The King's Affair by Teel James Glenn
gypsyshadow #steampunk #youngadult
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label adventure. Show all posts
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Friday, May 9, 2014
NEW~Autobiography by Steve Foreman
NEW RELEASE MAY 1, 20141!
#gypsyshadow #nonfiction #autobiography
The Number One Best-Selling Autobiography of Someone You've Never Heard of by Steve Foreman
#gypsyshadow #nonfiction #autobiography
http://www.amazon.com/Number-Best-Selling-Autobiography-Someone-Youve-ebook/dp/B00K2GU8XQ
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-number-one-best-selling-autobiography-of-someone-youve-never-heard-of-steve-foreman/1119395622
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/434203
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/SteveForeman.html#Autobiography
One man’s journey from the innocence of childhood in rural England to a life of adventure in the heart of Africa. A killer Autobiography by Steve Foreman. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/SteveForeman.html#Autobiography
An ordinary man on an extraordinary journey.
When he was only nine years old, Steve Foreman spent almost one year confined to an intensive care ward suffering with life-threatening acute renal failure. Even at that young age he was dreaming of going to Africa to work with endangered wildlife.
In 1992, more than thirty years later, that dream came true.
In the interim, Steve followed careers as a soldier, prison officer, private investigator and a security operative with a few odd jobs thrown in along the way. In his sixty-odd years on this planet he has taken part in many adventurous activities, including motorcycling, caving, rock climbing, foreign expeditions, mountain climbing, SCUBA diving, parachuting, anti-poaching, gun running, drug smuggling and undercover surveillance. As a published freelance writer and magazine editor, his work has appeared in many magazines and journals. Over the past twenty years, Steve has had many adventures and misadventures in the wild places of Africa, including working as a safari guide & mountain leader and as a security operative. Steve has led an incredibly diverse life, full of polar extremes that have ranged from the heights of serving his Queen and Country, philanthropic acts and saving endangered wildlife—down to the depths of criminality.
Woven through this ever-changing life is such a gamut of mistakes and mishaps, triumphs and tragedies, bizarre incidents, ridiculous situations and myriad sexual exploits—and so many pivotal moments—that it leaves one wondering how one could cram so much into a single life. The story is at turns humorous, tragic, ridiculous, exciting and sad; but above all it is honest.
Word Count: 138000
Pages to Print: 367 /414 in print
Price: $5.99 /$18.99 in print
EXCERPT:
My memories of those days are like the pieces of a recently broken church window; all are there, but cast about in a profusion of jagged shards—some big, some small, some glinting brightly in the sunbeams now entering unhindered through the cold stone arch, others partially hidden in the shadows, only to be seen when the flickering light of recall passes by, illuminating them, briefly, as if in a dream.
The fondest and most easily recalled scenes from the stage play of my childhood are those where I am the sole human actor. I was often alone; lying in a field, my eyes squeezed shut against the unbearably blue sky with the smell of lush green grass all around and the piping, high-altitude song of a lark, invisible against the cloudless expanse above me; alone; sitting on the edge of a secluded pond, while around me the insects buzz and chirr their meaningless symphonies in a harmony of noise that enhances rather than disturbs the peace; alone; pushing my way along a tangled pathway following an unfamiliar stream—jam jar and fishing nets my explorer’s only weapons; alone . . . yet seeking companionship.
There is a magic world to which only children have the key. As we grow older, that world does not cease to exist; it just fades away, and, if we are not careful and we lose sight of the key, it becomes completely lost to us. The Key is the innocence of childhood; the open minded acceptance of all one sees, even without knowledge, which is the break in the veil that shrouds the ever-present magic; a magic that is almost tangible in the world of the child.
Did I really believe that I was a naturalist, with my fishing nets and butterfly nets; made from Mum’s old stockings and coat-hanger wire (only the bits of smelly pondweed stuck in the seams of one net identified its individual use)? Did I really believe that I would see a hoopoe, a crested newt or a golden eagle? Were Camberwell Beauties and green lizards really within my grasp? In that part of England? Probably not. However, to me as a child they were all there, having just taken flight, or dived into a pond, or crawled under the bark of a fallen tree, just seconds before I arrived on the scene. Even the russet flanks of the red deer were imagined, being just errant rays of sunlight falling upon some brown leaves and glimpsed fleetingly through a gap in the tangled undergrowth. I was happy in the warm embrace of ignorance. Yet it was not all a dream: the world was real and I was content with my tadpoles, cabbage whites and hedge sparrows. I was happy with such exciting finds as the blue feather that had fallen from a noisy jay and had settled on the mossy bank of the secret stream.
Like an intrepid explorer of the African bush, I would struggle through undergrowth so thick it was impossible to pass without snagging my fishing net on some clutching bramble and leaving my legs covered in scratches and tiny beads of blood. With nets held high and the old jam-jar bouncing against my thigh on its string handle, I would push my way deeper into my secret wood, passing familiar oaks and other trees whose name I did not know, coming at last to my secret stream, where the crested newts hid from my view and the kingfishers stayed huddled deep in their tunnelled nests until I departed once more. I knew they were there of course, just as I knew that behind my back swallowtails flitted by and golden orioles peered at me from high branches.
This wonderful feeling of being at one with nature never left me . . . in fact; years later as a mature adult, I was still experiencing the same thrills as when I was a child . . .
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Philip and the Sneaky Trashmen by John Paulits
NEW RELEASE MAY 1, 2014!
#gypsyshadow #middlegrade #humor
Philip and the Sneaky Trashmen by John Paulits
#gypsyshadow #middlegrade #humor
http://www.amazon.com/Philip-Sneaky-Trashmen-Emery-Series-ebook/dp/B00K27EHKA
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/philip-and-the-sneaky-trashmen-john-paulits/1119395010
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/434194
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#SneakyTrashmen
When clumsy Leon helps Philip clean his room, it begins a wild adventure for Philip and Emery complete with missing jewelry, stolen pants, a crazy Aunt, and secret trips to the police station. Philip and the Sneaky Trashmen by John Paulits. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#SneakyTrashmen
Philip begins his summer in a bad mood. His mother insists he clean his room. But when Philip allows Leon, the clumsy jinx-boy of the neighborhood, to help, it sends Philip and his best friend Emery off on the wildest summer adventure they’ve ever had. Missing jewelry, stolen pants, a crazy Aunt, and secret trips to the police station keep Philip and Emery hopping until the night when it all explodes!
Word Count: 15400
Pages to Print: 70
Price: $3.99
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
Philip Felton sprawled on the grass in the backyard of his house. What a miserable beginning to summer vacation. He had gotten through fourth grade successfully and now looked forward to almost three months of glorious . . . well, glorious anything he wanted. So why did things have to start out so badly this morning?
“Philip, your room is a disgrace. I want it clean and neat by the end of the day.”
“Mom, I . . .”
“Mom, I nothing. Clean and neat. Or else. Your Aunt Louise will be here tomorrow, and if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s my sister looking down her nose at my housekeeping.”
Philip tried to look down his nose. “Why don’t you just let her? It only hurts your eyes.” He tried again, and it hurt again.
“By the end of the day!”
He watched his mother stalk away and scratched his head. Why would his aunt even go into his room while she was here? Glumly, he made his way to the backyard lawn.
Philip heard a noise, lifted his head, and saw his best friend Emery Wyatt walking his way.
“What are you doing back here?” asked Emery. “Your mother said you were cleaning your room, but I knew you weren’t. You never do.”
Philip glared. “And you do?”
“No, I don’t clean your room. Why would I clean your room?”
Philip rested his head back on the grass. “Not my room, dummy. Your room. You don’t clean your room.”
“I do when I have to. I know when it gets messy enough to make my mother twitch.”
Philip raised his head again. “Your mother twitches?”
“When my room gets messy she does.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
“It means I clean it before she goes from twitchy to screamy.”
Philip rolled his eyes and lay back. “Twitchy to screamy,” he mumbled. Aloud he said, “I gotta clean my room or else.”
“Or else what? Twitchy to screamy?”
“Something like that.”
“So clean it.”
“I hate cleaning it! After I clean it, I can’t find anything.”
“Hey guys.”
“Don’t tell me that’s Leon,” said Philip.
“Yup. It is,” answered Emery.
Emery’s unlucky, clumsy cousin Leon came into the backyard, his wide smile showing off his chipped front tooth. He had once been jumping up and down on his bed, missed his landing, and went flying off into his bureau, leaving behind a pool of blood and a piece of his tooth.
“I thought I heard you guys talking. No school till September. Ain’t it great?”
“Yeah, great, Leon,” said Emery.
Leon stared at Philip lying on the grass. “What’s wrong with him? Got no bed?”
“His mother said to clean his room.”
“Who’d she say it to?”
Philip lifted his head and looked at Leon. “She said it to me, Leon. To me. Who else would she say it to?”
“My mother never says it to me,” Leon said proudly. “I’m a good cleaner. I heard my teacher tell my mother I can’t do much, but I’m a good cleaner. Mrs. Furfman let me do all the classroom closet cleaning this year.”
Emery gave a snort. “So you got 33% in spelling and 100% in closet cleaning?”
Leon gave his goofy laugh. “Yuk, yuk. They don’t give marks for closet cleaning. The spelling, though . . . Doesn’t matter. Mrs. Furfman passed me, didn’t she? You want me to help you clean your room?”
Philip sat up. “You mean it?”
“Sure. I’m a good cleaner. I already told you, didn’t I?”
Philip got to his feet.
Emery slid next to him and whispered, “I wouldn’t let Leon help me do anything. He’s a jinx, a disaster-maker. You know that.”
“Yeah, but I hate cleaning,” Philip whispered back. “Sure, Leon. You can be my cleaner.”
Leon started toward the back of the house. As he walked, his head went from side to side as he sang, “I’m gonna be Phil-ip’s cleaner. I’m gonna be Phil-ip’s cleaner.”
Philip and Emery shared a glance.
“You’ll be sorry,” said Emery.
Tuesday, May 6, 2014
My Journey by Jim Woods
NEW RELEASE MAY 1, 2014!
#gypsyshadow #autobiography #hunting
My Journey by Jim Woods
#gypsyshadow #autobiography #hunting
http://www.amazon.com/My-Journey-Jim-Woods-ebook/dp/B00K2EV8VE
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/my-journey-jim-woods/1119395013
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/434196
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JimWoods.html#MyJourney
Born by the side of the road, Jim Woods went on to be a writer and an adventurous big game hunter. My Journey by Jim Woods. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JimWoods.html#MyJourney
Jim Woods was a sports hunter writer, outdoorsman and game hunter. Follow his journey from his early beginnings in the Navy through many hunting adventures, both in the Eastern and Western hemispheres as he searches for and bags trophy game.
Word Count: 98600
Pages to Print: 272
Price: $5.99
EXCERPT:
A Long Walk Home
This account of my birth is enhanced family verbal history—enhanced because I don’t know precisely what dialogue was spoken, although the gist of it is faithful to what I’ve been told. I’m not certain that my mother remembered exactly either, and quite likely recalled and told it a bit differently each time I heard it from her. However, the story is as I remember it being told to me, and of course I have no personal memory of the events.
“Virgull! [My father, Virgil Neff Woods] Ah kain’t go no futher!”
Already some fifteen steps ahead of her, he deliberately took two more as though he didn’t hear, and then disgustedly set down the two battered and mismatched suitcases. He unslung the water jug hanging by the rope loop from his shoulder, and turned to face her.
Her streaked, blonde, straight, sweat-matted hair clung to her colorless features. She hadn’t put on lipstick in four days. Even her normally blue eyes were dusky gray.
The tattered sweater, once blue like her eyes, now faded by the years and grayed by the dust filtering upward from her every step, hung limply on her shoulders. The stretched sleeves covered half of her hands so that only her fingers were exposed below the frayed cuffs. She had needed the wrap in the coolness of the morning when they started out just after first light. Now at midday in mid-September, the Arkansas weather was steamy. Still, it was easier to wear the sweater than to carry it and the sniffling boy too.
Her dress once had been a bright flowered print. She traded and coaxed cloth from neighbors until she had enough of the multicolored flour sacks in the same pattern to make the only maternity dress she had ever owned. She had worn it while pregnant with the boy, now in her arms, two years ago. Threadbare and almost bleached out, once again it stretched taut across her swollen stomach. The soles of her flimsy sandals gave way to the piercing of every pebble in the road, and her feet were bruised and dirty.
“We can make six more miles today,” he objected gruffly, then relented to the persuasion of her silent tears.
Under the refuge of a hickory tree just turning to yellow alongside the grassy roadside ditch, he fished cigarette makings from the bib pocket of his overalls. To conserve tobacco, he packed the paper loosely from the Prince Albert can, twisted the ends to keep the cherished narcotic in place, and then popped a wooden match into flame under his grimy thumbnail. When the paper flared and the tobacco glowed, he stuck the half-burned match to the grass and twigs she had gathered for a cook-fire.
He appreciated the tree that sheltered them, but cursed the forest around Hardy [Arkansas] that finally had run out, causing the mill to shut down. It had been degrading for him to go hat-in-hand to her sister’s family in Fort Smith, and beg to stay on with them until he found another job. There should be jobs. It was 1934; the Depression was turning around, the nation’s economy on the way to recovery—Mister Roosevelt said so. Then came the letter from his own sister Catherine [Pierce] in Paducah [Kentucky] telling him that the Illinois Central Shop was hiring—and paying forty cents an hour!
Paducah was three hundred miles away. Train fare was impossible for them, so they set out afoot, and had been lucky with rides while they walked along the main roads. They crossed the Ozark Plateau in three days, sometimes hitching a ride on a wagon or truck. They even slept under a roof every night; on the ground huddled in their coats in abandoned or dilapidated barns, but at least not out in the open. Now at Marked Tree, they turned northeast through the Mississippi Valley to cut across the corner of Missouri into western Kentucky. The main flow of commerce moved in the tug-towed barges on the river, so the surface roads through the region were lightly traveled. The single car going in their direction passed with a blaring horn and a flurry of dust. They had walked nine miles.
She untied the rope from around the heavier suitcase, and removed the cast iron skillet and the battered aluminum pan that long ago had lost its handle. Then she dug out the bag of flour and measured a couple of handfuls into the pan. From the Clabber Girl can, she added a pinch of baking powder, and lastly, a sprinkle from the saltbox. She twirled the ingredients briefly with her single tablespoon, and formed a depression in the center of the mixture.
He pulled the cork from the jug of tepid, cloudy water reclaimed from a farm pond back down the road, washed the dust from his mouth with a swig, and handed her the bottle. She poured some into a tin cup to give the fretful boy a drink, and then clucked soothing endearments to quiet him, while she splashed more water into the flour mixture. When it was stirred into a thin batter, she used the same spoon to measure lard from the tin to the hot skillet where it sizzled and smoked, and spooned three pools of the batter into the skillet. She then retrieved the spatula he had shaped and thinned from a broken board with his clasp knife on their first night’s stopover.
After the batter was covered in bubbles over the entire top surface, and the bubbles broke, she flipped the hoecakes over to cook them through. The edges of the bread were burnt and crisp, while the centers were plump and soft. When the first one was done, she passed it to her husband. She turned her attention to the boy, crumbling the next hoecake in a tin plate and pouring syrup over the pieces from the almost empty Log Cabin can. Then she mashed the bread into a gooey mixture and spoon-fed the boy.
She was snatching a bite of her own bread in between feeding the boy when He demanded, “Don’t we have some of that baloney left?” Setting her lunch aside, she probed once again into the kitchen suitcase and produced a greasy paper package, and remembered the meager feast of last night.
They agonized over the decision, but had spent a precious dime for their first meat in three days. It was hard to wait as the butcher sliced a few pieces from the cloth-wrapped sandwich loaf. When the man realized how desperate was their hunger, he rolled another sheet of butcher paper into a cone and filled it with crackers from the barrel out in front of the counter. They protested that they didn’t have money for crackers, too, but he insisted that crackers were free with the purchase of bologna. They carefully divided the meat and crackers into two portions and put half away for the next day, even though what they acquired was barely enough for one meal.
She unwrapped the package and gagged at the odor, and her eyes brimmed at seeing the formerly fresh pink bologna now slimy and tinged with green. The crackers, also closed up in the hot and airless suitcase, had gone stale and soft. Her weeping turned to near hysterics at the waste, and he stoically resolved not to add to her misery. He wouldn’t voice the deserved accusation that she should have known this would happen when he insisted they not eat it all at one time. Besides, she cried at everything these days.
She separated the crackers on the butcher paper in the forlorn hope that they would dry in the air and perhaps serve as an acceptable snack to pacify Bobby [My brother, Bobby Gordon Woods] before the next meal, then solemnly fried the last of the batter.
After another sip all around of the just barely drinkable water, she started to repack the suitcase, because she knew that he wouldn’t allow them to rest here for very long. As she twisted around in her sitting position to stretch for the fry pan, she felt a sharp, penetrating pain and screamed him out of his musings of the good life to come. “Virgil! The baby’s coming!”
“Don’t be silly, Ethel Marie! [My mother, Ethel Marie (Burns)Woods] You’re just upset over that damned baloney. You’re not due for two weeks and we’ll be at Cat’s way ‘fore then.”
“No! It’s coming. I know it is and it hurts! You’ve got to help me!” Her panic was real and contagious.
“What can I do?” Now, scared at his inadequacy, he was yelling at her. She had no right to involve him in this business that was her doing.
“Get the coats . . . and the boy’s diapers!”
Thursday, April 24, 2014
The Revenge of the Critches by John Paulits
NEW RELEASE APRIL 1, 2014!
#gypsyshadow #childrens #fantasy
The Revenge of the Critches by John Paulits
#gypsyshadow #childrens #fantasy
http://www.amazon.com/The-Revenge-Critches-Sequel-Mushroom-ebook/dp/B00JEMTP42
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-revenge-of-the-critches-john-paulits/1119058151
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/425038
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#Revenge
The Critches are out for revenge and with Jess Hubbard to help them, they are sure to succeed unless Paul, Billy and Argo can come up with something fast. The Revenge of the Critches, sequel to The Golden Mushroom by John Paulits. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#Revenge
Things did not stay peaceful long in Shumbus after Paul and Billy’s summer adventure there. The Critches are out for revenge. The Golden Mushroom is in danger and so is the very city where the Shumians have lived forever. With Jess Hubbard planning to help the Critches, they are sure to succeed unless Paul, Billy, and Argo can come up with something fast!
Word Count: 19100
Pages to Print: 76 in PDF
Price: $3.99
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
“Did you fellows hear anything odd last night after you went to bed?” Grandfather Drummond said to his grandson Paul and Paul’s best friend, Billy Sparks.
“Like what, Grandfather?” Paul replied, not much interested.
“Like someone banging things around. I could swear I heard something in the middle of the night.”
“It wasn’t us,” Paul said. “We were asleep.”
“I know it wasn’t you. It seemed to come from across the street.”
Paul and Billy exchanged looks, now very interested.
“You mean your friend’s house?” Paul asked.
“As a matter of fact, yes, but it couldn’t have come from there, could it? Jess Hubbard has been gone all summer, and you say he’s not coming back.”
“That’s what he told us, Mr. Drummond,” Billy chimed in.
“I might have even heard it the night before too, but I was half asleep. I don’t know. If I hear anything tonight, I may just go across the street and have a look. I checked this morning before you two woke up, but nothing’s changed over there. Finish your breakfasts. I’m going out for groceries, and when I get back, we’ll go down to the beach.” Grandfather ruffled his grandson’s hair. “It won’t be long now until your mom comes to pick you up and ships you off to fifth grade.”
Paul and Bill ate quietly, and as soon as Grandfather disappeared, they carried their cereal bowls to the sink.
“We better go look,” Billy suggested.
“My grandfather said he already looked.”
“He doesn’t know what to look for. We do.”
“We do?”
“Of course we do. Let’s go. Don’t waste time. Get the flashlight.”
Paul Drummond and Billy Sparks were spending the summer with Paul’s grandfather at his seashore house in Seaview. An extraordinary adventure had kept the boys busy during the first week of their visit. When Grandfather Drummond’s neighbor and best friend Jess Hubbard disappeared, the boys traced him to an unimaginable place called Shumbus. They had traveled to Shumbus by accidentally tumbling down a mudslide hidden under Jess’s house. The boys had heard nothing of Shumbus; nothing from either Argo, the Shumian they had helped to rescue the Golden Mushroom from the horrible Critches, or from Mr. Hubbard since their return to Seaview.
The boys crossed the street to Jess’s house and went around to the back door. Billy put his hand through the empty window he had broken nearly two months earlier and opened the door.
Paul got a solid kitchen knife from a drawer and knelt in the corner next to the trapdoor which led to the mudslide to Shumbus. He tried to pry the door open, but couldn’t lift it.
“Help me,” he said to Billy.
“What for? You know even if we open it, it’s blocked off with another piece of floor.”
“I’m checking. Get another knife.”
Billy got another knife and tried to help, but the door wouldn’t budge.
“This lifted up last time,” said Paul. “Somebody locked it up good since then.”
“Let’s go out and look underneath,” Billy suggested.
“Wait, Billy, look. The kitchen floor’s way more scratched up than before.”
“What made those scrape marks, you think?” Billy asked softly.
“Something.”
Billy turned to his friend. “Oh, really? Something?”
“Definitely something.”
“Like what kind of something?”
“How do I know? But something.”
“Something. Great. We gotta look underneath. Maybe we’ll see something.”
A space barely large enough for a person to crawl through separated the kitchen floor from the damp ground beneath it.
One small window, also broken by Billy on their first visit, looked into this space.
“Shine the light,” said Billy as both boys knelt and peered into the dark.
Paul aimed the light at the far corner. The muddy hole they’d slid down before looked undisturbed, but the yucky, oozy mud under the house made it hard to tell whether anyone had been there lately or not.
“Look here,” said Paul. He pointed to dried mud stuck to the window frame. Paul touched the mud, and it dropped off in little flakes. “Is this still here from the beginning of summer?”
“I don’t know. That’s a long time ago. The trapdoor wasn’t locked before. Somebody had to be here to lock it. You think maybe somebody held on here to slide himself out from under the house? You think somebody came up from . . .” Billy couldn’t finish his sentence. He and Paul had tried many times to talk about their adventure, but since Argo gave them the special tea to drink, they could say nothing of what happened during those three days in Shumbus, and they could say nothing now.
“I know what you mean,” said Paul. “Let me knock all the mud off.” Paul ran his shirt tail across the edge of the window frame. “If there’s mud here again, we’ll know it happened after today.”
“Good idea. You think maybe Mr. Hubbard came back?” Billy asked.
“I don’t know. If he did, why would he have to sneak around? He could start living in his house again and make some excuse about being away all this time.”
“I guess. Then it has to be someone else.”
“Yeah, but who?”
The boys’ eyes met, but neither had an answer.
“We can’t let your grandfather find out about this,” Billy warned.
“Suppose he hears noises again tonight? He’ll come look, he said. Wait, what’s that?” Paul shone the light on a large, square piece of wooden flooring tossed into a corner of the muddy space beneath the house.
“It looks like the underneath part that blocked the trap door opening before,” Billy cried.
On their first visit at the beginning of the summer, they managed to pull open the trapdoor in the kitchen only to reveal another piece of wooden floor beneath it blocking their way—the piece they now shone their light on.
“Shall we go under?” Billy asked.
“No, we’ll get muddy, and my grandfather’ll want to know how. What if we try to stay awake tonight as long as we can and watch this house?”
“Yeah! We’ll keep watch. We might see . . . something.” Billy cast a nervous glance at his friend. “Let’s get back before your grandfather gets home and asks us where we’ve been.”
The boys hurried across the street.
Tuesday, April 22, 2014
Jason Turns Detective
NEW RELEASE APRIL 1, 2014!
#gypsyshadow #children #adventure
EXCERPT:
Jason Turns Detective by Violetta Antcliff
#gypsyshadow #children #adventure
http://www.amazon.com/Jason-Turns-Detective-Adventures-Foster-ebook/dp/B00JEMU93I
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/jason-turns-detective-violetta-antcliff/1119058132
https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/425034
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Violetta.html#Detective
Sleuthing isn't something always left best to the professionals, as Jason finds out for himself. Jason Turns Detective by Violetta Antcliff. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Violetta.html#Detective
When Jason is on the war path, sparks fly and it's time to head for cover.
Incensed at the inactivity of police when pets go missing, he decides to take things into his own hands. Spurred on by his success when he reunites one dog with its owner he hatches a plan to catch the real villains. However, the only way he can see of doing this is by stepping outside the law himself. Is it too big a risk? Or should he plough on regardless of consequences? Failure isn't a word in Jason's vocabulary although he finds himself trembling on the brink on more occasions than one. Left with no option, he calls on an old friend from the past; has he left it too late or could a sprinkle of magic be just what he's looking for?
Word Count: 16000
Pages to Print: 56 in PDF
Price: $3.99
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
When Jason made his way downstairs, it was still only six thirty and the rest of the family were only just stirring. Alison, still in her pyjamas, poked her head round the bedroom door and in no uncertain terms told him to get a move on and see who it was leaning on the front door bell.
Although it was still dark outside, Jason could just make out the shape of a woman through the glass panel in the door.
He fumbled. Drawing back the bolts and turning the key in the lock, with the safety chain still securely in place, he opened the door a crack and peered out. He was astonished to see old Mrs. Pilkington, one of their neighbours, standing there; usually she didn’t rise in the winter months before eight-thirty in the morning. She had a regular routine, or so she’d told his mother. Her first task of the day after washing and dressing, was to feed the dog; after that she sat down to her own breakfast—porridge in the winter, cornflakes spring and summer. Next came walkies and shopping. Her routine, apart from the extra thirty minutes in bed during the winter months, never varied, so Jason was more than surprised to see her standing on the doorstep at such an early hour.
“Anything the matter?” he asked. The fact the woman wasn’t wearing a coat and still had her slippers on hadn’t gone unnoticed by him. “You’d better come in,” he said, removing the safety chain and opening the door to its full extent. He stepped swiftly to one side, just in case she stepped on his toes. But no sooner had the woman placed her foot over the threshold than she slumped to the floor.
Jason was horrified. “Mum, Dad, come quickly,” he yelled. “I think Mrs. Pilkington’s just dropped dead.”
Within seconds the thudding of feet, both slippered and bare, could be heard pounding down the stairs.
All this noise set little Emily Louise bawling at the top of her lusty little lungs. And with his mother shouting, “Alison, look after the baby,” and his sister shouting back, “Why, what’s happening?” the Foster household was in rowdy turmoil.
Mr. Foster, first on the scene and still in his pyjamas, took charge of the situation. He lifted the frail old lady up in his arms, carried her through to the sitting room and laid her gently down on the settee.
“Is she dead?” Jason asked. He’d never seen a dead person before and wasn’t sure what to expect.
“No, she just fainted, that’s all,” his father replied. “She’ll be as right as rain once we get a hot drink inside her.”
Jason could see the colour creeping back in the woman’s cheeks as his dad spoke, and when her eyelids fluttered and she opened them, he sighed with relief.
Alison, Emily Louise in her arms, pushed Jason to one side so she could see for herself just what was going on. Her mum took the baby from her and whispered, “Go and make a cup of tea, there’s a good girl.”
“Why me?” Alison grumbled. “Why can’t Jason put the kettle on, he’s standing there doing nowt.”
“Your brother’s in shock,” her mother replied, laying a cooling hand on her son’s forehead to test his temperature.
Alison, seeing it was useless to argue further, shuffled off to the kitchen.
“Do you take sugar?” Knowing the woman was sometimes hard of hearing, when it suited her, Mrs. Foster raised her voice.
Alison didn’t wait to hear the answer. “Hot sweet tea is good for anybody suffering shock,” she muttered, and once the tea was made, she stirred two heaped spoons full into the mug before bringing it through from the kitchen and handing it to the old lady.
“You should have called me first, not Mum and Dad,” she hissed, sidling up to her brother. “What do you think I’ve been taking first aid exams for, if it wasn’t to be called on in an emergency?”
Jason shrugged his shoulders. He knew it was no use arguing with his sister when she was in one of her self-righteous moods.
The old lady, obviously feeling much better after sipping the reviving mug of tea, started getting to her feet, but Mrs. Foster wasn’t prepared to let her go so fast.
“Stay where you are. You’re in no fit state to go dashing off, “she said, gently pushing her back down again. “Anyway, you haven’t told us why you called yet. It must have been something important, you’re not usually up and about at this time of the day, are you?”
Mrs. Pilkington pulled a tissue from her cardigan sleeve and blew her nose. “It’s my little poodle,” she sniffed. “I think he’s been stolen. I let him out in the garden last thing last night to do his business and when I called him to come in, I found the front gate wide open when I always keep it bolted, and he’d gone, vanished into thin air.”
Mr. Foster, just returned from getting dressed, sat down next to the woman and put his arm round her shoulders.
“I suggest you go home and put your feet up. Soon as ever my lad’s got some clothes on, he’ll go looking for your dog I’m sure you’ve got nothing to worry about, in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t sitting outside your house this very minute waiting for you to come home,” he comforted.
It was Saturday, and Jason had other plans for the day, but he knew he couldn’t say so; couldn’t refuse to go looking for the little dog.
“Give me five minutes to get dressed and . . .” he paused and sniffed the air; the smell of bacon wafting in from the kitchen reminded him he hadn’t had breakfast. “And after I’ve had something to eat, I’ll walk home with you. If Tandy isn’t back by then I’ll go looking for him, okay?”
Mrs. Pilkington, aware for the first time she’d come rushing out without first putting her teeth in, placed a hand over her mouth and nodded in agreement.
Friday, February 28, 2014
NEW RELEASE February 1, 2014!
The Golden Mushroom by John Paulits
#gypsyshadow #fantasy #childrensbook
http://www.amazon.com/Golden-Mushroom-Paul-Billys-Adventures-ebook/dp/B00I5YBXU4
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-golden-mushroom-john-paulits/1118427498
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/403857
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#GMushroom
A wild trip down a hidden mudslide turns Paul Drummond and Billy Sparks’ summer vacation at the beach into the adventure of a lifetime. The Golden Mushroom, a children's book by John Paulits. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/JohnPaulits.html#GMushroom
Soon-to-be fifth graders, Paul Drummond and Billy Sparks’ summer vacation at the beach with Lige Drummond, Paul’s grandfather, is interrupted when Lige’s best friend Jess Hubbard disappears, and the boys are off to find him in Shumbus, a strange land deep within the Earth.
Word Count: 16800
Pages to Print: 73
Price: $3.99
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
NEW RELEASE February 1, 2014!
Sci-Magickal by Teel James Glenn
#gypsyshadow #steampunk #youngadult
http://www.amazon.com/Sci-Magickal-Mabuse-World-Sci-Magickal-James-Glenn-ebook/dp/B00I5VQI20
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/sci-magickal-teel-james-glenn/1118427411
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/403856
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Teel.html#Sci-Magickal
Jeremy Cross goes to Germany to study Magick, but instead becomes the pawn in an incredible plan to kill a king and take over an empire. Three short steampunk stories from master story-teller, Teel James Glenn. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/Teel.html#Sci-Magickal
When Jeremy Cross gets his scholarship to the Mabuse School for New Magicks in Germany, he has no idea what he is in for: the only Englishman in the academy, he receives all sorts of ribbing, yet he makes friends. When some of those friends, Elke, Gert and Oswald, come up with a wild scheme to break into the old Castle Godesburg and search for an ancient treasure, he goes along with them. None of them imagine they'll discover an ancient talisman of power or that poor Jeremy will become the victim of ancient magicks so powerful that none of his instructors can control them.
Things go from bad to worse when he becomes the pawn of fellow students in an incredible plan to kill a king and take over an empire. Old school days have never been like this!
Word Count: 37,800
Pages to Print: 131
Price: $4.99
Thursday, January 30, 2014
COMING FEBRUARY 1, 2014!
The Golden Mushroom by John Paulits
#gypsyshadow #fantasy #childrensbook
A wild trip down a hidden mudslide turns Paul Drummond and Billy Sparks’ summer vacation at the beach into the adventure of a lifetime. The Golden Mushroom, a children's book by John Paulits. COMING SOON!
Soon-to-be fifth graders, Paul Drummond and Billy Sparks’ summer vacation at the beach with Lige Drummond, Paul’s grandfather, is interrupted when Lige’s best friend Jess Hubbard disappears, and the boys are off to find him in Shumbus, a strange land deep within the Earth.
Word Count: 16800
Pages to Print: 73
Price: $3.99
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
An old man peered through the curtains which covered the front windows of his house. He saw no cars coming from either direction, so he went out on the porch, sat in his rocking chair, and lit his favorite pipe.
This old man, Jess Hubbard by name, lived in the town of Seaview. The Atlantic Ocean rolled up onto the beach less than a block from his house, and during the quiet hours of evening, he liked to sit and smoke and listen to the crash of the waves. To him it sounded like a weary giant breathing heavily and slowly. During pleasant weather, Jess liked nothing more than to take quiet walks along the shore.
A green car drove by and stopped a few houses away. Jess stopped rocking, took his pipe out of his mouth, and made a sour face when he saw two children tumble from the car, followed by their parents lugging suitcases. The summer season approached. Seaview, his town, would fill up with the kind of people now getting out of the green car. Families with noisy, annoying children. He had put up with it for years, but now something better had come along, and he wouldn’t have to put up with it much longer. He had pondered for a long time over what he planned to do and where he meant to go before he reached a decision—a firm, unshakeable decision.
He turned away from the newly arrived family, the screeching of the children ringing in his ears, and began to rock. He closed his eyes and pictured his bright and happy future out of Seaview. He smiled and felt quite pleased with himself.
~ * ~
Paul Drummond rejoiced as a long and boring year in fourth grade came to an end. Spelling tests, math tests, social studies tests, citywide tests. Tests, tests, tests! Nothing but tests. But no more now! His mother had recently gone back to work—his father had always worked—and so his parents planned to ship him off to his grandfather’s house for the summer in a beach town called Seaview. Paul invited along his best friend Billy Sparks. Billy didn’t have a father, only a mother who worked all day and who happily gave her permission, when Paul’s mother asked for it, to allow her son to spend the ten weeks of summer vacation with Paul at his grandfather’s house.
Suitcases already packed and in the car, Paul’s mother met them outside the schoolyard as soon as school let out for the summer, and they drove off to Seaview.
~ * ~
Lige Drummond, Paul’s grandfather, woke early as he always did and took his usual before-breakfast walk along the beach. After breakfast he went out to sit on his porch. Jess noticed him from across the street and decided to join him.
Both men had white hair, but Jess Hubbard had a lot more of it. He was a little taller and much heavier than his friend Lige. He often bragged to Lige about his sharp eyesight. Lige Drummond would adjust his spectacles and respond with his usual, “Good for you.” Both men smoked pipes. Jess liked to talk, and Lige Drummond didn’t mind listening. They got along well.
“Good morning, Jess,” said Grandfather Drummond.
“Morning,” replied Mr. Hubbard, stepping onto the porch. They sat in silence and smoked for a while.
“The town’s really filling up with summer coming, isn’t it?” remarked Grandfather Drummond.
Jess watched two cars drive by. “What? Oh, yes. Be too crowded for me soon. I like it best when summer’s over, and these people go home. Then the town is quiet and peaceful, the way it should be, with no one to bother us.”
“These people don’t bother me. Things get mighty lonesome and quiet here during the winter. Heh, heh. Look there.”
Half a dozen children crossed the street in front of Grandfather Drummond’s house. The smallest of the group, a girl about four years old, got tangled up in her baby blue, plastic inner tube and fell down, the tube ringing her neck as if someone had thrown it there hoping to win a prize. The other children laughed, and the little girl started to cry. The oldest of the group, a teenage girl, picked up the crying child and, carrying her in one arm and the inner tube in the other hand, continued across the street, the child’s cries slowly dying away.
Jess rolled his eyes, and the two men returned to their pipes.
“Lige,” said Jess, “ever think about going away? Far away. To a different place. No worries, no troubles.”
“Why would I do that? Don’t have many worries or troubles right here,” said Grandfather Drummond. “Seaview’s good enough for me.”
Jess’s pipe had gone out so he spent some time relighting it. The two men chatted for a while about the way Seaview used to be until Jess rose and said, “I’ve got a bunch of things to do, but I’ll see you again, I hope.”
Grandfather Drummond chuckled. “I certainly hope you do, Jess.”
The two men parted.
Grandfather Drummond also had a number of things to do. His grandson and his grandson’s friend would arrive soon, and he looked forward to having them around. It had been a long, lonely winter, and he’d enjoy the company.
He finished grocery shopping by one-thirty—he remembered how young boys could eat—and returned to his porch to await the boys’ arrival. He lazily watched the cars drive by until the red Jeep carrying the boys pulled in front of his house. Paul and Billy piled out and ran shouting to him. After some hugs and how are yous, the boys carried their suitcases upstairs as Grandfather Drummond made lunch for his guests.
Their appetites would have shrunk considerably, though, if they’d seen the angry look on Jess Hubbard’s face as he stared at them from across the street through his front window. The mumbled word, “Traitor,” slipped from his lips. It won’t be long now, he told himself. Tonight is the night.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
COMING FEBRUARY 1, 2014!
Sci-Magickal by Teel James Glenn
#gypsyshadow #steampunk #youngadult
When Jeremy Cross gets his scholarship to the Mabuse School for New Magicks in Germany, he has no idea what he is in for: the only Englishman in the academy, he receives all sorts of ribbing, yet he makes friends. When some of those friends, Elke, Gert and Oswald, come up with a wild scheme to break into the old Castle Godesburg and search for an ancient treasure, he goes along with them. None of them imagine they'll discover an ancient talisman of power or that poor Jeremy will become the victim of ancient magicks so powerful that none of his instructors can control them.
Things go from bad to worse when he becomes the pawn of fellow students in an incredible plan to kill a king and take over an empire. Old school days have never been like this!
Word Count: 37,800
Pages to Print: 131
Price: $4.99
Excerpt
Part I:
The War Girdle
Chapter One
Breaking into a Donjon is Just Wrong!
I must say in all honestly, had alcohol not been involved in the incident, perhaps my life might have been different; perhaps not better, but certainly different.
The circumstance came about when we were sitting in the rathskeller in Bad Godesberg after classes. I was taking the usual ribbing. I was the only English student at the Mabuse School for New Magicks, but that was not the reason they hazed me. They would have tormented me, were I full blood Prussian like they, or French, or what have you, because I was the new student.
I had only been at the school for six months, having transferred in from the Academy D’arc in Ireland. My parents had decided the continent was where the best in alchemical arts could be studied and, since the opening up of the European conference of Magicks and Science had normalized such studies—even over the objections of the Papacy—it was now a respected profession.
I had been interested in Magick since as a child I had seen a minor conjurer at a fair back in Wycombe change a rabbit into a hawk. It was just before Germany won the World War using those principles when it was still frowned upon.
“Stop wool gathering, Englander,” Gert Von Handler said. “You have to throw the dart.” He stroked along the smite scar on his left cheek from his mensur dueling. He was very proud of his Schmiss.
I was standing in the underground, smoke-filled pub and had already had several tankards of good German beer. I had gained a reputation as the dart man in the underclass during the months I had been there and was straining to uphold it against my archrival, Gert.
“I’m just waiting for the spirit to move me,” I said. “One cannot rush perfection.”
This made Oswald, my rotund friend and Elke, the beautiful blonde classmate who seemed to always hang around with our group, break into gales of laughter.
“Oh shoot, Jeremy,” Oswald sneered. “I am growing old while you wait for ghosts to move you.”
I shot him a dirty look and went back to sighing my dart.
“Take your time,” Elke said with that pout that drove us all crazy. “He just doesn’t want to pay for another round of drinks.”
Gert made a disgusted sound and I knew her barb had struck home. I squinted at the board and launched my own missile. It struck true to the center of the board.
Bullseye!
“Have you ever paid for a round of drinks?’ Elke asked me when Jenna the bar maid brought our new drinks.
“Many,” I said, “but not for a time; I led a wasted youth in many pubs.”
Gert snorted at that. He was the poser image of the New Germany; a blond tall, well-muscled demi-god with piercing blue eyes and a dueling scar on his left cheek that proclaimed him as a child of the Junkers. He was the apple of his military family’s eye and had shocked many of the traditionalists when he chose to study the Magickal arts, but as he put it, “We won the war, in part because of the Sci-Magickal advances that great men like Mabuse and Himmler brought to bear. It is only logical that I learn all there is to know about it.” I remember he had smiled a predator’s smile when he added, “I will not beat my sword into a plow shear; simply add a wand to my arsenal.”
I had no such lofty or nationalistic goals. My parents were modest merchants who ran a hostelry outside of High Wycombe and simply had hopes for me to make it through university and find a profession. They were shocked when I took the entrance exam for the Academy D’arc, and more so when the inquisitor said I had true Magickal talent.
A year in Ireland, however, left me feeling that somehow I was not getting the instruction I could be. And when representatives of the Mabuse School had visited and presented a seminar on transformational energy, I knew that I had to study there. I had been able to convince the professor, one Herr Magus Shikelgruber, to allow me into an exchange student program.
My parents, especially my mother, were not happy with me being among the Irish, and now the thought of being in the midst of our former enemies and conquerors was almost too much for them. But it was a scholarship and they relented.
So now I was the new boy on the block, the Englander, to all in the school and often the butt of jokes.
I took it all in stride, for it meant I was learning things in the way I wanted. The instructors were the finest in the world and the students—even the self-possessed Gert—were some of the most talented in the arts. They, and I hoped I, would be the true future of the world.
“I overheard Magus Maurius shouting at old Adolph today,” Elke said. She was a lovely girl, almost as tall as me, with a girlish figure blossoming to womanhood in the most pleasing way. Her eyes sparkled all the time, and I think half the underclassmen had a crush on her. I know I did.
“What were they on about?” Oswald asked as he stuffed yet another piece of strudel into his maw.
We all leaned in to hear the details; the two professors seemed always to be at odds over issues Magickal. Their arguments were almost legendary.
“Maurius was going on about the Halbesel formulae that Adolph uses and saying it was nonsense.”
“No!” Gert said, “He actually said that?”
“Yes,” Oswald insisted, “he said nonsense! Then Adolph started that sputtering speech of his about the great past of Germany and Heimat historians using the spells and how could someone like Maurius who was not part of the Volk community . . .”
“No!” Elke gasped, then she giggled. “I wish I could have seen Maurius’ face.”
“I didn’t dare peek around the edge of the doorway to look,” Oswald said as he cleaned his third plate of the evening. “But Maurius went on about how it was pure speculation that the pre-Christians used the Halbesel spells that Skiky was so up on.”
“And Adolph let that sit?” I said. My sponsor was known for his powerful speeches and arguments.
“Oh, he shot back with, ‘the Heimat inhabitants used many peaks to call to the god Wotan the god of war, death and the hunt, and with such symbols as warrior girdles were able to effect changes like even to the bear shirts or Berserkers.’”
Elke laughed. “He gave that same speech last week when we asked him about the Godesberg references in the old spell book.” I noticed that the tip of her nose moved like a bunny’s when she laughed: a little thing, but a delightful one.
“Yes,” Gert said, his angular features taking on a stern cast. “I remember he talked about his theory about a secret vault from the late 14th century, somewhere up in the old fortress from when it had become the repository of the Elector’s valuables and archives.”
“Do you think it could be real?” Elke asked, “I mean, if it was, wouldn’t they have found it by now?”
“Not necessarily,” I said. “I remember when I first got here I read in the guide book that the old castle was under the district’s historical agency and we weren’t supposed to go near it because of jurisdictional concerns.”
“I have heard something of that,” Gert said. “The Bonn city council claims it and Bad Godesberg claims it and the state historical council wants to restore it. And they have been fighting over it for years.”
“That’s what I love about your German courts,” I said, for once enjoying being the outsider. “If a thing can be drawn out for a day, it can be drawn out for a decade!”
“Do you think there really is a secret vault in the castle donjon, like Adolph says?” Elke asked.
“I trust what he says,” I said. “The fort itself was established on an ancient cult site, or so he said.”
“No matter how silly his mustache is?” Elke said with a grin.
“Yes,” I said, sticking my tongue out at her. “I think if he says it’s there, it’s probably in there.”
“We ought to just sneak in and see,” Oswald said casually as he slurped up another ale.
There was sudden silence at the table and the other three of us looked at each other with the same startled expressions.
“What are you all looking at?” Oswald asked when he realized we had stopped our usual banter.
“You are a genius, Oswald, my round friend,” I said. I knew by their look that the other two had indeed come to the same conclusion.
“What do you mean?” he said.
“We can get into the old castle and look for the vault of spells!” Gert said. “It would be a great coup, and the information we could find is rightfully the Fatherland’s!” He looked at me when he said it, and I knew he was already thinking of some way to exclude me from the expedition.
I was having none of that.
“Come on, then,” I said, rising from the table a bit unsteadily from the tankards I had consumed. “Let’s go!”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TEEL JAMES GLENN has traveled the world for thirty years as a stuntman, fight choreographer, swordmaster, jouster, illustrator, storyteller, bodyguard and actor. One of the things he’s proudest of is having studied under Errol Flynn’s last stunt double. Mr. Glenn continues to teach swordwork in New York.
His stories have been printed in scores of magazines from Weird Tales to Mad to Black Belt to Fantasy World Geographic, Blazing Adventures and Tales of Old. He has over two dozen books and anthologies in print in many genres including Steampunk, Western, Mystery and the bestselling SF Thriller series, The Exceptionals. One was a finalist in the EPIC eBook awards in 2009.
He is the winner of the 2012 Pulp Ark Best Author of the Year. Epic eBook award finalist. Preditors and Editors Readers Poll winner: Best Steampunk Short finalist, Best Fantasy Short Collection, Best Fantasy Short Story, Best Horror Short Story and in the Thriller and Mystery Novel categories; Author of The Maxi/Moxie Series, The Dr. Shadows Series, Jon Shadows Series and others.
WEBSITE: http//www.theurbanswashbuckler.com
TWITTER: https://twitter.com/teeljamesglenn
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/teeljamesglenn
Friday, December 20, 2013
GSP's Book of the Day December 20
Zvonek 08 Book 3 by Anne H. Petzer
#gypsyshadow #shortstories #fantasy #cat
Operation Catwalk—At last the most prestigious event of the year is being held in Prague. The Miss Feline CZ. Zvonek and Honza are looking forward to attending. The five finalists are chosen and The Mau is gearing up for the grand finale. Everything is on schedule when an alert on Vladimir's desk reveals strange happenings around the finalists that could sabotage the competition. Will Zvonek discover who is behind the attacks in time, or will the show just have to go on?
The High Life—Metaxa is suspicious of an elegant tom who arrives in Prague. When she meets him at a dinner with Zvonek and Honza he is witty, rich and appears to like her. Will she be taken in by his charm and wealth, or listen to her inner voice? What is his real connection to the strays and is he connected to Zvonek's latest mission?
Word Count: 19300
Pages to Print: 68
Price: $3.99
http://www.amazon.com/Operation-Catwalk-High-Zvonek-ebook/dp/B00BENGP5G
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/operation-catwalk-the-high-life-zvonek-08-4-anne-h-petzer/1114511493
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/284721
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/AnneHPetzer.html#Zvonek3
Zvonek and Honza are caught in between beauty queens and drug dealers, working against time to keep felines safe and secure in Prague. Operation Catwalk and The High Life, Zvonek 08 FICR #4 by Anne H. Petzer. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/AnneHPetzer.html#Zvonek3
Sunday, November 24, 2013
GSP's Book of the Day November 24
The Wind-Sphere Ship by Steven R. Southard
#gypsyshadow #historicalfiction #fantasy
Heron of Alexandria, in the 1st Century A.D., invented a primitive steam engine he called an aeolipile, or “wind-sphere.” Persuaded by his friend Praxiteles, he used this engine to propel a ship. If his steam-ship could beat a man-rowed galley in a race, could Heron bring about the Industrial Revolution 1700 years early? The action never ebbs in this tale of friendship, technological vision, and one of history’s missed opportunities. Let the race begin!
Word Count: 6000
Pages to Print: 25
Price: $2.99
http://www.amazon.com/Wind-Sphere-Ship-Wrought-Series-ebook/dp/B00440DPBS
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/wind-sphere-ship-steven-r-southard/1103096280
http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22424
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/StevenSouthard.html#Wind
If his steam-ship could beat a man-rowed galley in a race, could Heron of Alexandria bring about the Industrial Revolution 1700 years early? The Wind-Sphere Ship, a short story by Steven R. Southard. Available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Smashwords, other fine eBook vendors and Gypsy Shadow Publishing at:
http://www.gypsyshadow.com/StevenSouthard.html#Wind
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