The Next Step for the “Dead Horse Canyon Trilogy”

For those of you not familiar with The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon Trilogy, my latest books written with my Cheyenne co-author, Pete Risingsun, here’s an update I wanted to share. If you’re not subscribed to the books’ website, I encourage you to do so if you want to keep up with the latest developments which will hopefully lead to the books becoming a TV series along the lines of Longmire, Dark Winds, and Yellowstone.

You can also learn more about the stories, watch book trailer videos, and read the 5-star reviews each book received from Readers’ Favorite and see the other awards the saga has earned. I have numerous blogs on that site, too, which relate to Native Americans and other subjects that tie in with that series. This site is primarily for reviewing the books I read to relax along with an occasional rant.

The past few months have been busy as well as exciting. Back in October I seized upon an opportunity to pitch the Dead Horse Canyon Saga to producer, Lisa Bellomo. Lisa is a Creative Producer and Senior Production Executive based in Los Angeles who’s experienced in developing and producing critically acclaimed independent and studio feature films. Look her up in IMDB.

Bryan Reynolds

My meeting with her went very well. She was receptive, asked targeted questions, and offered the following comments on the story:

“The project’s blend of government conspiracy, murder mystery, and supernatural suspense gives it commercial appeal. The thriller aspects–high-stakes intrigue, a cover-up, and a protagonist caught between two worlds–make it attractive to financiers and audiences alike. The story’s pacing, tension, and sense of danger position it well within a proven genre that performs well across both streaming and theatrical markets.

“The story features two emotionally rich, complex, and heroic lead roles: Charlie Littlewolf, a 30-something Native American protagonist on a spiritual and moral journey of revenge and reclamation; and Sara Reynolds, a strong, resourceful woman grappling with trauma and lost memory while seeking justice for her husband’s murder. These roles offer depth and range–ideal for attracting talented actors–and allow for meaningful representation of Indigenous characters in a contemporary thriller setting….”

Charlie Littlewolf

Lisa provided a “road map” on how to proceed toward becoming a limited series. That is what I have been working on since our meeting. I have written what is known in the film and TV industry as a “treatment” that describes various elements of the story including a breakdown of episodes. I have also put together a synopsis and written the script for the pilot.

After these documents go through various review and feedback loops, then it’s time to find key creative collaborators, such as a director, lead actors, and producing partners. Needless to say, including at least one Native American filmmaker or writer will be essential for ensuring the retention of authenticity and cultural accuracy that Pete and I worked so hard to achieve in the novels.

Sara Reynolds

It has been quite a revelation switching from novelist to a screenwriter. The format for scripts is very different and well-defined with it not a simple matter of cutting and pasting the dialog from the book. Scenes need to be described, but not too much, since the producers and directors will have their own ideas, plus there may be budget considerations as well. While an author can describe what a character is thinking and feeling, in a script it’s far more succinct and left up to the actor to portray.

It has been an amazing adventure so far and I look forward to the next steps as the material makes it through the various hoops. I’m working with Voyage, an organization that helps individuals make the contacts they need for their work to be developed into a feature film or for TV.

I look forward to what the new year will bring as we move forward with the next exciting step for our multi-award winning trilogy! Stay tuned and wish us luck!

P.S. I used Photoshop to create the picture of our TV with the pilot’s opening screen for my vision board. I just couldn’t resist. Pictures of the main characters in the story are courtesy of Adobe Firefly. ๐Ÿ™‚

Confessions of a Life-Long Bibliophile

The True Loves of My Life

As an only child, books were important. Fortunately, my mother read to me as a young child such that I could read by the time I went to school. I was reading chapter books by 3rd grade, maybe sooner. My early favorites were animal stories by authors like Paul Gallico, who wrote “The Abandoned,” my favorite book for many years, perhaps for all time. Robert Lawson, author of “The Tough Winter” was another favorite.

I remember going to the Peekskill New York Public Library in my home town and coming home with a huge stack of books, especially in the summer.

While still in elementary school I discovered Nancy Drew Mysteries. I would save my allowance to buy the latest release and had them all, which were usually read more than once. As a teen my favorite was “The Catcher in the Rye” by J.D. Salinger. I remember reading on a city bus and coming to a part that made me laugh out loud, earning odd looks from my fellow passengers.

As a working adult, I had to give up certain authors because they kept me up all night: Michael Crichton, Tom Clancy, John Grisham, to name a few.

Home at Last!

Somewhere along the line I discovered science fiction. The classics by Jules Verne such as “Journey to the Center of the Earth” and H.G. Wells’ “The Time Machine” were my first discovery, followed by Isaac Asimov and Robert A. Heinlein, the latter my all-time favorite, especially “The Door Into Summer” and “A Stranger in a Strange Land,” where the word “grok” originated, for those of you who didn’t know.

I scratched out my first science fiction story in 6th grade on yellow lined paper about the planet our teacher hailed from.  Not much of a plot, but my classmates found it entertaining. Not surprisingly, an avid reader like myself aspired to be an author when I grew up, more specifically a science fiction author.

One thing that always frustrated me was that science fiction books had very little actual science in them, probably why I favored Heinlein, who was an aeronautical engineer whose fiction started the “hard science fiction” sub-genre.

As a perfectionist, I wanted to learn more about science so that when I wrote my stories they would contain the scientific explanations I craved as a youth. Thus, at 35 I returned to school to earn a bachelor’s degree in physics from Utah State University, followed by a 21 year career at NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas.

We’re told to “Write what you know,” right?

If you’re a fan of “The Big Bang Theory” that might look familiar. ๐Ÿ˜‰

My first science fiction novel, “The Capture of Phaethon,” about an asteroid collision with Earth was written while I was in college. It won me a scholarship as well as First Place Honor in a state competition. Maybe someday I’ll get it published. For now, the manuscript is in a box in the basement. Writing Phaethon was when I discovered the mysterious serendipity associated with creating fiction.

That’s all it is, right? Fiction? Something made up in your head?

My fictitious asteroid was named Phaethon, after the son of Apollo who crashed his father’s chariot into the Sun. Imagine my shock when doing research in the USU library’s NASA section that I found an asteroid by that name had recently been discovered! OMG! Later I discovered its usefulness in astrology, where it often indicates a “crash and burn” situation, figuratively or literally.

Heaven on Earth

The first time I set foot inside a library it felt like I was in Heaven. How it feels within the walls of a building lined with thousands upon thousands of books is as unique as it is indescribable. Every cell senses the knowledge and secrets that await, stirring my soul.

That could be why I often spend as much time researching a book as I do writing it, sometimes more. As much as I love my Kindle, for research it has to be a print book. I dog-ear pages, highlight, and leave sticky-notes galore.  When I encounter a used book like that, it tells me someone was really into its content, which is what any author hopes for.

When I wrote the Star Trails Tetralogy I incorporated science and technology problems into the plot. These were books I wanted to read as a youth but couldn’t find. I even created a Compendium with additional information for readers, teachers, and home-schoolers.

Star Trails books were popular in a charter school in Utah among young nerds like I was. I had the privilege of talking to those students a few years ago, which was so much fun. I know of at least one middle school science teacher in Florida who has my books in her classroom for extra credit reading. 

My favorite review for these books is the one where my writing was compared to Robert A. Heinlein. Imagine that! I have no idea how many children may have been inspired by them, but it’s good to know of at least a few.

Shifting Genres

The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon” saga started as a cozy mystery, but my propensity for research quickly led to a far deeper and darker story. My characters got out of hand, as usual, and suddenly I had a main character who was Cheyenne, a culture about which I knew nothing. My encounters with Native Americans was limited, and primarily with the Navajo. Research and serendipity delivered coauthor, Pete Risingsun, who kept the cultural elements on target, to say nothing of the story itself and additional research we did together.

The Reader’s Favorite review for the second book, “Return to Dead Horse Canyon: Grandfather Spirits” noted, to our delight, that “The depth of ethnology packed into both novels is meticulously researched and beautifully detailed. Fox and Risingsun are a dream team with this saga.”

Serendipity was alive and well writing that saga, especially how beautifully ancient ceremonies dove-tailed with the plot as if I’d known about them all along.

What will be lost?

Besides a book’s creative or intellectual content, to me it’s a physical thing. I love how they feel and smell, whether it’s fresh ink newly off the press or a musty antique over a hundred years old. Ebooks just didn’t feel that satisfying. I was grateful when self-publishing a paperback was an option, making it possible to hold my first print book, “Beyond the Hidden Sky,” in my hands and flip through the pages.

However, to me, a real book is a cloth-bound hardback with a dust jacket.

And this past June that dream was finally realized when all three books of the “Dead Horse Canyon” saga were released as hardbacks, laminated covers on Amazon, and real books with a cloth cover and dust jacket available through Ingram which can be found on Barnes and Noble, Books-A-Million (BAM), and numerous other booksellers’ websites.

Everything is being digitized, which is convenient, but I shudder to think that my generation of Baby Boomers may be the last to embrace physical, print books. The expense and storage involved versus the option of digitizing everything leaves no other choice.

Given that, how many will grow up without the joy of holding a brand new release from their favorite author in their hands, much less an autographed copy? Or never know the awe and expectation amid the imposed silence found within a massive library? While the words may be the same, there’s an essence found only from a tome in tangible form. When they’re my age will they miss their first smart phone the way I treasure the memory of those beloved books?

Or maybe that’s just me, an admitted bibliophile, who loves the print medium as much for its physical presence as what lies within. Digital formats that could disappear with a power surge or a few key strokes just aren’t the same. (Probably a thought my children will express loudly when I die and they have to deal with my many bookshelves full, only one of which you see at the top of the page.)

And how much easier might it be to pull the plug on books with content found offensive or declared “wrong” by someone in authority? Where would we be as a civilization without old tablets, scrolls, and other records?

To a bonafide bibliophile like myself digitizing books reeks of sacrilege. If you agree, be sure to buy a physical book once in awhile. Preferably a new one, so the author sees even a few dollars of benefit from it.

Epilogue

When I saw “The Abandoned” and The Tough Winter were still available on Amazon I

literally cried. The book cover for “The Tough Winter” looks exactly like the book I had as a child. I ordered “The Abandoned,” planning to read it again, then leave it as my favorite book from my childhood to whomever wants such an anachronism when I die. ย 

This trip down memory lane led me to discover my reading list for the remainder of this year. Revisiting those favorites from the perspective of a septuagenarian should be interesting.

What books did you love from the time you could read? What made them special? Would you like to hold them again as you would hug a dear friend you hadn’t seen for years?

And that, no doubt, is why I simply had to order a physical copy of “The Abandoned.”

It arrived a few days later and I cried again, as well as numerous places throughout this sweet story. I wasn’t sure why it hit me so hard until a few days later, as I nursed my way through the worst “Book Hangover” I’d ever had.

Then I stumbled upon a statement on the back cover that I could have written myself: “When I was 9 years old I plucked The Abandoned from my school library’s dusty shelves and fell in love with literature. The adventures that unfolded, reminiscent of The Wind in the Willows and Peter Pan, captured me so thoroughly I knew writing was part of my destiny.” — Naomi Serviss, Newsday

That was it!

This was no ordinary book! It was the very one that made me decide to be a writer! I’d never quite thought of it as my “destiny,” yet it hit me like never before. I don’t know who or what I’d be without those books I’ve had a hand in bringing into the world.

Have they affected any readers out there like The Abandoned did me? I’ll probably never know. But for whatever reason, I suspect I was supposed to put them out there.


Are you a writer? When did you realize it was your calling? Or was it just something that came along at some point in your life when you had something to say? Fiction or nonfiction? Leave your answer in the comments below.

The Eclipse Came and Went. Now, we wait…

After a whole lot of hype, personal and otherwise, the April 8th Total Eclipse was a total eclipse of morale for myself as well as hundreds of others hoping to watch it from Canandaigua, New York. The cloud cover never broke, so all we witnessed was 3 minutes of darkness other than the cool effect of a 360 degree “sunset” effect around the horizon, showing where the Sun was still shining outside the path of totality. Whoopity-do.

Bummed out was hardly the word.

At least I saw the one in 2017. I felt especially sorry for those who traveled a significant distance to the area only to be disappointed.

But c’est la vie.

So now, we wait.

For what, you ask?

The next eclipse?

No.

To see how much this cosmic sign in the heavens lives up to expectations astrologically.

Yes, I’m serious. Now the fun begins. It can take hours, days, weeks, or even months for the effects to show up, but they surely will. Think back to 2017. That total eclipse’s path of visibility from coast to coast prognosticated a country divided. I doubt anyone would argue that came about.

The heavens don’t lie. So what will this one bring?

Time will tell.

So far the lunar eclipse on March 25th has come through already. Less than 24 hours after it occurred, on March 26th at 1:29 a.m. the Francis Scott Key bridge in Baltimore collapsed upon being struck by container ship, Dali, flagged out of Singapore.

In that chapter of my book, “The Dark Side of Eclipses: Do the Heavens Still Issue Warnings of Things to Come?” I mentioned a potential attack on infrastructure with foreign influence involved. Now, with 20:20 hindsight there’s even more.

Find out the specifics by tuning into Fresh Ink Group’s “Voice of Indie” podcast on April 17, 2024 at 8:00 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time. Join us here.

I’ll explain what factors indicate why Baltimore was targeted, why predictions are so difficult, plus what astrology tells us that news media doesn’t. Comments and questions are always welcome during the live podcast with a recording available after the fact.

Mark your calendar, April 17, 8:00 pm EDT.

See you then.

Star Trails Revisited

Fed up with Earth? Leave her behind!

My deep involvement researching and writing the Dead Horse Canyon series with Pete Risingsun has consumed my time to the point I’ve neglected my other books, particularly the Star Trails Tetralogy series. I was thinking about that the other day and realized that was unfortunate because those books relate so strongly to what is going on around the world these days.

The Brightstars are living in a dystopian world where the only way they’ll survive is through ingenuity and determination. The fact that they’re separated increases the issues, making the kids assume responsibilities they normally would not have to worry about.

The Star Trails Tetralogy series can be read in any order, but it’s better to start with Volume 1, “Beyond the Hidden Sky.”

The entire environment is hostile with lethal weather extremes plus their father is a political prisoner for the bulk of the story.

The science in these stories is based on fact with the expected sci-fi extrapolations, which in today’s world are rapidly becoming reality. That was a major challenge, to keep ahead of technology. At this point, much of what’s represented in these stories is now available, with the possible exception of their psi-linked cell phone equivalents, but I’m sure that’s on the way.

Nonetheless, those who enjoy these stories the most are young people in the “nerd” category, i.e. love science and engineering. And that is exactly the audience for which they were written! As a youth, I loved science and was always disappointed that science fiction didn’t have much real science included. Thus, these are the books I would have loved to read. Like they say, if you want something done right, you need to do it yourself. So if you know a child with strong reading skills and an interest in how the world works, I’m sure they’d enjoy this series.

Fighting for what’s right isn’t easy.

The favorite character throughout the series for many fans is Thyron, the telepathic walking plant. He’s the star of book 5, “The Terra Debacle: Prisoners at Area 51.” This story has a lot of botany in it as NASA scientist, Gabe Greenley, investigates Thyron and what makes him tick.

Everyone loves Thyron, the flora pedis telepathis (telepathic walking plant).

Best of all, this entire series is available in audiobook form narrated by Hollywood actor, T.W. Ashworth! So if your young person is not into reading but loves to listen, that option is also available.

The entire series is available in audiobook format narrated by T. W. Ashworth.

Much about these stories is a reflection of our own planet right now. They can serve as an example of how to handle bad situations and the importance of science in engineering when it’s a matter of survival.

This link will take you to them on Amazon, but print and ebook versions are available at other vendors as well.

Be sure to visit the series website, https://startrailssaga.com, for book trailers, review links, and excerpts on Bublish with author commentary.

Introduce someone you love to a new world that actually makes ours look tolerable, at least for now.

Merry Christmas. Cross your fingers that 2022 sees things improve. Meanwhile, escape with a book.

Social Media Overload

No greater compliment for an author than a reader who wants to enjoy your book(s) more than once!

I know, I’ve been a bad blogger lately. That’s what happens when you have four websites (five, including this one), four Facebook pages, two Twitter accounts, and an Instagram account with no personal assistant to keep up with them all. <sigh>

As you can see, Book 2 in the Dead Horse Canyon series is now out. Yay! Getting that book written and out the door took far longer than expected. This year has been a humdinger for everyone. I’ve been healthy, but all the background noise from a messed-up planet had me distracted enough it was hard to focus.

Another concern, which may sound crazy, is that I was worried about whether this sequel to “The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon: Cheyenne Spirits” would be as good as the book that started it all. That one won three awards, which was more humbling than anything. It was a hard act to follow.

So far the feedback indicates that Book 2, “Return to Dead Horse Canyon: Grandfather Spirits” is another page turner.

Whew!

I have to admit when a brand new fan contacted me wanting to pre-order Book 3 that it made my day. On the other hand, it was terrifying! Maintaining the quality now expected is a big responsibility!

As far as Book 3 is concerned, the good news is that it’s drafted, but that was written before I connected with my coauthor, Pete, so it requires intense collaboration. Hopefully, we’ll get it out next year. And I think it should be as good as the others, if not better, as it wraps up this story. It has some really cool, surprising stuff in there. ๐Ÿ˜‰

As an introvert, I’m lousy at promoting my books. I also had it drummed into my head as a kid that it was rude to brag. It just doesn’t feel right to go out there and self-promote as shamelessly as required to get attention. I like making promotional material and especially videos. Speaking of which, here’s the trailer for Book 2.

I’ll try to be more diligent in the coming weeks. Meanwhile, be sure to follow me on my Facebook author page and on Instagram (@startrailssaga). I’m not on Twitter as much these days since Hootsuite upped their rates over 500%, something I was going to rant about here, but clearly never did.

If you’re looking for presents, please remember me for any readers on your list. Between the Dead Horse Canyon books, which are mystery/thrillers; the Star Trails Tetralogy, which is hard science fiction that’s perfect for kids interested in science and engineering; and weird stuff for that person has everything like astrology or family history, I’ve got something for everyone. Search on “Marcha Fox” in the book category on Amazon and they all come up, plus some that I did cover or editorial work on, as well as a few others for which I have no clue, but you get the idea.

I hope “all y’all” have a wonderful Christmas.

Welcome to the WATCH “#RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour! #RRBC #RRBCWRW

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Welcome to our tour! Each day this month I’ll feature a writing sample from some of the incredible authors who are members of this elite writing group. To learn more about them and their work, follow the link at the bottom of the page. Today’s featured author is ME! Woo Hoo!

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The Curse of Dead Horse Canyon

by Marcha Fox

Charlie Whitehorse caressed the soft texture of the wool blanket as he gathered its folds around himself against the evening chill. He savored it’s earthy scent, unlocking an onslaught of memories. This wasn’t just any blanket. Over three decades before, he’d watched his ama’sa’ni create this one from scratch. Sitting cross-legged on the floor of his log cabin, gazing into the roaring fire, he recalled how he’d longed to hunt deer with his father and the other elders. But he was a child of seven yearsNavaho_spinning_and_weaving_page_928, his job to help his grandmother, one of the tribe’s weavers. The process of making blankets was long and tedious, one far too boring for a young Navajo boy who felt embarrassed and demeaned performing chores assigned to squaws.

Even now, he remembered every step. First, she’d shown him how to separate the shoulder sections of the fleece, which were the cleanest with the longest staple. After that, she’d instructed him how to prepare the raw wool for spinning. This involved teasing a few locks with his fingers to separate the fibers. Next came combing them with a pair of carders that looked like large, flat dog brushes, manmade imitations of the prickly teasel. Then he’d place the resulting bats in a reed basket, miniature clouds of fluff awaiting her skilled hand. Pure lanolin coated his fingers, making them squeak when rubbed together, its odor one he’d never forget. Nor how it softened callouses earned practicing with his bow. Often he couldn’t work fast enough to keep up with her spinning, accomplished using a spindle to twist the prepared fibers into yarn.

Fortunately, once she spun enough yarn, his part became more interesting. Then he no longer had to sit for hours on end, arms aching from carding. Now he could explore a bit as he gathered the materials she needed to dye the yarn into a variety of warm colors.

The collection process for some substances required a knife or ax, which contributed to the feeling of it being a worthy task for a young brave. Bloodroot, hickory twigs, pokeweed berries, and oak bark were some of the things she requested. Among the most challenging were cochineal beetles which, when dried and ground into powder, would yield crimson. It could take an entire day to gather enough bugs for a single batch, but to both him and his ama’sa’ni, it was a day well-spent.

In fall, goldenrod blossoms were gathered to produce vibrant yellow, though color and intensity depended on various factors. When ama’sa’ni was ready to start the dye process, he’d haul water from either the iron-rich spring to the north side of their village for reds, or the alum-rich one to the east for the yellows, the resident minerals necessary for the fiber to permanently retain its color.

When she’d prepared sufficient yarn, Charlie helped her warp the loom constructed from tree trunks, then wrap the different color yarns on separate sticks that served as shuttles. Then, the best part–weaving–began. He marveled as she’d skillfully alternated shuttles, colorful geometric patterns emerging with each row of weft, until at long last their collective labors produced a finished blanket that was not only functional but a work of art.

Only now, as a grown man, did the wisdom of that experience impress itself upon his mind. Not only the work itself, but what it taught him about nature, going full circle from the vegetation the sheep ate to dyeing the yarn with some of those same plants. Yes, the process was tedious and long; yet the result was well worth it. It taught him patience, perseverance, and appreciation. For simple things. Like a blanket that felt softer to the touch each year, improving with use, unlike so many things that didn’t last. Analogous to life itself. And old friends. A cherished cover that had kept him warm for what would soon be thirty winters, many of which were spent in the frigid Colorado Rockies.

His cultural roots demonstrated man was intended to be an integral part of nature; stewards, not conquerors. Unlike those who’d invaded their land, forced Indigenous population to settle in inferior regions, then even drive them from there, when a wealth of silver, gold, copper, and other minerals were discovered beneath what they considered sacred ground.

Rather than extracting and processing it in a way that honored the earth and showed gratitude for its abundance, they’d virtually raped the land, leaving gaping holes and tunnels behind. Some hundred-fifty years before, his people had sadly admitted defeat and had no choice but to tolerate such behavior.

Yet, their misfortune didn’t end there. It was harvest time in 1869 when a band of drunken Whitemen raided the village, waiting until the tribesmen were away for the final hunt in preparation for winter. The invaders not only ravaged the women and burned their homes, but stampeded the horses that remained in camp. A few young braves, not yet old enough to join the hunt, had attempted to save the steeds, only to be driven by a hoard of deranged miners over the edge of a cliff to be decimated in the ravine a hundred yards below. Charlie recalled when he’d first heard the story as a youth and how he’d imagined himself as one of them.

Was it any wonder that when the tribesmen returned and found the resulting devastation that their medicine man, likewise a shaman, cursed that canyon?ย  So far, however, the Whiteman had continued to benefit from exploiting and abusing the entire area. Perhaps the dawn ofย  the curse resided in the aftermath of the leaching and other processing methods used to extract the precious metals. These involved noxious substances such as arsenic and mercury. Their residue poisoned the ground and eventually migrated to nearby streams when abandoned mines filled with rain and snow melt. The toxic drainage eventually killed all aquatic creatures and drove away wildlife that depended upon such channels for drinking water.

The mines were mostly exhausted, yet water continued to accumulate in their cavities. The latest bitter irony that they were using the excavations’ polluted aftermath to further devastate the ground. The acid mine water was being used for hydraulic fracturing, commonly known as fracking, again dishonoring the earth while stealing from its depths.

It was easy for Charlie to question whether or not the curse was real. So far it was questionable, no apparent consequences answered upon those who had wreaked so much destruction for the sake of greed. Only the earth and local wildlife had suffered.

Local tradition dictated that the curse would manifest in its entirety when their actions reached the pinnacle of evil. After that, it would dissipate, but only when the Whiteman and his Indigenous brothers mended their ways; when they closed the persistent rift between them in friendship and cooperation. Unlike many, he was one of the few who had tasted of such sweetness with his friend, Bryan Reynolds. They’d met in their teens, when Charlie had moved north to live with his father in his male parent’s native Cheyenne country. Oddly enough, the two boys even shared the same birthday, spending dozens of adventurous summers together, exploring, hunting, fishing, and growing up in separate cultures, yet being of one heart.

But now Bryan was dead. His life terminated in that very ravine known to his people as Dead Horse Canyon. Charlie suspected his friend’s tragic accident had been orchestrated by those to whom the curse had been directed. Yet so far, no guilty party had been identified, much less suffered due consequences. It didn’t make sense. Seven generations has passed. Surely it was time. And intuition assured him fulfillment was in progress.

But why Bryan? Why now? And what, if anything, was Charlie’s role?

The blanket’s warmth enjoined him to patience. From that first bat of carded wool to its liberation from the loom, it had comforted and instructed him in the ways of life. Legend assured him that the curse would end. Soon. And in some way, currently unknown to him, he would be part of it.


P.S. This is a glimpse at my WIP of the same name. This one is a conspiracy thriller and quite a bit different than my usual genre, YA science fiction! Hopefully I’ll have it done by the first of the year. Stay tuned!


Thank you for supporting ME along the WATCH “RWISA” WRITE Showcase Tour today!ย  We ask that if you have enjoyed this member’s writing, please visit their Author Page on the RWISA site, where you can find more of their writing, along with their contact and social media links, if they’ve turned you into a fan.

We ask that you also check out their books in the RWISA or RRBC catalogs.ย  Thanks, again for your support and we hope that you will follow each member along this amazing tour of talent!ย  Don’t forget to click the link below to learn more about this author:

My RWISA Author Page


How would you like to become a RWISA Member so that you’re able to receive this same awesome FREE support? Simply click HERE to make application!


 

Star Trails Tetralogy October 99c Book Sale!

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To celebrate being chosen as the RRBC Spotlight Author this month, which thrills me no end, all books in the Star Trails Tetralogy are on sale throughout October for only 99c, including those that are usually free. (Hahaha, just kidding! They’re still free.) This deal includes “The Terra Debacle: Prisoners at Area 51”. If you’re unfamiliar with my series, you can find out more about each story on its website, StarTrailsSaga.com.

Yeah, yeah, I know a “tetralogy” by definition is four books and it’s currently seven. That’s what happens when your characters take over and keep making demands. There’s at least one more coming, but I’m taking a bit of a break and writing a contemporary murder mystery that will (probably) come out first.

And speaking of RRBC (Rave Reviews Book Club), if you’re an author looking to network with other authors and get some of the best support you’ve ever imagined, be sure to check it out here.

bthsreallydoneit copyBeyond the Hidden Sky

FREE on most sales channels (Except Amazon where it’s 99c)

(This story is currently in production as an audio book! Look for it sometime around the first of next year.)

ADOEDarrival2 copy A Dark of Endless Days

 

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A Psilent Place Below

 

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Refractions of Frozen Time

 

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The Terra Debacle: Prisoners at Area 51TheTerraDebacleAudioRGBflatsmall+ copy

Also available as an Audio book narrated by T. W. Ashworth! Try Audible and get two books free!

 

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Star Trails Tetralogy eBook Box Set

Get Volumes 1- 4 in one convenient file for only $2.99!

 

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00005]ย The Sapphiran Agenda

This is a short backstory to how Thyron joined the Star Trails gang in Beyond the Hidden Sky. FREE on most sales channels!Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000039_00005]

Also available as an Audio Bookย narrated by T. W. Ashworth! Join Audible and get two books free! If you’d like a special code to get this one free, email me at marcha@kallioperisingpress.com. Reviews are always appreciated.

 

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The Star Trails Compendium

FREE! This is the Star Trails Tetralogy companion volume. It includes a glossary of terms, background information on Cyraria, and a special section for parents and educators who want to make use of the series’ science content as a teaching tool. If you’re a science teacher in the USA and interested in using the series in this manner, feel free to contact me for a free print copy! The Compendium is also available online at the series website.

#RWISA “RISING” WRITER – @MarchaFox #RRBC

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What a pleasant surprise to discover I’m the “Rising Writer” this month! I love this group! If you’re a writer looking for a group that provides great support check out RRBC and RWISA!

via #RWISA “RISING” WRITER – @MarchaFox #RRBC

99c Holiday Book Sale!

HOLIDAY SALE! All my books are only 99c/each until December 31. If you or someone you know likes science, this science fiction is just for them! As one reviewer stated, “Seamless integration of real science with an eye toward plausibility reminds me of Asimov.” The Terra Debacle, the story of a sentient plant stuck on Earth, will undoubtedly put a smile on the face of any botanists out there.

More information about the individual stories, including reviews and videos, can be found on the series website here, or you can find all of them on my Amazon page here. Happy reading!

“Watch RWISA Write Showcase Tour” — Day 21

RWISA TOUR (1)

[NOTE:–OMG, it’s my turn in the Blog Tour! My offering is an excerpt from my upcoming novel, Dark Circles, a slightly dark, hard sci-fi love story. No release date has been set. You know how I am with release dates. LOL! Those of you who have read “A Dark of Endless Days” may recognize what is going on in this scene. As an author, I have a really hard time letting good characters ride off into the sunset (or fly off into the stars, as the case may be). This novel will wrap it all up and tie everything together.]

Your Wildest Dreams

by Marcha Fox

I inhaled sharply when I recognized the introductory riff wafting from my favorite 80s station as Your Wildest Dreams by the Moody Blues. Even though I had the original 45 RPM record, the album on cassette tape, and more recently, the CD, I kept them safely locked away so I wouldn’t binge on it. Nonetheless, when KPLV, 93.1 FM in Vegas, got around to playing it every few weeks or so, I’d indulge in a break, a delicious reminder of why I was here.

Consumed by ethereal and intimately familiar sound waves, I got up, closed the blinds, and even though it was unlikely the song’s strains would penetrate my office’s cinder block walls, plugged in my headset so I could crank it upโ€”I mean really up. I melted back into my chair, eyes closed, with what was probably an idiotic smile on my face, savoring each note as the song segued into its lively, 142 BPM tempo. The next three minutes and forty-one seconds, I’d be in heaven.

Even though this song came out eight years after she left, the first time I heard it, back when I was still in college in ’86, I knew two things: One, it would always be “our song”; and Two, I had to find her.

My heart leapt with visions of galaxies beyond, of what might be out there, where she might be. I plunged headlong through space and time, besieged by memories burned into my heart as permanently and painfully as branding was to a newborn calf. Did she remember? Feel the same thing I did? Sense the enchantment of fate-entangled lives?

I memorize pretty easily, which comes in handy, especially with things like the Periodic Table or Maxwell’s equations. And of course, favorite songs. These particular lyrics struck me, hard and personal, from day one, certain it’d been written exclusively for me.

As my eyes teared up, logic intervened and yanked me back to planet Earth.

Grow up, Benson! What are you, a total schmaltz or what?

We were kids, for heaven sakes. A teenage crush. I should’ve gotten over it, but never did. No wonder. Girls like her are rare. One of a kind. She’d already experienced things I never would. Things that were part of my wildest dreams.

The admonition failed, pushed aside by that part of me that felt alive again, jammin’ like a total jerk, mouthing the words as I sang along in my head. It’s not like I’m a teenager anymore, though at the moment I felt like one. No, memories of the heart never dieโ€”can’t die, everโ€”even if you try to kill them.

I’d give anything to talk to her. Which of course I have, numerous times over the years, if only in my head. Okay, aloud more often than I care to admit. I could swear it even felt as if she answered a time or two. I suppose that’s how it is with your first love. Or your first kiss, even if it was only a peck on the cheek. It penetrates your soul and stays there forever.

That mid-summer day in ’78 hauling hay was as vivid as yesterday in my mind’s eye. The cloudless sky, sun hot on my neck, the aroma of first-crop alfalfa sweetening the mountain air. I scratched my shoulder, a reflex memory of itchy, stray leaves sticking through my T-shirt. My chest ached as I remembered tear tracks streaking her dust-covered face at something I’d said. Then, days later, that withering look when we lied about her ship.

The one we still have. What’s left of it quietly abandoned beneath a tarp in Building 15, here at Area 51.

How she knew we weren’t telling the truth, I’ll never know. Pretty funny it’s still sitting there. And I’m sure she’d think so, too. I can just hear her saying, “Stupid snurks, I knew they’d never figure it out.” Though actually they did, just didn’t find technology worth pursuing. Even contractors didn’t want it.

I had to admit it was pretty crazy, but she was my motivation to get where I was today: just short of a decade of college linked with serendipity that put me in the right place at the right time, hoping someday I’d find her. My life had changed a lot since then. How much had hers changed? Did she make it home? Was she still alive? With the effects of relativistic travel, which I understood only too well, she could still be a teenager, while I was easing into the infamous dirty thirties.

Not good. If I ever did find her, she’d probably think I was some lecherous old fart. Either that, or, with my luck, she’d be married with a bunch of kids. I winced with the thought.

My sentimental reverie vanished when my office door slammed open and Hector Buckhorn rolled in. Literally. Hec’s been stuck in a wheelchair ever since he crashed his hang glider into a New Mexico mountainside during spring break his last semester of college. He ridge soared a lot, particularly around Dulce, over restricted areas where he wasn’t supposed to be. Got caught a couple times, but being Native American, never got in trouble, even though it wasn’t his home reservation. He’s amazingly good at playing dumb, in spite ofโ€”or possibly because ofโ€”his 150ish IQ. He never talked about his accident, said he couldn’t remember. Makes sense, actually, given he suffered a massive concussion. The only time I ever saw him pissed him off was when he woke up in the hospital and discovered they’d shaved off his hair, since grown back beyond shoulder length.

I dropped the headset around my neck and faked a frown. “Don’t you ever knock, butthead?”

“Hey, man, wazzup?” he said, giving me a funny look. “You okay?”

I laughed. “Of course. Just thinking. Remembering. You know.”

Ahhh. They played that song again, didn’t they?”

“Can’t hide anything from you, can I, Chief?”

“Nope. I figured you were up to somethin’ with your blinds closed.”

He wheeled over to the grey metal, government-issue table on the other side of the room and helped himself to a handful of peanut M&Ms. Once I’d realized during my PhD days at Cal Tech that, in a pinch, they made a pretty decent meal, I’d kept that old, wide-mouth canning jar full. He dumped them in his mouth, perusing me with knowing, dark eyes.

“You were sure enjoyin’ that song of yours,” he said, not even trying to stifle his crooked grin as he munched away.

“Yeah,” I replied, uncomfortable with the conversation’s direction.

“We’ve known each other a long time, Allen,” he said. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me about her?”

“Not much to tell.”

He let fly with a popular expletive related to bovine excrement. “C’mon! What’s her name?” he persisted.

I blew out my cheeks and sighed, knowing resistance was futile. “Creena,” I answered, surprising myself when, again, I got a little choked up. I avoided his eyes by likewise heading for the M&Ms.

“So find her,” he said.

“It’s not that simple,” I replied, pouring myself a handful. “I don’t know where she is.” A statement that was truer than he could possibly imagine.

“I have some resources who could help,” he offered with a conspiratorial wink.

I shook my head, then stalled by popping a few colorful orbs in my mouth.

“Why not? If she’s anywhere on this planet, these guys’ll find her.”

I swallowed hard and paused; met his gaze. “She’s not.”

He scowled, making him look a lot like those old pictures of Cochise. “Say again?”

“She’s. Not.”

“Oh! I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I assumed she’s dead. She must’ve been quite a girl.”

“She was. Is. She’s not dead. At least as far as I know.”

His jaw dropped, shocked expression broadcasting the fact he’d caught the implications. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“Nope.”

“Abductee?” he whispered.

“Nope,” I answered, raiding the candy jar again. “Immigrant.”

His eyes widened as he spewed an expletive that elevated excrement to sanctified status. “Don’t tell me she’s an EBE!”

I nearly spewed partially chewed M&Ms across the room. Extraterrestrial biological entity, indeed! Yet by definition, actually, she was.

I chuckled at his expression and shook my head. “No. Quite human. At least as far as I know.”

“Are you?” he added, chocolate-colored irises rimmed with white. His reaction surprised meโ€”UFOs, even aliens, were no big deal in his culture, just business as usual with the Star People.

“C’mon, Chief! You’ve known me since tenth grade, running high school track!”

He leaned back, searching my face with more solemnity than I’d seen since I told him how Dad died. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, bro,” he said finally, shaking his head.

“You have no idea,” I said, throat constricting as scratchy lyrics from the headset, audible only to me, issued another reminder of why I was here.

* * *

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Marcha Fox’s RWISA Author Page