brmevett

Nice

Gotta share this new song by dash, a talented singer-songwriter who happens to be my son :). It's gorgeous and I am proud.

open.spotify.com/track/5FhAw0...

As a book critic, yeah. So many venues have shuttered. My options for pitching a review are extremely limited. I've given up trying to find new sites to writr for.

Photograph of mysterious concentric rings on ice surrounded by a thin layer of snow.

I was walking Zeppo on the frozen pond near my house and came upon this mysterious spiral in the ice. How did form? What does it mean?

A photograph of trees after a snowstorm, their branches all covered in white snow.

From HOPE:

"Creek has never seen snow. He doesn’t know the word. One hand creeps up to Lucinda’s. The other stretches out before him. He watches the snowflakes land on his palm. Most vanish in an instant, but a few remain, their impossible crystals winking in the gentle light."

www.brmevett.com

Woodie King Jr., ‘godfather of Black theatre,’ passes at 88 Woodie King Jr. — the indomitable force who insisted that Black life, in all its beauty and complexity, belonged on America’s stages — transitioned into the realm of the ancestors on Thursday, January...

I hate that the constant corrupt actions of this administraion in the news drowns out the passing of important Black people who have transitioned to the ancestoral plane. www.stlamerican.com/news/obituar...

Text that reads, "She made out a solitary figure trudging along the water from the tent city that ran up the little hill on the left toward the ruined House — an armigant, in his full array of bones and feathers. He came to a stop in the plaza before the pool. She couldn’t see his face, but there was youth in his manner, and she figured him for a corpal, new to the service. He shouted the news to her that her father had been stricken by the brain lightning, and would never return. By the quavering in his voice, she reckoned the veterans had foisted this unpleasant task on him, and he couldn’t say no."

From my short story, "The Anchorite," set to come out mid-Feb.

photo of a beautiful amaryllis with huge red blossoms on a long green stalk.

The guides all say 6 weeks to bloom. It took more like 12, but, boy, was it worth it! Thanks #amaryllis!

Truth.

Zeppo likes to open presents.

A photograph of a black dog with a white strip down his nose, a white front and white speckled paws. He is looking soulfully into the camera.

Zeppo needs his treats. Help him out by picking up one of my books. You'll get a great read out of the bargain, and he'll be one happy dog 😀.

www.brmevett.com

#writersky #booksky #postapocalyptic #scifi

You got it! HOPE, a Novel of the New Frontier. People looking for a new home after the fall of America, as the rebuilding begins. Something to look forward to!

My new book is called HOPE. What gives you hope? Put your answer in the comments. One randomly chosen commenter will receive a FREE SIGNED COPY! And please share. We need all the hope we can get! #booksky #writersky #newrelease #hope

Text that reads, "The rusting fender wards off the rain, but it’s a poor place to hide from the man with the axe. Creek has his legs pulled up as far as they will go, his arms wrapped around the precious cube of brushed metal that got him into this fix. It pushes up against his chin, right on the spot where he struck the broken concrete when he fell. It stings like nobody’s business. He tries not to breathe. He can just make out the main clearing between the junk piles, and Junkman moving in a slow circle around the far side, the blade of the axe glinting black now and then in the halogen glare. Junkman’s mouth is moving, but Creek doesn’t need to hear what he’s ranting on about. Any deaf kid with half a brain could tell he’s got murder on his mind."

HOPE is now available through multiple outlets. I hope you'll check it out. http//:brmevett.com #booksky #newrelease

Here's the opening:

Background shows a little boy with his back to the viewer looking through overgrowth at the ruins of a city. In the center. In the center is an image of a book, with the title HOPE in bright white letters. Around the image are the words, "Where do you go when all that remains is (HOPE)?" and "available November 11."

My second book, HOPE, comes out tomorrow. It's a standalone follow-up to my first book JOY, both set in a #post-apocalyptic America that is just starting to come back. Check it out. As part of the roll-out, JOY is on sale for $0.99! Read something beautiful!
#booksky #newreleases #scifi

I am not. They switched their focus to Mysteries and Thrillers and we parted ways amicably. Not sure they were the right agent for my books, but they did their best.

Yes! Your book sounds interesting! I'd love to know more. I got an agent with my first book, Joy, but we couldn't sell it, unfortunately (got really close a couple of times), so I ended up going the self-publishing route. Good luck with the queries!

background photo of colored flame by @arachnereid.bsky.social words: Wed Nov 5 meet & greet Introduce yourself & your work 🌞 What brings you hope? 🌞 Use #Hopepit hashtag & engage with others to uplift hopepunk & build community #Hopepit hype event November 9 🌞🌱 Let’s elevate hope! 🌱🌞

Day 1: #Hopepit meet & greet!

Let's get to know each other a little!
Introduce yourself, drop a photo or video if you like

Maybe share what brings you hope 🌞 🌱

Just found you, but better late than never! I am an author of hopeful post-apocalyptic fiction about rebuilding a better world after the Collapse of the U.S. Lyrical, sad but optimistic, with a central role for Indigenous Peoples (though I myself am European-American. #hopepunk #IndigenousFuturism

I'm so excited to have discovered l the #HopePit Community @hopepit.bsky.social ! My books (titled HOPE and JOY) are hopeful post-apocalyptic tales. They have #clifi elements, but #hopepunk describes them perfectly!

An image of a book in front of a landscape of misty hills. The words Coming November 11th in orange at the top. The cover of the book is dark with the word "HOPE" in white letters. The O is replaced by a futuristic portal within which appears an image of a rustic house on a field of yellow grass. The words "A novel of the new frontier" appear in small letters at the very top, and the author's name, B.R.M. Evett, appears in blue letters under the title.

My book is literally called HOPE! It comes out Nov. 11. The post-American continent is beginning to rebuild after the Collapse, the First Nations are leading the way, and a ragtag group joins together to build a home and family on the New Frontier.
#hopepunk #IndigenousFuturism

tinyurl.com/3dxhhsxu

An image of a book in front of a landscape of misty hills. The words Coming November 11th in orange at the top. The cover of the book is dark with the word "HOPE" in white letters. The O is replaced by a futuristic portal within which appears an image of a rustic house on a field of yellow grass. The words "A novel of the new frontier" appear in small letters at the very top, and the author's name, B.R.M. Evett, appears in blue letters under the title.

My book is literally called HOPE! It comes out Nov. 11. The post-American continent is beginning to rebuild after the Collapse, the First Nations are leading the way, and a ragtag group joins together to build a home and family on the New Frontier.
#hopepunk #IndigenousFuturism

tinyurl.com/3dxhhsxu

text that reads, "It can’t be Mindworm. Nobody has had it since they instituted the quarantine, and that was months ago. People have technical issues with their COR all the time. It can’t be Mindworm. But her fear whispers, it could, and an icy shiver rolls up and down Lucinda’s back. She knows what it would mean. She was in chem class when Lisa Barrett went into convulsions and flew at Mrs. Granger, screaming like her body was on fire. She watched the corpses burning on the lawn outside the wall, along with everyone else. No, please let it not be Mindworm. As if in answer to her silent prayer, her COR kicks in again, right where it left off. With a jag of electricity like a punch in the ear, the information sweeps through her mind. But she doesn’t care about the mandolin’s antecedents in the gittern, the mandola, or the lute. She doesn’t care about the influence of the Vinaccia family on the development of steel-stringed instruments. Relief. Relief is all she cares about. She feels whole again. It’s going to be okay. The frightening emptiness within her head is full again. It’s not Mindworm, just a glitch, and surely the last time, and she doesn’t need to worry about it anymore. "

From my post-apocalyptic novel HOPE, coming out a week from today!

text that reads, "It can’t be Mindworm. Nobody has had it since they instituted the quarantine, and that was months ago. People have technical issues with their COR all the time. It can’t be Mindworm. But her fear whispers, it could, and an icy shiver rolls up and down Lucinda’s back. She knows what it would mean. She was in chem class when Lisa Barrett went into convulsions and flew at Mrs. Granger, screaming like her body was on fire. She watched the corpses burning on the lawn outside the wall, along with everyone else. No, please let it not be Mindworm. As if in answer to her silent prayer, her COR kicks in again, right where it left off. With a jag of electricity like a punch in the ear, the information sweeps through her mind. But she doesn’t care about the mandolin’s antecedents in the gittern, the mandola, or the lute. She doesn’t care about the influence of the Vinaccia family on the development of steel-stringed instruments. Relief. Relief is all she cares about. She feels whole again. It’s going to be okay. The frightening emptiness within her head is full again. It’s not Mindworm, just a glitch, and surely the last time, and she doesn’t need to worry about it anymore. "

From my post-apocalyptic novel HOPE, coming out a week from today!

Sure is 🐾.

Panel one, writing a 90,000 word novel, picture of a happy kid. Panel to, writing a 250 word blurb, picture of a sad kid

True story

Text that reads, "She is the only reason he is still here. In the night, he actually crept out of bed and stood at the ruined doorway for a quarter of an hour, willing himself to go. Just go. They were all going to die. Or worse. The Doctor would arrive with his army of monsters, and they would run rampant over them. He would take them to his cages and infect them, and Creek would drool and scream and rave and eventually fall, maybe after attacking the Nipmuc village and ripping out the throats of the children he had met there. And the same would happen to all of them. To Lamarque, to Kimo, to Kat (probably not to Sandoval. Sandoval would die in the battle, Creek was pretty sure of that). And Candela. He imagined her face twisted and split by the disease. Then he pictured himself on the road, alone again, safe and alive, but crying in the night, carrying the knowledge that he had left her to that horrible fate. So, he went back to bed. He stayed."

From "Hope," coming out Nov. 11th! A rabies-like virus is infecting people, and one rising warlord has figured out how to control them:

Text that reads, "She is the only reason he is still here. In the night, he actually crept out of bed and stood at the ruined doorway for a quarter of an hour, willing himself to go. Just go. They were all going to die. Or worse. The Doctor would arrive with his army of monsters, and they would run rampant over them. He would take them to his cages and infect them, and Creek would drool and scream and rave and eventually fall, maybe after attacking the Nipmuc village and ripping out the throats of the children he had met there. And the same would happen to all of them. To Lamarque, to Kimo, to Kat (probably not to Sandoval. Sandoval would die in the battle, Creek was pretty sure of that). And Candela. He imagined her face twisted and split by the disease. Then he pictured himself on the road, alone again, safe and alive, but crying in the night, carrying the knowledge that he had left her to that horrible fate. So, he went back to bed. He stayed."

From "Hope," coming out Nov. 11th! A rabies-like virus is infecting people, and one rising warlord has figured out how to control them:

Text that reads, "Sandoval starts shouting and waving his arms — No, no, no! — but it is too late. The move pushes the edge-stone further to the side, and it falls into the stream. The van seems to balance for a moment. Then, with comic slowness, it teeters over, further and further. The left track gives way completely, like a chute has opened. Rocks, sticks, and logs tumble down into the babbling water. Sandoval leaps for the van and throws his weight against the side, as if he can somehow stop eight thousand kilos of metal. He can do nothing, of course, and as the vehicle topples over, he jumps back into the water to avoid getting crushed. The van crashes down onto its side in the stream, sending up jets of water. The sight is beautiful and terrible, the violence of destruction turned balletic in the silence of his world. It only takes a few seconds, but it seems to him that it moves in slow motion, stretched out into timelessness. He knows that this is a calamity for them that will not be remedied, but the magic holds him spellbound."

From my Post-Apocalyptic novel, HOPE, coming out Nov. 11th:

Text that reads, "Sandoval starts shouting and waving his arms — No, no, no! — but it is too late. The move pushes the edge-stone further to the side, and it falls into the stream. The van seems to balance for a moment. Then, with comic slowness, it teeters over, further and further. The left track gives way completely, like a chute has opened. Rocks, sticks, and logs tumble down into the babbling water. Sandoval leaps for the van and throws his weight against the side, as if he can somehow stop eight thousand kilos of metal. He can do nothing, of course, and as the vehicle topples over, he jumps back into the water to avoid getting crushed. The van crashes down onto its side in the stream, sending up jets of water. The sight is beautiful and terrible, the violence of destruction turned balletic in the silence of his world. It only takes a few seconds, but it seems to him that it moves in slow motion, stretched out into timelessness. He knows that this is a calamity for them that will not be remedied, but the magic holds him spellbound."

From my Post-Apocalyptic novel, HOPE, coming out Nov. 11th:

Yep: That's happened to me a couple of times. I had it addressed to the wrong person, too. "Kelly, I am absolutely floored by the brilliance of your (random Romance or Mystery title — I write Post-Apocalyptic Fiction). But boy are they going to make it a hit! Maybe I should write it :).