Sherri Bobzien

Tuna on Toast, Sister Clotildis,
UFOs & Other Things I Survived

“ ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and drug Andy through the dining and living rooms, toward the front door.


Joe, Annie and I followed as Mom led Andy awkwardly down the front steps, her arm wrapped around his head and the old dish towel pressed against the gushing wound. She opened the door of the Rambler, laid Andy in the passenger seat and jogged around to the driver’s side.


What’s going on? I wondered. Where’s she going? The hospital?


The hospital!


Emergency! Yes! Finally! Somebody in our family was going to the hospital! Andy was bleeding to death!


We were normal!”

- Sherri Bobzien, Tuna on Toast, Sister Clotildis,

UFOs & Other Things I Survived

Available in Paperback and Kindle

Also Out Now

Victim of Circumstance by Douglas Rappaport

A collection of autobiographical vignettes, Victim of Circumstance is a meditation on love and loss, examining our perceptions of ourselves and how they shape the most important decisions of our lives. With humor and heart, Rappaport bounds across years and continents, searching for sense in life’s heartbreaks, philosophical quandaries, chance encounters, and the occasional life-or-death misadventure.

Available in Paperback and Kindle


Tales of My Epic Fails: As Lived by Lexi Dancer by Cheryl Kenna

First tween lit I’ve ever edited, and it’s really good tween lit. The author understands and respects kids, and doesn’t shy away from the heartaches, fears, and internal conflicts that a lot of grown-ups seem to forget kids experience. There’s also a lot of sweetness and humor, though, and even some well-written action toward the end.

Available for Kindle

They all stared.

‘I can use a pencil and a piece of paper to kill everyone here. It’d be easy. I can summon rune stones; I blew off a dragon’s head; I killed a guy with the same exact power as me using a cat full of razor blades. Dak is my best friend, and I love him more than all of you combined. So maybe you shouldn’t skewer him by accident. Just food for thought.’

I’d never threatened anyone before. Kyra smiled my way, but the Akarri who didn’t know me glanced at Tammagan to confirm whether I was lying.

‘He’s not wrong,’ Tammagan said. ‘Anyone who harms the orc will answer to Magister Grawflefox and then me.’ She picked up Dak’s iSword.

We decided to take our food to go.”

- Casey Matthews,
Only Broken Things Are Free: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 3

NEW! Available for Kindle

© John Hart 2016

Casey Matthews

The Accidental God: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 1

“ ‘You stole my kill,’ the ninja said. He stood a scant five-six, up to my shoulders, and wore armor plates over dark-gray clothing that hugged his lean frame. His face was wholly obscured by a porcelain faceplate shaped like a demon’s scowl.

‘Stole?’ Personally, I’d have been thrilled to come to a dragon fight and find fewer than the expected number of dragons. ‘You… want to split the XP or something?’

‘That was a breeder. The breeders are worth eight hundred crowns,’ he explained in a surprisingly reasonable tone. ‘But you already knew that, didn’t you?’ He rotated the sword clockwise, like he was figuring out a more painful way to stick it in.

‘What? No! I don’t even like money. Keep it all, I don’t care. Do you want my money? Can’t stand the stuff.’

‘The price is paid on the fangs. You destroyed them.’

‘We could glue them together.’ I glanced at the burning lumps of dragon head. ‘A sieve might help.’ ”

- Casey Matthews,

The Accidental God: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 1

Available for Kindle

Authors & Works

A few of the authors I’ve had the honor of working with.

All excerpts used with permission.

Oath Bound: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 3

“Krakus didn’t care what Droshky thought of it. Every time he flipped open a book, the pages inside accused him, the cold anatomical drawings representing all the people he could have saved, had he only looked. He hadn’t seen it any more than he’d seen his toes. Now his breastbone cracked and split, and his rib cage yawned wide, exposing his buried, beating heart to the scalpel’s slice like so many of the people whose insides the doctor had drawn. However long they’d lasted afterward, they had been living when Droshky had carved from their flesh the things that made them different. When he saw his distorted reflection in a bone saw that shone with loving maintenance, he packed it in its case, snapped the lid shut, and put it aside for burning.


It took all day. Once they’d finished with the books, he and Fillip moved on to the jars that filled tables and shelves. As quickly as they could, they transferred the jars to a wheelbarrow and out to the broadest clear space in Section Two, a small green where sometimes the doctors and nurses took the air. The job required several trips. Krakus felt like weeping, and Fillip swiped at his eyes, when they dropped off the first load: clawed hands and strange eyes, bleached pieces of people suspended in straw-tinted liquid, their souls forever trapped in the abomination of body parts that hadn’t gone up in the smoke of a pyre. The drizzle dampened Krakus’s hair, Fillip’s blacks, and stuck in beads to the glass, blurring the jars’ contents to formless, whitish blobs.”

- M. A. Ray, Oath Bound: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 3
Available for Kindle

Witches of the Deep: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 3

“The Queen nodded slowly, her eyes roving over Tobias’s bare chest. ‘Three pounds, fire demon. You may stay, but if I find out the bat is spying for Nyxobas, I’ll rip her wings off myself. Her familiar is not permitted here. Ever. And she must stay outside our homes at night. She’s nocturnal anyway, so it shouldn’t be a burden. She can make herself useful by helping with night patrols if she wishes to prove her worth.’


Tobias frowned. ‘Night patrols?’

‘We need people to watch for the Picaroons,’ said Estelle. ‘This isn’t Maremount. There’s no fortress here.’

Fiona shivered, the cool morning air chilling her bare shoulders. ‘What on earth are the Picaroons?’

Estelle cocked her head, unblinking. ‘They’re pirates, of course. They worship Dagon, the monstrous sea god. And the Picaroons are just as monstrous as he is. If they catch you, you’ll find yourself churning in a shadow god’s belly.’

Fiona hugged herself. Perfect. She’d be wandering the woods at night, looking out for monsters. So much for a safe haven.”

- C. N. Crawford,

Witches of the Deep: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 3

Available in Paperback and Kindle

The Service: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 2

“Vandis’s face worked. He curled his legs under him and took off like an arrow, as high as he dared, until the cold sank into his bones and he couldn’t snag a breath. He dropped before he could pass out and loosed himself eastward, out over the Wastes, where nothing but the occasional cluster of barbarian campfires could distract him from the speed of his flight.


He spent over an hour in the air, but it didn’t clear his head. He just felt guiltier. Finally, he gave up and looped back to land in the campground. He hoped Dingus was still awake, and that maybe the other boys were still commiserating with him; he definitely wouldn’t apologize, but he had to make some things a little clearer. When he got back into the copse, though, the fire had been banked and the skinny shape of his boy lay curled under the blanket, head and all.


Sighing, Vandis poked up the fire and fed it, then sat down on his own bedroll. All he’d done was what he had to do, and now guilt sat millstone-heavy on his shoulders. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about already, with the illuminations in that fucking book. ‘Dammit,’ he said hoarsely, and scrubbed at his face. ‘Dammit…’ ”

- M. A. Ray, The Service: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 2
Available for Kindle

Short Stories by M. A. Ray

Live Free or Die,” available for Kindle

Vistridir,” available for Kindle

The Thread of Life,” available for Kindle

Storied Lives,” available for Kindle

Invisibly Yours,” available for Kindle

A Wing and a Prayer,” available for Kindle

Mistakes Were Made: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 2


“I stood at the exact center of the narrow dock and realized there was a deadly amount of sky beneath my feet. Wind buffeted me and I hurried for the entrance to the tower. My head only stopped swimming when I was through an archway and standing in the palace proper.

‘Why are there no freaking railings on those docks?’ I asked, heart thundering in my ears.

Tammagan shrugged. ‘The palace was like this when we discovered it.’

Right. No railings because I’d designed it that way when painting Queen Eliandra on the edge of a palace precipice. Railings would have taken away from the majesty of the illustration. ‘Someone couldn’t come out here and throw some on?’ I asked.

‘The Council sought to prevent changes that would drastically alter the palace’s aesthetic,’ Tammagan said.

‘The same Council who put you in a metal bikini top?’ I asked.

Tammagan scowled, though not at me. ‘The very one.’ ”

- Casey Matthews,
Mistakes Were Made: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 2
Available for Kindle

M. A. Ray

Hard Luck: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 1

“Flickering torch-glow lit the forest just outside the village tonight. At the top of the tallest hill a stately, ancient oak stood alone, and the inhabitants of Thundering Hills clustered around it with their torches and their incomprehensible shouts. From the brush ringing the base of the hill, it looked and sounded like a festival, or maybe a party, but up close, it was anything but. Dingus Xavier, with his back to the tree, was closer than most.


Almost everybody he knew was here, but nobody from the village who’d help him. He’d thought Adair might’ve, but even the smith stood with the mob, thick arms folded over his chest. Grandpa definitely would’ve, or Grandma, but neither of them had come, and about Ma, the less said the better. She couldn’t get him out of this one with a few fake tears. He doubted even Grandma’s flashing rapier could get him out of it. Everywhere he looked, he saw someone carrying a torch, except for Curran the butcher with a stool, and Rogen the bailiff with a noose.


Putting it mildly, Dingus was screwed.”

- M. A. Ray, Hard Luck: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 1

Available in Paperback and Kindle

Only Broken Things Are Free: A Pygmalion Fail, Bk. 3

“There’s not a woman here who hasn’t had an orc try to cut her to ribbons,’ Tammagan said. ‘Dakrith makes them jumpy, and I don’t want someone skewering your friend because he loses his temper.’ She looked at Dak. ‘It’s for your own protection.’

‘Bullshit,’ he muttered.

‘Do you have a “Captain” before your name?’ Tammagan asked.

Dak shook his head and unstrapped his sword and its sheath, tossing them onto the table. ‘Oh look. Scared white people just disarmed the colored dude. That’s never fucking happened before.’

If my Uncle Scott were here, he’d have a Second Amendment–flavored conniption, but I doubted a lecture would get Dak his sword back. Instead, I glanced around the small room. ‘For the record, the most dangerous person on this boat isn’t Dak. It’s me.’

A Witch’s Feast: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 2

“Warm water swirled in the drain, mingling with sulfurous mud. Inhaling the shower’s steam, Jack squeezed a dollop of lavender soap onto a loofa and began to scrub at the caked dirt and gore on his chest.


He felt a wave of nausea when he thought of Fiona’s face after she’d seen him with blood dripping down his chin. She’d called him a monster, as if he were Old Cratten himself. He wasn’t sure what had horrified her more: watching him eat someone’s heart, learning of his role in the Salem Witch Trials, or the fact that he’d once been an unsightly old man. He had a suspicion that she was most repulsed by the thought of him with sagging flesh and rheumy eyes. Well, he was no longer burdened with that body. He glanced down, admiring his smooth skin and firm muscles.


When the shower floor was clear of blood, he turned off the water and stepped out. Grabbing a towel, he rubbed at his black hair and aching limbs. Being hunted out of another dimension by a spirit-assisted army wasn’t something that happened every day, not even to him.


He massaged his shoulders and neck with almond lotion. Fiona would come around.”

- C. N. Crawford,

A Witch’s Feast: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 2
Available in Paperback and Kindle

The High King’s Will: Steel for the Prince, Bk. 1

“The perfect mouth moved, but Eagle couldn’t hear. Blackness teased at the edges of his awareness. When the Prince bent over him, shadows swallowed amber eyes, like the bruises that so often marred the face. Eagle had preserved Brother Fox’s life, but he wondered if he had done the Prince a service.

Then—nothing.

Eagle had done for the Worm with a single, lucky arrow, but the Worm had nearly done for Eagle, too. More properly, Eagle had nearly done for Eagle. He’d dashed himself to pieces on the rocks. Broken bones, cracked skull. Two days he’d been deeply unconscious, in the care of the healers, but this morning, when he woke, the High King had tacked Vistridir onto his name. Wormsbane. Father had hustled him home straightaway, after Brother Fox had given him a scale from the Worm’s own hide. ‘You ought to have it,’ the Prince had said. ‘You earned it. And after all, I did promise you one.’


He’d felt Rothganar’s biggest fraud when the High King called him Wormsbane. All his dreams of great deeds had fallen to ashes before the terror he’d felt in the Worm’s cave, and a numbness had come over his heart since, which he distantly feared would never go away. Even all the loveliness of the flowers and the sweet songs of the frogs had lost their power to move Voalt Vistridir. Nothing seemed quite real after Eleazar, and Eagle himself the least real of all.”

- M. A. Ray, The High King's Will: Steel for the Prince, Bk. 1

Available for Kindle

Bethanie F. DeVors

All From Dreams: The Seodrassian Chronicles, Bk. 1

“ ‘Tell me what you meant when you said I couldn’t help it.’


Braeden swallowed. ‘I just mean… well… did you dream of Seodrass? I did. It’s why I asked to be an intern and to be assigned to you.’


Rhys could feel the color drain from her face.


‘You have! I knew it!’ he almost shouted. Other patrons looked their way.


‘Indoor voice,’ Rhys reminded him. She furtively looked around. ‘I’ve been dreaming about Seodrass for months.’


Braeden nodded. ‘Me too. I marked it on the calendar.’ He pulled out the little notebook he always carried in his back pocket. ‘The fifteenth of March,’ he said. ‘I dreamed about Tormod and Bonneah.’


March 15. That seemed to match up with when she’d had the first dream.”

- Bethanie F. DeVors,

All From Dreams: The Seodrassian Chronicles, Bk. 1

Available in Paperback and Kindle

Leslie Calderoni

Charms: The Tempest Trinity Trilogy, Bk. 1

“We were little when our parents split up. All I remember from that time is Mia doing whatever she could to get attention, even if it meant breaking things or running around our yard naked. Terra would play quietly and give everyone she met a genuine smile that melted even the hardest hearts. I observed the world with watchful eyes and kept my thoughts and innermost secrets to myself.


As we grew, our personalities blossomed and our individual charms became powers. Although we tried to hide them, especially at school, we’ve slipped a few times, kids noticed, and a rumor started that we’re witches. It isn’t true, at least in the sense that we don’t practice witchcraft. What is true is that we discovered there’s real magic in the world: the magic of physics. Once you understand how matter, motion, and time work together, you can use it to your own advantage. If the other kids think we’re witches, so be it. It keeps us from being bullied and has given us a certain amount of authority on campus. Of course, if anyone knew that the leader of our ‘coven’ is Albert Einstein, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t be so intimidating.”

- Leslie Calderoni,

Charms: The Tempest Trinity Trilogy, Bk. 1

Available in Paperback and Kindle

C. N. Crawford

The Witching Elm: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 1

“Tobias had soared into the biting winds of a nor’easter, and then even higher above the storm. While black clouds convulsed like an unquiet spirit below, the Milky Way arched majestically above him. As he’d flown, the winter air had crept into his flesh, overtaking one body part at a time—numbing his head, his feet, then his wings.


The traveling spell had better work, or my final transformation will be from crow to corpse.


When he could see the Great Bear’s three starry hunters pierce the horizon, he plunged back through the churning clouds. As he did, a magical charge sparked and sizzled over his feathers, singeing the tip of his tail. It had worked; the spell had sent him through the schism.

And yet a dark sea seethed beneath the storm, no land in sight. Tears streamed from his eyes in the glacial winds. For a moment he considered giving up and gliding to a watery grave, until he caught a glimpse of a narrow island dusted in white. The panic in his chest unclenched a little, and he dived lower toward the harbor islands. Before him, a jagged coastline came into view—the legendary city of Boston, with its electric lights and towering buildings.”

- C. N. Crawford,

The Witching Elm: The Memento Mori Series, Bk. 1

Available in Paperback, Kindle and Audible

John the Editor

Coming Soon


Blessings: The Tempest Trinity Trilogy, Bk. 3 by Leslie Calderoni
Spring 2017


The People's Blade: A Blood and Factions Novel by Casey Matthews

TBA


Guys in Their 20s in the ’60s by Dennis Rasmussen
TBA


More From Dreams: The Seodrassian Chronicles, Bk. 2 by Bethanie F. DeVors

TBA


Hard Time: The Saga of Menyoral, Vol. 4 by M. A. Ray
TBA


Apocalypse Past by S. C. Compton
TBA