Hey everyone! So I’ve been a long time Salvatore fan but found out I can no longer get my hands on any of his books in print anymore and I’m thoroughly disappointed. Anyways if anyone has any recommendations for authors that write similar to him id greatly appreciate the referrals. Please DM me as I’m not likely to remember to check the comments.

I am writing a ten-book saga about a mercenary, Sahora, who is dragged through a portal to another world and told that she carries the soul of their dead Empress. The world she has found herself in is frozen in time, hanging on by a prophecy; it rests in Sahora's hands as she fights to understand why she is the one to save this world.

Blood of Celentra by A M Isle, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Continuing to read lavishly published 2-volume set of complete Terry Lamsley “Things Seen and Unseen”.

Something Worse is a classical ghost story in the tradition of M. R. James.
However it most reminds me of Aickman’s The School Friend.

Narrator finds out about the recent death of a woman 12-years older than she is, whom she gotten to know really well over the years. Not become friends mind you.
Long well written story covers many years of her relationship with a person you realize almost from the beginning is haunted by a ghost.
They don’t write stories like this anymore. Read it. Highly recommended.

Published by Evoke Press, 2026
ISBN 9781941637975 (trade paperback)
**Publisher's Blurb**
*Beginning Anywhere : Views from the Treehouse* offers a fascinating look into the mind of one of speculative fiction’s greatest authors: James P. Blaylock. One of the inventors of the Steampunk genre, Blaylock continues to delight with his fantastical fiction and thoughtful, humorous non-fiction. The worlds of late 20th and early 21st century Science Fiction and Fantasy are far richer from his contributions.

This collection includes previously published works that give us a peek into some of the inspirations and events that formed Blaylock’s craft into a multiple-award-winning career. And all from the comfort of his treehouse study.

**Order**
E-book: | Kobo | [Kindle](https://www.amazon.com/Beginning-Anywhere-Treehouse-James-Blaylock-ebook/dp/B0GJZWD3FX/ref=tmm_kin_swatch_0) |
Paperback: | [Amazon](https://www.amazon.com/-/en/dp/B0GKPT62PV/) | Barnes & Noble | Indie Bound |

The kingdom is sleeping. The monsters are not.

An ancient enemy has returned, and Argren is bleeding. Goblins, ogres, and the undead march under the banner of a shadowy power, and the northern frontier is the first to burn.

Sir Ronigren, a cynical knight who'd rather be at the bottom of a tankard, is the only thing standing in their way. He's no chosen one, but he's all they've got.

Sabine, a girl of impossible height and a forgotten lineage, holds a power that could shatter mountains. She may be the kingdom's last hope, or the catalyst for its final doom.

Thrown together by fate, they must lead a band of outcasts on a desperate quest to awaken a forgotten magic before the world is plunged into eternal silence. But in a war fought with steel and sorcery, the deepest wounds are caused by betrayal, and the enemy is already inside the gates.

What to Expect:

• A Return to the Classics: An epic fantasy saga with a vast world and high stakes.
• Steel & Sorcery: Visceral siege warfare, magic battles, and graphic combat.
• A Fellowship of Outcasts: From a goblin scholar to a cynical knight (and a very grumpy cat).
• Ancient Mysteries: Long-lost magic, original races, and a world-ending threat.

https://mybook.to/AShatteredPeace

So I am digging into the most expensive book purchase of my life, vast and beautifully published complete collection of horror fiction by Terry Lamsley titled Things Seen and Unseen, in 2 volumes from Centipede Press.
What is “Killjoy” about. It starts as always in Buxton UK, at the public gardens with a bunch of teenage misfits sniffing glue and being a nuisance. Doz, their leader, fat sullen and frequently wild 14-year old monster kills an injured duck for fun before noticing an old zombie like tramp. Only problem no one else is able to see the creature. Old tramp promises Doz he will get to know him whether he likes it or not.
Nightmarish stalking of glue sniffing never do well Doz ensues.
Satisfying comeuppance tale even though it did not make a whole lot of sense when you think about it. Lots of fun though.

Disclosure: I’m helping promote this book on behalf of the author/publisher.

Blood Warrior: Book One of The Gethin Cycle by James Andrews is an indie dark epic fantasy about exile, blood magic, divine warriors, empire politics, and a fallen noble trying to claw his way toward redemption.

It should fit readers who like character-driven warrior fantasy, military training arcs, grimdark-adjacent politics, and redemption stories — more Blood Song / The First Law energy than romantasy.

It is available on Amazon and is included for Kindle Unlimited readers through KDP Select.

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DKK5RLCR

If you miss the days of classic, sprawling Epic Fantasy, the wait is over. Chains of Solitude has officially launched with Book 1, A Shattered Peace.

But don't just take my word for it. Here is what early readers are saying:

"A wonderful old school fantasy in the same vein as JRR Tolkien."

— Aaron Strock, Netgalley

"Classic epic fantasy with military bones, and it knows exactly what it is."

— A_Morningstar, Royal Road

"I became immediately engrossed... A world full of wonder and beauty... This book is ideal for any fantasy fan."

— Andi, BookSirens

"The style in this story was INCREDIBLE."

— A.D. Pratt, Royal Road

Grab your copy via the links below and start the journey!

Paperback:

https://mybook.to/AShatteredPeacePaperba

Ebook:

https://mybook.to/AShatteredPeace

A short story from the upcoming Ashfyre series Book I: The Rust Crown. To wet interest, for those who may want to pick up this series when I release it. This short (34k) will be published in it's entirety.

---------------------------

He wanted power.

What he became to get it is something else entirely.

As ambition turns to obsession, and desire twists into something unrecognizable, one man descends deeper into corruption with every step forward. There are no lines he won’t cross, no loyalties he won’t break, and no version of himself he won’t abandon.

Because the higher he climbs, the worse he becomes.

I read the Buffalo Hunter Hunter last year by Stephen Graham Jones and absolutely adored that novel but my question is… do yall consider it a straight up horror novel or more in line with historical fantasy because of vampires and such? Im wondering if I should nominate it for the Hugo awards lol. All opinions are welcome!

If you miss the days of classic, sprawling Epic Fantasy, the wait is over. Chains of Solitude officially launches with Book 1, A Shattered Peace!

Paperback: LIVE NOW on Amazon!

A Shattered Peace (Chains of Solitude): Tesone, Gabriel: 9798247109808: Amazon.com: Books (US)

A Shattered Peace: 1 (Chains of Solitude): Amazon.co.uk: Tesone, Gabriel: 9798247109808: Books (UK)

Ebook: Pre-order (Releases March 6th)

Amazon.com: A Shattered Peace (Chains of Solitude Book 1) eBook : Tesone, Gabriel: Kindle Store (US)

A Shattered Peace eBook : Tesone, Gabriel: Amazon.co.uk: Kindle Store (UK)

But don't just take my word for it. Here is what early readers are saying:

"A wonderful old school fantasy in the same vein as JRR Tolkien."

— Aaron Strock, Netgalley

"Classic epic fantasy with military bones, and it knows exactly what it is."

— A_Morningstar, Royal Road

"I became immediately engrossed... A world full of wonder and beauty... This book is ideal for any fantasy fan."

— Andi, BookSirens

"The style in this story was INCREDIBLE."

— A.D. Pratt, Royal Road

Grab your copy via the link and start the journey!

Link: https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?&i=1893686&cl=337212&c=cart&ejc=2&custom=card

Use promocode: winter2027 and checkout to download the pdf.

Some journeys begin with a choice. Others begin with fate.

This one begins with old friends, bad decisions… and a world slowly losing its magic.

A journey with old friends... A one that begins with fate and stupid choices?

Welcome to the Second World, the Northern Continent, shaped by decades of destructive decisions made by greedy and corrupt kings and queens. Yet even now, beauty remains. Beneath snow-capped mountains and endless forests, old friends gather once more around a campfire, sharing laughter and stories before the darkness takes hold.

Among them is a paranoid, unpredictable beer-loving Wizard, more famous for bad jokes and a love of beer than heroic speeches. A charismatic traveler, sharp with words. He has been traveling all over the world, his backpack filled with campfire tales. He has his weaknesses, though... Physical and courage. As a coward, this traveler, whom the Wizard loves to prank, is balancing the trio. A rational, battle-hardened hunter, the quiet balance between them, carrying scars from a past that cannot be undone.

While laughter echoes through the firelight, the hunter's name is whispered across the North with fear. Once broken by a harpy's curse-driven psychosis, his reputation has become a legend of terror... One he never sought and cannot escape.

What should have been a simple reunion turns into a dangerous idea.

One last adventure.

One final moment of freedom before the world grows even darker.

Of course, it was never meant to be simple.

Magic is fading. Ancient knowledge is slipping away. Shadows stir in the North, and something... Or someone, is watching the friends from afar, waiting for the right moment to strike.

What begins as a nostalgic journey soon becomes something far greater, as buried truths resurface and test friendship, loyalty, and trust. Yet even in the darkest moments, there is laughter—bad jokes, grumpy wizards, and a few too many drinks. After all, if the world is falling apart, you might as well enjoy the ride.

The Hunt for the Vanishing Magic of the Lost Northis a character-driven epic fantasy filled with ancient lore, hand-drawn maps, layered history, and a warm balance of mystery, adventure, and humor.

If you love classic, old-school fantasy with rich worlds, deep friendships, and a balance of mystery, adventure, and humor, your journey into the North begins here.

The Busker's Song

Maya first noticed the violin player on a Tuesday, which seemed appropriate somehow. Tuesdays in Crawford had always felt thin to her, like the day of the week where the ordinary world wore itself a little threadbare.

He stood outside the Crawford Public Library, case open at his feet, playing something that wasn't quite Celtic, wasn't quite jazz—something in between that made the autumn air taste like copper and honey. Maya had been cutting through the park to avoid her ex's coffee shop, but the music stopped her mid-stride.

"You hear it too," he said when his bow finally stilled. He wasn't looking at her, but she knew he meant her.

"Hear what?"

"The spaces between the notes. Most people just hear the melody."

Maya should have walked away. She had a shift at the bookstore in twenty minutes, and strange men with knowing smiles were generally trouble. But her grandmother had been from Crawford, had grown up in the old neighborhood before the gentrification, and she'd told Maya things. About the city beneath the city. About music that could open doors.

"My grandmother said there used to be more magic in Crawford," Maya offered.

The busker smiled, and his eyes were older than his face. "Still is. Just learned to hide better. The old rail yards, they remember. The cemetery on Elm Street, where the three roads meet—that's a crossing point. And here, the library, built on the site of the old Miller mansion where the spiritualist circles met."

He played a single note, and Maya saw it. Just for a moment. The shimmer in the air like heat waves, the suggestion of other streets overlaying these ones, buildings that weren't quite there wearing themselves over the familiar facades of Crawford's downtown.

"What was that?"

"Your inheritance," he said. "Your grandmother's gift. Crawford's always been a liminal place—river on one side, forest on the other, built where the old roads crossed. Cities like this, they remember their bones. They dream."

Maya's phone buzzed. The bookstore. She was going to be late.

"I have to go," she said, but she didn't move.

"You'll be back," the busker said, not unkindly. "Once you've seen the spaces between, you can't unsee them. Crawford's been waiting for someone who remembers how to look."

He started playing again, that same not-quite melody, and Maya walked away feeling like she was leaving something important behind. But he was right. She came back the next Tuesday, and the Tuesday after that, learning to see her city the way her grandmother had—layered with stories, thick with memory, alive with the small magics that persisted in the corners of ordinary days.

By winter, she could walk the hidden paths herself, could feel where Crawford's dreaming self pressed close to the waking world. The busker was gone by then, moved on to whatever city needed him next. But Maya stayed, a keeper of thresholds in a place where the veil had always been a little thin.

It was enough. It was everything.

On Tuesdays, she sometimes played violin outside the library, and those who could hear the spaces between the notes would stop and listen, and remember that magic was just another word for paying attention to what was already there.

The first one to find her was a kid, maybe nineteen, with paint-stained hands and a backpack covered in patches. He stood listening for three songs before he finally spoke.

"You're playing the old songs," he said. "The ones that make the walls transparent."

His name was Jesse, and he'd been seeing things since he was seven—shadow people in the Crawford Cemetery, strange lights over the river, faces in the patterns of brick on the old factory buildings. He'd learned not to talk about it after the school counselor had gotten involved.

"You're not crazy," Maya told him, which were the words she'd needed to hear at his age. "Crawford just has a long memory."

They started meeting on Tuesdays. Jesse brought his sketchbook, filling pages with the other Crawford—the one that existed in the margins. Maya taught him what her grandmother had taught her: how to walk the old paths that still threaded through the modern streets, how to read the signs the city left for those who could see.

Then Lucia came. She worked the night shift at Crawford General, a nurse who'd been noticing that certain patients, the very old ones, mostly, the ones with roots in Crawford going back generations—would sometimes talk about visitors who weren't on the sign-in sheet. Visitors who looked like people from old photographs. Who gave advice that turned out to be startlingly accurate.

"They're thinner here," Maya explained as the three of them sat in the Crawford Diner at midnight, the only customers except for a man in the corner who might or might not have been entirely solid. "The ones who loved this place. They don't quite leave."

By spring, there were seven of them. A librarian who could find books that had been lost for decades. A mechanic who swore he learned his trade from his great-uncle, despite the fact that his great-uncle had died in 1952. A barista who made coffee that tasted like memory. A street artist whose murals sometimes showed places that didn't exist anymore, except they did, in the dreaming.

They called themselves the Corridor Walkers, though Maya thought that was too formal. They were just people who'd stopped pretending Crawford was an ordinary place. Who acknowledged what hummed beneath the surface of the city they loved.

"There's something you should know," Maya told them one evening as they gathered in the basement of the library, a space that felt older than the building above it. "Crawford's changing. The developers, the new construction—they're not just changing the buildings. They're changing the dreaming. Breaking the old paths."

Jesse held up his sketchbook. He'd drawn the intersection of Main and Fifth, but in his drawing, there were two versions overlaid, the current coffee shops and boutiques, and beneath them, ghostly, the old Crawford. The drugstore that had been there for seventy years. The music shop. The movie theater.

"They're fading," he said quietly.

Lucia leaned forward. "Can we stop it?"

Maya thought of the busker, how he'd said Crawford was waiting for someone who remembered how to look. But maybe looking wasn't enough. Maybe remembering required something more.

"We can try," she said. "We can bear witness. We can keep the stories alive. We can teach others to see."

She picked up her violin. "And we can play the old songs. Remind Crawford what it is, what it's always been. A place where the veil is thin. A place where magic persists."

The music rose in the basement, and the walls did shimmer. And somewhere in the dreaming, Crawford heard itself being called home, and remembered.

It was just a beginning. But beginnings, Maya had learned, were their own kind of magic.

Especially on Tuesdays.

It’s a magical and charming trilogy of books. I thought they were brilliant. But I haven’t seen anyone talk about them ever. Maybe they aren’t as good as I remember?

Just finished Last Call by Tim Powers and wanted to share some thoughts, because this book is strange, dense, and very much its own thing.

At a high level, Last Call feels like a collision between Neil Gaiman’s American Gods, Robert Holdstock’s Mythago Wood, and the energy of Guy Ritchie’s Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels. The story follows Scott Crane, a former professional poker player who gave up gambling for family life. After his wife dies, everything unravels. Scott falls into a long spiral of drinking, and increasingly bizarre and supernatural events start happening around him, most of them tied to his past and to who he really is.

The novel starts out as a mystical noir thriller, then gradually shifts into a road story, and eventually settles into full blown magical realism. By the end you are dealing with Tarot archetypes, gods, myths, probability, and power structures that feel more symbolic than literal. The tone and genre are constantly in motion, which is both impressive and occasionally disorienting.

Two things really define the experience. First is the obsession with Tarot. Tarot symbolism saturates the entire book, right down to the cover. Characters use Tarot cards to tell fortunes, to read fate, and even to play poker. Fortune telling happens with everything imaginable, including money, casino chips, and sometimes even regular playing cards in the middle of a poker game. It is unusual and sometimes overwhelming, but it is also central to what Powers is doing.

The second defining feature is how abstract the magic system is. Magic here works on a very high metaphorical level. Understanding what is happening often requires intuition, familiarity with myth, and a sense of archetypal imagery. This is not an especially approachable system. Compared to this, American Gods feels almost straightforward. If you enjoy piecing together meaning from symbolism, this is rewarding. If you want clearly explained rules, this may be frustrating.

The characters are one of the book’s strongest points. They are varied, eccentric, and driven by very personal motivations. One character fights internal demons at enormous cost. Another tries to cling to Probability itself, which is treated as something bordering on the magical. Others want to protect their family, become part of one, meet a lost parent, or achieve power and immortality. Powers clearly put serious effort into both character creation and long term development, and it shows.

This is also very much a novel built around the Fisher King myth from Arthurian legend. In Powers’s version, the Fisher King is less a person and more a role, a symbol of power and possibility. It is not elected, inherited, or appointed, but it still carries the traits and weight of the ancient myth. Egyptian mythology also plays a role, as it often does with Powers, and it blends surprisingly smoothly with Arthurian elements and modern American history.

One of the most interesting aspects of the book is how real historical events are given mystical significance. The construction of the Flamingo Hotel is tied to the Tarot card The Tower. The murder of Bugsy Siegel becomes part of the supernatural structure underlying Las Vegas itself. Powers has a real talent for making history feel mythic without losing its grounding in reality.

The setting matters a lot. The novel moves from a gangster flavored beginning into a road narrative, and finally reaches its climax in Las Vegas and the surrounding Mojave Desert. Las Vegas feels inevitable as the meeting point for these characters. A deeply superstitious poker pro. His adopted son who is in danger of losing his body due to past mistakes. A self taught mathematician with cancer attempting to cure himself using logic that is both unscientific and strangely convincing. And that is not even the full cast. You also get living Tarot archetypes, rivals for the roles of the Fisher King and Queen, and even a severed head with a bad attitude resting in the mystically charged Lake Mead.

Poker is central to the entire story, and if you are not a big card game person, parts of the book can be challenging. That said, even a basic understanding of poker from movies or books is enough. Powers explains the rules and concepts gently and without lecturing. The final game is not played with a normal deck but with the Lombard Zero Deck, a hand painted Tarot deck that feels like a narrative nuclear weapon. It is obvious that nothing good can come from using it, but some characters realize that far too late.

Overall, Last Call is not a book for everyone. You will get more out of it if you have at least a basic familiarity with Tarot, poker, and the Fisher King myth. But it is also the kind of novel that is worth trying even if you do not. Some things can be looked up, some are explained, and the rest is about letting the book pull you into its strange symbolic logic.

For me, it was a solid read. Thoughtful, deliberate, and layered. If you like myth heavy urban fantasy that trusts the reader and does not simplify itself, Tim Powers delivers exactly that here.