Further promos!

Hi again! Twice in one week, how lucky for you! I had the opportunity to swap with another author, so I took it! You can find his title on offer below, as well as clickable images for Neon Zero (permafree) and The Risen (free for the remainder of the day). If you already grabbed it his week, thank you and hope you enjoy!

The Risen Part 2 is out now!  I first menstruated when I was nine years old; waking in bed to a small puddle of dampness, the morning light warming through the heavy curtains. When I felt the wetness there was shame, making itself known in the tears that came. It had been years since I wet the bed. I sat up slowly, and it felt as though I’d tipped something over, such was the gushing. The emptying. I squeezed as hard as I could and finally it stopped coming. It was too cold in the winter air and too warm beneath the layer of blankets to get up, so I guessed it was still real early, and figured it would dry. Two hours later and the day at full bloom was pressing into my bedroom, up the peeled wallpaper and the cracks of plaster, black mould spots in the corners of the ceiling. I wriggled my hips. It felt sticky. It would smell bad, I thought, wary of lifting the blanket. Mother would not be happy. I tentatively put a hand down there, feeling for the damp. Instead it was tacky, like wet cornbread dough, and when I brought my fingers to the light they were the colour of the mould.

From the far-flung corners of space, to the darkest recesses of the human mind, Write Like Hell: Dark Fantasy & Sci-Fi Vol. 2 features a carefully selected collection of short science fiction stories from both new and established authors. Tales of madness, and of discovery, of war and of isolation, the stories found within these pages explore the very nature of mankind, and the technology that drives us ever onward, toward the stars.

SIGNED PAPERBACKS - £10 All my titles apart from Neon Zero are available as paperback. However, if you'd like a signed copy of Neon Sands, get in touch!

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PROLOGUE: The Risen Part II

I first menstruated when I was nine years old; waking in bed to a small puddle of dampness, the morning light warming through the heavy curtains. When I felt the wetness there was shame, making itself known in the tears that came. It had been years since I wet the bed. I sat up slowly, and it felt as though I’d tipped something over, such was the gushing. The emptying. I squeezed as hard as I could and finally it stopped coming. It was too cold in the winter air and too warm beneath the layer of blankets to get up, so I guessed it was still real early, and figured it would dry. Two hours later and the day at full bloom was pressing into my bedroom, up the peeled wallpaper and the cracks of plaster, black mould spots in the corners of the ceiling. I wriggled my hips. It felt sticky. It would smell bad, I thought, wary of lifting the blanket. Mother would not be happy. I tentatively put a hand down there, feeling for the damp. Instead it was tacky, like wet cornbread dough, and when I brought my fingers to the light they were the colour of the mould.

I’m mouldy! It was a silly thought, but I was a child. I let in the ice of the air and there was the meconium stain on my faded-blue pyjama bottoms, black-red and the size of a newborn kitten. Shuffling backwards, the stain on the sheet was much larger, as black and as wide as Rhodri’s well. It looked like blood! I stifled a scream but the creaking springs of the mattress betrayed my consciousness and Father came in to make sure I was quick with the chores, as he always did. He took one look at the sheets, then back to me, and said; “So you are a girl, after all. Mother!”

I made myself as small as I could, backing up against the wall, while Father left to get Mother to deal with my problem. That he hadn’t acted much surprised settled what frightened nerves were needling in my stomach. It couldn’t be that bad. Quiet, I listened to the footsteps of the house; my brothers showed their heads around the edge of the door and laughed when they saw the blood on the bed. I quickly reached forward and covered it over, but it was too late. They ran off giggling, screaming “Raggedy Anne, raggedy Anne!” as though I was meant to know what that meant.

Mother finally entered, shutting the door behind her. She was the only woman in the house, and, I guess, after today I became the second, though it would be another five years until I menstruated again. She pulled the bedcover away and then sat on the bed, asking if I was scared. I told her there was nothing to be scared about, and she nodded in agreement, going on to tell me about the way of things with that resigned sadness she had about her, as though she was constantly experiencing something in the past. She told me to get up and then she pulled the cover from the bed. “Go to the bathroom,” she said, locking my bedroom door. I had my own bathroom, you see.

There, she told me to strip and poured some freezing water into the plugged sink. I sometimes made wee in the bathtub, which was green and black with dirt, so I didn’t much want to stand in it, but I did as I was told. The pyjama bottoms peeled away with some difficulty, much redder than the sheets, and stuck to my thick, matted hair. My skin was already hard with goosebumps by then, the lighter hair across my body prickled to attention, so the water made little difference. It stung a little over my nub, as sensitive as the end was, but I was used to that by now. Mother lathered soap into the hair on my inner thighs and up to my belly button and cleaned away as much blood as she could. I couldn’t help but notice how she averted her gaze from it, and wouldn’t touch it. “There you go,” she said, “you can do the rest yourself. I’ll leave a towel on your bed, and get you clean sheets.”

Alone, I finished washing and then dried and clothed, while my belly ached, hammering blows bouncing around my abdomen. A little cramp. I always wore long trouser legs and sleeves in those days, to cover all the hair. Even then little wisps crept beyond the hem of my sleeves, so I wore gloves whenever we left the farm, just in case we bumped into anyone. And a scarf for my neck.

Whenever I think back to my early childhood, I always come back to this day, for so much seemed to change for me from here on out. Father had it right: I was a girl. Not long after, I began to malt, waking up in the mornings not to blood, or urine, but body hair. A little later and my breasts began to grow sore, my nipples turning from pennies to old tuppences. I grew my hair long, because that was what girls did. My brothers stopped mocking and Mother even began to take me between her knees with a comb, and brush and brush for minutes at a time. She’d always wanted a daughter, and I was close enough, I guess. I don’t blame her, how do you treat an orphan baby covered head to toe in hair and with seemingly both sets of genitals? It can’t have been easy.

They named me Ffion, and Father’s surname was Adie, as in A-D, so that was how the locals knew me. Not that there were many locals to be had up here on the hill. Us Adies liked to keep to ourselves most of the time, anyway, tending to our farm and keeping the borders secure. If my family were muntjacs, then I was a vole, or perhaps a mole, my own sect within a sect, the outsider within.

Father and Jack did the heaviest work; they both had the arms to show for it too. Up early to count the sheep and pigs and chickens, while I and Dylan fed them, and then it was the two hour walk, checking that the border was secure. Where the wind – for it blew a gale up here in the hills just north of Aberffrwd – had dislodged one of the giant tree trunks or bent a section of barbed wire, they were on it, fixing it in a jiffy. Aled was the youngest, though still older than me, and his morning routine was to collect all the water for the day from the nearby stream. When I was done feeding the animals, sometimes I might help Mother in the kitchen, but most often I went off by myself, and always had, ever since I was little. They never stopped me; if anything ever happened to me then I would be a mouth less to feed. Chances were slim – mostly – because that perimeter wall was sturdy. I saw them sometimes, prowling on the other side, testing the barbs and drawing blood. Licking their wounds. One sight of Father’s shotgun and they ran.

The Risen Part II on preorder, special 0.99 price

The Risen Part I available now

Musical sci-fi & freebies

This week I have a cool little freebie for you. If you've followed closely you may already have heard about it, but many of you haven't, and that's my collaboration with doctea, who wrote the music to go with my sci-fi story Ten Billion to Ten. You can listen for free here, or download (for a donation if you wish). It's in the vein of the War of the Worlds style, and conjures some great soundscapes and visuals. I had the pleasure of a live performance by DJ Ed Steelefox (narrator). If you enjoy, do let us know! 

The image on the left was the Star Trekian set for the reading, and really added to the vibe!

Writings

It's been a good week for my writing - I managed the 2.5k short story for the NYC Short Story competition I mentioned last week, fulfilling the Mason, Obsession, and Fantasy keywords. Hopefully. Hopefully I haven't played my cards too close to my chest on that one, and I get through to the next round. It was a lot of fun! This week, it will be back to The Risen Part 2, refining the prologue and getting on with the novel. I may post the prologue here when ready, as well as the short story for the competition. Might be something fiction to read next week!

Review of the week

Had some great reviews this week. One of my favourites was for Neon City:

 Rebellion is brewing in Neon City. Great series! January 23, 2020

Take up the story after Calix and Annora surrender themselves to Neon City’s authority. Rebellion is brewing. Will the truth prevail or will the Authority just keep winning?

Movies of the week

Also found time to relax with a few movies this week, two highlights being Phantom Thread and Toys Are Not For Children. The latter was found through a blog I follow (DVD Infatuation) and sounded intriguing. From the drive-in era, it's a psychological exploitation movie about a girl with an unnatural desire. Definitely worth a watch if you enjoy that era. The YT channel seems to have a plethora of drive-in style movies which I'll have to check out!

As a massive fan of Magnolia, I was keen to watch Phantom Thread. It didn't disappoint but I wasn't convinced by the ending: it was beautiful to look at and far more sedate than Magnolia, but I think more of the underside of the characters needed to be shown for the ending to be believable, as it was I wasn't convinced by the motivation. The central pairings relationship just seemed too toxic, for both of them. Perhaps that was the point. This creative game of ours is such a fine line, between telling a story that feels real, and one that is twisted to fulfil a vision.

As always, thanks for reading. And please check out some promos below.

In the world of Altadas, there are no more human births. 

The Regime is replacing the unborn with demons, while the Resistance is trying to destroy a drug called Hope that the demons need to survive.

Between these two warring factions lies Jacob, a man who profits from smuggling contraceptive amulets into the city of Blackout. He cares little about the Great Iron War, but a chance capture, and an even more accidental rescue, embroils him in a plot to starve the Regime from power.

When Hope is an enemy, Jacob finds it harder than he thought to remain indifferent. When the Resistance opts to field its experimental landship, the Hopebreaker, they find they might just have a chance to win this war.

The war for the galaxy is at hand.

As the Greshian Empire broadens its reach, pockets of rebel forces form to combat their tyrannical rule. Death before dishonor becomes the last gasp of dying civilizations.

Brendle Quin is the death dealer. More times than he can count he has pulled the trigger to desolate entire worlds. Growing disenchanted with galactic murder, he finds himself on a course that will pit him against the empire he once swore to serve.

When two sides of the war converge, surviving becomes common ground for unlikely allies. As the battle wages overhead, they will die unless they trust one another—no simple task after years of mutual hate.

Join the crew of the Replicade, in this first installment of The Alorian Wars, as they fight a battle that will bring them to the brink of death—or beyond.

Horror collection promo

From the 16-18 October David Neth Books is hosting a promo for horror fans - head over to:

https://www.davidnethbooks.com/promo

And find yourself a deal. Looks like a good collection, but then I would say that with The Risen included!