Friday, August 8, 2025

Guest Blog- Shadowed Skies by Haley Cavanagh



As the architect of "Shadowed Skies," I am thrilled to invite readers into the captivating world where dynamic characters and unexpected twists converge to create an immersive narrative. At the heart of this tale are two characters, River and Delene, whose journeys through survival, love, and resilience challenge conventional storytelling norms.

River: The Lone Survivor with a Complex Past: I took great pleasure in creating the character of River, a lone survivor whose escape into the mountains sets the stage for a profound exploration of his past and present. River's memories of his grandfather Pops and twin brother Porter are poignant anchors, influencing his decisions and interactions throughout the narrative. Through my writing, I aimed to breathe life into River, presenting a character whose complexity mirrors the unpredictable landscapes he navigates.

River's evolution from a solitary figure to a reluctant companion in the mountains is marked by unexpected twists that showcase the resilience of the human spirit. Through River’s eyes, I sought to create a protagonist whose journey resonates emotionally, offering readers a chance to connect with a character grappling with the weight of his history while forging an uncertain future.

Delene: A Woman of Extraordinary Abilities and Unyielding Spirit: Delene, introduced as a captive in a lab run by the sinister Dr. Lytle, is a character I enjoyed shaping within the narrative. Tortured for her abilities and fueled by a vow to escape after the death of her sister Lily, Delene emerges as a young woman marked by strength and determination. Her psychic abilities and unyielding spirit add layers to her persona, creating a character that defies traditional archetypes.

In crafting Delene's journey, from escaping the lab to finding refuge in River's mountain nest, I aimed to portray a character who goes beyond the stereotypical damsel in distress. Delene's resilience and unwavering spirit become central themes, showcasing her internal and external battles as she navigates a world filled with threats. When River and Delene meet, they’re both two extraordinary people who are incidentally suffering from severe loneliness and personal trauma while the world hunts them. 

Unexpected Twists that Defy Conventions: In "Shadowed Skies," I set out to subvert conventions and challenge readers' expectations through unforeseen twists and turns. Each plot development adds layers to the narrative, keeping readers engaged until the final page. 
Through River and Delene, readers are invited to join me in exploring the complexities of love, loss, and the indomitable will to survive in a world where the unexpected becomes the norm.

Conclusion: As the author of "Shadowed Skies," I am excited for readers to embark on this journey with River and Delene. These characters, with their unexpected twists and turns, represent more than fictional personas; they embody the resilience of the human spirit. I hope their stories' complexities and nuances resonate with readers, making "Shadowed Skies" a truly immersive and unforgettable experience.


Shadowed Skies
Haley Cavanagh

Genre: YA Dystopian Fantasy Romance | YA Science Fiction |
Publisher: Our Street Books
Date of Publication: March 25, 2025
ISBN: 978-1803417721
ASIN: B0DV31JXS2
Number of pages: 208
Word Count: 60,000
Cover Artist: Lapiz Digital Services

Tagline: Hunted for their blood. Fighting for their future.

Book Description:

In the shadowed aftermath of global destruction, humanity’s hope takes flight on the wings of the Evol-humans. River Shaw, secluded in his high-altitude sanctuary, seeks solace after a life scarred by loss. His quiet existence is disrupted when Delene Fairborne, fleeing captivity and a dark past, crashes into his world. 

Together, they find strength in their unique abilities, resisting the sinister forces that hunt them for a cure only their blood can provide. As love blossoms amidst the chaos, they face a ruthless scientist hell-bent on harnessing their power. Shadowed Skies is a tale of survival, sacrifice, and soaring hope, where two souls, bound by destiny, fight for a world on the brink. Dive into a world where love flies against insurmountable odds.


Excerpt:

I wake to a muscular, silent figure looming over me, his wings casting unnerving shadows. Intelligent dark eyes scrutinize me from his smooth, brown face framed by cropped black hair and raven quills. He’s been around the block.

My guard shoots up. I’d stand, but my body’s too weak from the climb. “Your nest, huh? Sorry, I didn’t see your name on it.”

“It’s carved right over there.” He points past me to the rockface. My eyes travel over the stone, where he’d etched River in craggy letters. The carved name is so tiny I didn’t notice.

“Now you’re supposed to tell me your name. That’s how this goes.”

I blink. “Delene Fairborne. Listen, would you mind if I–– ow,” I scrape against the wall and suck air through my teeth. I clamp my eyes shut.

“Are you okay?”

I shrug the blanket off, and my injured wing flops lamely near my shoulder. River’s eyebrows lower, and he comes closer.

“Let me look.”

He stows his serrated hunting knife, presents empty hands, and crouches to examine my injury. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. Let’s see the damage.” He’s gentle, avoiding the wound and handling my feathers softly. He lightly touches the bandage.

“Dr. Lytle runs the Stockade, the underground bunker and lab where the humans imprison and experiment on our kind. His men hunted me down and shot me with a crossbow as I tried

to escape. The wound is still healing––I changed the bandage earlier, but without a spare set of clothes, I had to tear strips off my pants to re-dress it.”

“Hmm.” He examines the back with a frown. “There’s an exit wound.”

“Yeah, I pulled it out.”

“Well, that was stupid of you. You could have died if those goons pierced a blood feather.”

My temper flares. “Oh, as opposed to leaving it in. I’d rather take my chances, thanks.” My voice is hostile, though I’m grateful for his help. I still don’t know who he is or what he wants, and my mother warned me to be on my guard.

River sits back on his haunches, sighs, and meets my eyes.

“Doesn’t look good. How long have you been here, kid? A day or so?”

“I’m no kid. I’m seventeen.”

“Well, I’m eighteen. So, you’re a kid.”

“By what, a few whole months?” I snicker. “Okay. If a kid free-climbed in the pitch-black up a hundred-foot cliff to get here, I guess I’m a kid.”

After examining the wound, he says, “The damage looks fixable. Let’s clean this well to prevent infection.”

“I’ve cleaned the wound.”

“Clean deeper,” he admonishes. “I don’t have antibiotics, but I’ll try to get some. Or at least honey. Honey heals.”

He hesitates before retrieving water, then takes a rag from his pouch and soaks the cloth. With the knife still in hand, he comes closer.

“Look … You seem all right, but I’m a lone wolf. I operate solo. You have a target with a big ‘X’ on your back. I feel bad for you. I do. But you know how it is with our kind.” He gives me a blatant look, so here’s your cue to leave.

“Gee, I’d kindly vacate the premises, but I can’t fly.”

He rubs the back of his neck, agitated. “The valley’s full of drones. And they’ve got at least a dozen soldiers combing the forest.”

“I’m sorry.” I shift my eyes down. “You never asked for any of this.”

“None of us did,” he waves me off. “The soldiers are here.

I’m screwed either way.” He pauses and assesses me. “Stay the night. Then after that, I’m sorry, but you need to find somewhere else to hide.”

The night might be all I need. “Thank you.”


About the Author:

Haley Cavanagh is a military veteran, wife, and mother. She is a multiple award-winning and best-selling author and the two-time recipient of the League of Utah Writers Silver Quill Award in 2020 and 2024. Haley is an alumna of Columbia College, a musical theater nut, and she loves to dive into any book that crosses her path. Haley resides with her family in the United States and enjoys spending time with her husband and children when she’s not writing. She loves to hear from her readers and encourages you to contact her via her website and social media.







 



Monday, July 28, 2025

Gods Galore Series by Rupert Stanbury #GreekGods #Fantasy #Comedy





GODS GALORE
Gods Galore Series
Book One
Rupert Stanbury

Genre: Fantasy / Comedy
Publisher: Troubador / Matador
Date of Publication: 28 October 2021
ISBN:878-1800465305
ASIN: B09KM9JV2S
Number of pages: 344
Cover Artist: Dave Hill

Book Description:

The Olympian Gods have made it to the 21st century AD. We may not have heard much about them in the last two thousand years, but they’re still controlling what we humans are up to – or at least they think they are.

The reality is that the Gods are like us – they’ve got problems!

Zeus is still Top God on Mount Olympus, but he’s got issues with many of the younger gods. His brothers, Hades and Poseidon, have issues with themselves – they’re getting too set in their ways ruling the Underworld and the Seas; they probably need a job change.

But help is at hand from an unexpected source – we humans.

It’s surprising what a dose of good common sense can do for even the most powerful of the gods, especially when it comes from a couple of teenagers!




THE FOUR HORSEMEN
Gods Galore Series
Book Two
Rupert Stanbury

Genre: Fantasy / Comedy
Date of Publication: 17 April 2023
ISBN: 979-8366008495
ASIN: B0C2Q4G268
Number of pages: 337
Cover Artist: Tim Stringer

Book Description:

The Four Horsemen is the second book in the Gods Galore series about the Olympian Gods in the 21st Century AD.

The gods are still trying to control what we humans are up to. Unfortunately, they’re not being particularly successful. The world is experiencing both plague and famine which Zeus and the Gods’ Council never approved. What’s going on?

Athene’s determined to find out, but before she can get going the God of War initiates an attack on Poseidon’s realm. It’s now all out conflict and the gods are taking sides – one side, in particular.

Wherever there’s a fight, Hebe’s involved. She soon signs up to an army regiment which is full of soldiers even smaller than she is. But war these days involves brains and not just brawn and there’s plenty of both ready to be deployed in this fight!



PIMLICO PEOPLE
Gods Galore Series
Book Three
Rupert Stanbury

Genre:Fantasy / Comedy
Date of Publication: 28 October 2024
ISBN: 979-8338117200
ASIN: B0DL5XTHMH
Number of pages: 339
Cover Artist: Tim Stringer

Book Description:

Pimlico People is the third book in the Gods Galore series about the Olympian Gods in the 21st Century AD.

The Goddesses Artemis and Hebe are staying in Central London to obtain a better understanding of the lives of ‘normal’ people.

To their surprise, they soon encounter a plot to blow up a foreign embassy. Add to that a sophisticated operation involving the theft of valuable paintings from a major art gallery, and the two goddesses begin to question what a ‘normal’ life is all about.

Meanwhile, in the Underworld Cerberus encounters another dog who, amazingly, only has one head! How will they get on?


EXTRACT FROM PIMLICO PEOPLE – THE PARK 

The location for this extract from Pimlico People is St James’s Park in Central London.

The reference to Blefuscu and Lilliput are to two islands in Gulliver’s Travels where people are only about six inches tall. The people of these islands are often in conflict with each other.

Both Iris and Hebe are Greek goddesses. Cerberus is a three-headed dog living in the Underworld. The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders is a Lilliput army regiment; Rach is also from Lilliput. Finally, Slasher and others are swans living in the park.

 

As this small armada was making progress, exciting things were beginning to unfold on West Island where four Blefuscu commandos still remained, together with a couple of swans. None of them knew precisely what their role was, other than to be ‘back-up’, so they just rested on the ground expecting to have a quiet time until their comrades returned. They were therefore surprised to hear a paddling noise from the lake and even more surprised when a large black dog with three heads emerged. All these heads had the same face which bore a remarkable resemblance to the Goddess Iris.

The dog raced along the ground towards the commandos. It snarled and growled as it moved at speed, its three mouths spitting out saliva and showing a large number of very sharp teeth. The commandos tried to get up and run, but the dog was on them before they could get away. They were by now all terrified and started to scream.

“Give us a Mars bar or I’ll bite yer bums!” they heard, but it made no difference because the dog decided not to bite their bums; instead, it proceeded to kick them all into the water.

“Help!” screamed one of the commandos. “I cannot make ze swim! Help!”

The two swans were nearby in the lake and, considering themselves pretty tough, didn’t run away, but instead tried to help the commandos. However, the three-headed dog launched itself from the bank and landed on top of one of the swans. It gave the white bird a number of painful bites and used its powerful front paws to thump the swan in all sorts of sensitive places. Eventually, its victim was so battered and bruised the black dog left it floating on the lake.

The other swan by now had decided he wasn’t quite tough enough to take on a manic three-headed dog and had started swimming away. Unfortunately, it was now the next target for the Iris-Cerberus look-alike who, despite being a four-footed canine, could out-swim any of the St James’s Park swans. The dog soon caught up with the fleeing swan, jumped on its back and meted out the same treatment as it had given to its companion. Having left the second swan equally battered and bruised, the dog swam back to the Blefuscu commandos, who were still flailing around in the water. Three sets of jaws each took hold of a commando at the same time and then proceeded to toss them back onto the island. They were soon joined by their final companion as they lay moaning and groaning on the ground. At this stage the three-headed dog turned round and began to swim towards Duck Island.

The next minute a miniature boat arrived at West Island, having travelled along the length of the lake near the north bank. It had a silent motor, specially designed by Rach’s Special Projects team. A number of Argyll and Southern Highlanders disembarked, went over to the four Blefuscu commandos, tied their hands behind their backs while at the same time taping their mouths. They were put into the boat which set off on its return journey, again along the north side of the lake.

xxxxx

Meanwhile back on the lake, the adjutant and his three commandos were rapidly approaching the south-west corner of Duck Island. The commandos had already taken out a number of hand grenades while the adjutant was readying a bomb to create a Big Boom when Slasher became aware of something in the water approaching him at speed. Suddenly he jerked and let out a honk as he realised he was looking at a giant swan, which was at least five times bigger than him with a neck ten feet high. Interestingly, this swan had the Goddess Hebe’s face, although Slasher would not have been aware of that. He didn’t have time to let out another honk because the giant swan’s head swiped his own, knocking him on his side. He managed to right himself only to find that his adversary didn’t just have webbed feet, but also forearms with bright red boxing gloves which started bashing his head and thumping his body. After a short while the boxing gloves went under his belly and then threw him backwards into the air. When Slasher landed back in the water and his head resurfaced, he found he was due another good beating and bashing until he was left in an even worse condition than his two comrades who’d been attacked by the three-headed dog near West Island.

Slasher’s four Blefuscu commandos had fallen into the water shortly after the altercation with the giant swan had begun. Fortunately, they could all swim, but they did a lot of shouting for help. All their bombs and grenades had also fallen into the lake, so they were now useless, but this didn’t seem to matter. Getting to dry land was their key objective now. Creating a Big Boom at the Lilliput Embassy was no longer high on the agenda.

The other four swans and their commandos behind Slasher were soon aware that matters weren’t going to plan. They tried to move away from the giant swan and turned back towards West Island. However, they didn’t get very far because the giant swan hadn’t taken long to deal with Slasher and began chasing after them. It soon caught up with the two in the rear and gave them both the same treatment it had given Slasher. The other two, who were in the lead for a brief while, thought they’d got away, until one of them was hit very hard by a three-headed dog swimming directly at it with the force of a torpedo. As the swan tried to right itself while it’s four commandos were flailing around in the water, the three-headed dog jumped high into the air. It landed on the back of the final swan, again knocking its commandos into the water before starting to rough up the bird.

While the giant swan and the three-headed dog were having fun beating up Slasher, Spike, Spanka, Scorcher and Smog, the pelicans had stopped chanting “Oggy, Oggy, Oggy” from the lakeside. They got into the water and started looking for the commandos who were splashing around. When they found them, they gently picked the small men up in their beaks and carried them to Duck Island. They were joined by more miniature boats manned by members of the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders as well as the Lilliput Embassy’s security staff. Rach was also hovering overhead on her scooter, shining a powerful torchlight on the lake and calling out whenever she found one of the flailing commandos.

 

 Author Intro Video: www.youtube.com/watch?v=33RW970lp04


About the Author:

Rupert Stanbury is a Cambridge University graduate. He was born in Manchester in the North of England but has lived most of his adult life in Central London.

He has always been an avid reader and in recent years decided to take up writing himself. His books have one overriding objective which is TO MAKE PEOPLE LAUGH!

His first book, Gods Galore, was published in November 2021 and this was followed by The Four Horsemen, in April 2023. His latest novel, Pimlico People, was published in October 2024. All three books are a mixture of fantasy and comedy about the Olympian Gods in the 21st Century.










Monday, July 21, 2025

10 Tips for Becoming a Better Writer with Christine Amsden #UrbanFantasy #Friendship #Buddies


1. Read!

We learn by watching others and mimicking what they do. It’s especially important to read books in the genre you’re writing, but reading widely can help you bring fresh insights and perspectives.

2. Play!

You thought I was going to say “Write!” next, didn’t you? It’s an understandable mistake; it’s what I’ve been told my entire life. Writers write, you see. In fact, it’s usually #1 on these lists. But I say hogwash, especially if you’re in this for the long-haul. You need to read, you need to play, and only then do you need to …

3. Write!

Some say write every day. I say play around with patterns of writing that work with your schedule until you find a schedule that’s right for you. Maybe first thing in the morning or late at night, or every Saturday morning, or thirty minutes at lunchtime, or every other week when you’re not on call. Whatever it is, make that time sacred and erect walls around it to keep it safe. (People will try to break them down.)

4. Be kind to yourself.

The words don’t come every day, just because you’re sitting down waiting for them. Maybe something distracting is happening in your life, or maybe you’re just stuck. Whatever it is, don’t beat yourself up.

5. Join a community of writers.

I’ve been a member of the Codex Writer’s Group for over twenty years, and it’s played a big role in my success and in helping me maintain sanity. Writers groups can be about more than critique exchange … they’re about professional networking, staying on top of publishing trends, discovering opportunities you might otherwise have missed, learning new skills, emotional support, and so much more.

6. Get your work critiqued.

Joining a community is about more than critique, but that critique part is important enough to warrant its own headline. Remember that fundamentally, writing is a communication skill, so at some point, others need to get involved.

7. Avoid comparing yourself to other authors.

You’re you. You’re not me. Maybe you write much slower or much faster or you sell more books or fewer books. It’s tempting, even natural, to compare yourself to others and come up wanting. I’m guilty of doing this myself, and it is the worst mistake I make every single time. I’ve got an editing client who can write 8+ books each year, and I can barely manage one no matter how many writing sprints I do. Quality is more important to me than quantity, which is good because even when I’ve experimented with lowering my standards, I can’t manage to write faster!

8. When you get stuck, try something new.

Creative work needs surprises every now and again, or you’ll get stuck in a rut. Maybe read a new craft of writing book (I do about once a year). Maybe switch to a short story or poetry for a palate cleanse, or draw or paint or play the guitar or take a hike or snap some photos. Different art forms complement and support one another, especially when at least one of those forms is not something you’re trying to do professionally.

Me? I knit!

9. Submit, submit, submit!

You can’t get rejected if you don’t put yourself out there, and you can’t get accepted if you don’t get rejected. A lot. (Yes, yes, we all know that one author who landed a ten-book publishing deal on their first try. Can we all just agree to hate that guy and come back to reality?)

10. Put success in perspective.

We can all name a scant handful of authors who’ve made millions on their work: Brandon Sanderson, Stephen King, JK Rowling … these people are not the norm. In fact, it’s not normal to be able to make a reasonable middle-class living as an author. It’s not even normal for a self-published author to sell more than 100 copies of a book. What is normal, what you can count on, is the pride you feel in accomplishing an incredible feat and the warmth that comes when someone – a friend, a fellow author, or a reviewer – tells you how much the book meant to them. This is writing, this is life … making small, personal, meaningful connections.

I hope you enjoy Knot of Souls, and if you do, I really hope you’ll leave a review. 


Knot of Souls
Christine Amsden

Genre: Urban Fantasy
Publisher: Christine Amsden
Date of Publication: May 20, 2025
ISBN: 979-8283019284
ASIN: B0F7Y8YST6
Number of pages: 384
Word Count: 102,000
Cover Artist: BZN Studio Designs

Book Description:

Two souls, one body … 

When Joy wakes up in an alley, she knows three things: she was brutally murdered, she has somehow come back to life ... and she is not alone. She’s been possessed by an inhuman presence, a being that has taken over her dying body. That being is powerful, in pain, and on the run from entities more dangerous than he is.

Shade, a Fae prince on the run, didn’t mean to share the body he jumped into. Desperate and afraid, accused of a murder he didn’t commit, he only sought a place to hide—but if he leaves Joy now, he faces discovery and a fate worse than death.

Forced to work together to solve multiple murders, including her own, Joy and Shade discover hidden strengths and an unlikely friendship. Yet as their souls become increasingly intertwined, they realize their true danger might come from each other … and if they don't find a way to untangle the knot their souls have become, then even the truth won't set them free.

Knot of Souls is a stand-alone buddy love fantasy that forces two very different beings to work together … and come out stronger on the other side.

Free Through Kindle Unlimited

Amazon

Excerpt Chapter 1

Joy


The first thing I realized, after I died, was that my body could walk and talk and no longer needed my help for any of it. I was in there, able to look through my eyes and hear through my ears, but even the simple task of aiming my gaze had slipped outside my control. I was a passenger inside my own mind, an observer along for the ride.

Kristen had been right, I thought numbly as I struggled to make sense of my new reality. Had it only been lunchtime today when she’d told me I’d never get ahead if I didn’t learn to assert myself? “Take control of your life,” she’d said, “or others will take it for you.”

She couldn’t have been thinking of anything quite so literal. Whatever was happening to me, it wasn’t because I’d failed to advocate for a promotion at work or refused to ask out a coworker.

Right?

My body reached my car and slid behind the wheel. A rattled thought—not my own—cursed as it tried to understand how the contraption worked. How much can cars have changed in only a century? Visions accompanied the thoughts, memories—again not my own—of a classic car, gleaming black and elegant, its top down, my bobbed hair whipping around my face as I laughed with glee, a white-faced young man at my side gripping the door, begging me to slow down. I did not.

Which brings me to the second thing I realized, after I died: I was no longer alone inside my own mind.

Whoever was in there didn’t seem to have noticed me yet. Fine. I slid into the smallest corner of my brain I could find, ignoring the intruder as they struggled to figure out how to work an automatic transmission. Maybe they’d get frustrated and give up and go find someone else’s body to possess.

Holy shit! I’ve been possessed by the ghost of someone who died in like 1930.

But why?

I tried to remember what had happened, but the images danced just out of reach. I recalled that the night had been unseasonably cold for October, the chill biting through my inadequate jacket as I hurried to my car, parked in a garage two blocks away from the shelter where I’d been volunteering. Hugging my arms around my torso for warmth, I took a shortcut through an alley and …

There was a noise. I’d startled, my heart pounding in my throat, already on edge because of the argument.

Wait. Back up. There’d been an argument. That seemed significant, but my scattered thoughts couldn’t piece it together as yet, not when a bodily intruder fumbled at the gearshift of my two-month-old Hyundai Accent with only fifty-eight “low monthly payments” left to go.

Low is such a relative word.

My beautiful new, inexpensive (also relative) car jerked suddenly backwards out of its parking spot as the voice in my head grew angrier and more frustrated and … afraid. I saw flashes, images I didn’t understand of multi-colored ghosts who seemed to be singing. The more they sang, the more desperate I felt as fear, my own and somehow not my own, made it hard to breathe.

We streaked across the nearly empty parking lot in reverse, almost colliding with the only other vehicle in the place—a red SUV with scratched paint and a dented front bumper suggesting it regularly attracted unwanted attention from other cars. I tried to scream, but didn’t have control of my voice. I tried to hit the brakes, but instead the possessing spirit shifted from reverse to drive without stopping. The grinding of gears made me want to weep, but we came to a stop, breathing heavily, muscles tensed as if in expectation of attack.

They destroyed her. They tore her apart.

I had no time to wonder what any of that meant before the thing possessing my body channeled its anger and grief into a force I’d never experienced or even known existed. One second, the battered red SUV was parked inches from my back bumper, the next, it flew through the air, smashing against a far wall, its frame crumpling like an accordion.

I tried to make myself even smaller, a nearly impossible feat, but I couldn’t let it know I was in here. If it could do that to an SUV, I didn’t want to think about what it might be able to do to me.

Now what?

For one, panic-filled moment, I thought I’d asked the question. Then I realized I wasn’t the only one trying to figure things out.

My car rolled forward again, its speed uneven, first too fast and then—I slammed on the brakes. Well, maybe I didn’t do it, maybe the thing inside me had the same idea as me, but the car skidded to a halt so it just kissed a large concrete pillar. At least it’s just the paint, I tried to tell myself, but rage welled up within me and my fist slammed into the center of the steering wheel, eliciting an angry honk.

An ominous crack formed in the concrete pillar, more evidence, in case I needed it, that the thing invading my body had powers beyond belief. Then came more rattled thoughts that were definitely not my own:

Who thought it was a good idea to build obstacle courses in the sky? Is there not enough room on the ground? Too damn many humans …

Once again, I drew away from the voice in my head. If I hadn’t lost all connection to my body, I’d be trembling, but even so, I felt the sort of cold that seeps through to the soul.

The third thing I realized, after I died, was that the thing possessing me wasn’t a ghost. Or at least, not the ghost of a human.

My car backed away from the concrete column and maneuvered around it to continue the winding path down … down … down to the exit.

Where was my body going and why? More importantly, what would happen if I made myself known and asked?

I reeled at the thought, mentally slinking all the way back to the homeless shelter where I’d been volunteering in the hours before my death. I’d had a crappy day and needed to channel that into a sharp reminder that plenty of people had it much, much worse. Their circumstances, their personalities, their trials and tribulations didn’t fit neatly in the lock box some tried to label and forget, but all of them struggled in some way. They needed help, and sometimes I needed to be needed; it helped me feel less alone.

Tonight, though … tonight there’d been a problem. I remembered having a nice chat with one of the regulars, Roger, big-hearted and with a certain excited energy about him. He’d found a job and was working hard to get back on his feet, but he still couldn’t find a place to rent after being evicted from his old apartment. Now, he lived in his car except when the nights grew too cold, and he was always there to lend a helping hand or just to listen. He had a way of getting people to open up, even me.

He’s the one who jumped in when Thomas started getting belligerent, ranting and raving about false witnesses and evil spirits. The whole thing was so sudden and confusing, I’m not even sure how it happened. One second I’m chatting with Roger about the crappy end to a crappy day—accidentally seeing porn on a coworker’s computer—the next Thomas is in my face, grabbing a fistful of my shirt as he accused me of being a liar, of being in league with the demon spirits, demanding I admit that I could see them too. I was off balance;, I don’t know what I said, I only know what I felt. There was a moment when I looked into his eyes and saw fear and desperation reflected back at me. Then he was being dragged away, thrown out of the shelter …

But he hadn’t been the one to sneak up behind me and kill me. I thought he was, at first. When I heard the noise in the alley, I jumped and looked around, sure it would be Thomas. But it was someone else.

No, not someone else, something else. The thing possessing me wasn’t the first nonhuman I’d encountered tonight. That honor belonged to a blur, a shadow, a … the only way I could think to describe it was as if a small child had found a gray crayon and colored over an otherwise human shape.

I knew I’d died. The bright light I’d only heard about—never believed in—had beckoned and I’d known it was over. Dead in a cold alley; would anyone notice before morning? Who would even mourn me? I had few friends and fewer attachments. No husband or kids, not even a boyfriend. My cat would probably find someone else to feed her. Some might say that was a blessing, not to leave anyone behind, but all I saw was lost potential. If only … the words that would follow me into my lonely grave.

Where had the light gone? I’d seen it, I’d hesitated, I’d wondered if there really was a god after all, and then …

… my body was walking and talking and thinking and acting and I was along for the ride.

My beautiful blue car, none the worse for wear, exited the garage without running into anything else and turned onto the empty city street. Fewer cars might mean lower odds of getting into another accident, although it was clear the thing in my body had little experience driving. It swerved left and right, unable to center itself in the lane, and braked suddenly at a flashing yellow stoplight, which bent backwards in reaction.

That’s when I reached the final—and belated—realization of the most bizarre night of my life. (Afterlife?) If I didn’t take over the driving of this vehicle, I’d die. Again. 


About the Author:

Christine Amsden is the author of nine award-winning fantasy and science fiction novels, including the Cassie Scot Series.

Speculative fiction is fun, magical, and imaginative but Christine believes great speculative fiction is about real people defining themselves through extraordinary situations. She writes primarily about people, and it is in this way that she strives to make science fiction and fantasy meaningful for everyone.

In addition to writing, Christine is a freelance editor and political activist. Disability advocacy is of particular interest to her; she has a rare genetic eye condition called Stargardt Macular Degeneration and has been legally blind since the age of eighteen. In her free time, she enjoys role playing, board games, and a good cup of tea. She lives in the Kansas City area with her husband and two kids.







Friday, July 11, 2025

Electric Titan by C.R. Reardon



Electric Titan
C.R. Reardon

Genre: Science Fiction, Young Adult, Disability
Publisher: C.R.  Reardon
Date of Publication: 6/13/1986
ISBN: 979-8-9920346-0-8
ASIN: B0F44JVWL9
Number of pages: 225
Word Count: 64,117 
Cover Artist: Sofia Sanz

Tagline: 17-year-old Rosa Viviani grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.

Book Description:

Rosa Viviani, a seventeen-year-old girl living in the utopian colony of Civigem on Saturn’s moon Titan, faces a series of life-altering events. In a society where disability has been eradicated through genetic engineering, Rosa becomes one of the few individuals who must navigate life with a hoverchair. As she grapples with her newfound disability, a meteor emerges from the depths of space, hurtling toward Titan with the potential to destroy everything.

Amidst the chaos, Rosa's connection to an ancient Earth religion awakens within her a mystical power that could save Civigem from the impending catastrophe. Guided by the wisdom of goddesses and unwavering support from her parents and girlfriend, Rosa embarks on a journey of self-discovery, confronting her fears and insecurities while learning to harness her newfound abilities. As the meteor's impact looms closer, Rosa must confront the limitations of her powers, the fragility of life, and the complexities of love in a society that has long forgotten the meaning of community.

In a race against time, Rosa's journey becomes a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, the power of love, and the importance of embracing life's uncertainties. As she confronts the impending apocalypse, Rosa's story challenges the utopian ideals of Civigem, exposing the deep-seated prejudices and the hidden costs of a society that has long suppressed the natural diversity of human existence.

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Excerpt: Day 1

When I first used my hoverchair, nobody told me about the unexpectedness. I didn’t know I’d be the only young woman on Titan using one. When I’d run my last Convalor, climb my last staircase to a house. Traverse a ravine’s rocks. I wish I could have readied myself for things like my last walk with my dad along the lakeshore, but life doesn’t always give us time to prepare.

Dark brown clouds slit the dusky morning sky. I lay in bed reading Village Sisters on my tabicus, trying to learn what life would be like for me in a hoverchair. The Village Sisters was written on Earth about the bond between an African-Japanese beauty queen and her best friend, who broke her spine in a tsunami.

An empty frame hung in front of my bed next to the window. I didn’t want to see me standing with my friends at Lucky’s Tavern. The obligatory smiles and people I barely knew now felt like a past life. The picture was only a year old, but still.

I always kept sunflowers on the table beside my bed to brighten my mood. Next to the sunflowers, my elegant ballerina motivated me to strive for grace and good posture. The best thing I ever got from the Keller Aviary was a fluffy, stuffed butterfly that I named Ms. Monarch and rested on my bed. Like many times since the incident, I embraced her and squeezed tight.

Then, just before the announcement, a tingling shot down my right arm. Was I numb from squeezing Ms. Monarch too hard? Was it a side effect of the surgery? It felt like hot wax on my skin–but somehow empowering?

My body jerked upright. My arm swung like a directional arrow. I had no control of it.

My hand and arm lined up with a Faberge egg on my dresser. It was a family heirloom passed down to my dad’s disabled relative. This, in part, is why I believe our lives are echoes of our ancestors. We’re the same stars, just moving through different galaxies.

The heirloom navigated our solar system aboard the U.S.S. Freedom. The maroon and gold Faberge egg rattled out of its four pure white supports, fell to the floor, and shattered.

I thought someone might’ve bumped into my dresser the night before. Maybe they nudged it off its axis, and that’s why it toppled over this morning.

The pneumonia rains started, and I was content watching them splatter the bubble and cascade down, but we all know what happens now.

The Urgent News banner appeared on my tabicus. I turned the volume up. Remember that image? The mayor drooped like a geranium.

“Fellow citizens, I come to you today with the heaviest of hearts. I sincerely hope that every individual heed this news with the understanding that the best course of action for every life was attempted.” Her shoulders rose and fell like the Magic Islands. “Several weeks ago, a volcano on Jupiter’s moon Io dispelled lava that somehow escaped its gravitational pull and froze, hurtling it into space. This is the meteor I’m sure many of you have heard about on the news. The meteor is one point-six kilometers in diameter and travels at a speed of thirty-six kilometers per second. I regret to inform you that it is headed directly for Titan, and it’s too late to stop it.

“The meteor will make an impact with Titan in six days and destroy everything, including our beloved–” I felt so bad for her when her voice cracked, and she began to tear up. “Civigem.”

 

About the Author:

A brain tumor survivor since the age of 8, and handicapped since the age of 10, C.R. Reardon is now 39 years old. He fell in love with creative writing after writing a poem about these hardships in the 7th grade. Since then, he has self-published four books of poetry: Disablé  (2025), Born on Friday the 13th (2018), Torghatten (2016), and Hard Polish (2013). After 2 years at The University of Arizona, C.R. graduated from Stonehill College in 2009 and earned his Master's degree in English from Salem State University in 2011.

His screenplay Lagom (the Swedish word for 'just the right amount') was a finalist for best screenplay at the 2017 Massachusetts Independent Film Festival, as well as the 2015 Catalina Film Festival.  In 2016 my screenplay Spawning Neon was a semi-finalist at the 16th annual Awareness Film Festival.









Monday, June 23, 2025

Combustible by Hunter Shea #Horror



Combustible
Hunter Shea 

Genre: Horror/Post Apocalyptic/Dark Humor
Publisher: Dark Wolf Books
Date of Publication: 6/17/2025
ISBN: 979-8895678923
ASIN: B0F7Z8X3C5
Number of pages: 374
Word Count: 94,000

Tagline: POST-APOCALYPTIC HORROR MEETS THRILLER IN A DYSTOPIAN NIGHTMARE OF FIRE AND ASH.

Book Description:

The world didn't end with a bang or a whimper...it ended with people bursting into flames.

Across the globe, spontaneous human combustion (SHC) is turning ordinary citizens into living infernos. Governments collapse, cities fall silent, and the air itself tastes like ash. Society burns while the lucky few are left to wonder: When will it be me?

Sam and Aja were already falling apart before the fires came. Now, trapped in a crumbling apartment and suffocating under the weight of isolation, their love feels just as doomed as the rest of humanity. But when whispers spread of a small Canadian town called Consumption, untouched by the inferno, hope flickers.

Stealing an RV and refusing to leave Aja behind, Sam sets out on a desperate, ash-streaked journey through a burned-out North America. With his best friend in tow and a growing crew of strange, unforgettable survivors, they chase rumors through a landscape warped by horror, madness, and the heat of human combustion.

Perfect for fans of The Gone-Away World by Nick Harkaway and Warm Bodies by Isaac Marion, Combustible is a harrowing, darkly tender exploration of what survives when everything else burns. Will love endure in a world destined to ignite?

Excerpt:

There were shouts within and then banging, followed by the distinctive sound of splintering wood. I watched a man rush into the room and douse the flames with a handheld fire extinguisher. I got to walking before the smoke settled. I had a pretty good idea of what I’d see and my day was already shit enough.

I hurried around the corner and almost whooped out a hallelujah when I saw the gate to Singa’s was up.

My enthusiasm was tempered when I looked through the window. The place had been ransacked.

Singa, at least that’s what I assumed his name was since he was always there, sat behind the counter reading an old newspaper.

“What happened in here?” I said.

The shelves had all been knocked down, glass to the cold cases reduced to pebbles, boxes, bottles and cans strewn about as if the entire store had been invaded by a mosh pit.

Singa, who had been old to begin with, looked like he’d aged twenty years. The bags under his eyes were dark and had an almost crispy texture. Those umber eyes held back tears that threatened to fall any second. He looked around the remains of his store in a daze.

“Humanity happened,” he said, his voice, like his gaze, far, far away.

I put a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. “You mind if I see if there’s anything worth saving?

“Keep your money.” He either avoided my gaze or thought he was talking to a ghost. “Money burns. We all burn.”

I snatched a reusable bag from the floor and got on my hands and knees, looking for anything that had been left whole. I came up with a box of elbow macaroni, a can each of beets, sliced potatoes and artichoke hearts, three bottles of off-brand water, and a box of stuffing mix. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing.

I slung the bag over my shoulder. “Is…is there anything I can do for you?”

His eyes slowly found mine. “Yes.” He opened his palm. In the center, I saw a tiny pile of black specks. “Run.”

Singa dipped his head and inhaled the powder like a cokehead fresh from rehab.

The sneeze came instantly.

The flames seemed to burst from every pore of his body.

I jumped back and slipped on a pile of debris, sure that the heat had singed my eyebrows.

Poor Singa slumped into his chair and burned without a sound.

It took a few attempts to get to my feet and run out of the store. In my mad dash back home, my heavy breathing popped the tampons loose. I didn’t stop to look for them.

I noticed fires in other windows.

The one that had been put out earlier was back, blazing again. SHC was like that sometimes. Someone on the radio had called it ‘almost sentient.’ It didn’t like it when people put it out. So, it came back with a vengeance. This time, no one tried to extinguish it.

In fact, there were tendrils of smoke everywhere as far as I could see. And nowhere could you hear the sound of a single fire engine. What was the point?

Oddly, what disturbed me most was when one of the feral cats hiding under a car gave a loud sneeze. It burst into flame immediately. The fleeing blur of burning hair and flesh went headfirst into a wall, made a sharp turn and disappeared down an alley, leaving grayish smoke in its wake.

 

About the Author:

Often called THE KING OF THE CRYPTIDS, Hunter Shea is a lifelong horror hound and NY Times bestselling author of over forty books of monstrous mayhem, ghostly frights, and newfound terrors. Some of his bestselling books include the critically acclaimed Creature, They Rise, and The Montauk Monster, the nostalgic Money Back Guaranteed and One Size Eats All series, and Jessica Backman’s Death in the Afterlife paranormal trilogy. His books have been found in the International Cryptozoology Museum and his face on the Discovery Channel where he talks about, well, monsters.

He can be heard and seen on his two long-running podcasts, Final Guys and Monster Men, both informed and humorous explorations of horror’s best – and worst – movies, books, and video games, as well as interviews with some of the hottest writers, directors and producers in the genre. You’ll also find exciting first-hand accounts of true-life hauntings, UFOs, cryptid encounters and more.

Website – www.huntershea.com