Poets in Hell: A Heroes in Hell Anthology Compiled by Janet Morris + giveaway

In the underworlds, injustice always reigns: Join us and our damnedest poets for the crookedest poetry festival in perdition where language comes to die and no rhyme goes unpunished.

Poets in Hell: A Heroes in Hell Anthology

Compiled by Janet Morris
Genre: Dark Epic Historical Fantasy
The best, the worst, and ugliest bards in perdition vie for Satan's favor as poets slam one another, Satan's Fallen Angels smirk up their sleeves, and the illiterati have their day. Find out why the damned deserve their fates as Hell's hacks sink to new poetical depths!

The first Bible writer drafts a deal with the Devil.

Attila the Hun learns his punishment's just begun.

Mary Shelley and Victor Frankenstein make a monstrous mistake.

Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp get their unjust deserts.

Hell's Undertaker goes on holiday.

The Damned Poets Society slams away.

A nameless soul shows Dorothy Parker that fame is a bitch.

In the underworlds, injustice always reigns:

Join us and our damnedest poets for the crookedest poetry festival in perdition where language comes to die and no rhyme goes unpunished. 

Stories inside:

• Words - Chris Morris
• Seven Against Hell - Janet Morris and Chris Morris
• Reunion - Nancy Asire
• Hell-hounds - Bruce Durham
• The Kid with No Name - Jack William Finley
• All Hell to Pay - Deborah Koren
• Poetic Injustice - Larry Atchley, Jr.
• When You Gaze Into an Abyss - Matthew Kirshenblatt
• Pride and Penance - Tom Barczak
• Grand Slam - pdmac
• Undertaker’s Holiday - Joe Bonadonna and Shebat Legion
• Red Tail’s Corner - Yelle Hughes
• Faust III - Richard Groller
• Tapestry of Sorrows and Sighs - Bill Snider
• Haiku d’État - Beth W. Patterson
• A Mother’s Heart - Bill Barnhill
• We the Furious - Joe Bonadonna
• Damned Poets Society - Michael H. Hanson
• All We Need of Hell - Michael A. Armstrong

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Excerpt from Poets in Hell
Words by Chris Morris
In the beginning was the Logos, the Word. In the beginning come always the words. Words are the mortar of the mind.

“Look, you!” J the Yahwist, first author of the Old Testament, exhorted empty air, waving her hands about her on a blasted heath encircled by dark and cold.

As in ancient times, this command brings light out of darkness, souls out of nowhere. All the heath fills with them, the detritus of the damned, singing and keening and rhyming aloud at the top of their lungs, each trying to outshout the other: the prolix, the wordy damned of perdition. Here are the teeming illiterati, the poor poets of pride and ignorance, angry and bleating like sheep at the altar, romancers of death, hoping for slaughter, dreaming of surcease.

J would give them peace if she could, but she couldn’t: peace was oblivion, oblivion was escape, and escape was unattainable in hell. Death could be had, and cheap, but never lasted long: no sinning soul could win its way to heaven’s grace.

J’s god reigned as a jealous god, tempestuous; unfair, equivocal. As her skin glowed caramel, neither white nor yellow, brown or black, so her eyes were inconclusively hazel, flecking every color in creation. Like her god on high, set up from eternity before the earth was made, she belonged nowhere in damnation, not to this New Hell nor any other. She was only visiting here. Or so she thought; so she hoped.

“Look, you,” J called a second time aloud, and a thousand heads turned her way; a thousand mouths clamped shut as she began to tell her tale to their minds’ eyes.

Invariably, these words are her signal to infernity that she is ready to begin. Inevitably, those words summon not only story, but the Deceiver, a lord of hell himself.

Sensing joy, incensed by pleasure, now comes Satan, white- winged and glorious, amid his host of fallen angels, circling to land, streaming intolerance and wrath on all the fools below, who howl the more.

At times like these, J misses Solomon. That wise warrior-king (her fellow writer of words worth hearing) would enjoin even such rabble as this to vie with the lords of hell themselves, if she’d but ask him.

About the Authors:
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Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national security topics.

Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris. He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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Excerpt: Pirates in Hell A Heroes in Hell Anthology created by Janet Morris + giveaway

Black heart buccaneers face fiery seas, monstrous krakens, and the wrath of the Devil himself! 

Pirates in Hell: A Heroes in Hell Anthology
created by Janet Morris
Genre: Dark Fantasy Pirate Anthology
Avast, ye readers! Here be Pyrates! Feast yer eyes on the cursed treasures before you! Hoist the skull 'n' crossbones! Walk the plank with hell's sorest losers! Join the damnedest buccaneers and privateers ever to sail infernal seas. Here be twelve tales of piracy spun by Janet Morris, Chris Morris, Nancy Asire, Paul Freeman, Larry Atchley Jr, Rob Hinkle, Michael H. Hanson, Joe Bonadonna, Andrew P. Weston, S.E. Lindberg, and Jack William Finley. Corsairs, freebooters and plunderers shiver their timbers and meet their fates as the devil's dupes learn why the deeper in hell you go, the colder it gets.

The depths of hell chill the boldest sinner as damned souls learn why the deeper in hell you go, the colder it gets.

Inside you’ll find:

Bitter Business – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Pieces of Hate – Andrew P. Weston
Evil Angel – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Who’s a Pirate Now? – Nancy Asire
Curse of the Pharaohs – S.E. Lindberg
Lir’s Children – Paul Freeman
Unholiest Grail – Larry Atchley, Jr.
The Bitter Taste of Hell’s Injustice – Jack William Finley
Serial Recall and Beautiful Tortures – Michael H. Hanson
Drink and the Devil – Rob Hinkle
The Pirates of Penance – Joe Bonadonna
Muse of Fire – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Hell Hounds (excerpt) – Andrew P. Weston

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Excerpt from Pirates in Hell – Unholiest Grail by Larry Atchley, Jr.



Over the threshold and into the shop strode a man with wavy shoulder-length brown hair and a mustache turned up at the ends with styling wax. He wore a tailored blue frock coat, tan trousers neatly pressed. He waded through ankle-deep standing water in black leather knee-high boots. “Welcome to Hellish Curiosities and Clothiers,” LaVey said. “Can I interest you in anything in particular?”

“Hell-o to you as well, my damned man,” the patron said in an oratorical voice. “My name is Sir Henry Morgan. I have heard it said that your shop is the place where the rarest items of special interest may be found.”

“So true. So true.” Purring, LaVey stroked his black goatee. Finally, a viable customer. “We specialize in unobtanium. What, precisely, are you looking for, dear sir?”

“A product. A very special product,” said Morgan. “I’ve heard rumors that a cup exists, a special cup — a cup which, when filled with alcoholic libations or possibly any liquid, allows the drinker to actually become inebriated. As I’m sure you can imagine, such an item would be very much in demand.”

“Your reputation does precede you, Sir. And your predilection for strong drink is well known.” LaVey said. “Do you know that, after your death topside, an entire rum distillery company was named after you?”

“Heh, oh yes.” Morgan grinned. “But they got my image all wrong on the labels. I’ve never worn anything so gaudy as that outfit they portray.”

“If such a cup were in my possession,” LaVey responded, “its purchase price would be quite dear. Only a select few of the damned would be able to afford such an item.”

“Naturally.” Morgan shrugged. “I have considerable resources at my disposal. What would you charge for such a wondrous unholy relic . . . If you possessed it, that is.”

“If an unholy grail such as you describe actually exists,” LaVey said carefully, “surely His Satanic Majesty would never allow a mere sinner to possess it. His rules forbid the pleasure of drunkenness to the damned, as you surely know. To own such an item would mean risking the wrath of all the lords of the latter-day hells.”

Morgan drew close to LaVey and said archly, “Mister LaVey, let’s end this charade, shall we? Everyone knows you deal in certain items of supposedly mystical, or even reputedly mythical, powers. Scuttlebutt has it that most of what you sell is counterfeit rubbish, that—”

“Rubbish!” LaVey interrupted. “I’ve never been so insulted in all my—”

“Wait! Let me finish,” Morgan ordered. “However, some souls whisper that not everything you sell is a sham. A certain spear comes to mind.”

“Now see here, my good sir! That whole business about a certain spear got me into a great deal of trouble with His Satanic Majesty. I’d really rather not discuss the topic further.”

“As you wish.” Morgan licked his lips. “I shall merely point out that if someone in New Hell knows where to find this unholy grail, you are that someone. You claim to run the only place where such items can be found. ‘Unobtanium’ you call it. It would be in your best interest to actually have this item, the fabled ‘real deal’. You’d be discreet about it, of course, so as not to rouse the suspicions of the Devil’s Children. So naturally you couldn’t advertise that you possess such a cup. Thus my question to you remains: Do you in fact have it? And, if you do, what would it cost me to buy it? Alternatively, if you don’t now have it, could you get it upon for a qualified buyer? Name your price, and I will gladly pay it.”

LaVey pensively rubbed his Mephistophelian goatee, thinking what riches might be his, could he find so important a relic for this inveterate privateer, once lieutenant governor of Jamaica, whence he’d raided settlements far and wide with such single-minded rapacity that he secured a license to attack and seize Spanish vessels for the English Crown. “If I’m going to risk His Satanic Majesty’s ire, my price will be substantial.”

“A soul could name his own price for an item that can make this hellish existence less vexing.” Morgan grimaced. “Only from great risk comes great reward.”

“Yes, great indeed,” LaVey said. But where in hell could it be, this grail which Morgan so desired that he’d buy it rather than steal it? Returning from the storeroom to the selling floor with a crystal sphere in her fingers, Madam Blavatsky caught LaVey’s attention, casting furtive glances toward the back room. “Excuse me, Captain Morgan,” said LaVey and followed her into the back, which smelled disconcertingly of mildew.

Once out of Morgan’s sight, Blavatsky sucked on the corners of her toothless mouth and whispered, “For ‘great reward’, we may be able to assist him. This grail has shown itself to me.”

LaVey lit up like a cannon fuse. “You know where it is? Why haven’t you mentioned anything about this before,” LaVey demanded of the infuriating, self-proclaimed mystagogue and leading proponent of Theosophy.

“Because no one has asked about it until now,” she replied. “Why must I have as my assistant the greatest idiot savant of the modern age?”

“I’ve only now seen a vision of it while you and the customer were bantering about its price,” Blavatsky said, giving him a nasty sidelong glare.

La Vey took Madam Blavatsky’s arm, and the two nonchalantly made their way to where Morgan stood, staring through the storefront window, holding a pair of brass Carl Zeiss Jena binoculars close to squinting eyes. “I don’t have it right now, but we know where the cup may be found,” LaVey said to Morgan. “One million diablos is my finder’s fee,” LaVey said.

“Whoa ho!” Morgan exclaimed. “You’ve the soul of a buccaneer. A princely sum indeed. Very well, Mister LaVey, you shall have your price—if and when you produce the cup. The real grail, the goblet of my desire, of course, and not some simulacrum.”

“Of course, Sir Henry.” LaVey rubbed his hands together, sensually anticipating the feel of all those diablos under his sweating palms. “To deliver, I must mount an expedition. Would you like to join us?”

“Join you? On an expedition? I’ll lead any expedition my diablos fund. First I must needs muster a crew—reavers who’ll take my orders, not yours. Even in hell, he who has the gold makes the rules.” Morgan chuckled at his own levity.

About the Author
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Larry Atchley Jr. is a writer of primarily science fiction, fantasy, horror, and poetry. His other interests include Qi-Gong Kung Fu, British Humour, hiking, mountain biking, everything about tea, sword fencing, traditional archery, reading and collecting books, and playing harmonica and guitar. He is a crewmember of the piratical poetry and musical performance group The Seadog Slam and is frequently a guest author at various literary conventions and other events. He is a contributing author to Janet Morris’s Heroes in Hell series. You can read his blog, The Short Pale Writer in the Long Black Coat, at www.larryatchleyjr.wordpress.com.

Giveaway
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Heroika: Dragon Eaters (Heroika Volume 1) Edited by Janet Morris + giveaway

The art of dragon killing.
Seventeen writers bring you so close to dragons you can smell their fetid breath.

 

Heroika: Dragon Eaters (Heroika Volume 1)
Edited by Janet Morris
Genre: Epic Historical Fantasy Adventure Anthology
The art of dragon killing:

Dragons have been eating humans for centuries. Now heroes throughout history stalk their legendary foe. Learn how to hunt, kill, and eat the wild dragon. Never before has revenge tasted so good. A literary feast for the bloody-minded.

In Janet Morris' anthology on the art of dragon killing, seventeen writers bring you so close to dragons you can smell their fetid breath. Tales for the bold among you.

HEROIKA 1 -- DRAGON EATERS, an anthology of heroic fiction edited by Janet Morris, features original stories by

Janet Morris and Chris Morris, The First Dragon Eater

S.E. Lindberg, Legacy of the Great Dragon

Janet Morris and Chris Morris, Bring Your Rage

Walter Rhein, Aquila of Oyos

Cas Peace, The Wyght Wyrm

Jack William Finley, The Old Man on a Mountain

A.L. Butcher, Of Blood and Scales

Travis Ludvigson, Night Stalkers

Tom Barczak, Forged

JP Wilder, Rhyme of the Dragon Queen

Joe Bonadonna, The Dragon’s Horde

Milton Davis, Wawindaji Joka (The Dragon Hunters)

M Harold Page, Sky Tomb of the Earth Kings

William Hiles, Red Rain

Beth W. Patterson, La Bétaille

Bruce Durham, Arctic Rage

Mark Finn, Sic Semper Draconis

**Heroika: Dragon Eaters is Perseid Press' featured book this month! On sale for Only $2.99 on Kindle!!**

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About the Authors
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Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national security topics.

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Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris. He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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Q&A with author S. E. Lindberg (Lovers in Hell A Heroes in Hell Anthology) + giveaway

Q&A with author S. E. Lindberg (part of the Lovers in Hell Anthology)

What is something unique/quirky about you?
Strange muses have inspired me for decades. By training and trade, I am a chemist and the intersection of science, art, and spirituality fascinates me (alchemy essentially). Alchemy largely originated in Egypt, so its Underworld of Duat serves a rich muse. For Perseid Press, I’ve contributed six alchemy-inspired tales to date (four for the Heroes in Hell series and two for Heroika) that all integrate Egyptian myths.
 

Who is your hero and why?
I have many personal heroes and role models, but my mind goes to sharing the heroes of this featured story: “Lovers Sans Phalli”. There are two! I have adopted the duo of Howard Carter (renowned archaeologist and looter of King Tutankhamun’s tomb) and Ernst Haeckel (discredited evolutionist and original ‘ecologist’) as tour guides for several Heroes in Hell stories. Why use them as protagonists? Both are deceased explorers who sought to unveil mysteries that resonate with my alchemical inspirations.

Their motives contrast: Carter adores material, artificial wealth as much as Haeckel is fascinated with nature’s riches. They roam the Egyptian world of the dead, Duat. Introduced in Pirates in Hell, the conflicted duo has four connected, yet stand alone, adventures (so far 😊): “Curse of the Pharaohs” in Pirates in Hell
“Lovers Sans Phalli” in Lovers in Hell
“Fool’s Gold? in Mystics in Hell
“Bait and Switch” in Liars in Hell

What inspired you to write “Lovers Sans Phalli”?
Given the anthology theme of ‘lovers’ and given my heroes are damned to Duat, I researched relevant myths for inspiration and locked onto that of Osiris’s murder. Osiris was the Egyptian god of fertility and afterlife who was dismembered by his brother Set. Osiris’ wife Isis collected his body parts, including his sacred phallus, to enable the conception and birth of their son Horus.

For “Lovers Sans Phalli”, a dozen cursed pharaohs (all named Ramses) team with the infamous, tomb-raiding Howard Carter and discredited evolutionist Ernst Haeckel to repair the penis-less Osiris (who has no sovereignty presently in a realm ruled by Satan). It’s fun to have Carter and Haeckel deal with getting calibrated to being ‘dead’ (with ‘bodies’ that may not be whole in the ‘living’ sense) as they seek out the sacred penis. Of course, serious themes are buried under wild predicaments and satire. The reflective Haeckel considers ‘Are genitalia need for love?’ while Howard Carter, ever the opportunist, wonders: ‘How much is a god’s penis worth on the black-market?’

What is your advice to new authors?
Experiment with non-writing roles that bring a high return on investment to better your craft.

An issue (feature?) with writing today is that authors cannot exclusively write; they are compelled to be marketers, reviewers, editors, reviewers, etc. Every role has an opportunity cost (all that energy could be spent elsewhere). So, the question is: what efforts (beyond writing) can one perform that provide as many benefits as possible? Most include participating in larger communities.

A decade ago, I began interviewing authors to learn from them and to share their experiences/perspectives; that led to publishing opportunities and networking. Also, reviewing books helped me learn about new markets, while connecting with editors and publishers when I shared those reviews. I’m not keen enough to create content via podcasts, but that is obviously another way to simultaneously network while bettering one’s craft. Attending & volunteering at conventions is another way. I’ve attended World Fantasy Convention and GenCon Writer’s Symposium (GCWS), eventually participating on panels and have been on the organizing committee for three years now (chairing in 2023; next one is early August 2024, in Indianapolis). Not only are these great ways to meet/listen to panels with authors you can learn from, but volunteering at conventions allows for direct access to all sorts of folks in the industry (publishers, illustrators, editors). Writing/Reading groups (either in-person local clubs or online ones like Goodreads) offer community & opportunities too.

Only fools fall in love, and hell is filled with fools.

Lovers in Hell: A Heroes in Hell Anthology
by Janet Morris
Genre: Dark Fantasy Anthology
Only fools fall in love, and hell is filled with fools. Our damned lovers include: Christopher Marlowe and Will Shakespeare, Napoleon and Wellington, Orpheus and Eurydice, Hatshepsut and Senenmut, Abelard and Heloise, Helen and Penelope, Saint Teresa and Satan's Reaper, Madge Kendall and the Elephant Man, and more . . . -- all of whom pay a hellish price for indulging their affections.

Shakespeare said "To be wise and love exceeds man's might," and in Lovers in Hell, the damned in hell exceed all bounds as they search for their true loves, punish the perfidious, and avoid getting caught up in Satan's snares. In ten stories of misery and madness, hell's most loveless seek to slake the thirst that can never be quenched, and find true love amid the lies of ages.

Includes:
Never Doubt I Love – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Love Interrupted – Nancy Asire
Lovers Sans Phalli – S. E. Lindberg
Fume of Sighs – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Calamity – Michael E. Dellert
Love Triangle – Michael H. Hanson
A Hand of Four Queens – A. L. Butcher
Devil’s Trull – Andrew P. Weston
Withering Blights – Joe Bonadonna
Wrath of Love – Janet Morris and Chris Morris
Excerpt from Hell Gate – Andrew P. Weston

**On Sale for Only $2.99 until the end of the month!**
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“Lovers Sans Phalli” by S.E. Lindberg Excerpt

“May your spirit live, may you spend millions of years, you who love Thebes, sitting with your face to the north wind, your eyes beholding happiness.”

–Tutankhamun’s Wishing Cup Inscription and Howard Carter’s Epitaph

Parallel dams of fleshy refuse emerged on either side of Ammit. This sordid canal within the Lake of Fire guided them in a closed circuit. Regularly spaced obelisks, tilted at awkward angles, rose from the dikes. Mummies, suspended from these, wailed as they burned in harmony with their wind-snapped threads of cloth, flittering like ruined pennants from vanquished standards. Legs spread, their crotches and lower abdomens gaped, empty.

“They have lost their genitals,” Howard Carter gasped in horror.

“Indeed, they are not whole,” agreed Haeckel.

The tomb-raider’s eyebrows raised with excitement: “Ah ha, but I recognize that one!”

“Mister Carter, how do you know the identity of that mummy? Its screams are incoherent. There is no discerning mark on its body; it is burnt beyond recognition.”

“Ah, the cartouche beneath his crispy legs labels it. It must be Khafre. Ooh! Look at that one over there. That must be Snefru.”

Haeckel asked, “What is a cartouche?”

Howard pointed. “The enclosed inscription of hieroglyphs. They are signatures of royal Egyptians.”

Ramses III muttered in horror: “The next reads: ‘Menes.’”

Young XI, participating with reluctant enthusiasm, said, “And Narmer hangs just beyond.”

“A splendid game, this is!” Howard Carter identified a few more with glee: Amenhotep and Khufu.

Haeckel raised his heart to his compatriot in a friendly salute. “Prost! Gut gemacht.”

The defaced pharaohs could not play any longer. ‘Spotting-the-burning-pharaoh’ made the Rameses’ hearts grow too heavy for games. The displayed victims wailed continuously. Did they call out for help? Mercy? Or to mitigate pain?

Senenmut grew strangely excited. He began to recognize the landscape. There was hope, after all. He tried to inform Hatshepsut but she batted him away. “Shh. I am listening.”

“Djoser!” Carter flexed his arms victoriously. “I am winning!”

“Shut up, fools,” Hatshepsut commanded. “Can you not hear a boy screaming for his mother?”

“Yes, Ma’am . . . or . . . sir . . . I did hear a boy’s cries,” Carter confirmed to Hatshepsut.

All quieted until Ammit’s torso rocked suddenly. Her riders staggered and squatted to maintain balance as she steered her bulk through the canal. The chimera burped.

The abject ostrich feather previously anchored to her teeth shot free, floated in the air, and landed on Hatshepsut. What did it mean to hold the feather of Maat again? She placed it into her ebony hair, above her right ear.

“A boy! Over there,” shouted Young XI.

Hatshepsut’s heart beat faster with hope and anxiety. “Where?”

“On the right. Up ahead. Beside a chariot with wheels upended.”

The ghostly, scab-encrusted boy sat cross-legged atop the ruined vehicle, his right thigh bone splintered. The dangling ankle smoldered. A large hole in his left breast revealed his empty ribcage, his missing heart. Bony hands clutched an alabaster chalice filled with the blood-red offering of the Lake. Blistered skin pebbled his brow. His skull gazed with vacant eye sockets toward them while his mouth opened. The shattered boy rasped, “Make a wish.”

“What did he say?” Hatshepsut asked of any who might know. “Is that my Thutmose?”

Despite the missing cartouche, Carter identified the burnt remains silently. The victim’s height marked him a teenager. The floral cup carved from white rock could only belong to a single pharaoh. Oh, dear Tutankhamun. Your Lotus Chalice would sell very well. Carter salivated. No need to educate the others. Time was of the essence. “No matter his identity, we can save the boy. We must. We move swiftly on this creature’s back, but we can retrieve him. Hold my heart for a moment.” He tossed the organ to Ramses IV. “I’m the tallest with the longest reach. I think I can grab him as we pass. As I lean over the side, someone please counterbalance me.”

Ramses III held Carter’s left hand, allowing the tomb-raider to lean far starboard as Ammit’s advance brought him closer.

The injured boy outstretched his hands to meet his savior, extending his reach by holding out the alabaster cup.

Carter seized the chalice. The boy pulled oppositely. King Tut whispered with charred lips, “You! I recognize you. You shall not have my cup, thief! Instead, I shall have you.”

Tutankhamun released the Lotus Chalice to seize Carter’s forearms.

Ammit did not slow. Carter pulled King Tut from the grotesque levee. The youth pulled furiously at Carter while towed along. Ethereal water splashed violently against the boy’s face, filling his open mouth to pour from his opened chest. To all bearing witness, it appeared that Carter was trying to reel in the boy. In truth, he could not let go.

Tutankhamun’s skin finally peeled off. His skinned hands failed in their grip, leaving the boy bobbing in dark waves. The chalice dropped and sank.

“No!” Carter wept real tears and retrieved a handkerchief from his vest pocket to mop the mucus streaming from his nose. “I tried to save— I tried”— he sniveled, glaring at his empty hands— “the . . . the ca . . . cu . . .”

“Tutankhamun!” Hatshepsut finally recognized the adolescent pharaoh.

Carter squinted helplessly toward where the chalice had sunk.

About the Author:
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S. E. Lindberg resides near Cincinnati, Ohio working as a microscopist, employing his skills as a scientist and artist to understand the manufacturing of products analogous to medieval paints. Two decades of practicing chemistry, combined with a passion for the Sword and Sorcery genre, spurred him to write Dyscrasia Fiction: graphic adventure fictionalizing the alchemical humors.

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Meet the Science Fiction Authors of Outpassage: Janet Morris & Chris Morris + giveaway

What is something unique/quirky about you?
Together we breed Morgan horses. We consult with Morgan breeders to help them choose crosses to their stock to achieve a desired result.

We are also musicians; Janet plays bass guitar, Chris sings and plays guitar. We have an album on MCA records. Look for Christopher Crosby Morris on Soundcloud or N1M.com 

 

Can you, for those who don't know you already, tell something about yourself and how you became an author?
Janet wrote her first novel, High Couch of Silistra in 1975; a friend sent it to an agent who chose to represent her; she had already written the second book in the Silistra Quartet and her agent told her not to disclose that until they finalized the contract for the first one. When the publisher learned of the others, Bantam Books bought the succeeding three. When the fourth book was published, the series already had four million copies in print. Suddenly Janet was a novelist specializing in environmental, gender, historical and political subjects. In the process, Chris started as her editor and ultimately a co-writer. Since then, she and Chris have co-authored many books.

Who is your hero and why?
Heraclitus of Ephesus, a pre-socratic philosopher, whose Cosmic Fragments foreshadow our knowledge of reality and how to perceive it. Among his precepts is the statement that change alone is unchanging. We’ve worked Heraclitus’ fragments in here and there throughout our books.


Which of your novels can you imagine being made into a movie?
All of them. We write cinematically, our books are vivid adventures we undertake without knowing the destination.  I, the Sun, The Sacred Band, and Outpassage are particularly suited to film. The Threshold Series is a feast of opportunities for today’s special effects creators.

What inspired you, to write Outpassage?
Outpassage — Many wonder if somehow salvation lies in the stars. In Outpassage pawns of industry are kidnapped to work on a distant mining colony. Waking from their long space voyage, they quickly discover strange properties in the surrounding straits of rock being mined for rare minerals needed for advanced tech production on Earth. Mysteriously, some miners die in questionable circumstances and reappear, coming to life and causing rebellion among their fellow contract laborers. Is this the result of natural conditions or supernatural forces? Outpassage takes you there to see for yourself.

Who designed your book covers?
The cover of Outpassage was created for Perseid Press by Vincent DiFate.

Advice to writers?
As for advice to writers, here is all we know: write the story you want to read. Start at the beginning, go to the end, and stop. Seriously. From start to finish you must inhabit the construct in a manner that makes the reader choose to continue; if we as writers can’t feel what it’s like being there, our readers can’t either. Close your eyes, look at your feet where they are standing on the story’s ground; tell us what you see. Tell us what you hear. Ask at the end of each paragraph ‘what happens next?’. If you lose touch with it wait until you’re back inside it. Tell the story that comes to you, and from you, to us.

War and Mystery Beyond the Stars 

Outpassage
by Janet Morris & Chris Morris
Genre: Science Fiction
WAR AND MYSTERY BEYOND THE STARS

Sgt. "Det" Cox has just spent three years under psych observation on Earth; now that he's out-system, he isn't about to tell anyone he's seeing aliens again. Paige Barnett has lost everything, even her name, because she knows too much about the rebellion spreading through the Earth-Space mining colonies.

Together Cox and Barnett stumble upon the mystery at the revolution's heart and learn why the rebels are willing to die for it.

Is their discovery humanity's worst threat or greatest gift? The authorities are willing to destroy whole planets to keep the revolution's secret from reaching Earth... What's to stop them from destroying two people

"The Morrises' blend of fast-paced narrative and meticulous research into near-space technology makes a novel you can't put down."
-- C.J. Cherryh

"Action sequences that would make any writer proud. OUTPASSAGE is a wonderful book."
--David Drake

"OUTPASSAGE might just be the perfect science fiction novel."
-- Jack Williamson

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About the Author:
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Best selling author Janet Morris began writing in 1976 and has since published more than 30 novels, many co-authored with her husband Chris Morris or others. Most of her fiction work has been in the fantasy and science fiction genres, although she has also written historical and other novels. Morris has written, contributed to, or edited several book-length works of non-fiction, as well as papers and articles on nonlethal weapons, developmental military technology and other defense and national security topics.

Christopher Crosby Morris (born 1946) is an American author of fiction and non-fiction, as well as a lyricist, musical composer, and singer-songwriter. He is married to author Janet Morris. He is a defense policy and strategy analyst and a principal in M2 Technologies, Inc. He writes primarily as Chris Morris, but occasionally uses pseudonyms.

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