jscottcoatsworth/

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8392709.J_Scott_Coatsworth

Author Liminal Fiction: https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author QueeRomance Ink: https://www.queeromanceink.com/mbm-book-author/j-scott-coatsworth/

Author Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/J.-Scott-Coatsworth/e/B011AFO4OQ

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Now Enjoy this Exclusive Excerpt

Chapter Three

Cardboard Box

“You’re doing it wrong.”

Marcos Ramirez grinned. “You wanna come do it?”

“I offered.” Dave’s voice carried from the kitchen. A tantalizing aroma of chicken curry casserole emanated from the oven with it, making Marcos’s stomach growl.

“Besides, how can you tell?” He glared at the old VCR, bought off an online auction site the week before. Damned thing doesn’t even have HDMI.

“There’s a coax to HDMI converter in the wires box, in the laundry room cabinet.”

“It’s like you read my mind.” He shook his head in wonder. Nine years in, and Dave could still surprise him. “Dinner smells heavenly.”

Dave snorted. “Yeah, if you don’t mind the curry stench lingering for a day or two.”

Marcos pecked him on the cheek on the way by. “Hope this is all worth it. The VCR, not the curry.”

It had started with one of Dave’s infamous “clear out the house” projects, something he’d been doing increasingly with his free time, as their business had begun to tank the year before. No one seemed to need web designers or graphic artists anymore in the age of algorithms and artificial intelligence. Intelligence my ass.

Dave had come across a box of old VHS tapes with the labels mostly missing. Before they paid to have them converted to DVDs, he wanted to see what was on them. Which of course meant getting a VCR, which cost money, something that was in increasingly short supply as their business plummeted. But it would make Dave happy, so Marcos had acquiesced and found a cheap one on eBay.

He pulled the old Amazon box down from its perch above the washer and rummaged through it. Sure enough, there was the adapter.

Something glittered, catching his eye. A worn envelope sat at the back of the box, held in place by an assorted clump of cords—lightning, USB, USB2, USB-c. Why are there so many kinds of USB cords?

Curious, he plucked it out.

Inside, he found a variety of papers… tickets from the Sacramento Zoo, from that time they fed the giraffes. A playbill for Tribes, the first play they’d ever seen together at Cap Stage, and a coffee-stained napkin from the Everyday Grind just down the street. Mementoes from their early days. He saved them, all these years.

And at the back…

Marcos’s breath caught.

It was a photo of Dave and his ex-partner, John, who’d passed away some fourteen years before. The same photo that had sent Dave into shock one fateful night, not long after they met.

“Find it?” Dave’s voice floated in from the kitchen. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yup. Got it!” He hurriedly stuffed the keepsakes back into the envelope and put it where he’d found it. He eased the box back up into its cabinet and closed the door almost reverently.

He’d always known Dave loved him. But seeing how he’d saved all those little pieces of their courtship? It was the first time he understood that his husband loved him as much as he’d loved John.

The slow decline of their business had taken its toll on both of them. They fought more often, and had less of a buffer—Dave’s word—for the idiocy and ignorance of the world. But in a strange way, it had also brought them closer. Two warriors fighting a common enemy.

He slipped back into the kitchen and put his arms around Dave from behind, pulling his warm body close. “I love you, you know.”

Dave paused chopping cucumbers for the salad. “What’s that for?”

Marcos shrugged. “Just realized I don’t tell you often enough.” He kissed the back of Dave’s neck, then headed for his nemesis again, across the living room. “Give me two minutes and I’ll have this hooked up.” Hopefully the old beast still worked.

“Perfect. Then we can test it out after dinner.”

#

Dave grinned as Marcos sat back and patted his ample tummy. He’d grown more comfortable with himself over the years, seemingly no longer afraid that Dave would leave him if he didn’t keep himself always trim and in shape.

Not that he wasn’t still a handsome man. The extra weight suited him, and Dave loved to grab a hold of it when they made love, kneading it like putty. Or bread dough. “Good?”

“Fantastic.” Marcos grinned. “Where’d you get that recipe again?”

“Friend of my mother’s. Mom passed it along. You sure you don’t mind them coming for Thanksgiving?”

“Not even a little. Especially if your mom will make us a batch of her famous calabacitas.” The tomato, cheese, and zucchini dish was one of his favorites.

“I think she could be convinced.” His parents were getting older. Dad had a pacemaker, and Mom couldn’t play the piano anymore with her arthritis. He was looking forward to seeing them both. “Let’s clean up, and then we’ll see what’s on those tapes?”

Fifteen minutes later the moment of truth arrived. “Which one?” Hopefully none of them had anything too embarrassing.

Marcos picked up a black VHS tape at random. “This one?”

“Sure. Pop it in.” It was strange to see one of those again, after years of DVDs and now streaming for almost everything.

The tape started, and music blared through the speaker’s TV.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe you recorded Three’s Company.” Marcos stared at him, eyes dancing with merriment.

“It was the closest thing to something gay I could find at the time.” He’d mooned over John Ritter as a kid.

 “Uh huh. Keep?” Marcos sounded doubtful.

“Nah. Toss. Next?” He didn’t need an old seventies actor now. He had Marcos.

His husband cued up another. Grunts and moans filled their little apartment. “Closest thing to gay, huh?” Marcos grinned.

Dave grabbed the remote and put it on mute, his face on fire. “In mainstream television, yes.” He’d forgotten about that one.

“Wait… how many arms does that guy have?” Marcos cocked his head. “Oh, I see. It’s a three-way. Kinky.”

Dave snorted. “Like you didn’t do anything like that when you were younger… or worse.” Marcos had shared some of his tales of sexual conquest, and submission.

“Touché. Keep?”

Dave nodded sagely. “For old time’s sake.”

Marcos wrinkled his nose. “Of course.” He set it in a second pile, and tried the next one. “I think this one is one of mine.”

Static filled the screen, and when it cleared, a ten-year-old boy in a purple princess costume, complete with conical hat and matching lilac nails, stared solemnly at the camera. “I swear to protect the kingdom of Narnia, to rid the world of the One Ring, and to make all the boys kiss.”

Dave blinked. Here was a side of Marcos he’d never seen before. “Wow. Just… wow.”

It was Marcos’s turn to blush. “We can, um, dump that one…”

“Are you kidding? This is priceless. I want to take screenshots and share it will all of our friends.”

Marcos stuck his tongue out at him.

Dave watched it a moment more, mesmerized, then leaned forward and popped out the tape, setting it as far away from Marcos as he could without leaving the couch. “Wait, did they have VHS cameras back then?”

“My mom shot that on reel-to-reel tape. She had it converted to VHS later.” He sighed. “When my Dad saw that, he almost threw me out of the house.”

And he had done so later, when Marcos was older. Dave was glad they’d patched things up before his father had passed away. He gave Marcos a kiss on the cheek. “Next.”

The tape popped into the player with that familiar mechanical loading sound, and as soon as it started to play, Dave knew what it was.

So did Marcos. “Maybe I should go to the next one…”

“No. Let it play.” It was John’s thirtieth birthday. Dave had surprised him with breakfast in bed, filming the whole thing, which had been… awkward. Those old cameras were bulky, and holding a plate full of breakfast, syrup, and the camera had put his ballerina abilities to the test.

“Wake up, sleepy head.”

John lay on his back, eyes closed, his hands behind his head, his beautiful chest half-hidden under the sheets. Those blue eyes fluttered open. “What’s this?”

“It’s your birthday. I made you eggs and pancakes.” The camera jiggled as he set down the tray.

“Oooh, those smell amazing, D.” He reached up and his hand pulled down the camera for a kiss for the chef.

“Sweet for my sweet—”

Dave hit the pause button, and closed his eyes.

“You okay?” Marcos sounded worried.

With good reason. Reminders of John had sent him spiraling before.

He took a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m… okay.” John was his past. Sometimes painful, sometimes uplifting. More of the latter lately. He squeezed Marcos’ hand. Whatever they were going through, however difficult it became, they would get through it. I’d live in a cardboard box with you, if it came to that, and still be happy. “He would have liked you, I think.”

“Keep it?” Marcos raised an eyebrow.

Dave nodded. “Keep it. It was a good time in my life. But so is this, with you. Even better, actually.”

And as soon as he said it, he knew it was true.

BLOG TOUR: ZACHARY: A SEAGOING COWBOY BY Shirley Miller Kamada EXCERPT

Book Summary

Zachary Whitlock knows sheep. He knows farming and knows what it’s like to have his best friend forced into an internment camp for Japanese Americans. What he does not know much about is goats and traveling by sea on cargo ships, yet he makes a decision to go with a group of volunteers to Japan to help deliver a herd of more than two hundred goats, many of which are pregnant, to survivors of the U.S. bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

Publisher: Black Rose Writing

ISBN-10: 1685136400

ISBN-13: 978-1685136406

ASIN: B0FGVFJGVG

Print length: 135 pages

Book Links:

Black Rose Writing: https://www.blackrosewriting.com/historicaladventure/p/zachary

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Zachary-Seagoing-Shirley-Miller-Kamada/dp/1685136400/

Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/zachary-a-seagoing-cowboy/7abbf249813d25c0

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/237980236-zachary

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About the Author

Shirley Miller Kamada grew up on a farm in northeastern Colorado. She has been an educator in Oregon, Idaho, and Washington, a bookstore-espresso café owner in Centralia, Washington, and director of a learning center in Olympia, Washington. Her much-loved first novel, NO QUIET WATER, was a Kirkus recommended title and a finalist for several awards. When not writing, she enjoys casting a fly rod, particularly from the dock at her home on Moses Lake in Central Washington, which she shares with her husband and two spoiled pups.

You can follow the author at: 

https://shirleymillerkamada.com/

https://www.instagram.com/shirleymkamadaauthor/

https://www.facebook.com/ShirleyMillerKamada

https://www.facebook.com/shirley.miller.1042032

https://bsky.app/profile/shirleymkamada.bsky.social

Blog Tour Calendar

November 3 @ The Muffin

Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.

https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com

November 5 @ Words by Webb

Visit Jodi’s blog for her review of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada

https://www.jodiwebbwriter.com/blog

November 8 @ Sarandipity

Visit Sara’s blog for a guest post by Shirley Miller Kamada about Marshall strawberries.

November 10 @ Chapter Break

Visit Julie’s blog for a guest post by Shirley Miller Kamada about owning a coffee shop and bookstore.

https://chapterbreak.net

November 12 @ Storey Book Reviews

Visit Leslie’s blog for a guest post by Shirley Miller Kamada about the day her mother took a chainsaw to their sofa.

https://www.storeybookreviews.com

November 14 @ Nicole Writes About Stuff

Visit Nicole’s Substack newsletter for a weekend contribution by Shirley Miller Kamada.

https://nicolepyles.substack.com/

November 18 @ Reading is My Remedy

Stop by Chelsie’s blog for a review of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada.

https://readingismyremedy.wordpress.com

November 20 @ Lisa Haselton’s Reviews and Interviews

Stop by Lisa’s blog for an interview with author Shirley Miller Kamada.

November 21 @ A Wonderful World of Books

Visit Joy’s blog for an excerpt from Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada.

https://awonderfulworldofwordsa.blogspot.com/

November 24 @ Author Anthony Avina’s blog

Join Anthony for an excerpt from Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

November 25 @ Word Magic

Visit Fiona’s blog for a guest post by Shirley Miller Kamada about why so few people know about the U.S. firebombing of Tokyo.

https://fionaingramauthor.blogspot.com

November 27 @ A Storybook World

Visit Deirdra’s blog for her spotlight of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada

https://www.astorybookworld.com/

November 30 @ Author Anthony Avina’s blog

Visit Anthony’s blog for his review of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

December 1 @ Reading is My Remedy

Stop by Chelsie’s blog for Shirley Miller Kamada’s guest post on learning that her grandfather helped build the internment camp at Minidoka in southern Idaho.

https://readingismyremedy.wordpress.com

December 2 @ CC King’s blog

Join Caitrin as she features a guest post by Shirley Miller Kamada about how the character of Zachary developed.

https://www.caitrincking.com/blog

December 4 @ Sandy Kirby Quandt

Visit Sandy’s blog for her review of Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy by Shirley Miller Kamada

https://sandykirbyquandt.com/

excerpted from Zachary: A Seagoing Cowboy

by Shirley Miller Kamada

Black Rose Writing, Aug. 14, 2025

ISBN: 978-1685136406

CHAPTER FOUR

Floyd Schmoe and the Big Leaf Maple

Early spring, 1948. An American Friends Service Committee meeting was in progress in our house. Several items of business were being discussed by a team of five members, who sometimes arrived with their children and occasionally a dachshund named Parker.

I sat in our big leaf maple tree, properly termed genus acer macrophyllum, which my older brother Jacob once said was planted as a memorial, although for what or whom, I don’t know. With my back against its trunk, and my feet wedged into the crooks of its limbs, I’d long felt I was a part of that tree. Behind my ear a pencil, on my lap a clipboard and my trigonometry assignment. I could work on assignments and keep an eye on the lambs out in the pasture.

Trigonometry is the key to any number of pursuits. Medicine. Engineering. Agricultural science. It was offered at Bainbridge High during the senior year, but I wanted to challenge it. I had enough credits to graduate early, except for a math course, and math was my strong suit.

High school. I felt like I was just marking time, and I wanted to be finished with it.

Then what? I had a part-time job with the island’s newspaper, first as a paper boy. (Of course, not all paper boys are boys. When we were eighth graders, my friend Reyna had a paper route.) Later, I took over what my employers called “the high school beat” and Young Farmers 

16 ZACHARY

news. But I was nearly seventeen, and I wanted more. Maybe university? Maybe travel? I wanted to expand my horizons, as the phrase goes.

So, I went to the bank, took money from my account, purchased a money order, and mailed it to the American School of Chicago, Illinois. Fully accredited. Trigonometry was tough. And I liked that. It was fun.

From the pasture I heard a quiet mewling. A tiny woolly being, born early and wobble-legged still, was getting some sun and fresh air and an introduction to the big, wide world. I knew the lamb was fine for a while longer. I could continue working and return the lambs to the loafing shed a bit later.

Twigs snapped, footsteps through the grass. “Hello.”

Standing below was a friend of my parents, Mr. Floyd Schmoe. A Quaker. A conscientious objector. Almost a legend.

My brother Jacob was, too. Not a legend, but a conscientious objector. Because he would not carry a gun, some people called him a conchie during the war. That’s rude.

Mr. Floyd Schmoe would not fight against the Central Powers in World War I. Violence all around. He would not kill. In Europe he worked with the Red Cross. Later, in Poland, he helped refugees find shelter, food, medical supplies.

He also worked for the Park Service at Mount Rainier as a naturalist and taught at the university in Seattle. Same as my parents, he and Mrs. Schmoe are American Friends Service Committee Observers. For the cause of fairness. Justice. They make it their business to visit places where people are being harmed for no fault of their own, but out of envy, prejudice, or greed, and they write about it.

“Room up there for one more?” Mr. Schmoe reached for a nearby branch. Long and lean, he levered himself up. “I’m interrupting you.”

“It’s okay. I’m stuck.” I tapped the clipboard with my pencil.

“You’ll figure it out. I asked after you, whether you were off to college.

Your mother said it would be a while. You’re a bit young still, she said.” “These are my trig calculations. I’m studying trigonometry by

correspondence, through American Schools.”

SHIRLEY MILLER KAMADA 17 

“American Schools? I’ve heard of that. Illinois, right? Trigonometry is usually taught in the senior year, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. But graduation? I want to get a jump on it. I feel ready to be done.”

“What courses do you still need, in order to do that?” “Just this—trigonometry.”

“I see! Well, your mother sent me, said I’d probably find you here, and she’s about to serve crumb cake.”

Lambs called from the pasture. “Nice flock.”

“Thank you, sir. They’re Lincolns.”

He braced to swing down. “I’ll be heading inside.”

“You can go back in through the window if you like.”

He grinned. “Thanks, that’s okay. I’ll tell your mother you’ll be in soon.” Leaving my clipboard in the tree, I got the lambs, bleating all the way, into the loafing shed. After climbing back up to retrieve my clipboard, I went in through the window and put away my math lesson. A sweet smell drifted through the hall door. Crumb cake.

One good thing about hosting a Friends Service Committee meeting is the food. Salads and desserts. Easy to pack in a car, handy to eat from a plate on the arm of a chair. Or on a lap. Mother has always kept linen napkins edged in her hand-crocheted lace for those occasions. No one expected me to sit through meetings, but sometimes it was interesting.

Pausing on the top step, I brushed grass and bits of leaves off my pantlegs, then retied a shoe lace. Mr. Schmoe’s voice carried up the stairs. He was telling committee members about a project, delivering donated farm animals to families in Japan who had lost their homes and livelihoods because of the war. I heard, “Bombs. Innocent victims of conflict. Hundreds of thousands on the edge of starvation.” I heard, “Goats. Cargo ship. Japan.” One of the Peace Churches was organizing voyages and supervising volunteers to care for the animals. Finding volunteers—he called them Cowboys, and friendly laughter followed—was not easy. Goats aren’t as familiar as horses and cows, the more typical farm animals. No way around it, caring for livestock is hard work.

18 ZACHARY

The conversation quieted then, and I wasn’t much interested in less exciting news.

As I sat there on the stairs, the seed was planted. It sprouted and grew like bindweed. I could not get it out of my head. Mr. Floyd Schmoe was going to Japan. By ship. With goats.

For Mr. Schmoe, this was a way to aid suffering people and, also, to be permitted to visit Japan, since the country was under occupation by the Allied Forces and closed to all but a few civilians. After getting the goats to their destinations, Mr. Schmoe planned to talk with people whose advice he needed to get started on a project he felt passionate about. Building houses for those made homeless when the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima.

A feeling rushed through me. Shaken to my bones. The voyage, the animal care, helping families in need. I wanted to be part of that. All of it

As a member of the Young Farmers Club, I’d helped transport sheep to livestock judging competitions. YFC members worked together to pen and care for the sheep, sometimes for three days duration. Goats couldn’t be much different than sheep. I was sixteen going on seventeen. A couple hundred goats on a cargo ship to Japan? What could go wrong?

This was important, and I could do it. I knew I could. But how?

Downstairs, I enjoyed the cake and hot chocolate Mother had made for the younger guests and me. Later, I helped straighten the front room, as always, and on the floor, under the end table beside the couch, I found a pamphlet describing the Heifer Project. On the front was a drawing of cattle walking up a ramp onto a ship. A cargo ship, I thought. Tucked inside the pamphlet were several pages of questions and instructions. An application! Breathless, I found my favorite pen and went to my writing table. The questions seemed straight forward and reasonable. In answer to, “Do you possess any special skills that would be of value to the project,” I wrote, “I have cared for our family’s flock of sheep, which are ruminants, as are goats, since I could walk.”

SHIRLEY MILLER KAMADA 19 

20 ZACHARY

Giving “General Delivery,” as my return address, I signed and dated the application, slipped the pages into an envelope, licked the flap, and ran my thumb, twice, along the closing.

On Monday, when the school day was done, I took the application to the post office, bought and applied a stamp, and dropped the envelope into the slot. Just before I walked out the door, the postmaster called, “Hello, young Mr. Whitlock. Say hello to your folks for me.” I turned, lifted my hand and nodded, then went out to my bicycle. My stomach felt strange for a moment, but I pedaled toward home, and that feeling passed.

BLOG TOUR: CAPTAINS OF OARTHECA: THE OARTHECAN STAR SAGA BY JAMES SIEWERT

Captains of Oartheca - James SiewertJames Siewert has a new MM sci-fantasy romance out, Oarthecan Star Saga book 3: Captains of Oartheca.

Welcome to Oartheca—a world of shattered beauty and stolen futures.

Where noble Barons rule with ironclad grace, and loyal drones unquestionably obey. A wounded world, rich with history and pride, struggling to heal… while war still smoulders at its edges.

Hoping to change the fate of all Oarthecans, Captain Rowland Hale II and Toar Grithrawrscion embark on a mission as herculean as it is perilous: to bring Oartheca under the aegis of the Coalition of Allied Planets, and in doing so, usher in a new era of strength, stability, and peace.

But nothing on Oartheca is so easily won. Not peace. Not unity. And certainly not the truth.

In Captains of Oartheca, James Siewert sees our heroes challenge empires, defy impossible odds, and confront the terrible cost of hope. But when victory demands everything they are—and all they have—can they pay the price?

Warnings: Explicit sex scenes between consenting adult males

About the Series

An action-oriented, sci-fi extravaganza staring heroes who battle vicious foes, overcome galactic obstacles, find true love, all while just happening to be men-who-love-men. For adults only, the Oarthecan Star Saga will thrill readers with cinematic battles, daring romances and authentic, one-of-a-kind characters that rise to face challenges through bravery, courage and loyalty.

Amazon | Universal Buy Link


Excerpt

Captains of Oartheca meme

Get the hell off me!’ I shout angrily, futilely pushing at the rhino of a man smothering me. Goddamn he’s heavy but I’m giving it everything I’ve got, trying to wriggle free. I manage to get my head out from under the behemoth and turn to try and see what the hell is going on.

‘Stay down, Baron!’ the security guard overtop of me orders, his voice hard and urgent. There’s another bright green flash, and this time I see a plasma shot streak harmlessly into the skies, followed soon by more yelling and the sounds of intense struggle.

Annoyingly, cyan telemetry floods my cybernetic ocular display—suit’s integrity is down to ninety-two percent, but no injuries, and my shields are regenerating. That shot was a point-blank, direct hit. Thank God for top-tier CAPS engineering—anything less, and I’d be dead.

‘No!’ I hear a man yell. ‘No, he killed my brother!’

What?

‘Evacuate, evacuate!’ a stronger voice booms, and the man over top of me begins to ease up slightly; I immediately scoot out from under him and try to get a decent look around.

There’s a pile of security guards clustered together—it looks like there are three of them surrounding a fourth, having driven him to his knees. One is wrenching the kneeling man’s rifle from his hands, but the man is not letting go anytime soon. It takes the butt of another security guard’s rifle being driven into the side of his head before his grip finally weakens, and the gun is wrenched free.

The rhino then steps in front of me, blocking my view of the struggling men. I scowl and try to push him out of the way, but this guy’s a stormcoat, maybe a snowcoat, and I don’t even budge him a centimetre.

‘This way, Baron. Now,’ He pushes into me, using his superior bulk to knock me back. With one hand on my shoulder, he spins me around so that I’m facing away from the scene.

‘Where is Ton?’ I demand, trying to slip this guy’s grasp but his grip on my shoulder is firm—not painful, thanks to my exosuit’s kinetic absorption—but I’m not getting free unless I put up a serious struggle, which I don’t think is the wisest of things to do right now.

‘We’ll meet at the safe-point. Hurry, Baron, straight ahead,’ the rhino orders, and I follow as he steers me deeper into the docking bay. He sets a brisk pace—nearly a jog—we’re moving fast. A tug on my shoulder turns me left toward an open corridor, where two guards stand ready, rifles raised and scanning.

‘Inside, Baron.’ I’m not used to being manhandled like this, but I know if this dude wanted to, he could pick me up like an infant. He’s at least letting me move under my own power, so I do as I’m told, and head into the corridor.

We head down a gently sloping, well-lit cement tunnel—hopefully toward the safe-point rhino-guy mentioned. He’s stopped steering me, but with only one path ahead, we keep moving. After about thirty seconds, a circular portal sealed by sliding doors appears and opens as we approach.

‘Through the doors, Baron,’ my escort says. I step into the next tunnel, and he follows, tapping commands into a wall-mounted keypad. The doors slide shut behind us, leaving me to figure out what comes next.

The security guard then turns to face me, placing his hand over his heart, his fingers splayed, and gives me a deep bow. ‘We are secured now, Baron. The safe-point is just down this hall.’

‘Thank you,’ I reply genuinely. ‘I prefer Captain Hale, however. What’s your name, officer?’

‘Second Lieutenant Crahlstran Grithrawrclan, OSS Navy, Captain Hale,’ the man answers. ‘I’ve been assigned to you as your personal security representative. Are you injured?’

I immediately shake my head. ‘No, my suit took the damage. I’m fine. Where is m’Ton? Or the High Baron Grithrawr?’

‘At or en route to the safe-point. Please, if you will follow me, Captain,’ Crahl offers, extending his hand down the new corridor. With him leading the way, I follow as we descend further, until we reach another set of closed sliding doors. Crahl enters a command on the keypad, and they open. He stands aside to allow me to enter first.


Author Bio

James Siewert

James and his husband live in beautiful British Columbia, Canada. Part-time office drone, part-time storyteller, full-time sci-fi and fantasy enthusiast (and some spooky ghost tales), James couldn’t find enough stories involving guys like him and his hubby are: big men with big hearts, full of big ideas!

Taking matters into his own hand, James seeks to share high adventure, low-angst stories where the heroes are solid blokes who take centre stage. Come join the adventure and explore bold new worlds full of authentic characters, gripping scenes, lush imagination and a touch of mushy stuff – there’s a whole galaxy waiting for you to discover!

Author Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/21531168.James_Siewert

Author Liminal Fiction (LimFic.com): https://www.limfic.com/mbm-book-author/james-siewert/

Author Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/stores/James-Siewert/author/B095T25ZSB

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Captains of Oartheca Interview Questions

For Anthony Avina

What inspired you to write Captains of Oartheca?

As the next instalment of the Oarthecan Star Saga, Captains asks whether two people can remain true to each other in the face of ideological conflict, cultural clashes and all-out war. And not just war with a cannibalistic race of slavers, but war between yourself and the man you love. Captains of Oartheca seeks to answer that question.

How did your experience writing Allure of Oartheca influence Captains of Oartheca?

Allure was my first published novel and laid the foundations for brand spanking new universe that’s seen through the eyes of two unique men: a highly intelligent cyber-human wrestling with his morals, and a soft-hearted alien werebear from the other side of the galaxy. 

Those are two highly distinct lenses, and that meant having to step deep into their radically different ways of thinking. Yes, Rowland’s thoughts bounces around in his head—and so naturally, his inner monologue is going to reflect that. Toar loves to ramble on, so yes, he’s heavy-handed with his verbiage. It’s part of their character and part of what makes them more than just typical protagonists who act rather than think.

After Allure, there was a lot to feedback, especially around the topic of depth and detail. It seems that some folks crave the straightforward approach to novel writing, while others enjoy being so completely immersed in detail that the world feels alive enough to breathe on its own. Seems that while deep in a thick forest, some readers will feel lost, while others will feel found.

With Captains, I’ve tried to meet both groups halfway, despite Allure teaching me that some readers prefer their sci-fi served with a healthy dose of comfortable predictability and a ‘by-the-book’ story approach. 

Some readers found Allure heavy on world-building. How did you approach that balance in Captains?

In Allure, I established a universe from scratch, complete with its history, politics, biology, and languages. That necessitated focusing on the detail of my ‘rules’ for how my universe worked. Everything from a realistic system of faster-than-light travel to bringing authenticity and uniqueness to the cultures of never-seen-before species. No easy feat, but without these rules, science-fiction risks spilling into the world of magical fantasy.

But having put in the work, by Captains, I can trust the reader will know how to walk the surface of Oartheca without needing a hand to hold on to. The story’s streamlined, but I’ve not skimped on the lavish detail when there’s a call for it. True, not every reader will want to decode the important nuances of a high denning, but for those that do? Captain’s got you covered.

What do you want readers to take away from Captains of Oartheca?

That men-who-love men are more than just a genre or trope—we’re real people that exist, and our voices have a place in the universe. That men can be strong without needing a heart of stone. That empathy isn’t supposed to be easy. That love isn’t a blindfold. That sometimes, the cost is too high. That war changes everything, but war itself? War never changes.

How would you describe your evolution as a writer between Allure and Captains?

That I don’t need to apologise for being my authentic self. In Allure, I built the house. In Captains, I moved in. If someone wants to walk through the front door and join me, they’re very welcome. I’ve laid out a feast that will satiate a hungry soul. But if they’d rather stay outside and just critique the paint colour? That’s fine too. 

Singing the Forge by G.H. Mosson Review

I received a free copy of this book in exchange for a fair and honest review. All opinions are my own. 

Author and poet G.H. Mosson shares poems and vignettes that explore the things that have shaped us in the book “Singing the Forge.”

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The Synopsis

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Singing the Forge explores the singing of what’s shaped us and what we’ve shaped for ourselves. Through poems at times personal, plus vignettes from men and women of the past two centuries in the book’s middle section, these poems offer mirrors of becomings. Across free verse, meter, and poems of organic form, you might just see yourself.

The Review

Immediately, I was drawn to the author’s ability to create poems that felt very lyrical in nature, bringing a story-like quality to each poem that conveys a theme and evokes an emotional response in the reader. The powerful imagery these poems delve into is compelling, as seen in the poem “Domination of Tulips in Washington D.C.,” where Rock Creek Park comes alive on the page and petals become doorways to the heart of the flower. 

The draw of this collection lies in the strong, powerful themes of forging and awakening that the poems explore. The concept of forging not only brings to mind the idea of creation, but the idea of reshaping things and reinforcing things through fire, a visual and visceral theme the author uses to connect readers with the raw poetry that calls for those moments o f personal change and growth through trials and tribulations, both on an individual scale and even some on much more cosmic scales, such as the idea of time and memory itself taking on whole new meanings.

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The Verdict

Thoughtful, moving, and engaging, author G.H. Mosson’s “Singing the Forge” is a must-read collection of poetry. The deliberate, emotive, and introspective nature that the author brings to each poem, along with the almost lyrical and passionate style of writing, will stay with readers and keep them coming back time and again to delve into this collection. If you haven’t yet, be sure to grab your copy today!

Rating: 10/10

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About the Author

G. H. Mosson’s poetry has appeared in The Tampa Review, The Lyric,

Smartish Pace, California Quarterly, and has been nominated four times for the Pushcart Prize.

This is his sixth book of poetry. For more, see www.ghmosson.com

https://www.davidrobertbooks.com/mosson.html

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/singing-the-forge-g-h-mosson/1147326480?ean=9781625494801

https://amzn.to/3JHET5n

BLOG TOUR: LET BIRDS FLY BY RHEA THOMAS GUEST POST – Why I Started Writing Short Stories

Blog Tour – Why I Started Writing Short Stories

By Rhea Thomas

I’ve thought about this a lot because it’s become a common question I get. Why do I write short stories? I remember reading short stories in high school and college. I liked the idea of taking a moment in time and really focusing on it. That’s something short stories do well. You can really focus on one moment and make the most of it. 

To me, it made a lot of sense to master the short story form before attempting to write a longer work, such as a novel. I’m not sure that is the best way to approach writing, or if it’s even recommended, but that’s how I approached it. I wouldn’t say I’ve mastered short stories, but I’ve definitely written a lot of them now. I’ve had a handful published individually in literary magazines. 

After putting together this short story collection, which is interconnected and themed, I realized that perhaps I could handle the intricacy and challenge of a full novel. I finally felt like taking that on. That’s what I’m working on now. 

That’s the path I’ve taken, but every writer I know has their own journey into writing and publishing. And if there’s anything I’ve learned from all the writing books, courses and podcasts, it’s that every writer has a different path into writing. Some study it in college and go on to get MFAs, others just secretly write in their free time, never really expecting to see the light of day. Others go the journalism route. A lot of people start with a novel. 

I was told that a short story collection would be hard to sell, especially as a first book. I was disappointed, but determined to try. With the help of a writing coach and editor, I eventually found a small, independent publisher who was interested in publishing it, so I celebrated that win and was over the moon to have my collection out in the world.

If I had to do it over again, I’d do the same thing. I’d write my short stories, create a collection and then work on a novel, like I am now. I’m too early in my career to decide how successful it’s been overall, but it’s all I know and what I’ve done. And taking on any writing project is no small feat, so celebrate your writing and your path and don’t let anyone tell you you’re doing it wrong. 

Book Summary

Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas is a magical realism short story collection where the extraordinary sparks everyday lives toward transformation. Connected by Ripple Media, each of the fifteen characters navigates personal struggles, such as an impossible itch, a mercurial third eye, and hallucinating coffee. They discover hidden truths, purpose, or power. With whimsy and emotional depth, these stories explore identity, passion, and self-discovery through moments of enchantment that crack open ordinary reality. Let these tales remind you: sometimes, the most magical thing is becoming who you were always meant to be.

Publisher: Main Street Rag Publishing Company

ISBN-10: 978-1-964277-49-3

Print Length: 232 pages

Shopping Sites:

GoodReads: https://www.goodreads.com/en/book/show/234299217-let-birds-fly

Main Street Rag: https://mainstreetragbookstore.com/product/let-birds-fly-rhea-thomas/

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About the Author

Rhea Thomas lives in Austin, Texas where she works as a program manager in the digital media world. Her short stories have been published in multiple publications, including, most recently, The Fictional Café, Toasted Cheese and Does It Have Pockets. She spends her free time hoarding books, walking her stubborn Labrador retriever, playing games with her sons, kayaking and swimming in rivers, searching for mysteries and writing short stories that explore magical moments in the mundane. Her first book, a collection of short stories, is due out in August 2025, and she’s currently working on a literary mystery novel. 

You can find her online at: 

https://rheathomasauthor.com/

https://www.facebook.com/rheathomasauthor

https://www.instagram.com/rheatellstales/

Blog Tour Calendar

October 13 @ The Muffin

Join us at the Muffin as we celebrate the launch of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.

https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com

October 14 @ Kaecey McCormick’s blog

Visit Kaecey’s blog for a guest post by Rhea Thomas on how to look for sparks of creativity during your day.

https://www.kaeceymccormick.com/blog

October 16 @ A Wonderful World of Words

Visit Joy’s blog for an excerpt from Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://awonderfulworldofwordsa.blogspot.com/

October 18 @ Nicole Writes About Stuff

Visit Nicole’s Substack for a feature of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas in her weekly feature, 3 Things on a Saturday Night.

https://nicolepyles.substack.com/

October 20 @ Author Anthony Avina’s blog

Visit Anthony’s blog for his review of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

October 22 @ Sarandipity

Visit Sara’s blog for her interview with Rhea Thomas on her short story collection, Let Birds Fly.

October 24 @ CC King Blog

Visit Caitrin’s blog for a guest post by Rhea Thomas on Let Birds Fly.

https://www.caitrincking.com/blog

October 25 @ Nicole Writes About Stuff

Revisit Nicole’s blog for Rhea Thomas’ contribution to 3 Things on a Saturday Night

https://nicolepyles.substack.com/

October 27 @ Tracey Lampley’s blog

Visit Tracey’s blog for a guest post by Rhea Thomas about tips on reaching your ideal audience through social media.

https://www.traceylampley.com/guest-author-posts

October 30 @ Knotty Needle

Visit Judy’s blog for her review of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://knottyneedle.blogspot.com

October 31 @ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read

Join Karen for her review of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://guatemalapaula.blogspot.com/

November 1 @ Boots, Shoes, and Fashion

Stop by Linda’s blog for her interview with Rhea Thomas about her short story collection, Let Birds Fly.

https://bootsshoesandfashion.com

November 2 @ Chapter Break

Visit Julie’s blog for her review of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://chapterbreak.net/

November 3 @ Word Magic

Visit Fiona’s blog for a post by Rhea Thomas, including tips on titling your stories.

https://fionaingramauthor.blogspot.com/

November 4 @ Author Anthony Avina’s blog

Visit Anthony’s blog again for a blog post by Rhea Thomas on why she started writing short stories.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

November 6 @ Knotty Needle

Stop by Judy’s blog again for her response to our tour-themed prompt about magical moments in her life.

https://knottyneedle.blogspot.com

November 7 @ CK Sorens’ Instagram

Carrie reviews Rhea Thomas ‘ short story collection Let Birds Fly on her Instagram page.

https://instagram.com/ck_sorens

November 7 @ Cassie’s Page

Cassie reviews Rhea Thomas ‘ short story collection Let Birds Fly on her Facebook page.

https://www.facebook.com/share/1D2cYrrc3d/

November 10 @ A Storybook World

Visit Deirdra’s blog for her feature of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://www.astorybookworld.com/

November 12 @ Sarandipity

Don’t miss a guest post by Rhea Thomas about tips on reaching your audience through social media.

November 15 @ Teatime and Books

Visit Janet’s blog for a spotlight of Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

http://www.teatimeandbooks76.blogspot.com

November 16 @ CK Sorens’ Newsletter

Don’t miss Carrie’s newsletter that features Let Birds Fly by Rhea Thomas.

https://www.cksorens.com

BLOG TOUR: To Have and to Hold, To Love and to Kill: An Agreement of Souls by Amy S. Cutler EXCERPTS

About the Book

In her past life, after causing the death of a little boy, Nikki was so devastated that her soul mate promised to murder her in their next life, to make her pay for what she had done. With no knowledge of this, Nikki lives for years as an addict, down on her luck, until she is rescued by Ken, who helps her with all aspects of her recovery. With the help of a few new friends and a cat named Destiny, Nikki turns her life around. What she doesn’t know is that someone out there is destined to kill her, and he is watching, his passion for killing her growing stronger each day.

The question is: Can an agreement made between two souls be broken, and how far will one soul go to keep a promise made in a desperate attempt to save the other?

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About the Author

Amy Sampson-Cutler, author of “To Have and to Hold, to Love and to Kill: An Agreement of Souls” and “A Shadow of Love,” is a writer who earned her master’s degree in creative writing from Goddard College. Her work can be found in Slut Vomit: An Anthology of Sex Work, Tales to Terrify, WOW! Women on Writing, The Pitkin Review and more. She is the Executive Manager at Mount Peter Ski Area, where she grew up skiing in the winter and dreaming up stories in the summer. Her favorite days are spent knocking around story ideas with her husband. She lives in the Hudson Valley with her husband, son, and a ridiculous amount of furry family members. 

She can be contacted through AmysHippieHut.com. Also follow her on:

Facebook: https://facebook.com/AmysHippieHut

Instagram: https://instagram.com/amyshippiehut

https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200655790-to-have-and-to-hold-to-love-and-to-kill

https://amzn.to/4q7hiLK

Excerpt One

Vicky turned, in slow motion, to see the rescue crew attempting to pull Mrs. Viola from the wrecked car. Rage filled her entire being as she was torn between watching people unsuccessfully bring her child back to life and attacking the person who did this to him. She half walked, half crawled over to the paramedics who were struggling to free Julie’s body. She pushed right past them and, on her knees, grabbed the dead woman’s face and screamed. It was all of Julie that she could grab, her body still sandwiched between the steering wheel and the seat, upside down and sticky with blood. Vicky had to be pulled from Julie’s body, cutting herself on the broken glass and metal of the car, not caring about anything except rage, because rage is always better than sorrow.

Excerpt Two

Julie shook her head, the sadness rolling off her in waves of gray, and took his hand. “You know the difference between predestiny and an accident,” she reminded him. “I can’t just move on. Not until you promise me that I will pay for this. This must be set right. I cannot ask that boy’s soul to return, to waste a life just to punish me. Please.” Julie was quietly begging, and James knew what he would have to do, quickly, before the light was gone and they were lost. He held her hand up, putting his palm against hers. “I promise, in our next life together, we will be apart. You will know sadness. And when the time is right, I will bring your death.” Julie almost smiled. “And I will be scared? And I will suffer?” Right then, to Julie, punishment was the most important lesson of all. “It is my promise to you. You are my soul mate, and I will do anything to bring you peace, even if that means killing you.” Julie didn’t even have time to consider what James was giving up for her. Their hands glowed in 10 TO HAVE AND TO HOLD, TO LOVE AND TO KILL: AN AGREEMENT OF SOULS the light that came rushing into them, the promise sealed for eternity. No time to reconsider, Julie leaned into James, but he was instantly torn from her. Both of their souls tumbled toward the light, and both entered the world again. Together but completely alone.

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Blog Tour Calendar

— Blog Tour Calendar

October 6 @ The Muffin

Join us as we celebrate the launch of To Have and to Hold, to Love and to Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler. We interview the author and give you a chance to win a copy of the book.

https://muffin.wow-womenonwriting.com

October 6 @ Tracey Lampley’s blog

Visit Tracey’s blog for a guest post by author Amy Sampson-Cutler on why she writes scary stories even though she’s afraid of the dark.

https://www.traceylampley.com

October 7 @ All Things Writing

Visit Caitrin’s blog for a guest post by author Amy Sampson-Cutler on finding time to write on a busy schedule.

https://www.caitrincking.com/blog

October 12 @ Author Anthony Avina’s Blog

Visit Anthony’s blog for his review of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

October 15 @ Chapter Break

Visit Julie’s blog for a guest post by author Amy Sampson-Cutler on how to turn everyday encounters into spooky stories.

https://chapterbreak.net

October 18 @ Boots, Shoes, and Fashion

Linda interviews author Amy Sampson-Cutler about her book To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill.

https://bootsshoesandfashion.com

October 20 @ A Storybook World

Visit Deirdra’s blog for her spotlight of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler. 

https://www.astorybookworld.com

October 22 @ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read

Visit Karen’s blog for her review of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://guatemalapaula.blogspot.com

October 23 @ Knotty Needle

Visit Judy’s blog for her review of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://knottyneedle.blogspot.com

October 23 @ The Faerie Review

Visit Lily’s blog for her spotlight of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://www.thefaeriereview.com

October 24 @ Author Anthony Avina’s Blog

Visit Anthony’s blog for an excerpt from To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://www.authoranthonyavina.com

October 25 @ Word Magic

Visit Fiona’s blog for a guest post by Amy Sampson-Cutler on creating the perfect ambiance to write paranormal tales.

https://fionaingramauthor.blogspot.com/

October 27 @ Lit World Interviews

Visit Ronovan’s blog for his review of To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill by Amy Sampson-Cutler.

https://litworldinterviews.com

October 28 @ Kaecey McCormick’s blog

Visit Kaecey’s blog for a guest post by author Amy Sampson-Cutler on tips on writing for your favorite genre.

https://www.kaeceymccormick.com/blog

October 29 @ Sarandipity

Sara interviews author Amy Sampson-Cutler about her book To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill.

Home

October 30 @ Words by Webb

Stop by Jodi’s blog for Amy Sampson-Cutler’s guest post on her favorite books to read on Halloween.

https://www.jodiwebbwriter.com/blog

October 31 @ Sarandipity

Visit Sara’s blog for a guest post by author Amy Sampson-Cutler on creating the perfect ambiance to write paranormal tales.

Home

November 2 @ Jill Sheets’ Blog

Visit Jill’s blog for her interview with author Amy Sampson-Cutler about her book To Have and To Hold, To Love and To Kill.

https://jillsheets.blogspot.com