Synopsis

This is a short, sharp collection of well-told stories by Jim Bates who once again brings us some evocative writing with a strong literary voice. We meet a plethora of characters, each with their own concerns and triumphs. They face life’s challenges and often have to turn situations around. Will they succeed? Will they make their lives good again?

In this collection of flash fiction and drabbles, Jim packs a lot of story into a few words.

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Excerpt

Desert Wind

Dave was grateful for the final emotional push as he clamored up and over the edge of Lizard Peak onto the top, a large flat area.

“Thanks, man,” he said to Lyle, his life companion for the last forty years. He was nearly out of breath.”I needed that.”

Lyle was also his best friend, and Dave fought back an urge to give him a nostalgic hug. They’d been making this climb for all of those forty years, and right now it felt good to be with him.

Dave walked over to the edge, took off his day pack, and turned to admire the view. He never tired of it: The half-mile wide spot in the Colorado River known as Lake Havasu; its namesake, Lake Havasu City, a few miles away to his right stretching up into the Sonora desert foothills; the serpentine flow of the Colorado River and, beyond it, the mountains of California rising west into the distance as far as the eye could see. It was a view he never tired of. Birds and hawks and eagles, even the occasion condor, were often seen soaring close enough to touch. Lyle had loved it up here just as much as he did. It was their special place. In fact, it was the first place they’d ever kissed and declared their love for each other. Forty years ago. A lifetime of love, was how Dave looked at it. Their lifetime together now over.

He opened his pack and took out the container that contained Lyle’s ashes. He’d died less than a week earlier after a mercifully short battle with brain cancer. Dave had been by his side throughout and was there when Lyle had briefly regained consciousness, squeezed Dave’s hand and said, “I’ll always love you, man.” Then, after a few moments, added, “Take me to the desert.”

He knew exactly what Lyle had meant.

Dave held the container reverently. There was so much to say that he didn’t know where to begin. Finally, he spoke to the wind, saying all that was needed, “Lyle, I’ll love you forever, my friend. I’ll never forget you.”

He moved right to the edge, six hundred feet above the desert floor, opened the lid, and waited. When the wind was right, he tilted the container and watched the ashes spill out, caught by a sudden gust as if it had been waiting for just that moment; Lyle’s ashes swirling away out over the desert that had formed the backdrop for their lifelong love. Then he put the container away and made ready to climb back down, already planning for his next trip when he would scale the mountain once again to stand in the wind overlooking the land and be with Lyle and tell him again how much he missed him and again how much now and forever he would always love him.

About the Author

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

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Synopsis

What if a woman ruled Germany in 1914? This alternate history explores that very question. An elaborate attempt to rid Germany of the Hohenzollerns has left a young sole heiress, Christiana, to take the throne of the German Empire. But this is no typical princess, hidden away in a gilded cage. This college educated, expert fencer, and accomplished equestrienne is not the meek little girl the politicians think they will be able to control. She has her own ideas how to rule!

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Excerpt

Anna, Christa, and Louise Margaret retired to the sitting room in their guest quarters. A light snow was just beginning to fall, but the Prince of Wales had assured them that the weather would be clear enough for their travel to the English mainland in the morning.

“So, Christa,” began Maria Anna. “What do you think of Queen Victoria and her family?”

“Oh, Mama! They are all so very nice. The Queen is the most amazing woman! To think that she rules over one-quarter of the entire world! It is staggering! Mossy, as you know, is my best friend but I will be writing to the English princesses as well.” Turning toward her elder sister, she added, “And of course I will write to you and my niece, Margaret, and to little Arthur and Patricia when they are older. They are all so sweet.”

“What did you think of the young princes?” asked Louise Margaret.

“The sons of the Prince of Wales, Albert Victor and George, were very kind to me when we went shooting,” answered Christa diplomatically. “The other boys also were pleasant but, aside from croquet and a few other pastimes, they pretty much stuck together and played their own games away from the girls.”

“Christa, come sit with your sister and me,” said Maria Anna, sitting down on a divan, patting the space next to her. Christa could not help but note the somewhat serious tone in her mother’s voice, as if she was about to discuss an important matter. Christa glanced at Louise Margaret with an inquiring look as her elder sister took a seat in a plush, winged chair nearby, but her older sister gave no response.

“What did you think of Prince Henry?” asked Maria Anna.

“Henry?” Christa frowned. “Why do you ask about Henry?”

“You are getting older, Christa,” responded Louise Margaret. “In a few short years you will be presented at court and then…” Christa’s sister looked over at their mother.

“You will need to begin preparing for your eventual engagement and marriage,” finished Maria Anna.

“Marriage?” answered Christa slowly, with a puzzled expression. A moment later it struck her. “Oh, Mama! You cannot possibly mean to Prince Henry!” she exclaimed, leaping to her feet and biting her lower lip, her fists clenched at her sides in agitation.

“Christa, calm yourself! Lower your voice and sit down!” insisted Maria Anna. Christa stubbornly remained standing.

“Sister, it is the duty of parents of the high born to arrange appropriate marriages for their children,” put in Louise Margaret, soothingly. “Surely you understand this.”

“Henry is a prince of the British royal family,” added Maria Anna, archly. “You are both of equal station and he is an entirely appropriate match.”

“B-but to Henry? Why, the boy absolutely loathes me, Mama! And I think he’s a nasty little fool!”

“Christa!” exclaimed both her mother and sister.

“He doesn’t want to marry me any more than I want to marry him!” continued Christa. Another thought popped into her head. “Wait, does Henry know about this?” she asked accusingly. Her mother and sister glanced at one another, but neither responded. “Well, no wonder he hates me! He blames me for this arrangement,” murmured Christa, answering her own question.

“Henry will do his duty as a royal prince, as you must do as a royal princess,” responded Maria Anna, haughtily.

“Mama, I am telling you right now that I will not, under any circumstances, marry Henry of Edinburgh!”

“Christa!” exclaimed her mother once again.

“Well then, if not Henry, whom do you think you are going to marry?” asked Louise Margaret.

“I have not yet decided if I will get married,” answered Christa, calmly.

“What?!”

“Oh, I may marry and have children someday, but first I have other plans.”

Louise Margaret and her mother again looked at one another. “Such as?” asked Christa’s older sister.

“I plan to attend university.”

“Oh, Christa! Don’t be absurd!” exclaimed her mother.

“Christa, women cannot attend university in Germany,” pointed out Louise Margaret. “Not even those of noble birth.”

“No, but they can in Great Britain and France. There are even proposals to open Austrian universities to women. It is only a matter of time before German universities admit women as well. Please excuse me, Mama, Louise Margaret,” concluded Christa. “We are departing early in the morning and I must prepare for bed.” With that, Christa ended the discussion by striding purposefully out of the room. Maria Anna and Louise Margaret stared at Christa in astonishment as she departed, and then turned toward each other with stunned looks on their faces.

“What am I going to do with this child?” moaned Maria Anna.

“Oh, Mama,” soothed Louise Margaret, reaching over and patting her mother’s hand. “Christa is still young. She will come around.”

“Oh, no, my dear. You do not know this girl as I do. She is the epitome of stubbornness,” sighed Maria Anna. “There is too much of your father in her.” She stood, walked over to the window, and watched the tiny snowflakes waft in the frosty breeze.

“Perhaps she shouldn’t marry,” mused Maria Anna, with a bitter chuckle. “I think she probably would drive any future husband mad.”

Guest Review by Nora

What do you do when everything in your life changes in one fell swoop? When do you go from being a forgotten royal way down in the line of succession to being the queen? This is the question that confronts Christiana in the book, ‘Iron Maiden,’ by J.T. Maicke, and the question that she will have to answer all on her own.

For much of her life, only one thing was expected of Christiana: to marry a prince and have children. As a daughter of the royal house of Hohenzollern and cousin to the Kaiser, Christiana’s family considers her well-behaved so long as she does not bring any embarrassment to the family.

However, in this, Christiana does not always succeed.

Rather than wanting to marry and serve as a bargaining chip for her cousin in international politics, Christiana—or ‘Christa,’ as she is called by her family—wishes to carve her own path in life.

From a young age, she enjoys pursuits that many people in that time would not have thought fit for a young woman of her social standing. She hunts, she fights, and, worst of all, she wishes to go to University.

Christa chases her dreams and finds herself securing many of them, becoming college-educated and regularly winning saber duels, but her carefree lifestyle is abruptly shattered when tragedy knocks at her door one chilly Easter morning.

The Kaiser and his entire family are assassinated, wiped out simultaneously in what becomes the bloodiest day in German history. Utilizing her unique training, Christa escapes her own assassin, becoming one of the only members of her family to survive. As one of the few royals left—and the only one eligible to become queen—Christa must step up and lead the country through the many dark days ahead.

‘Iron Maiden’ is a knockout of a novel that I found myself absolutely loving! If you love alternative history, like me, you will definitely love this book! I’m giving it five stars across the board!

About the Author

A self-described Germanophile, J.T. Maicke writes historical fiction novels that take place in Germany or among German-American communities in the Midwest. He has spent most of his life studying German history, geography, language, culture, customs, and cuisine. Maicke also spent several years living in and traveling throughout Central Europe, and he has visited many of the locations depicted in his novels. Maicke’s debut novel was ‘The Humble Courier.’

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Synopsis

In the early summer of 2022, an idea came to me. Why not write a collection of stories using holidays as a theme? I took out a calendar and selected the first ones that came to mind, coming up with thirteen. These became the focal point for the subsequent thirteen chapters in the book. I wanted to link the stories together so I devised a family and introduced them with the first story set on Valentine’s Day, 1954. I was off and running. The project took on a life of its own as the characters were fleshed out with each subsequent chapter, becoming more and more alive as the book progressed. I found out that for this family not all holidays were enjoyable, but thirteen of them were certainly memorable. I hope you enjoy reading about them.

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Excerpt

From Orange Juice the first story in the collection “Holiday Stories.”

Back then, Mom was what you would call a little sensitive to things. Seeing new babies or puppies or kittens made her tear up. Same with certain shows on television. Holidays, too.

She loved to get gifts, and it’s my belief that she knew Dad had planned on doing something special for her on that day, the day I spoiled so momentously when I’d heaved the orange juice at Eric. She just didn’t know what it was that he planned to do, and my behavior spoiled the surprise. In her mind, she saw a nice, mellow, trouble-filled day (mostly with my dad) and I’d ruined the mellowness part of it. Who knew? It was my first exposure to how complicated life really was.

But on the day of the orange juice incident, I had no idea about any of that stuff. All I knew is that I’d made Mom sad and I wanted to do something about it. So, I did.

After Eric and I got back from skating, I went to our bedroom and got out some color construction paper and sat at desk (on a pillow for my sore butt) and went to work. Eric didn’t even bother me. He must have known I was serious because I was. I made Mom a Valentines’ Day card. It was the first one I’d ever made, but once I knew it was Valentine’s Day, I remembered seeing pictures of them.

The card I made was on white paper that I folded in half. On the front I glued concentric construction paper hearts I’d cut out, starting with a big red one and then filling it in with smaller and smaller cut out hearts colored, green, yellow and blue. Inside I used a red crayon and printed, Happy Valentine’s Day, Mom! I love you!! I signed it with my name, Ben.

I gave it to her later that afternoon when Dad went to get Aunt Bea. In spite of my behavior, Mom and Dad were still going on their special outing, I guess out to eat at some hotel in Minneapolis.

“Here, Mom,” I said, handing her my card. I’d even found an envelope for it. Mom was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and smoking one of her ever-present Kools.

She set her cup down and looked at me. “What’s this?” she asked, surprised. She snubbed out her cigarette and took my card in her hands. She smiled when she realized what it was and held it carefully, like she was holding a valuable gemstone. She grinned. “Oh, Ben. Whatever have you done?”

“It’s for you, Mom,” I said. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” Then I shuffled my feet, hung my head and added, “And I’m sorry about the orange juice.”

“Oh, sweetie,” she said. Her face broke into a huge smile, and she gave me a big hug. “Thank you so much.”

It made me happy to see her happy. Which was a valuable lesson I learned that day: It was good to make people happy. I didn’t always remember that as I got older, but I tired.

“Open it,” I said.

And she did. She read the words and she cried, but they were tears of joy this time. I sat with her while she read and re-read my little card.

I gave her a handmade card every year after that. Even last year. And you know what? It always makes her happy. I know because she always cries. Tears of joy.

Sometimes I do too.

About the Author

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Website

Synopsis

When Defending the Homeland Means Defending Your Heart.

Siberia 1581. When Umey, a young outcast woman, stumbles on a ravaged village, she uncovers a plot that threatens to devastate her beloved homeland. It’s furs—soft gold—the invading Cossacks crave, and the greediest of them is Yermak, the man who saved her life and raised her.

Armed with fearsome muskets, the Cossacks plunge deeper into the Siberian forest, crushing the tribal folk who stand in their way. Although prejudices are arrayed against her, Umey emerges as a tribal leader, albeit a reluctant one. She and Alexey, a Russian soldier who has seen too much war, are soon caught in an unfolding crucible of destruction where their courage and incipient love will be tested in a final collision with Yermak and his horde.

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Praise

“I was immediately drawn in by the atmospheric and descriptive effort that Czech put into his writing to bring the wilds of Siberia to life. I was fascinated by the customs and tribal people as well as the beauty of nature … Umey’s gentle but unwavering courage makes her a protagonist whom you grow to feel deeply for during the adventure. Overall, Kiss of Frost and Flame is a work that fans of historical adventures and cross-cultural writing are sure to enjoy as much as I did.”-K. C. Finn, author of Caecilius Rex and The Book of Shade 

Excerpt

The first metallic rays of the rising sun peeking above the hilltops caused Umey to stir, but it was the low, husky warble of a snow bunting that woke her. Perched on a bare branch a few feet away, the little white and black bird tilted its head as if to say, you do not belong here. When she stretched, it flew away.

Outside of her cedar tree shelter, the sun glinted from a dazzling layer of hoarfrost that coated the bare boughs of birch and poplar with a delicate skin of purest white. Thick, snowy shawls mantled the scattered pines and cedars. Against the azure sky, the awakening world resembled a crystal palace like the kind found in the tales of ice castles and princesses that Mama had once told her.

Umey studied her surroundings. White-clad peaks loomed to the north, while snow-covered ridges and valleys lay to the west. If she followed the ridges and valleys, she was certain she would eventually reach the flatlands where reindeer roamed. With luck, she might even stumble across a trail left by the herders. Luck! That was her Russian half thinking of such. Samoyeds did not believe in luck. They believed in skill and patience.

A horse neighed from far behind her, the sound carrying in the still air. Umey shaded her eyes and scanned the horizon. A single horse appeared, tiny in the distance. From the animal’s movements, its rider seemed to be following the path left by her skis. They would lead him to where she had bedded for the night, and after that he would find more telltale tracks.

Mother Forest! It had to be one of the Cossacks. What if Bugatov or Ivan Koltso tracked her? Whoever it was, he must have left the Cossack camp while she slept and made up ground on her.

Umey maneuvered along the next ridge. Using her ski pole as a sort of rudder, she glided downhill. The bottom of the ridge formed into a ravine. She glanced at the next slope. Too steep to climb. Better to stay down here.

Cattails poked out of the snow on the ravine’s floor. Animal tracks led in and out of the cover provided by the long stems. Water trickled at the base of the ‘tails and splashed over her boots. The ravine appeared to be the bed of a half-frozen stream.

The height of the ravine’s walls began to diminish. She took her eyes off its floor for a moment to look behind her and missed the thick, broken tree branch poking through the snow. Her ski hooked the branch, and with a loud cracking sound sent her sprawling. The contact with the frozen ground drove the wind from her. Pain knifed her chest and she clawed at the snow in agony until her breathing returned. She kicked out of the bindings and discovered her left ski had snapped near its tip. Muttering a Samoyed curse, she tossed the useless slats aside.

The horse neighed again, now much closer. She had laid in the snow for too long. Escape from the horseman would have to be on foot.

“Umey! I am coming for you!” the rider called, his words echoing among the hills.

Bugatov! That grating voice belonged to Stefan Bugatov!

Umey began to run. The wet snow dragged at her boots and slush speckled her trousers. The ravine’s floor widened and opened to a vast, flat, white expanse that glistened under the sun. She skidded to a stop. An ice-covered lake stretched into the distance. Patches of wind-driven snow laced its surface.

“Mother Forest, protect me,” she murmured as she dashed onto the lake, her arms twirling for a moment to keep her balance. Under her, the lake’s glazed surface groaned. The ice she slid over appeared grayish-white, not the stronger clear layer needed to support much weight. Bubbles, looking like boiled eggs, hung suspended inches below the surface. She knew what it meant. The combination of water from the stream flowing under the ice, the warm caress of wind, and the bold eye of the sun had weakened the lake’s coating in this area. Gray ice, soft and deadly.

From behind her, the crunch of the horse’s hooves as it broke through the crusted top layer of snow at the lake’s edge sent her heart skipping.

The wind carried Bugatov’s raucous shout of triumph. “Umey! Stop, or I will shoot you.”

She spun about to face him, her hands clenched. In his heavy bearskin coat, he appeared more beast than man. Frost rimed his beard and snot had frozen in his mustache. He clutched a pistol in one fist and held the leash in the other. Foam flecked his horse’s jaws and neck; a loop of saliva hung from its mouth. Gouts of white air blew from its nostrils and its whicker more a whimper of pain. Bugatov had ridden it hard to catch her. She doubted the poor horse was strong enough to carry him back to Koltso.

“Go ahead and shoot me,” she cried. “Then you can explain to the tsar what happened.”

Guest Review by Nora

A masterpiece of fiction from author Ken Czech! ‘Kiss of Frost and Flame,’ is a novel of pure genius from an author who always writes such wonderful books. Czech has a talent for atmosphere and setting that is unparalleled! I noted this when reading his last book, ‘The Tsar’s Locket,’ and time has only improved his craft.

‘Kiss of Frost and Flame,’ takes place in Western Siberia, in the year 1581.

Living on her own in the forest, Umey’s only thoughts are of survival and hunting. Though this is not always how she has lived, she finds the freedom edifying, and prefers to make her own rules and live in her own way. However, it is into this relatively peaceful life that chaos comes knocking.

Umey accidentally stumbles across a village that has been burned down, it’s people slaughtered.  Almost as soon as she discovers the village, she is attacked by what she thinks are Tatar warriors. Barely managing to escape, she is hit by a musket ball and almost dies before being taken in by a nearby village of Voguls.

As the Voguls care for her and nurse her back to full health, Umey believes that she owes them a debt of gratitude. She agrees to find out everything that she can about the attack on the village. In doing so, she travels to a nearby Russian army outpost, where she meets the man that will change her life forever.

Although he is not really guilty, Alexey Danilov was tried—and nearly executed—for treason against the Tsar. After being saved at the last second and sent to fight in the wilderness, Alexey knows that he must follow the rules if he is ever to earn back his rank of Lieutenant.

But falling in love with Umey is not in his game plan. Of course, things don’t always go as planned.

This story is not just a romance, but an action-filled historical novel that will keep any reader guessing from start to finish!

About the Author

Ken Czech is a retired history professor whose passion has turned to writing fiction.

His previous novels include BEYOND THE RIVER OF SHAME (All Things That Matter Press, 2017); LAST DANCE IN KABUL (Fireship Press, 2018); and THE TSAR’S LOCKET (Fireship Press, 2020). As a member of the Historical Novels Society, he has attended HNS conferences and workshops.

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Giveaway

This giveaway is for 2 print or ebook copies; print is open to the U.S. only. The ebook is open worldwide.

This giveaway ends on Feb 8, 2024, at midnight pacific time.

Entries are accepted via Rafflecopter only.

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Synopsis

Set in the author’s homeland, Colombia, this is the heartbreaking story of Leonor, former child soldier of the FARC, a rural guerrilla group.

Paula Delgado-Kling followed Leonor for nineteen years, from shortly after she was an active member of the FARC forced into sexual slavery by a commander thirty-four years her senior, through her rehabilitation and struggle with alcohol and drug addiction, to more recent days as the mother of two girls.

Leonor’s physical beauty, together with resourcefulness and imagination in the face of horrendous circumstances, helped her carve a space for herself in a male-dominated world. She never stopped believing that she was a woman of worth and importance. It took her many years of therapy to accept that she was also a victim.

Throughout the story of Leonor, Delgado-Kling interweaves the experiences of her own family, involved with Colombian politics since the 19th century and deeply afflicted, too, by the decades of violence there.

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Excerpt

From Chapter 8

After Mercedes whipped her, Leonor lost track of the number of nights that she slept on the street. Having learnt the lesson from her father’s behavior, Leonor dressed like a boy, and she believed it was insurance against men touching her. But by her dainty hands and her walk, and by her small waist (and perhaps she already possessed that habit of hers, of coquettishly swaying her shoulders), it was easy to tell—even by her voice—that here was a beautiful girl.

On the street, Leonor met Redhead. He was a boy her age—she called him “el pelirojo”—because he had paprika-like freckles sprinkled on his cheeks and hair like the head of a matchstick. To know that Redhead—though lanky and feeble—kept a piece of a broken bottle within his grasp consoled Leonor. She was sure he would protect her, and so she followed his lead, and they squatted inside deserted buildings. With him securing the space, she was able to give in to slumber for a few hours.

Some days, Leonor and Redhead sold slices of watermelon at streetlights. They were employed by an old woman who had approached them. But Leonor was often starved, and she devoured the watermelon, its juices jetting down her chin and arms. The woman slapped Leonor when she came back without money, and so Leonor went car-to-car begging drivers for pocket change. Most cars were scraps of tin, spewing dark smoke. Once or twice, a luxury car, overdone with tinted windows, shiny hubcaps and immense headlights, circled the neighborhood. As Leonor approached the cars, the drivers rolled up the windows. She stood by the car windows, and the drivers looked elsewhere or pretended to fiddle with the radio. She caught glimpses of her reflection on the cars’ side-view mirrors, and she was repulsed by her tattered clothes and soiled face.

Redhead was shrewd, and one day, he returned with plates loaded with mountains of rice and arepas. By word of mouth, he discovered they would be offered food if they showed up at FARC camps located in Mocoa’s jungle periphery. Feeling faint, aware she could not go another day without food, Leonor ventured into FARC camps to be fed. She accepted seconds of rice, beans, and lentils, and soon, she helped herself to them. She became a regular at the encampments, and she began thinking of FARC members as friends and allies, compassionate to her situation. A FARC nurse disinfected the wound on her leg, from her mother’s beating, and covered it with bandages after white pus oozed from it.

Some nights, Leonor lingered by the fire in the middle of camp while someone strummed a guitar and others sang. It was then she was able to sleep uninterrupted, without worrying whether Redhead and his broken glass were watching over her.

Members of the FARC intermingled in the daily life of her town and of the entire area, and many of them were people she knew. Some locals wore FARC fatigues, others didn’t—but nearly all of Mocoa’s residents were sympathetic to the group’s Communist roots. For Leonor and for many teens in Colombia’s southern communities, the FARC camps offered diversions. There was booze, and sometimes there was dancing, and there was also the thrill of being allowed to handle a gun. The camps were akin to a right of passage, a way to rebel against parents.

Mercedes kept the door of their home locked. When Leonor strolled by, Sergio rushed to the window and waved kisses at his sister.

About the Author

Paula Delgado-Kling holds degrees in comparative literature/French civilizations, international affairs, and creative writing from Brown University, Columbia University, and The New School, respectively. Leonor, for which she received two grants from the Canadian Council for the Arts, is her first book. Excerpts of this book have appeared in Narrative, The Literary Review, Pacifica Literary Review, and Happano.org in Japan. Her work for the Mexican monthly news magazine Gatopardo was nominated for the Simon Bolivar Award, Colombia’s top journalism prize, and anthologized in Las Mejores Crónicas de Gatopardo (Random House Mondadori, 2006). Born in Bogota, Colombia and raised in Toronto, Canada, Delgado-Kling now resides in New York City.

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Synopsis

Alien swarms.
Ceaseless wars.
Hive worlds, pirates and conflict without end.

For hundreds of years, the Conviction has kept these threats at bay. So why now are its forces suddenly disappearing?

Adroa is a bleak, backwater world on the edge of known civilisation, with every day a struggle to survive for Ellie and her two siblings. Yet when a heavily armed Conviction soldier falls from the sky and into her lap, she must face dangers even greater than the ravenous Rike swarms that threaten to consume her and her entire colony.

Something is stirring in the dark between galaxies as the greatest military power humanity has ever known empties its garrisons and leaves its worlds undefended. Can a simple melon farmer rebuild her shattered home in peace, or will Ellie and her family be dragged into a galactic conflict that could determine the future of the Conviction itself?

In this romantic, action-packed space opera of life and love, C.J. Watson weaves a captivating story of upheaval in a cold and uncaring universe – and the tenacity of those fighting to survive another day.

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Excerpt

Four: High Score

Ellie saw the captain was indeed out as they crested the top of the ramp to the spaceport’s main platform. It was next to impossible to miss him and his distinctly booming voice as it carried across the distance.

Ellie could see he’d already dealt with many of the larger farmers as large stacks of shipping containers were being loaded up the ship’s ramp by their respective mechs.

It was surprising, however, to see a number of the ship’s heavy loaders carrying many separate payloads out of the cargo hold. Giant construction haulers floated by above them with a throaty rumble. Of course, Ellie expected some offloading; it was the one delivery of the year that brought people whatever they may need from off-world. But as quadrupedal loaders stomped past the two of them and their little cart, Ellie could make out construction supplies, large metal and plasteel plates, as well as bags of instant cement stacked high atop one another. Even some large panels of framed glass moved past, reflecting the world in their mirrored finish.

Ellie tilted her head in curiosity. Almost all the buildings outside the area immediately surrounding the spaceport were earthen or wooden or else small, prefabricated dwellings like her own, a necessity of self-reliance on the tiny fringe colony. Metal for building material was used almost exclusively for swarm bunkers.

Not that it did the Sayers much good.

Ellie screwed her eyes shut, turning her head away from the procession and batting away the thoughts. Emotions welled deep down as she’d yet to fully process her grief over the loss of the Sayers and the multitude of emotions between which she’d been flung during her ordeal with Hunter.

But right now, Ellie couldn’t afford to let it affect her mood. She slammed the window shut on the emotional storm clouds gathering in the distance, simultaneously trying to harden her heart and soften her smile. Soon, she would have all the time she needed to process her emotions. But now was the critical moment that would determine what she would be able to feed Jonathan and Alayna for the next year.

Ellie nudged the cart and Jonathan along, pulling to one side and joining the short line of smaller farms shuffling forward bit by bit. Even at the back of the line, only a handful of people stood ahead of them.

“Are you okay with taking the cart the rest of the way?” Ellie turned to ask Jonathan softly.

Jonathan simply nodded, taking the full weight of the yoke so Ellie could slip under. Facing her back to the line ahead, Ellie tugged on the bottom of her skirt and straightened all the frills along its edges. She took care to pull up and position her bosom as well as she could, letting her natural curves accentuate the fullness of her chest and the graceful silhouette of her neck.

Reaching up, she quickly retied her ponytail, ensuring it looked fresh and making sure her fringe was swooping down just low enough to cover one eye perfectly.

“How do I look?” Ellie asked.

“You look… You look good,” Jonathan replied.

Ellie smiled at him, running her fingers through his hair one last time to straighten it neatly.

Ellie took position next to him, doing her best to stand easy and look casual. They shuffled along as the line progressed. Ellie did her best to discreetly listen to the deals the other farmers were cutting with the captain, specifically the prices they were negotiating for their goods so she’d have an idea of the window in which she had to manoeuvre. The captain held a monopoly over their prices as their primary link to space, excluding the occasional prospector or explorer. They were prices that could be decided on his whim and were affected by his mood. What they were able to negotiate the year before was no guarantee of what they’d get today.

But try as she might, their voices naturally dropped to an almost conspiratorial level when it came to actual negotiation. Ellie could make out the sounds, but not the words. The distance, noise of the heavy machinery and general bustle of the area proved too much for her ears to overcome.

“Captain, please. The colour is only due to nitrates in the soil. Trees can’t be rotated like other crops; the fruits more than make up for it in their extra size and juiciness from the rains!”

Ellie turned her head slightly, careful not to look over-interested in the scene playing out. The farmer ahead of her had raised his volume, a distinct note of desperation and pleading entering his voice.

A cold stone dropped in Ellie’s stomach. The farmer had just made a grave mistake, tipping his hand and letting his desperation show. No one liked a charity case except for the captain, and even then, only for all the wrong reasons.

“Ah, Mr Thomas, how many years have we been trading? I fully understand the difficulty of farming, and if it were up to me, I’d be paying you all twice the asking price currently on the market,” the captain replied, his words sympathetic, but his smile predatory. His tone indicated he knew that everyone else was aware of what he was doing. And yet he’d put on the theatrics anyway because there was nothing anyone could do about it.

“But the only ones I can sell it to are the colonies that don’t grow enough for themselves. Why, the cost of fuel alone to fly your produce all the way to Etheria, or even Newgate Station, let alone the cost of crew and maintenance… Imagine if I were to go to all of that expense, only for half the stock to rot on the shelves for not being ‘pink’ enough,” he said, holding up one of Mr Thomas’s Pink Lady apples that was almost entirely a pale yellow.

“Why, such a thing would ruin me. And then how would you or the rest of the colony feel when I have to close up shop and can’t make a run next year, or any other year, for that matter?”

“But…” Mr Thomas began, indignant but unsure of his footing.

“Now listen here. I can offer you twelve dols per tonne,” he continued as if Mr Thomas hadn’t said anything at all. “That seems more than fair; since each apple is, as you said, so much larger than last year’s, it should be much easier to hit that same weight with fewer fruits. Oh, and no need to thank me directly. Just keep it to yourself that I cut you such a good deal, yes?” he finished in that slimy, coy tone.

Ellie tried not to baulk, very aware she would already be in the captain’s peripheral vision. Twelve dols a tonne was nothing short of thinly veiled robbery.

Mr Thomas seethed, clearly backed into a corner.

“You’re a wretched bastard, Captain,” he said in earnest, holding out his hand.

The captain smiled.

“Why thank you. I take that as a compliment. Wouldn’t make it out here to buy up your slop if I wasn’t,” he said, nodding once.

Two blue circles appeared over the backs of their hands to confirm the transaction. The light had barely dissipated before Mr Thomas snatched his hand away and stormed off, a dark cloud hanging over his expression.

Grabbing his coat with both hands, the captain pulled down to straighten it before turning to acknowledge Ellie.

Captain Slackvore was a complete dichotomy of character. He wore a long, brown trench coat, tattered in places and well-weathered. Its creases ran deep, and its surface was cracked from years of use. Yet underneath, he wore vibrant, tailored pants and a complexly embroidered vest, the material a shimmering purple interlaced with intricate floral patterns, and its shades perpetually shifting from slightly lighter to slightly darker than the rest of the outfit. Equally ornate boots with black velvet trim worked together with a dark, wide-brimmed Stetson to vertically frame the odd man.

A slimy smile that always made Ellie feel as if she was on the wrong end of a bad deal she couldn’t understand hung below a pair of cunning, calculating eyes. His exact age was unclear. Older than Ellie for sure, but still far younger than one would expect of a man running a pirate crew. Then again, the man exuded a fierceness not difficult to pick up on.

“Melon girl!” he bellowed in welcome, a deep, booming voice scratched raw by the various questionable spirits Ellie knew the crew brewed, and occasionally sold.

“Captain Slackvore! It is so good to see you!” Ellie responded with a bright smile and a light, excited tone. Stepping forward, she threw her arms around his shoulders and pressed her entire body tightly against his, pretending the scene with Mr Thomas hadn’t just happened.”

Review

Sometimes, I like to try a genre or book that is a little out of my normal reading sphere. This novel is a cross between science fiction, fantasy, romance, and maybe even a little dystopian, and it was a delight to read.

Ellie is a tough young woman. She is only 21 but is taking care of her two siblings and trying to make it as a melon farmer on a planet that doesn’t have a lot going for it. One of her siblings, Alyana, is a bit of a hothead. So, the nickname she is tagged with from Jake (more on him in a moment) is more than appropriate. He calls her Spitfire. Jake is a savior, but does he have an ulterior motive? He has combat skills and is able to help Ellie and her family in some difficult situations. I like how he was raised to be kind and see the goodness in people. It does seem to contradict his career path, which is never fully defined, and we are left to guess what he did before coming to this planet.

I was taken away to a world that has little hope for anyone. The inhabitants are attacked by something called a Rike. We are never really told what a Rike is or why it attacks the people of the planet. The best description is some sort of beast that bleeds purple. We do know that everyone does what they can to protect themselves from this creature, including adding turrets to their homes to fight them off.

I admired Ellie for doing what she needed to do for her family to survive. It isn’t easy accepting Jake’s help, and she is suspicious about his true intentions. I can’t blame her; why should she trust him? But I think she is going to be surprised at how easily he will fit into her life if she will allow him to.

The author does a good job of building this world and bringing it to life, from the dark and gritty characters to those with compassion. While there are many unanswered questions, this is the first book in a series, and I have a feeling all of those will be answered soon.

There is an epilogue that gives a hint as to what Jake might be running from in his life. Only future books will tell.

We give this book a solid 4 paws up.

About the Author

When he’s not running various I.T. departments for his day job, he can be found spoiling both his partner and their many, many cats somewhere around the desolate hellscape of Sydney, Australia.

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Synopsis

Nature speaks to us in many ways. In this collection of haiku written over the course of one year, Jim Bates has chosen the 5-7-5 syllable format to share his feelings for the natural world. He hopes you enjoy them.

After the snowstorm

Winter’s soft gentle beauty

Snow on evergreens.

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Praise

“Award winning author Jim Bates writes entire stories inside the parameters of a Haiku. Each word invokes imagery so impactful that one forgets it is wrapped in such few words. From the simplicity of a haiku comes boundless emotion and each one is to be savored.” – Acclaimed writer Sharon Frame Gay is the author of “Song of the Highway” and “Nomad Diner.”

“Jim Bates brings a clear view of nature in his tiny gems–a beautiful collection of the Haiku art form.” – Shelia Henry is an accomplished poet whose work appears in many anthologies and online publications.

Jim packs beautiful imagery into Haiku and within them manages to deliver to us deep insightful stories. This is a book you will want to read over and over. Charming! – Ger White is an Irish poet and storyteller. “Newspapers on the Floor” is her first collection of poems.

Jim Bates’ new book “Haiku Seasons” is filled with beautiful shortform poems that are meditative in their quality. Each poem evokes a visual image of seasonal wonder. It is a perfect book to relax you at the end of a long day. – Ann Christine Tabaka, is a poet & author whose most recent collection of poems is “Learning To Climb the Mountain.”

Excerpt

Haiku Seasons is a wonderful compilation of heartfelt, thoughtful, and soulful haiku.

Soft snowflakes drifting

Brushing eyelids so gently

Like a lover’s touch.

The book is divided into four seasons, and the haiku within each season reflects images, with words evoking snowflakes, bluebirds in the spring, geese winging south in the autumn, or childhood memories of a summer cabin.

By the forest path

Babbling woodland stream flowing

Music to dream by.

Some are joyful. Some are whimsical, while others reflect the quiet hours of a winter’s day before a soothing fire.

Northwest wind blowing

Cold gray winter day chills deep

Fireplace burns so warm.

Each haiku reflects the deep and sensitive soul of award-winning author Jim Bates, who delivers these special poems with a fine hand and a depth of spirit. I highly recommend this book.

Hot day on a dock

Feet dangling in cool water

Sunfish nibbling toes.

About the Author

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Website

Synopsis

If the fate of unrequited love survives fifty-one years, nine months, and four days in Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time of Cholera, it leads the way for HER: The Flame Tree, a spare, remorseless love triptych that sweeps through the rich panorama of two generations of colonial and post-colonial Vietnam. The hopeless love of a young eunuch for a high-ranking concubine is one of this novel’s three stories that illuminate the oriental mystery of Vietnam, as epic as it is persevering,

Despite a rich trove of documentary films, Western readers know little of the spiritual face of Vietnam. Framed between 1915 and 1993, HER: The Flame Tree begins in Huế, the former imperial capital Vietnam. It is in the Purple Forbidden City, that Canh, the young eunuch, fulfills his vow to be near the girl of his dreams, a villager-turned imperial concubine.

The novel begins with an expatriate Vietnamese man living in the United States who journeys back to Vietnam to search for the adopted daughter of a centenarian eunuch of the Imperial Court of Huế to find out who she really is. His world takes on a new meaning after he becames a part of her life.

Phượng. Her name is the magnificent flame tree’s flowers that grace the ancient capital of Huế. Her father, mentor of Canh the young eunuch, was a hundred-year-old grand eunuch of the Imperial Court, who had adopted and raised her since she was a baby. Their peaceful world suddenly changed when one day, sometime in the early years of the Vietnam war, Jonathan Edward came into their lives. On his quest to search for his just deceased lover’s mysterious birth, there he met Phượng, an exquisite beauty.

Through the eye of her father, history is retold. Just before the fall of the French Indochina during the last dynasty of Vietnam, a young eunuch hopelessly fell in love with a high-ranking concubine. Once the eunuch had secured the concubine’s trust, it became a fatal attraction. The eunuch died. The concubine, still a virgin, lost her mind. Her father said she was possessed by the young eunuch’s spirit who had been madly in love with her.

HER: The Flame Tree does not have the flavor of historical fiction, plot-heavy and sexually graphic. Rather, it is atmospheric and impressionistic, in the style of Snow Falling on Cedars. The magnificent poinciana flowers, which grace the ancient capital of Huế, symbolize farewell in Vietnamese adolescent romance. Its symbolic image befits Phượng for her magnanimous nature and grace, and the scarlet blossoming flowers when Jonathan Edward bids Phượng farewell is beauty without sadness—Wait and Hope.

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Praise

“In this almost folkloric saga of a royal eunuch, his adopted daughter and the tragedies and triumphs of love in their lives from the days of the emperor’s court to the war with America, Khanh Ha takes us deeply into the heart of traditional Vietnam in a tale told in such lushly poetic, descriptive language that it immerses the reader deeply and sensually into the gorgeousness of the land, the texture and taste of food, and the complex humanity of the characters. Her: The Flame Tree is an intricately woven, seductively fascinating story of family, sacrifice, loyalty and redeeming love in the face of heart-breaking loss that breathtakingly weaves the lives of individuals we come to know and care about into the saga of Vietnamese—and American—history.” —Wayne Karlin, author of Memorial Days

“Ha evokes a visceral image of Vietnam . . .  A vivid study of a country’s fraught history and how its people struggled to make sense of it.” —Kirkus Reviews

“Her: The Flame Tree is a beautiful novel, rich with evocations of natural setting in coastal Vietnam; remembered action going back more than a hundred years; and characters both extraordinary and poignantly ordinary, developed by layer upon layer of stories.”—Elizabeth Harris, judge and author of Mayhem: Three Lives of a Woman

“Early in Khanh Ha’s latest novel Her: The Flame Tree, the author describes a book made of delicate leaves of gold. Such a volume would be ideal to record this shimmering and often tender tale of love, loss, and memory.” —Steve Evans, author of The Marriage of True Minds

Excerpt

Miss Phượng met the last concubine of Emperor Tự-Ðức when the woman was very old, in the final year of her long life. When the emperor died in 1883, she was only fifteen. She told Miss Phượng she was one hundred and twenty-three now. Small, birdlike, white hair parted in the middle, braided in two small plaits on the sides of her head.

She took Miss Phượng by the hand and led her into the cottage, which sat behind a bamboo hedge in the back of the mausoleum. She served tea from a tiny blue-flowered pot the size of her hand. The nougats she offered were made of egg whites and brown sugar and chopped nuts. Brittle, they melted quickly in the mouth.

“I used to make them for the emperor,” she told Miss Phượng. “A long time ago.” Then regarding Miss Phượng, she nodded, “See the banyan out there?”

It dwarfed the cottage with its shade, like an immense pavilion. Miss Phượng traced its tortuous roots to the steps of the concubine’s home.

“It was a little tree when I came,” the old woman muttered.

“Yes,” Miss Phượng said, “trees outlive us. My father had a magnolia planted outside the Trinh Minh Palace during his service as the grand eunuch for the imperial family. He would be three years older than you, Madam, if he still lived.”

In the deceased emperor’s personal room the old concubine sat down on the carved rosewood bed. Hunched between the parted panels of the yellow mosquito net, she sat amidst her husband’s belongings—the bed, its embroidered mat, the porcelain pillow, the tea, the rice liquor, the areca-nuts and betel leaves and a tiny pot of lime. They were here for him when he returned in spirit.

For one hundred and eight years she replenished them every morning so that when he arrived nothing was missing, nothing was stale. He could read his favorite books. He could write, as was his passion, in his annals, each page of which was a thin leaf of gold. He would find again his gold swords, jade shrubs, his chess men in green and white jade, chopsticks made of kim-giao white wood that turned black against any sort of poison. They were arranged there under glass.

Miss Phượng took the old woman’s hand and led her out of her haunt, passing candle-lit nooks and corners and the eternally mildewed air of the sunless chambers.

©Khanh Ha

Guest Review by Nora

A spellbinding novel from one of the greatest authors of our time– ‘Her: The Flame Tree,’ by Khanh Ha, is a one-of-a-kind story that allows the reader to travel deep into the heart of Vietnamese history.

Minh is a Vietnamese man now living in America who returns to his home country to seek out one very special woman and learn her story. Phuong is the adopted daughter of a former court eunuch who spent much of her life caring for her elderly father. Of both Vietnamese and French descent, Phuong knows nothing of her birth parents and has only ever known the love of her adopted father, Canh. But Canh has a storied history as well, and the novel unveils these three different timelines as it goes along.

From the halls of the palace of the Imperial Emperor to the packed streets of the marketplace, ‘Her: he Flame Tree’ takes you on a journey that you won’t soon forget.

I’m a huge fan of Khanh Ha’s writing and have enjoyed several of his books in the past, which is why I had a feeling I would enjoy this one. As an author, he has an undeniable way of crafting an atmosphere that makes the reader feel immersed in the story.

Between that creative blend of Vietnamese and American culture that Ha is so great at illustrating, and the strength and power of the characters, this book was a strong five star read for me!

I can’t imagine a better way to spend a winter evening than enjoying a book by this stellar author. This, being one of my first books of the year, was such a treat for both the heart and mind. I simply cannot wait to read whatever Ha comes out with next! I’m sure it will be extraordinary!

About the Author

Award winning author Khanh Ha is a nine-time Pushcart nominee, finalist for The Ohio State University Fiction Collection Prize, Mary McCarthy Prize, Many Voices Project, Prairie Schooner Book Prize, The University of New Orleans Press Lab Prize, Prize Americana, and The Santa Fe Writers Project. He is the recipient of the Sand Hills Prize for Best Fiction, The Robert Watson Literary Prize in Fiction, The Orison Anthology Award for Fiction, The James Knudsen Prize for Fiction, The C&R Press Fiction Prize, The EastOver Fiction Prize, The Blackwater Press Fiction Prize, The Gival Press Novel Award, and The Red Hen Press Fiction Award.

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Giveaway

This giveaway is for 3 print or ebook copies and is open to the U.S. only.

This giveaway ends on Feb 22, 2024, at midnight pacific time.

Entries are accepted via Rafflecopter only.

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Synopsis

For Quinn and his young family, life in 2220 in the aftermath of global warming was a depressing dead-end existence with no future past the mandatory forty-year life span at which point you were unceremoniously put to death and turned into compost. But only if you lived that long. One day Quinn makes a fateful decision with a disastrous effect, and it forces him and his wife and son along with a friend to flee the confines of The City in search of a different life. Something better. But first, they need to elude the World Order Security Police who are dispatched to track them down with orders to shoot to kill. Will they make it? Read their inspiring story and find out.

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Excerpt

When they were seated on the Carrier, Matt said to his dad, politely, “Thank you, Daddy, for taking me. I had a really fun time.”

Quinn smiled. He loved his son, and he was glad he’d been able to spend time with him. Once a week wasn’t often enough. “I had fun, too.”

The first stop was the building where children of Matt’s age were kept. Quinn wanted to hug him but knew the World Order frowned upon signs of affection. After a brief hesitation, he thought, what the hell, why not? and grabbed Matt in a big bear hug, knowing the surveillance cameras would catch him and punish him accordingly, taking a day off his LifeLine. Too bad, he thought, holding his son tighter. Matt hugged him back. He felt his son’s sweet breath on his neck and it made him smile. The hug was worth it.

Finally, Matt squirmed away, giggling. “I’ll see you next week, Daddy.”

“Okay, son. The History Center, right?”

“Right.”

“See you then. Bye, bye.” Quinn waved.

The Transport Carrier then headed for the concrete building where Quinn and his wife lived. He watched the landscape passing by outside his window, featureless and grey with dust and ash everywhere. Relentlessly depressing. His mind drifted back to the exhibit he and Matt had seen. He loved the colors: the green trees and the blue pond. The red cardinal. Not the grey decay he and his wife and son lived in every day. It’d be a week before he’d see Matt again and he was already looking forward to it. In fact, at that moment he made a fateful decision. When they got together next time, he was going to hold his son again. Tight. No matter what the consequences. LifeLine be damned. It’d be worth it.

About the Author

Jim’s stories and poems have appeared in nearly five hundred online and print publications. His collection of short stories, Resilience, is published by Bridge House Publishing. Short Stuff, a collection of flash fiction and drabbles is published by Chapeltown Books. Periodic Stories, Periodic Stories Volume Two, Periodic Stories Volume Three – A Novel, and Periodic Stories Volume Four are published by Impspired. Dreamers, a collection of short stories, is published by Clarendon House Publishing. Something Better, a dystopian adventure novella, and the novel, The Alien of Orchard Lake, are published by Dark Myth Publications. In the fall of 2022, his collection entitled Holiday Stories was published by Impspired as was his collection of poetry, Haiku Seasons. In February 2023, Periodic Stories Volume IV was published, as was his collection of poems, The Alchemy of Then, both by Impspired. In June 2023, a collection of flash fiction, Dancing With Butterflies, was published by Impspired.In July 2023, his YA novella The Battle of Marvel Wood was published by Impspired. His short story “Aliens” was nominated by The Zodiac Press for the 2020 Pushcart Prize. His story “The Maple Leaf” was voted 2021 Story of the Year for Spillwords. He was voted December 2022 Author of the Month for Spillwords. He also reads his stories for Talking Stories Radio and for Jim’s Storytime on his website. He lives in a small town west of Minneapolis, Minnesota.

Website

Synopsis

Beneath the weight of four long years in confinement, a story of liberation unfolds, igniting a whirlwind of love, fear, and even hope.

When Ed and Stacey go to Las Vegas to visit their friend Pepper, they realize his dementia has gotten worse. They decide to take him with them on their road trip to see old friends near Mt Konocti in northern California. At the reunion, he meets Sandy Martin, and they begin a new love relationship. He calls in to a local radio talk show and the audience likes him so much that he becomes a regular part of the show. But when a local psychopath hears Pepper on the show and decides he wants Pepper to be his friend, things take a very dark turn…

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Praise

“This book was both suspenseful and beautiful at the same time. All in all, an excellent read.” – Book Addict Book Blog

“The author uses richly crafted characters to bring the story to life, weaving past memories into the present. Keeping Pepper highlights the importance of living each day to the fullest, even if it means taking risks.” – Novels Alive

“Thoroughly enjoyed the twists and turns as the story evolved. Certainly didn’t see some of them coming. The poignancy of old friends, new paths and one more good time was woven into a very engaging story.” – Deb Zak (Amazon Reviewer)

“This was such a fresh and engaging story about the power of taking risks no matter your age or stage of life. It centers on a group of longtime friends of former ad executive Michael Pepper. Pepper’s story is romantic and, at times, quite suspenseful. I found his energy and spirit of adventure inspiring, and it made for a very enjoyable book.” – KKW (Amazon Reviewer)

Excerpt

Konocti

In the end, twelve of them decided to make the trip. Several others begged off, leery of the trails and opting to take the day at the farm. They took three vehicles. A car and two SUV’s, packed with lots of food, drinks and gear in addition to the people. It took them about twenty minutes to get to the bottom of the mountain. The road goes through the village of Kelseyville, down some residential blocks, then the road slopes up through a series of farm fields and orchards, followed by open rocky hillsides. As they rose up on the hill, the tableau took shape – Clear Lake at the foot of the mountain with towns and suburban blocks in the distance. Going higher, the view got bigger, and the lake got both deeper in color, and silvery where the sun reflected off it. They all stopped talking and watched the view changing and developing with some awe as they drove. As they got higher, they disappeared into a cloud bank, then the road popped out of the cloud, and they were in a thick stand of Maul Oaks in a notch between two peaks rising on either side of them. The oaks were tall, 40 to 60 feet, with big heavy curving branches that looked like trees out of an old Disney cartoon. They drove a bit further through the woods until they reached a clearing with parking spaces near a trailhead. They got out, still surrounded by trees.

“That didn’t take long,” Stacey said, stretching her legs.

Richie was organizing their stuff. He had divided them up into small packs so people could carry them easily on their backs. By giving them to a few people, he figured nobody would have too much weight to carry.

“They call it Mt. Konocti, but it’s really not much of a mountain,” he said. “Just about 2,200 feet above the lake.”

“Looked a lot higher coming up,” Hubert said. “Beautiful views on the way up. Can’t wait to see them from here.”

“Yeah, it gets better from here on.” Richie said. He turned to speak to the group. “Everybody ready? Everything good? Anyone need to pee or anything before we get started?” Nobody said anything. “Anybody wanting to take a nap yet?” He laughed, as did a few in the group.

“A nap?” Pepper asked Ed.

“It’s a joke, Pepper.”

“Ah.”

Pepper was standing with Ed, Stacey, Sandy, and Franny. They had decided to stay together as a group on the hike. They looked like an aging tribe in plaids and jeans, shaggy hair and caps in the cool morning. Bits of fog lingered and drifted through the trees around them, cooling the air and filtering the sun.

“OK, well then let’s get started,” Richie said to them all, turning to walk. “The trail-head is over here.” And they were off. They hit the trailhead and followed the path into the trees. After a few minutes, Richie started talking to them about where they were.

“This is what they call the Black Forest because it’s a very dense wood of Douglas Fir and Maul Oaks. It’s a bit of a mystery, since it’s located on the north face of the mountain where it never gets direct sunlight. Nobody really understands how it got started here or why it grows just here.”

“Kind of spooky in here actually,” Sandy said to Pepper, sliding her arm around his. Pepper thought that was nice, but he wondered if she was thinking he needed propping up. He decided not to worry about it.

“Yes,” he agreed with her. “Keep your eyes open for witches.”

Richie kept going. “Truth is Mount Kon is really pretty exceptional. It’s not so big, as I said before, but it is a special place – both the mountain and the lake. It’s an old volcano. Part of what they call the Clear Lake Volcanic Field. It has been quite active in its history. They say it last erupted around 10,000 years ago, which is pretty recently.”

He stopped to help Cyn and Hubert over some rocks.

“I guess it was a fairly active volcano over the millennia, and through that time it created lots of caves and natural tunnels – old volcanic vents – into the interior of the mountain. Indians used to live here – lots of them. This was a large settlement of native Americans all around the lake. Mostly the Pomo tribe. They say thousands lived in the area in the 1800’s before white men came and started killing them off.”

“God Bless America,” Eddie said.

“But the Pomo explored the area more than anyone since. Their stories about the mountain told about a huge open cavern in the center of the mountain. Probably this would have been the central magma chamber from when the mountain was an active volcano. They said their men used to crawl through the tunnels until they came to the edge of the openings, then they would drop things into the cavern to see how far they fell. Often, they never heard them land. Geologists mostly tend to believe these stories. They say this could be the tallest cavern in North America. But the soil is very unstable and many of the vent tunnels have collapsed. So, it is dangerous to explore – nobody has ever been able to find the central cavern, if it still exists. But one thing they do know about Konocti – the mountain breathes. All the vents around the sides, and the open cavern in the center creates wind drafts and thermal currents. The changing pressures and different temperatures create its own air system. They say when the weather is changing on the outside and it gets windy, that’s when you can hear it the most, kind of whistling or wheezing. Feel it too, since the air on the inside is a constant temperature it feels either warmer or cooler than the air outside. So you get little blasts of the mountain’s breath walking around.”

He stopped and walked with them for a bit. Walking and talking got him out of breath.

“Lots of people have reported strange breezes blowing right out of holes in the side of the mountain. Sometimes they smell like old decaying soil, sometimes people say they blow warm wet air. It breathes. In storms, especially. And lots of people report finding openings into the side. Sometimes big enough to call caves. Other times just holes. This mountain — it seems to have its own life, kind of. It’s unpredictable and kind of spiritual. One of the reasons I wanted to bring you all up here, just to see it and feel it. The Pomo felt it. This was a sacred place to them. They gave it the name Konocti which combined their two words for “mountain” and “woman.”

“Wow,” Sandy said. “You know, Richie – as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco, I never heard any of that before, and we’re so close. I’ve heard of Clear Lake, but never heard much about it. Never seemed to be anything that special.”

About the Author

Scott Brody works in broadcasting and ad sales in Southern California. He’s married with a daughter, two sons, and two grandchildren. He also wrote The Org, which is available on Amazon.

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