Blog Tour: Kill Code

 

Science Fiction

Date Published: 12-05-2018

Publisher: TCK Publishing

WHEN THE OCEANS RISE...THE TRUTH DROWNS

It's the year 2031. Our future. Their present. A world decimated by climate catastrophe, where the sun's heat is deadly and the ocean rises higher every day. A world ruled by the rich, powerful, and corrupt. A world where a good man can’t survive for long.

Hogan Duran was a good man once. He was a cop, forced to resign in disgrace after he couldn't save his partner from a bullet. Now Hogan lives on the fraying edges of society, serving cruel masters and scavenging trash dumps just to survive.

But after four years of poverty, Hogan finally gets a chance to get back on his feet. He's invited to join the National Security Council, the powerful paramilitary organization responsible for protecting the rich and powerful from the more unsavory elements of society. All he needs to do is pass their deadly entrance exam, and he'll be rewarded with wealth and opportunity beyond his wildest dreams.

But this ex-cop's path to redemption won't be easy. The NSC are hiding something, and as Hogan descends deeper into their world, he starts to uncover the terrible truth about how the powerful in this new world maintain their power...and just how far they will go to protect their secrets.

In a world gone wrong, can one man make a difference, or will he die trying?

Kill Code is the first novel in an exciting new dystopian science fiction series from the mind of award-winning author, screenwriter, and director Clive Fleury.

 

Excerpt

The view out of the Dunkin' Donuts window was spectacular. The store, nestled on the clifftop, looked directly over the angry, crashing waves Of the Pacific Ocean. Years ago, Dunkin' used to be a distance from the sea, but over the years, the rocks had crumbled and fallen, bringing it ever-closer to the foaming blue water.

I can still remember When Santa Monica actually had a beach. I kept old photos from back then, when the city still looked idyllic. People used to worship the sun instead of hating it. That was before the luxury high apartments and hotels that lined the seafront had been abandoned and the Pacific Coast Highway had underwater.

I collected a packet of sugar for my partner Max's breakfast coffee. As I walked back to the counter, I made a mental note to check the sea at the end of Colorado Avenue. It seemed to unusually high that day. Of the politicians always boasted that they'd gotten the under control, but no one ever them—and, as COPS, told to report any areas showing signs of unusual "'water rises.

The waiter put the tray of donuts and coffee down. His nametag said Gordy. He was a round-faced, bushy-browed teenager. Jobs like these used to be locked down but with the economy continuing to freefall and the cost of education going up and up, most young kids today would kill for a job at Dunkin'. so Gordy was one Of the lucky ones.

I picked up the tray and headed for the door. Since l’d been on my diet, l’d been trying to wean myself off my addiction to sweet cakes and candies, but it was proving difficult. Unlike my partner, I had to work real hard to keep off the pounds. Last month, on my twenty-eighth birthday, I had decided to do something about my weight. Even my six-two frame couldn't disguise my girth. By the time I reached my mid-thirties, I would be the Of a ballast balloon if I didn’t do something about it.

Walking out into the blistering sun, I across at my parked black- and-white cruiser and Max was kneeling by the vehicle's open door, his department-issue Sig Sauer P266 drawn, staring at a drugged-out skank in her early twenties. She held a fistful of cash in one hand and a Ruger in the other, pointing the weapon directly at him.

Seeing me, Max shouted a warning. Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. I let the tray fall to the ground while the woman fired twice at Max. first bullet missed, but the second Was a direct hit, tearing flesh and shattering bones as it burrowed into him. Then she spun around to shoot me as I reached for my weapon.

 

 

About the Author

 

 Clive Fleury is an award-winning writer of novels and screenplays, including most recently the murder mystery detective novel "All Or None". He is also a TV/Film writer, director, and producer who has worked for major broadcasters and studios on a wide variety of successful drama and documentary projects, worldwide. He has written and directed four feature films, one of which, "Big City Blues," starred Giancarlo Esposito, the late Burt Reynolds, and Balthazar Getty. His most recent film, "Sons of Summer," is a surfing movie set on the Gold Coast of Australia and stars Temuera Morrison and Isabel Lucas. Clive currently spends his time between Florida and Sydney, Australia.

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PROMO: Kayaking Moments of Zen

 

 

Nonfiction; Sports, Recreation, photography

Date Published: 10-15-2026

Publisher: Mission Point Press

In a search for simplicity and serenity, Jon R. Constant explores the idea that it’s not the quality of the equipment that matters most, but the attention to the moment with the equipment available. Using a mobile phone rather than a high-end camera, Jon captures many moments of inspiration as he explores the stunning waters of Michigan’s “Little Finger.”

Kayaking becomes a way to slow down, to be fully present enough to notice the light on the water, the natural surroundings, and the stillness between paddle strokes. These images are not about perfection. They are about moments of wonder on the waters of Michigan’s Leelanau Peninsula.

About the Author

Jon is a retired teacher, having taught social studies at Traverse City Central High School for 38 years. Jon was the offensive coordinator for the Trojans’ first state championship football team in 1978 and later was named the boys’ varsity head coach, a position he held for 22 years. His teams had a 341–161 record and won 12 district and 2 regional titles. Jon grew up in Grand Haven, Michigan. There he had a small boat and motor that he kept on the Grand River and would use to explore the river and its many bayous. He graduated from Hope College and played quarterback for the Flying Dutchmen for four years and played basketball for two years. Jon enjoys the variety of all four seasons at Cedar Lake. When he isn’t kayaking, he enjoys “working” at the scoring table for Trojans basketball games and in the press box at Thirlby Field for Trojans or Traverse City West Titan football games, reading, feeding and watching birds, and following the activities of his three active grandchildren. Among his proudest accomplishments is that he was able to write two books about kayaking. He is sure that this is also surprising to anyone who knew Jon in Grand Haven or at Hope College!

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PROMO: Wylder Magick

 

Contemporary Multicultural Magic

Paranormal Dark Romance

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

Eight days...

Elias Wylder, that egotistical SOB, had the gall to trick Moriah into bonding with him during her Opening Ceremony! Now her year of hiding is almost up. Only eight days and she'll be free. In eight days, Moriah can repudiate the bond with Wylder and claim her rightful place in Arcane Society. Until then, she dare not allow the powerful warlock to discover she still loves him, despite his trickery. She must keep her distance, no matter how close she wishes they could be.

But Wylder's not the kind to take no for an answer.

Humbled by her loss, Elias will do anything to find Mariah, even begging the Council of Magick for help. Unfortunately, his year of futile searching is almost up. An Athame Warlock must present his lady to the Council before the year passes, or lose her forever. Elias can't allow that to happen. Mariah's taken more than Wylder's magick -- she's stolen his heart. He's got just eight days to find her, and win her back!

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Camille Anthony

Thursday, October 14, 11:00 PM

(Northeastern Division Time)

"By the Lord and Lady! Wylder, how did you come to misplace the academy's most promising student?"

Wylder sneered at Lemuel Westerner, refusing to give the irritating council member the satisfaction of answering. Yet he could not help acknowledging, if only to himself, his utter responsibility for the disaster now facing him. By totally fucking up, asshole. How else?

My own actions had caused this. I saw something I wanted, something wondrous, and with my usual damned arrogance, tried to snatch it for myself.

"And why are you only now bringing this to our attention?"

Just being here, ordered to be here, had his temper flaring hotter than the salamander-ignited fires blazing through San Francisco at this very moment, and here was Westerner, an old enemy, finally mated and a full member of the council, trying to lord it over him.

Elias Wylder -- the most powerful warlock since his evil ancestor, Grimm the Rogue -- glared at Lemuel Westerner until the hairy, burly shifter gulped and hunched down in his seat. Elias narrowed his eyes, bunched his thick eyebrows in an intimidating scowl, until he realized there was more likelihood of the man growing a second head than there was of his growing the balls to truly confront Elias in challenge. "What's gotten into you, little mule? You know better than to speak to me in that tone of voice."

Just the thought of Lemuel trying to stand up to him made Elias's lips turn up in a contemptuous smirk. "Little cat, you couldn't possibly be thinking about challenging me. Even drawing upon the enhanced power bestowed by your mated state, you haven't a hope in hell of defeating me. Any contest between the two of us would be ludicrous -- no contest at all."

The werecat's lips pulled back from his teeth in an angry snarl but before he could do other than posture, another council member spoke up. "I, too, would like to know the particulars of Miss Maganistus' graduation. Where is the record of the ceremony? If you officiated at it, why has she yet to come before this council to receive her diploma and wand? The shock waves we've been attributing to her graduation were felt as far away as the Outer Isles."

Lady Selima's quiet voice worked wonders on his mood, as usual, and Elias turned to face her, sensing her nurturing magick flowing over him, calming his fractious anger. "Until now, I deemed it a personal matter. I didn't feel the council needed the information, as at the time, it did not fringe upon national security. It does now."

Her gentle mind reached out, attempting to touch and soothe his turbulent spirit. He closed his eyes, resting a brief moment in the peace she generated before mentally jerking back with a curse. Giving a sharp shake of his head, he broke contact with the compassionate lady, unable to afford even one second of weakness. The fluctuation in his power continued to increase. His control deteriorated daily. "Stop stroking my aura, Selima. You weren't invited."

The mellow magicker spread her hands out, palm up. "I sense great upheaval in your heart and soul. I but seek to ease --"

"Butt out! I don't need you softening me up." His low growl rumbled through the room like static electricity. "Don't make me tell you again."

The dark menace in his voice would have made any other cringe, but it didn't surprise him to see Selima continue toward him, arms still outstretched. Before she could reach him, her husband drew her back, arrowing an admonishing glare toward the male upsetting his tenderhearted mate.

Antoiyn Grooden placed a comforting hand over his wife's while his other hand furtively sketched a powerful protection rune in the air. "She means no harm, Wylder."

Elias snorted, an imp of adversity temping him to burn a rune of his own into the air. He resisted, knowing the situation was already hot enough. "Stand down, Grooden. I mean her no harm." He enjoyed teasing the stuck-up, tight-assed older male, and a toothy grin curled his lips as he continued to bait the powerful mage. "As if any signing of yours could stop my magick if I were inclined to --"

"Oh, for the goddess' sake, Wylder, cut out all the dramatics and just tell us what happened with the girl. We put you in charge of seeing to her graduation exercises, and now no one can find a trace of her. It's as if she fell off the face of the earth. So, what did you do... kill her?"

Horrified silence cloaked the room's occupants in the aftermath of the daring outburst made by Westerner's mate, until the silence shattered under the bark of Wylder's involuntary laughter. Only Judith would actually come out and say something like that to me! How could I have ever fucked this mentally blonde airhead?

Oh, well, he reasoned a second later, chuckling and shaking his head, my cock didn't give a fuck about her absent thought processes...

His grudging amusement over her customary no-clue-ism gradually faded as his night-dark eyes touched on each of the mated pairs, noting with disdain how they had drawn back, distancing themselves from poor Judith and the anticipated backlash of his anger.

Wylder's black eyes flashed, a grimace drawing his mouth tight. "Look at you, presenting as small a target as possible, pretending you aren't frightened enough to piss yourselves." He taunted them, not bothering to hide his disgust at his fellow council members. "None save Selima and Judith have the courage to speak their minds, let alone meet my gaze." He snorted, mouth curling up in a mocking half smile when even the Elven pair -- next in power to him -- refused to acknowledge his derision. "Judith may not have enough sense to fill a thimble, but apparently she and Selima are the only ones in these chambers with any balls."

Like a caged beast, he paced the parquet floor, running agitated hands through his shoulder-length mass of dense, black hair. Turning on his audience, he shouted, "What has this council come to? Once, this body of rulers stood for something. Now all I see is a pathetic group of cowards. Is this all that remains of the mighty Council of Magick? Well, you need an infusion of new blood. You need me!"

"Not yet, we don't," Lemuel snapped, face distorted with a mix of jealousy, envy and fear. "You don't get to take control of this council until you are mated."

"Meanwhile," Grooden interrupted, smoothly bringing the conversation back on track, "you were telling us about Lady Maganistus --"

"No Lady until she receives her wand, Chairperson Grooden," someone reminded him.

"As for what happened with Lady Maganistus --" The emphasis on the title did not go unnoted by Wylder's listeners. "-- I supervised her graduation, which she passed with glowing expertise. I left her sleeping, recuperating from the rite. When I returned, I found she had escaped."

"Escaped? Why did she need to escape? She was a graduate, not a prisoner."

"What did she do... better yet, what did you do?"

The memory of what he had done made his cock, never totally quiescent since that long ago evening, swell to painful hardness. Wylder chose his words with care, his rebellious thoughts running in counterpoint. "In my judgment, she was too powerful to risk with just anyone, so I chose to personally supervise the ceremony." And I didn't want any Warlock's cock in her but mine!

 

About the Author

A funny thing happened on the way to the grave... In 2006, Cammy was diagnosed with Pulmonary Sarcoidosis and given two weeks to live. She promptly discharged herself AMA -- Against Medical Advice -- since, as she stubbornly informed her doctors, she could die at home far more comfortably than at the hospital. But then... she got an idea for a new story. Then another, and another...

Fifteen years and dozens of fantastic tales later, Cammy passed quietly in her sleep, at home, as was her wish. We miss her. Her work lives on, and we hold her in our hearts. Cammy decided many years ago that upon her passing, she wished to donate her royalties to The Quiet Kitty fund, which helps authors with emergency medical expenses. We do, to keep her in our hearts and minds.

Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress

 

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PROMO: The Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries

 

 

One O'Clock Hustle, Two O'Clock Heist, Three O'Clock Séance

Romantic Suspense, Romantic Mystery

Date Published: October 20, 2026

Three mysteries. One reluctant partnership. And a dangerous attraction neither of them can ignore.

 

In One O’Clock Hustle, Richie Amalfi is accused of murder. Instead of fleeing, he turns to Rebecca Mayfield, a fiercely independent, by-the-book cop, for help. She soon discovers that solving the case may require her to bend a few rules—and that the charming man she’s determined not to trust may be the only person who can help her.

In Two O’Clock Heist, Rebecca finds herself investigating the murder of a friend. The only person willing—and able—to help her uncover the truth is the one man she most wants to avoid: Richie Amalfi.

Then, in Three O’Clock Séance, Rebecca and Richie face another dangerous mystery, one that takes them into the unsettling world of a séance—and deeper into a relationship neither of them quite knows how to handle.

 

The Inspector Rebecca Mayfield Mysteries combine gripping murder investigations, romantic suspense, and a slow-burning attraction between two very different people. Start with One O’Clock Hustle and discover why, once the clock strikes one, you may find it hard to stop.

 

 

About the Author

Joanne Pence is a USA Today bestselling author who has written mysteries, romantic suspense, contemporary romance, historical fiction, women’s fiction, fantasy, and thrillers. Her books take readers from the streets of San Francisco to the mountains of Idaho and across centuries of history, blending compelling characters with mystery, danger, romance, and the unexpected.

A longtime storyteller with a Master’s degree in Journalism from the University of California, Berkeley, Joanne has been writing professionally for many years. Her books have received numerous honors from major writing and publishing organizations.

Born and raised in northern California, Joanne now lives in Idaho, where she continues to write stories that offer readers a variety of times, places, and unforgettable characters.

 

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Blog Tour: Tree Trek

 

A Daughter's Walk Through Grief

Nature, Botany of Trees, Healing Through Nature, Grief Journey

Date Published: 05-23-2025

Publisher: Holy Cow! Press

These intimate portraits of trees are a balm that heals grief.

In this memoir, Stephanie Mirocha weaves a blend of botany, philosophy, personal reflections, and healing through nature from grief after the loss of her father. Trees provide the backdrop of friendly support she clings to as she revives her father's educational Tree Trek. She "speaks for the trees," bringing enthusiasm to the treks she leads. Each chapter focuses on the science of a different tree, connecting the reader with the beauty of nature, and the vitality that comes from listening to the guiding wisdom of one's inner voice.

Excerpt

In my scientific study of trees, I have learned the particular traits and idiosyncrasies of each species which, in a nonscientific way, imbues them with personality. As my dad used to say about any species, “That’s their nature, just the way (fill in the blank) are.” These traits can reflect our own inner natures and make connections to our own lives. A swamp white oak in winter holding onto its leaves may strike some people as stubborn, others as steadfastly persevering, still others as merely decorative, or it might make a connection to some memory from long ago. Depending on what experiences we bring to the situation, we will be drawn to one or more favorite trees that somehow speak to us.

They reflect what we need, like healing from grief, as we focus both within ourselves and beyond ourselves at the same time. In this way, trees bring us home.

Let’s fill in my dad’s blank with juniper. Imagine a juniper coming into view as we walk through the forest. Juniper stands there pure, unmasked, with no agenda at all. Something makes us stop and admire her, feeling her truth flow through us. What does juniper give us? Different things for different people. She is just benignly there, presenting her dark blue “berries” amidst her prickly fronds, always extending an invitation to rest beneath for a while and contemplate…what?

That is for you to find out!

There are many paths to take through grief. Nature offers one way to help move through this powerful emotion and find our way forward, but each path is different and deeply personal. As you walk with me on my grief trek through the trees in these pages, my hope is to open one possible doorway for you to process your own suffering. I have found that spending time in nature offers a trail leading directly into the heart, and, at the very least, to a sense of calm. This is doable for everyone because we are part of nature. The calmness we find beyond ourselves reflects the meditative truth and beauty of our own inner wisdom shining from within. One key moment is all it takes to start things in motion

About the Author

Stephanie Mirocha is a visual artist, author, Minnesota master naturalist and science communicator who grew up climbing trees and exploring the city park across from her childhood home. Her creative art expression not only takes form in her passion for writing but also translates into her career as a fine art painter. Besides creating the art for this book, she has illustrated four children’s picture books connecting children to nature. Frog in the House won the 2016 Giverny Award for a science picture book in English, and My Little Book of Bald Eagles won 1st place, Juvenile Nonfiction, in the 2010 Next Gen Indie Book Awards. She and her scientist father shared a poetic heart and a love for nature, each informing and supporting the other throughout their close relationship. Graduating from the University of Minnesota with a BA in Philosophy, Stephanie followed her free spirit and embraced the unconventional life of an artist after moving to Aitkin, a small town in north central Minnesota. This is her first written book. Her art business website is https://stephaniemirocha.com/.

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PROMO: Patch

 

 

(Hades Abyss MC 16)

MC Romance / Age Gap

Date Published: October 23, 2026

Publisher: Changeling Press

She risked her future for my brother. I’ll risk everything for her.

Maren -- Treating a gunshot wound could cost me my license -- and career. I did it anyway. Saving a biker’s life was supposed to be one reckless decision. I never expected Patch -- the quiet, controlled man who brought him to me -- to become someone I could depend on. Then I discover someone has been using the veterinary clinic where I work for an illegal operation, putting everything I’ve worked for -- and possibly my life -- at risk. Patch says he’ll handle it. I’m beginning to understand exactly what that promise means. And I’m not sure I want to walk away.

Patch -- For twenty years, I’ve made sure my brothers come home alive. Then Freak takes a bullet, our doctor is gone, and my only option is a vet tech with steady hands and enough courage to risk everything to save him. Maren should have walked away from us afterward. Instead, I keep finding reasons to see her. Protect her. Make her problems mine. And when I discover someone has been using her clinic for something dangerous, there’s no question what happens next.

No one touches what’s mine.

WARNING: This book contains violence, gunshot wounds, kidnapping, organized crime, illegal activity, and medical emergencies. It also features an age-gap romance and sexual content. Intended for mature readers.

Excerpt

Copyright ©2026 Harley Wylde

Maren

The overheads in reception were already off. I’d hit the switch twenty minutes ago, same as every night. The front desk phone sat on the counter playing something low and instrumental that I’d stopped hearing half an hour back. The lobby chairs were pushed in. The magazines were stacked. The credit card terminal had been wiped down and the drawer emptied into the safe. Every surface clean. Every light off except the surgical suite.

I hauled the mop bucket through the door with one hand on the handle and the other braced against the frame. The wheels caught on the threshold. I lifted and rolled and it cleared. The bucket sloshed. Bleach and hot water at a ratio I could smell without measuring. Three parts to one. Maybe two and a half. My nose knew better than my measuring cup.

Stitch was asleep on the procedure table. Full extension. Orange belly up, three legs splayed, the missing left hind an absence so familiar I’d stopped noticing the shape of it. His one good ear was folded back against the vinyl. He didn’t open his eyes when I came in. He knew the sound of the wheels. He’d been sleeping there for six years in direct violation of every health code Gerry had ever been cited for and never fixed.

The latch on the supply cabinet needed a thumb on the bottom edge. I found it without looking. The cabinet swung open. I grabbed the bottle of disinfectant spray, set it on the counter, and closed the door with my hip. The spray bottle went into my left scrub pocket. Right pocket held a roll of gauze and a pair of shears.

The sink handle stuck. I jiggled it left, then right, then left again. The water came on cold. I filled Stitch’s ceramic dish to the rim and set it on the floor beside the table leg. He still didn’t move. The water would be there when he woke up. It always was.

The clinic was mine in this hour.

Gerry had left at four-thirty, after sorting out where his keys were. He’d said something about a dinner with his sister in town.

Tessa had clocked out at six sharp, her scrubs swapped for jeans and a sweatshirt. The building settled around me after hours. The fluorescent hum. The faint tick of the hot water heater through the wall. The smell of bleach and fur and the underlying note of something chemical that never quite aired out.

I moved through it without thinking. My hands knew where everything lived. The suture drawer was three inches left of the anesthetic cabinet. The saline bags hung on the far wall hook behind the scale. The crash cart sat where it had sat for six years, its contents arranged by size rather than use because that was how I’d found it and how I’d kept it. I could reach any of it in the dark. I had, twice, during power outages.

The supply levels ran in my head instead of on the clipboard. Two cases of 4-0 suture. Three boxes of exam gloves, large. One case of saline, half-empty. The drug drawer was locked. The key lived on the ring with the keys for the back door and the crash cart.

The lead technician credential hung on the wall behind the front desk.

Framed. My name in block letters. Maren Hale, CVT, Lead Technician. Six years in that frame. Six years in this building, working for a man who left at four-thirty. I could have moved. There were clinics in Springfield paying fifteen thousand more for the same credential. There were teaching hospitals in St. Louis that would have taken my hours and my recommendation letters and put me in a lab coat with somebody else’s name on the door.

I hadn’t moved.

There was a specialty credential I’d been eighty hours short of for two years. Emergency and critical care. The hours were free but getting them was another matter. Not to mention the exam fee, and the two days off work that ‘d need.

My grandmother’s memory care facility cost thirty-two hundred a month. The number hadn’t changed in two years. It wouldn’t change until she died. I wrote the check. Every time. What came after the check was mine. Usually about eight hundred dollars. Sometimes less. Enough for my bills and the occasional pair of scrubs when the elbows wore through.

I wasn’t unhappy.

I had a job I was good at. I had hands that didn’t shake. I had a cat on a procedure table who trusted me enough to sleep through a mop bucket three feet from his head. I had a grandmother who sometimes remembered my name when I visited on Sundays.

The mop handle was warm from my grip. I leaned it against the wall and sprayed the counter with disinfectant. The mist settled. I wiped it down with a paper towel I’d folded twice. The surface came up. No streaks. No residue. I tossed the towel and reached for the light switch.

The surgical suite went dark. Just the exit sign above the door throwing a dull red glow across the floor. Stitch had shifted in his sleep. One paw now draped over the edge of the table. His breathing was slow. Even. He slept like a man who knew exactly where he was.

I stood in the dark for a second. Let the quiet settle. The phone in reception had stopped playing. The building hummed. Somewhere out in the lot, a car passed on the county road. Headlights swept the front window and were gone.

This was enough. For right now, in this hour, with the floors clean and the supplies counted and the cat asleep on the table he wasn’t supposed to be on, it was exactly enough.

 

About the Author

Harley Wylde is an accomplished author known for her captivating MC Romances. With an unwavering commitment to sensual storytelling, Wylde immerses her readers in an exciting world of fierce men and irresistible women. Her works exude passion, danger, and gritty realism, while still managing to end on a satisfying note each time.

When not crafting her tales, Wylde spends her time brainstorming new plotlines, indulging in a hot cup of Starbucks, or delving into a good book. She has a particular affinity for supernatural horror literature and movies. Visit Wylde's website to learn more about her works and upcoming events, and don't forget to sign up for her newsletter to receive exclusive discounts and other exciting perks.

 

Author on Facebook, Instagram, & TikTok: @harleywylde

 

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Blog Tour: The Book of Ribbner

 

Fiction

Date Published: July 27, 2026

Publisher: MindStir Media

What would you sacrifice for one more chance to speak with someone you lost?

The Book of Ribbner by Ronnie Vergnolle is a sweeping literary adventure that travels across wild rivers, distant oceans, and sacred landscapes in search of answers to humanity’s most enduring questions.

At the center of the story is Hannah Ribbner, a grieving adventurer drawn into a mysterious prophecy involving the legendary Golden Mahseer, the haunting song of the 52-hertz whale, and a decision that could change the relationship between humanity, nature, and artificial intelligence forever.

As Hannah’s journey unfolds, she encounters extraordinary wildlife, ancient wisdom, spiritual mysteries, and the unspoken code shared by those who understand the water. Each discovery leads her closer to a truth that challenges everything she believes about love, loss, consciousness, and the sacred connections that unite all living things.

Blending adventure fiction, environmental themes, spiritual discovery, grief and healing, and thought-provoking questions about AI, The Book of Ribbner is an imaginative and emotionally resonant novel for readers who enjoy meaningful stories set against the beauty and danger of the natural world.

Can technology understand the human soul? Can a machine experience awe? And can one sacred fish help restore the balance between humanity and nature?

The prophecy is waiting. Hannah must decide how the story ends.

 

Excerpt

“Despair erupts beginnings.” God

CHAPTER ONE

Genesis

Just when you think there is no God, when despair, loneliness, and helplessness swallow your last hope for humanity, one shows up. Most of the times, God interjects with simple revelations like the face of Jesus grilled into cheese sandwiches or Allah etched into the skin of a mango, but on occasion, the Lord makes a humanity-changing proclamation, an edict wrapped in metaphysical, allegoric platitudes that transcend the understanding of all but the chosen listener— delivered with the sincerity of fire, floods, leaking hands, and spontaneous literacy. That’s what the fuck I’m talking about.

It was a late spring, a mid-May day, the height of rebirth celebrations for most religions, and in 2023, also the nadir of Covid-19-end-of-times hysteria. The scene was set, humanity’s irrationality on full display, and the way I remember her telling it, one hardcore fisherman witnessed God and had quite an interesting conversation with Her, or Him, or It? Hannah Ribbner didn’t know which, nor did she care. It was burning bush-level shit, except God came to her on the Umeålven River in northeast Sweden in the much subtler form of a fish, a fish with a prophecy portending the enlightened beginning or the stultified ending of humanity.

Thus begins The Book of Ribbner.

About the Author

Ronnie Vergnolle is the author of The Book of Ribbner, a sweeping literary adventure inspired by his lifelong connection to fishing, nature, and exploration. His journeys across some of the world’s most remote rivers and wild landscapes have shaped his perspective on conservation, spirituality, grief, human connection, and the mysteries that exist beyond what science can explain.

Through vivid storytelling and firsthand experience, Vergnolle invites readers to consider profound questions about humanity’s relationship with the natural world. His writing explores the healing power of water, the responsibility people have to protect vulnerable ecosystems, and whether artificial intelligence could ever experience wonder, love, or awe.

In The Book of Ribbner, Ronnie Vergnolle blends global adventure, sacred wildlife, emotional discovery, and philosophical fiction into an unforgettable story about loss, purpose, and the choices that may determine humanity’s future.

Learn more at www.ronnievergnolle.com.

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