Q1: Would you prefer to live in a city, a small town or deep in the countryside?

While each have their merits, I would prefer to live in a small town. The city is bursting with culture and activity, but the easy access to resources creates an overpopulated mess. Life deep in the countryside would offer the exact opposite scenario, and while I do enjoy my personal space and time spent in nature, I need contact with other humans to stay sane.

 Q2: If you could have one magical ability what would it be?

Wow, this is a hard one to answer. One magical ability. . . I’d like the ability to have extra-terrestrial out of body experiences wherein I can tour the cosmos. The reason I would want that ability is because I would gain inspiration unlike any I have ever known, and that would be invaluable.

Q3: Which would you put first honor or friendship?

This is another tough question. Is there ever honor in an abandonment of friendship, which is the only scenario I can currently think of wherein one must make a choice between the two? It might be easy to say “no” at first thought. But friendship can be deceiving and unhealthy if the mutual give and take is out of balance. Some people give more, some take more, and that is okay, so long as the balance is intact for those two individuals. However, it is when one seeks to gain more than they offer within the give/take dynamics of any particular friendship that a friend can become a toxic part of one’s life, thus no longer worthy of any abandonment of honor to appease.

Alternatively, honor can be a misguided attempt to do what is “right.” What is “right,” however, is not a mutually agreed upon concept across the wide scope of society, and is therefore, not a one-size-fits-all concept. “White man’s burden” comes to mind when I think of people doing something unforgivingly misguided for the sake of doing the “honorable” thing. I clearly don’t really know how to answer this question in a “one or the other” sort of fashion, but for the sake of not being so on the fence, I will say that honor is more important, for one reason: If one strives to honor humanity, they can hope to discover the tools to see people as free-thinking individuals who have hopes and dreams and fears and uncertainties, just like they do.

You can catch up with Ian Bristow and more of his opinions on his website.

Chinese Whispers

The rapturous applause ringing in her ears, Zhang Xiu Ying stepped off the podium and returned to her seat. Although it was wonderful to have the sense of support and approval for her unpublished and un-peer-reviewed paper at this symposium, her thoughts were already on the submissions process to the few scientific journals respected in her field.

In the audience, Krish Anand thought the Chinese girl who had been speaking looked cute and he posted a picture of her to his social media. As an afterthought, since he did not want anyone assuming he was sexist, he added a few words about what she had been saying.

Her news blog needed livening up, so Florencia Quezada put the picture of the pretty Chinese academic on her page, read the words Krish had put with it and – as she didn’t really understand it – added some thoughts and ideas of her own to make it into something a bit more substantial.

It was a quiet day on RadioNews247 and Bjorn Olafsson had been searching the internet desperately for something to feed the ravenous maw of twenty-four-hour news coverage. There had been no terrorist attacks – or at least none in any place the 247 audience would have ever heard of or cared about; the politicians’ tweets had been banal to dull and lacking in controversy and he was at his wit’s end. Then he saw it. Grinning with triumph he wrote a few lines to go in the next ‘On The Hour’ bulletin and started phoning a couple of people he knew would be free and willing to comment on air.

Zac Wade had the radio on. He didn’t like TV as that meant you might get noticed somewhere by someone. No cell phone for the same reason and no computer neither. Life off grid was safest. You could keep out the government and defend your own land. The news bulletin made him put his foot to the floor of his battered old Dodge cab-over pickup. Them aliens was invading – said so on the news.

Waiting to board her plane home, Zhang Xiu Ying glanced at her newsfeed ‘Chinese Scientist Proves Aliens Are Invading’. There was a picture of a narrow, hairless face with black olive-shaped eyes. Clickbait crap. She scrolled on without really thinking more about it. She was just happy her article speculating on tiny anomalous ferric inclusions in a layer of pleistocene clay as being extra-terrestrial from a meteor shower was being considered for a quality geological journal.

E.M. Swift-Hook

I saw a flight of dragons once
Across the sunset sky
And as they rode the thermals
I wished that I could fly
The dying sun turned skins to gold
And wings to every hue
I thought that I knew beauty
But I learned that wasn’t true
I saw a flight of dragons once
They’re printed on my brain
I think I’d give my sight away
To see that flight again

© jane jago 2017

FANTASY

First he made her his secretary, then he made her his plaything, then he sent her to an exclusive clinic in Switzerland where they would make her his fantasy.

Today he was going to see that fantasy for the first time. He brushed past his bodyguards and put his palm to the plate on the playroom door. The door hissed open and he entered alone. At first he could see nobody, just the barren gameplay landscape where he lived out the early twentieth century sci-fi films that fuelled his imagination.

He heard a noise to his left, and turned his head to see her dressed from neck to ankle in skintight black leather and armed to the teeth. He could barely speak for excitement.
“Oh baby, you are even more than I imagined.”
She smiled.
“Now it’s time to make you into my fantasy man.”
He frowned. This wasn’t in the game play he had designed so carefully. But he was sure she had nothing but delight in store for him, so he made his voice excited.
“What’s your fantasy?”
She laughed a short, unamused bark.
“My fantasy? A helpless cripple.”

Then she shot him in the kneecaps.

© jane jago 2017

5-Star Review for Dying to be Roman

Imagine if the Roman Empire had never fallen. Here you will find a comprehensive peek into what might have been. England is still Britannia and the Roman games, though not as lethal as they once were, are still a huge part of culture. When a few of the athletes turn up dead, Dai—a Britannia native—is tasked with solving the crimes. But the caliber of the case takes a turn when one of the Roman elite is murdered; a senator’s son no less.

No longer rated to handle the case alone, Dai must work under the command of Julia—a Roman investigator. Accustom to being treated like second-class scum by Romans, who don’t even classify Britannia natives as citizens, he braces himself for a miserable partnership. But with more ghosts in her past than Dai could have fathomed, Julia is unlike his assumed stereotype of how all Romans behave.

While Dai and Julia dig deep into their investigation, authors Swift-Hook and Jago are busy examining fundamental issues of class and segregation relevant to our own reality, proving that “human” is our only true title, and none are eligible to abuse it.

As a longtime fan of murder mystery, this novella was right up my alley. The alternate history aspect added layers of interest to the plot and gave the book a truly unique distinction. I highly recommend this to all fans of mystery and alternate history.

Ian Bristow

Excerpt from Zombie Turkeys, by Andy Zach.

Zombie Turkeys – the comic urban fantasy about turkeys that can’t be killed!  Follow them on Facebook, Twitter or visit their web page. To purchase your own copy or read for free on Kindle Unlimited, click here.

The author of ‘Zombie Turkeys’ and the new book out today ‘My Undead Mother-in-Law’ reveals some secrets to the Working Title Blogspot.

Q1: It’s Thanksgiving. What is on your dinner table?

Deep fried turkey, in peanut oil, injected with jalapeno marinade–because it’s delicious and natural turkeys don’t have enough fat. It’s accompanied by sweet potatoes with butter, stuffing seasoned with sage and onion, crisp green beans stir fried with garlic, and freshly made cranberry sauce from scratch, with orange peel and cinnamon. All because they’re delicious and the more delicious the food is, the more thankful we are. That’s the point, after all. I have my favorite cabernet sauvignon as a beverage. Dessert is one pumpkin pie and one pecan pie, homemade, by my wife and daughter, respectively. Each is the mistress of her craft. These pie slices are reverently covered in fresh whipped cream (homemade, not from a can) and consumed with strong black coffee. These desserts are traditional and delightful beyond belief. If we could simply bring warring nations together for a meal like this, and agree to feed them thus daily, all war would cease.

Q2: What three items would you want with you if caught short by a zombie apocalypse?

First, a naginata or glaive, which is a six foot spear suitable for stabbing or slicing. You want to kill and dismember zombies as far away as possible. Bows and guns run out of ammunition and I don’t trust my accuracy.

Second, a kukri knife. If a zombie gets past your spear, you’ll want a heavy knife to slice them up quickly and easily. I used to think a bowie knife was the best, but upon investigation, a kukri knife seems to have better mechanical advantage. See your local mechanical engineer.

Third, if all else fails, have a whole body suit made of kevlar. It’ll be hot and sweaty, but when the zombies come biting, you’ll want total protection, including a transparent helmet of mylar. You’ll thank me when you eviscerate the zombie that tried to bite you with your kukri knife.

Q3: How would you explain the difference between satire and reality?

Reality is what happens, whether anyone perceives it or not, anywhere in our space time continuum as depicted by Albert Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity, or outside of that.

Satire is a means of portraying reality by exaggerating certain features in a humorous way. For example, you can portray Congress as immobilized by competing factions for years while people are dying; wait, that’s already happening! As I said, satire is hard, because sometimes reality is difficult to exaggerate. This is where the satirist earns his or her money by portraying a zombie apocalypse or alien invasion which is lost due to political infighting. If you can’t exaggerate one insanity, add another one. For example, Jonathan Swift, in a “Modest Proposal” portrays the political infighting of the time over the ‘Irish Problem’ and gently suggests cannibalism.

Andy Zach was born Anastasius Zacharias, in Greece. His parents were both zombies. Growing up, he loved animals of all kinds. After moving to the United States as a child, in high school, he won a science fair by bringing toads back from suspended animation. Before turning to fiction, Andy published his PhD thesis “Methods of Revivification for Various Species of the Kingdom Animalia” in the prestigious JAPM, Journal of Paranormal Medicine.Andy, in addition to being the foremost expert on paranormal animals, enjoys breeding phoenixes. He lives in Illinois with his five phoenixes.

You can read more about him on his website or his Amazon author page.

From ‘Druid’s Portal: The First Journey’ – by Cindy Tomamichel

The pendant was solid gold, with a stylised oak tree and some symbols and dots she recognised as Ogham, the ancient language of the area. She frowned, turning it over in her hands.

It felt hot, and the heat pulsed through her until she felt dizzy, as if she was standing on the edge of a precipice. She held onto the cabinet as the museum faded around her.

Then she fell into a grey void.

There was a smell of forest earth, long undisturbed, centuries of leaf mould, of the secret growing business of trees. Quiescence. A sense of time. A time long ago, ruled by gods long forgotten. But not far away—distance didn’t register. Somewhere nearby—close to her home and Hadrian’s Wall. Where she had grown up and where the stone and earth were part of her.

The void split into shadows as the peace was shattered.

Danger. Around her the grey void echoed with screams of hatred and of death that pounded in her ears. She was in a battlefield, surrounded by the misty shapes of men as they bellowed in agony, and she choked as the smell of blood smothered her. A tall shadow filled her vision. Right in front of her a shadowy figure raised a sword, and she cried out and fell to her knees.

Death and danger.

And love.

The grey void vanished, and Janet opened her eyes. She shook her head. It had been the impression of a moment, but death, danger, and love seemed intertwined in a way she could neither explain nor fathom.

Find out more about Cindy in her interview for us or check out her books on Amazon.