Q1: How do you reconcile spirituality with violence?

Meddhi: That is a difficult question, and something I’ve struggled with all my life. Personally, there is no reconciliation, and never can be. I have witnessed horrors and have experienced my own violence first hand, to the point where I can only pray for forgiveness. The Gods may or may not hear my prayers, but I nonetheless focus my energy on the good I can achieve in this life. I strive to be a loving, balanced man… Even if the violence still lurks deep inside. We can only be the best of ourselves, and I choose to let my spirituality guide my actions, rather than my anger or fear.

Q2: If you could achieve any one goal what would it be and why?

I wish nothing more than to see  my loved ones filled with happiness. In fact, my only true desire is to see those I consider family thrive and grow in their soul’s light. I will always do what is necessary to help my friends and family become strong and proud, for they are my heart and my honor.

Q3: What is your innermost fear and how do you deal with it?

My innermost fear is losing my loved ones. I have already experienced great loss in my life with both my parents and best friend… So it is something I suppose I have grown used to. That sounds strange perhaps, but it’s true. I wouldn’t say I’ve grown cold, though it sometimes feels that way. It is more that I have tried to accept the chaos within the natural order of life. We cannot  fight the calamity that surrounds us any more than we can stop the raging waves of the ocean. Our only hope is to brace ourselves and hold onto the hope in our hearts, letting the storms pass over… Until we once again see the light of the sun.

The Dragon Warrior of Kri: (on sale for .99 till Sept 14)

From ‘Trust A Few‘ by E.M. Swift-Hook.

The man who entered would have stood out even in a crowd. Here in the Hope, where the main colour was drab and the mood most often dour to sullen, he did not so much attract attention as cause it. One thing Jaz had learned in his time under the domes on Hell’s Breath, was how to judge people by their dress and manner. He could spot at a glance now, the kind of tourist who you could double charge on the viewing run and the kind you would refuse to allow a tab in the bar.

Jaz’s first thought was this must be one of the weirder ones. One of those who came here and talked about the mystical power of the flares or liked to make artworks in the micro-g viewing pod on Vel’s cousin’s ship. Too much money to spend, looking for something different, some new experience, to spend it on. But even as his thoughts were going over what he needed to say to Vel’s cousin over dinner – what he wanted to say to her – something kept him watching and not dismissing the new arrival as he would under normal circumstances.

There was nothing too outlandish about this man’s style of dress, although it hinted at the kind of wealth level you didn’t often see around Hell’s Breath. The fabric and cut looked sophisticated and expensive and the visible jewellery suggested he was trying for taste rather than bling. But if elegance was the effect he wanted to achieve, he failed. His hair – an untidy tangle of tawny-gold curls – ruined it, that and the addition of a very cheap looking opaque remote-link visor over his eyes.

“Ma says that funny man just came in on the hopper that took the oldies out.” Vel’s cousin’s daughter wriggled into the seat beside Jaz and started helping herself to the fruit on his plate without asking. “She said Auntie Vel said to tell you to check his luggage. She thinks he’s carrying something. Uncle Dom said the sensors were going ‘whip-woah’ when he went through them.” She licked her fingers and reached back to the plate. He gently grabbed the small hand before it could remove the last slice of fruit and then pushed the child firmly away.

“Tell your ma thanks – and stay out of here the pair of you.” The little girl treated him to one of her more scary pulled faces, then slipped out the back of the bar and through the door Jaz knew led passed the kitchens and out to the tiny demountable cabin beyond that she, her mother and Jaz called home. He watched her go in his peripheral vision, feeling a marked relief when the door slid closed behind her. But his focus remained fixed on the new arrival as it had throughout as he finished the last piece of fruit.

The newcomer seemed polite enough and Vel’s nephew’s boyfriend managed to check him in to one of the two remaining suites which were still habitable. The blond man made as if to move away from the counter to go to his suite. But then he turned back, his movement sudden, as if just remembering something.

“Oh yes, whilst I think of it, you don’t happen to know if there is a man by the name of Jazatar Baldrik staying here?”

Jaz felt a cold stillness within and flexed the muscles of one arm to feel the reassuring presence of an energy snub, linked thanks to his time in the Specials, on his inner arm. He pushed back from the table and stood up, the movement drew the attention of the new arrival who turned to look, eyes invisible beneath the visor but a wide smile now growing below it. Jaz did not watch the distracting smile, he watched the hands and the stance, but they were relaxed, nothing signalled intent to attack.

Jaz crossed the room towards the blond man, closing down the distance between them in a few quick steps, to get to hand-to-hand range, so he could be surer of control and, if needed, a kill. The blond man let him do it, still smiling and relaxed. “Jazatar Baldrik I assume?” The voice was light and sounded much too happy.

“Who  are you and what do you want?” To his own ears, Jaz’s question sounded more like a snarl. The smile beneath the visor grew even wider and the blond man reached up to remove the obscuring remote-link, revealing a pair of disturbing, intent, orange eyes.

“My name is Durban Chola and I need you to help me save the soul of Avilon Revid.”

‘Trust A Few’ is FREE to download 4-8 September. The sequel ‘Edge of Doom’ is released on 9 September and is available for pre-order.

Biker, biker roaring past
In the street, night before last
What the hell possess-ed thee
To wake me up at half-past three?

On what distant motorway
Did you begin your ride that day?
On what tarmac didst you roll
From whence came you my sleep to troll?

And what hard shoulder fast depart
Could twist your manifold apart?
So that the popping of the sound
Could so reverberate around?

What did hammer your bike chain
To make it thunder in the rain?
What did make you choose my road
To burden with your heavy load?

When the stars – or sparks more like,
Flew from the tailpipe of your bike,
Did you wonder what fell fate
Left you back-firing by my gate?

Biker, biker roaring past
In the street, night before last
What the hell possess-ed thee
To blast me up at half-past three?

Moonbeam Farquhar Metheringham IV

A Rough Day at Work, Hunting Dinosaurs

By Brent A Harris

Brent wrote this piece especially for us here at Working Title Blogspot – we put it out today to help celebrate the launch of Brent’s new book ‘A Time of Need’.

The creature, quick and birdlike, darted beneath the underbrush. My eyes swept toward it. I took a restrained step closer. Even as a juvenile, my prey was lethal. Just under waist high, flat brown and green mottled feathers blended in and around the bushes and foliage of the late Mesozoic. A perfect camouflage.

My eyes trained forward, not looking for my prey but eliminating where it wasn’t. While this was my first-time hunting Tyrannosaur, it wasn’t my first-time hunting dinosaurs. I’d tired of setting lazy traps for Triceratops and snares for Stegos. I’d chased down the faster ostrich-like creatures and outwitted packs of raptors – movies made them out to be far more fearsome than the overgrown turkeys they turned out to be. In fact, most of the ones I’d brought back to Earth Prime were no bigger than the young Tyrannosaur I was currently tracking. A disappointment to say the least. I wanted something bigger.

Oh well. I’d bag this one, head back to my beat-up transport truck. Punch in the dial for my return trip home, and try another Mesozoic-era Earth in the morning. Dinosaur hunting wasn’t as lucrative as it used to be. Too many of us out here doing it now. Most folks back on Earth Prime could order a Bronto-burger at their local drive-thru. But it paid the bills, and it was interesting Earth-hopping, seeing all these other Earths in their infancy. We could do whatever we wanted to them. It wasn’t going to mess up our timeline.

The juvenile Tyrannosaur let out a noise somewhere between a choked chirp and a roar. I suppose it was transitioning from weening off its mom to learning how to be a little dinosaur. But it must have gotten caught in something, because those stumbling cries sounded like the creature was in distress. It needed help. Luckily, I was there.

The Rex’s calls lured me on, beckoning me closer. Brushing branches from my face, I followed the pleas into the foliage. She was laying on her side, entangled in roots and branches, feathers flapping wildly. Females had almost no color to them. And they were larger, fiercer than their male counterparts. She ripped and tore at her bindings. I almost felt bad as I raised my rifle and prepared to call it in. Dinosaurs required special transports. I thought better of it; the cost was prohibitive. It bit into my profits leaving me with even little after the taxes for time-travel and earth-hopping. It’s hard making an honest living. I thought I could probably jam this juvenile into my transport and save a few credits.

I probably should have kept a closer eye to my surroundings. But I was tired and distracted. It’d been a long day and I wanted to go home, crash on the couch, and watch my hometown ball players give lessons on how to lose badly. So, it was the smell of decomposing meat that made me question where I was. At first, I thought it might mean we were near the little creature’s nest. That made sense. She sensed danger and was running home to mommy.

No. If I was near the nest, the smell would permeate the air with a sickly, sweet aroma of raw meat and decaying flesh. Instead, the foulness came in waves, hot and sticky. The branches still except for where the juvenile thrashed about. There was no wind.

The creature settled down and hopped easily and effortlessly out from the plants and then scooted behind them. Not a feather was ruffled. The little bastard tricked me. It turned out I wasn’t the only hunter here. I hit my emergency button as hard and as quick as I could and breathed a sigh of relief when I felt the reassuring buzz signalling that the message had been sent.

My message would go back to Earth Prime, and a team of rescuers would track my location and arrive five minutes before my stupid, stupid mistake to prevent me from making it. Sure, it would cost a fortune, and I’d have to pull in twice as much for awhile to stay afloat, but at least I’d be alive. I wouldn’t be watching ballgames anytime soon. I grunted in disproval. It was my own fault.

But that timeline didn’t exist yet. For now, I’d have to see this one through. The large tyrannosaur poked its pink snout out, exposing teeth long and sharp and jagged enough where I hoped it would be over soon, yet I knew I’d feel everything in the first few terrifying moments until I finally died of shock or exsanguination. The mother dinosaur had been so still. So peaceful. It was a good arrangement. Let her helpless daughter lure in the food, and then momma would share in on the spoils. And I had fallen right for it. I guess when there are fail-safes like time-travel, it tones down the human instinct to survive. There’s little need to be careful. But I should. Oh, I should be very careful next time. This was going to hurt. This was going to hurt so much.

The tyrannosaur lunged.

Be sure to check out more of Brent’s amazing stories!

We managed to pin down Sidewise Award Nominee, Brent A. Harris for a few quick words as he was preparing to launch his new book A Time of Need, which is out today!

Q1: The world is about to end but you can be sent back in time to live out your life in any era before the 20th Century. When and why?

No time before Netflix is really a good time for me, I’m afraid. Plus, I like indoor plumbing and hot showers and air-conditioning. I’m odd, I know. So If I’m going to live and die horribly, let’s send me to the end of the Cretaceous. Go big.

Q2: What do you think is the biggest ‘What if…?’ of history and why?

Drat. I was going to say, “What if Leonardo DiCaprio had ever won an Oscar?” Well played, history, well played.

Q3: Which three historical figures would you most want to invite to a dinner party and why?

David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, and John Lennon. Imagine, if you can, how much that party will rock you. Let’s Dance!

Brent A. Harris has penchant for oddness when the mood strikes. Like an eternal flame, the mood struck long ago and no one has been able to put it out since. You can try by swinging over to his website www.brentaharris.com Bring Cinnabon, extra frosting.

Generations

They were the giants, whose shoulders lift us high,
And we, the living, cast our patronising smiles
In weighing deeds of those whose grandeur we decry.
We judge them from the giddy heights of gifted breath,
Belittling those whose words have filled our breast-milk tomes,
So forgetting soon shall we join them in death
And then will others come and rifle through our bones,
To pick the choicest flesh from them – and discard the rest.
Then laugh at all our fears and our misapprehended woes
Themselves to glorify, to think the wisest and the best.

E.M. Swift-Hook

From ‘Trust A Few‘ by E.M. Swift-Hook.

“You have no idea what you are letting yourself in for. How can you?”

Commodore Vane shook his head as he spoke, it was beyond understatement and beyond belief. The soldier’s green eyes were fixed on a point some distance behind the Commodore’s left shoulder. Their colour, so brilliant, Vane suspected genetic enhancement and their focus had been unwavering since he entered the room.

“I think I do, sir.”

He stood in a formal parade-ground stance, as ordered by the scowling Legionary Sergeant who had escorted him in and now lurked by the door. Vane had made a conscious choice not to relax him from the rigid posture. He never did with the conscripts. Vane glanced back at the remote screen he had called up, its contents invisible to anyone else. “Amnesia,” he read the word aloud and looked back at the soldier. “Total amnesia?”

“Total retrograde amnesia, sir,”

The Sergeant, a big, broad-shouldered man called Hynas, stood almost a head taller than his charge who was not much more than average height, and the ever-present scowl changed to a sneer at the words. Vane ignored him.

“And do you know why?”

“Due to an unknown trauma immediately prior to my arrest, sir.”

“Prior to, not during?” The way most of his men were brought in to begin their military career in his Legion it would not have surprised him in the slightest to find the injury had been inflicted at that point.

“Yes, sir.”

“I see.” Vane wondered if he truly did, the implications here were so disturbing. “You have no knowledge or memory of anything before your arrest?”

“None, sir.”

“And that means you have no direct knowledge or experience of what life is like outside the Legion?”

“No, sir. I do not.”

“Then how can you know you want to leave us, soldier?”

He noticed a slight hesitation then.

“I have no direct personal knowledge, sir, but I have researched a great deal about it.”

Which, he supposed, explained the hesitation. But the idea of researching the complexities of everyday life with zero experience of it, stretched his credulity. Vane tried to keep that disbelief from his voice. “Researched it?”

“Yes, sir. I have talked to other people in my unit and accessed information through the Lattice.”

Everyday life as filtered through the minds of violent criminals and a military tactical data provider. The Commodore shook his head…

Trust A Few is FREE to download 4-8 September. The sequel ‘Edge of Doom’ is released on 9 September and is available for pre-order.

You’re Never Alone with a Badger

“I am your spirit guide,” the badger said to me. “I will be with you as long as you need me.”  I did not expect a badger to speak with RP, but then I suppose spirit guides undergo training to ensure they can be properly understood.
“Can everyone hear you?” I asked.
“Only you can hear me, because I am your spirit guide,” the badger sounded slightly exasperated, it was official, I could even exasperate a badger.
“Are you going to show me a path to enlightenment and my true self?” I asked. I vaguely remembered reading something about Native American Spirit Animals, but couldn’t really remember what they did, and with no internet there was no way for me to find out.
“Probably not,” the badger said contemplatively.  “But I’ll help you out wherever I can, and tell you when you’re being stupid, and where possible how not to be stupid.”
“Wow, where have you been all my life?”
“Hiding behind rush hour traffic and double espressos.  In modern life there is no room for spirit badgers.”
“You know, Badger.” I had never been terribly original with names, it’s probably a good thing I had never had children. “I think the apocalypse may have been the best thing to happen to me.”
“I think it has helped you realise some things, and now you are open to me I can help you realise a lot more things.  But right now I think you should wake up.”
“What? Why?”
“Because you simultaneously drool and snore whilst you’re asleep, and it’s not attractive, trust me, just wake up.  Kerry…”
“Kerry?” the voice changed. “Kerry? Wake up Kerry.”
I opened my eyes and it was Sam.
“Oh my god!” I threw my arms around her before remembering that I’d been asleep and my mouth tasted like the badger had actually been asleep in it, so I pulled away. “You’re back.” I said slightly awkwardly.
“Yes, nice badger,” she looked at my spirit guide, who was watching her curiously.
“He’s my spirit guide.” I said rather proudly.
“Nice, wish I had one.” She sat down next to me and offered me a bottle of something.  I took a large swig to get rid of my badger breath, only to realise that it was vodka.
“Wow! Where’d you find that?” I coughed.
“Tyrone’s not the only one who can forage,” she smiled at me.
“So, um, did you complete your mission?”
“Oh bloody hell,” the badger interrupted. “Why don’t you say what you really want to? There’s been an apocalypse and you’re playing it cool?”
“Quiet Badger! You’re as bad as Tyrone!” The creature looked at me with its head cocked to one side.
“Kerry?” Sam took the bottle away from me and looked me right in the eye. “Did the badger say something to you then?”
“What? No! Of course not, badgers don’t talk. I was… tell me about your mission, did you find your son?”
“And shag your ex husband?” the badger added in.  I shot it a look but didn’t say anything else.
“Yes, we found Peter.  He’d been holed up in a boarding school with some other boys.  It seemed quite safe, so we decided to set up base there.  I came back for you.  You and Tyrone.”
“Yeah right,” the badger muttered.  “Good old third wheel Tyrone.  Don’t forget him.”
“You came back for us?” I looked at her.
“Of course I did.  Look, Kerry, I’m sorry about the way I left things with you.  It’s not how I would have liked it, I would have stayed and fixed things, but my son was in danger and you were in no position to travel, I mean, you fell out of a tree.”
“She’s right, you did fall out of a tree. You are quite ungainly with bad breath. On second thought you should play it cool for now, at least until you can do something cool and sexy to impress her…” the badger was thinking aloud, but only I could hear it.
Skype: the.grumpy.badger
Twitter @BadgersTweetToo
Facebook @CHClepitt

Today we have managed to pin down C. H. Clepitt for a WorkingTitle grilling…

Q1. I Wore Heels to the Apocalypse is a unique concept. Can you tell us what brought about such an inspired piece of lunacy?

I was doing an interview with the fabulous Aline from ChaChaRocks, and she asked me what my ideal outfit would be. I told her I didn’t want to be the stupid woman who wore heels to the apocalypse, and thus the concept was born. It was a big deal for me, as Heels was the first full length book I’d written since The Book of Abisan in 2013, and I was really nervous about how it would be perceived. I have been utterly overwhelmed by the amazingly positive response, and it even inspired me to write the sequel!

Q2. If we accept that The Badger is your alter ego, what words of advice would he have for us run-of-the-mill humans?

Always be kind. It’s easy to forget that kindness costs nothing, especially when those in power across the planet are needlessly cruel. But kindnesses aren’t what will keep you awake at night, and something that means very little to you might make someone’s day.

Q3. What is your secret vice?

Ooo! I don’t know, maybe shoes… I have a bit of a shoe problem, I am working on it!

Hold the front page…

Today sees the release of the long-awaited sequel to I Wore Heels to The Apocalypse. For more about Everything is Better with a Cape see

http://www.chclepitt.com