Halloween Week Book Spotlight: Wolves In The Desert

Today, I have a treat with werewolves in the spotlight. I'm featuring a new release, Wolves In The Desert, another prequel story for Timothy Bateson's Shadows over Seattle: Prequels series. Enjoy.

Wolves In The Desert by Timothy Bateson 

When his squad is deployed to Iraq, Gunnery Sergeant Garfield Feldman leads them in a series of operations against forces loyal to Saddam Hussein. 

Recently rumors have been flying around base that the enemy has learned a few new tricks, and found ways to ambush Marine units from buildings that had been declared clear. 

Now Feldman's team has received orders to conduct a snatch-and-grab mission deep in enemy-held territory. But what lies behind the walls, and what can Feldman do to ensure the success of the mission?

Available At

Smashwords

Amazon

Barnes and Noble

Kobo

iBooks

Book Webpage

https://timothybatesonauthor.weebly.com/prequel-three---wolves-in-the-desert.html

Series Link

Shadows Over Seattle: Prequels

Author Bio

Timothy Bateson is a writer who broke into the market in 2014, with three short stories being featured in Halloween and science-fiction anthologies. In 2016, Bateson self-published a re-release of “Under A Hunter’s Moon”, the first of several stories set in the “Shadows Over Seattle” world, which he co-writes with his wife, Sandi.

Bateson is also a blogger who often spotlights books and fellow indie authors, alongside his other interests, such as the Brain to Books Cyber Convention events, falconry, journaling, quotes, and reading.    

Author Links

Facebook   Twitter   Pinterest   Website

Blog ("Ramblings of an Author")



Also, check out Timothy's 31 Days of Halloween on his blog 

The Fallen of War: A Remembrance Day Poem

The Fallen of War

See those fields of red, where the poppies grow,

over trampled grass, while the mourning wind blows

Where the ghosts still walk, where their bones still lie

Those legion of the fallen, under the cold grey sky

The echo of footsteps tread in the raven’s cry

chased in the gloaming by each mother’s sigh

Remember, remember they once stood as men,

below ashen clouds, beyond a stalwart when

Brothers forever, inscribed in their blood

side by side, through rain and through mud

Across chaos and smoke, that battlefield wide,

a crucible forge, where they lived and they died

Only names remain, evermore etched in stone

Mortality’s relics, buried past dust and bone

Our memories resonance, as the sun sets low

See those fields of red, where the poppies grow

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: The End Of All

Today on Drabble Wednesday we walk in the valley of the shadow of Death…

Descending Petals

A bloom plucked, wilted on its stem, dried petals tumbling to the earth. Age and time called Death’s hand, and turned a rose to dust.

“So beautiful, once.”

The desiccated petals scattered to the wind, bits of mummified life, of membrane and skin peeled off and abandoned to generations.

“So lost, so alone.”

Little more than a husk, shrivelled, thorns still clinging, next to a fragmented blossom speck or two not yet gone. That tiny spark of life, refusing to accept the inescapable.

“Come with me. I am all you have left.”

Last petals falling, into the embrace of Death.

~*~

War

Death comes on swift wings, swooping towards the battlefield like a dark sheathed Valkyrie. It walks the blood soaked earth, its touch indiscriminate, in that final illustration of fragile mortality. It is inevitably drawn here, to the best of feeding grounds.

Death’s shadow stalks every breath, civilian and combatant, the bystander and the blood-stained. It flies with every bullet, and strides in every footstep. It consumes in fire, in ruin, in rivers of blood, with no mercy, no preference. Death cares not for ideology, politics, religion, nor race. It simply comes.

It comes for us all…  why help it along?

~*~

The Price of Fear

Them, Us. Us, Them.

Drawn the lines, build the walls. Keep the danger out. Keep it out. Keep Them out.

Is your neighbour the right kind? Be suspicious. Voice your suspicions. Suspicions constructed on fear.

Should you be afraid?

Fear the difference. Difference is bad.

Bad must be destroyed. Bad can hurt us. Keep the traditions, keep everything pure. Get angry.

Should you be angry?

Time to take back. Speak up. Rise up.

Violently.

Scream, Kick, Punch, Lynch. Riot, Bomb, Terrorize.

Kill Them all.

Lay waste to human lives.

Lay waste to the world.

Because that solves the problem.

Never.

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Buried

Today upon this Drabble Wednesday we come not to mourn, but to unearth those things that should stay buried…

Dead and Buried

The hour grew late, and the church bells chimed their dirge. I watched the funeral procession slowly climb the hill to the graveyard, the closing rays of sunlight dancing with lengthening shadows. The mourners were few: the pallbearers hoisting the shiny mahogany casket, the dry-eyed widow, and a few backstabbing family members. A pitiful parade, but one to be expected given the decreased.

You see, I was a most horrible person in life, cruel, ruthless, vindictive. I took great pleasure in tormenting any hapless creature that crossed my path.

That shall not change. In death, I will truly haunt them.

~*~

Nevermore

One black feather.

It floated with the puff of winter air, a capricious thing, and settled tenderly upon the cold ground.

A raven’s feather.

Shed from the wing of a soaring bird, fled from war and towards a far distant shore. In its wake came a fading echo; the keening cries of the dying and the lasting silence of the dead. It preceded the howling tempest…

Soon, the sun peered from behind the clouds; the storm had passed. In its aftermath the land remained, blanketed with snow, the shroud to cover the decaying bones and the crumbling ruins of kingdoms.

~*~

Waiting

Dust, earth, smoke and bone.

Interred deep, below the soil, overgrown.

I still breathe, this timeworn air, here in my box, thin of flesh and coil of hair.

They called me mad, called me witch. Bound me up, left me to twitch. It didn’t work, no, not one tiny bit. For I’m still here, though worse for wear, I’ll admit.

I’ve been patient, I’ve been calm. I believe I’ve shown some aplomb.  Yes, through the ages, I’ve lain so silent. Nary one peep, nothing violent.

But my time is coming, I can feel. Soon from my grave, I will steal.

© A. F. Stewart 2016 All Rights Reserved

Drabble Wednesday: Fallen Kingdoms

Today on Drabble Wednesday we travel to lands rent asunder, to kingdoms fallen…

After the War

The rivers still flow, past the ruins, past the end of our world.

And we flow with them, on our small boat. On and on with the current, a bobbing bit of nothing waiting to see what transpires. Waiting to see if we become pawns or join the ranks of the dead.

We are the royal children, smuggled away in the night as the kingdom fell, as the palace burned. We exchanged our silks and velvet for coarse linen and wool, our beautiful home for a cramped and tiny boat.

But we are alive. There is a chance for vengeance.

~*~

Eternally Beneath the Moons

The ghost of queen always walks under the moons, when the blue glow merges with pale silver. In each passing footstep the celestial radiance weeps tears, following her eternal, spectral form as it keeps vigil. The queen seeks peace, but finds only anguish in her death.

Around the old palace garden she strolls, calling the names of her lost and vanished children, babes stolen from her arms and slaughtered by invaders. They never answer, for they cannot. Tiny slashed throats no longer speak.

Still, she searches, her voice an echo off the moons. She calls endlessly, and forever, in vain.

~*~

Invasion

My tiny one whimpers, afraid but uncomprehending. I press my lips to her ear and murmur, “Hush, my sweet. It will be over soon. Close your eyes and Mama will make it better.”

My darling girl obeys, never realising. I raise my knife and pierce her heart. She dies in my arms, and I kiss her cold cheek in farewell. I hoped she understood. I did it to spare her.

She will not be taken as sacrifice to their awful gods.

They may control our kingdom, but they will not have royal blood.

I raise the knife to my throat.

© A. F. Stewart 2015 All Rights Reserved

An Intense Literary Apocalyptic Novel: A Review of Since Tomorrow

My Book Review of Since Tomorrow by Morgan Nyberg:

Since Tomorrow by Morgan Nyberg is an unsettling novel, in the way only a powerful, well-crafted book can be, using its words to twist into your mind and make you think. It’s the type of book that resonates right into the back of your mind and curls around your soul.

The book is set in a post-apocalyptic future, where excess and dissipation have finally caught up with the world and where society has self-destructed. The novel unfolds within the city of Vancouver, Canada, where a small population survives, eking out a meagre existence by farming and scavenging.
This is a magnificent book that lays out an exquisitely formed vision of a broken world that has lost the trappings of civilisation as we know it, but none of its emotional underpinning. In this new society we still find people trying to form communities, people trying to take advantage, some who have given up, and some who want to make it better. No punches are pulled here in the pages; characters die, both victories and tragedies happen and life goes on despite everything. The author gives you characters you can love and hate, all living in an amazingly realistic future world.

In so many ways this book just works effortlessly, giving the reader different levels of enjoyment or reflection in its words. I highly recommend this book; it is worth your time to read it.
 
 
Since Tomorrow is available at:
Amazon

The Pages of War and Love: A Review of The Art of War: a Novel

My Book Review of The Art of War: a Novel by Angela Panayotopulos:

The Art of War: a Novel by Angela Panayotopulos is an extraordinarily compelling novel, written with an almost surreal style. It is a panoramic mosaic of vignettes erupting in shades of love, war and family

The novel is set on the small Greek island of Mythaki, over a period of years before and during WWII. We see events unfold mostly through the eyes of a brother and sister, Kalli and Gabe, first their idyllic simple island life and then the bitter and tragic transformations wrought by the war.

The author paints her canvas of words vividly, her backdrop of war palpable and stark. But it is her characters, the atmosphere and the small details that breathe a subtle and pulsating life into the book. It is a poignant, warm, amusing and sometimes brutal portrait of a piece of history frozen in time. I also like the unusual feel of the book, that the structure and ambience gives a slightly unreal touch to the story. I think it adds to both the portrayal of Greek island culture and the hollow reality of a warzone. By the end of the book I felt as if I knew both the island of Mythaki and its people personally.

I did notice that the author left a few characters dangling in oblivion, but in a way it also reflected the unpredictability of warfare, so I didn’t find it distracted excessively from the storyline. Overall I enjoyed this book immensely and highly recommend it.