PRESS RELEASE: Happy Black Speculative Fiction Month!

Happy Black Speculative Fiction Month!

October is Black Speculative Fiction Month and we’re proud to celebrate because Black Speculative Fiction is our lifeblood. Started by a Black woman on a mission to amplify marginalized voices in speculative fiction, Mocha Memoirs Press was founded with the purpose of publishing those mainstream presses often ignore. From groundbreaking Afrocentric horror anthologies to Afro-Futurism and Afro-Fantasy, we are honored to offer a a wide variety of Afrocentric literary delights as rich and varied as the African Diaspora itself.

As part of our Black Speculative Fiction Month celebration, we’ll be sharing blog posts, stories, editorials, and content celebrating the works of Black authors. We have two new titles coming out this month: Alice and SLAY.

As part of our Black Speculative Fiction Month celebration, we’ve marked down all of our Black Speculative Fiction titles to $2.99 for eBooks and 20% off paperbacks with code BLACK20.
Finding ways to take our presence into the virtual realm has been another focus for us here at Mocha Memoirs Press. From virtual interviews and convention panels to YouTube channels, MMP Authors have been boldly stepping forward to embrace new ways of connecting with our fans.
🔊 The Old Man Wade Show featuring several authors and stories from SLAY.
🔊  Retro Ridoctopus features six SLAY authors and excerpts from their stories.
🔊  Amalga-Cast Podcast: Episode 10: Vampire Stories that SLAY!
ICYMI: Catch up on all of the SLAY Authors Slaying 11 Questions with Milton Davis.
SLAY: Stories of the Vampire Noire gets a shout-out from HWA’s New York chapter.

Author Spotlight: Alledria Hurt

1. What is your favorite coffee shop beverage?
Coffee with room for cream. I don’t use sugar.

2. What does Black Speculative Fiction mean to you? What advice would you give to other Black writers struggling to break into the genre? 
Black Speculative Fiction means black people as heroes and villains in their own stories instead of just add-ons to someone else’s. My advice to new writers is keep writing. You don’t fail unless you give up.

3. What is your favorite type of zombie and why?
28 Days Later rage zombies. They had an interesting premise and a defined life span.

4. If you could have dinner with one person (living or dead), who would you invite?
Stephen King. I just want to meet the man once before he is here no longer.

5. What do you love most about horror; what inspires you to write it?
The visceral gut reaction.

6. What is your favorite horror movie or tv show?
Saw.

7. What are you working on now?

Currently writing a cyberpunk novel called “Dreamless.”
🔊  There’s Stories Everywhere Podcast, Episode 2.15 Alledria Hurt’s “Ujima”
Excerpt:

FROM THIRTEEN STREET TO CENTRAL TOOK
about a half hour. Ethan tried, as usual, not to think too hard about the slime on the walls. At least he had gone mostly nose-numb to the smell.

They lived in these tunnels now, sharing living space with rats and the occasional sewer gator. Yes, there were actual sewer gators. The myth was real. Kinda like the zombies. The group members walked the path automatically. They didn’t have to look for the painted landmarks or the changed
names. It was instinctual, like homing, allowing them to get back home even after grueling hours waiting and baking as they manned a selected kill zone and encountered a murder
on what had become its turf. Dale, in one of her better moods, made jokes about how humans were actually becoming the Mole people from Mars. No matter how accurate the joke was, Ethan still could not find it in himself to laugh.

Ethan looked back, checking Alice’s location. She walked, still at a somewhat slow pace, occasionally looking around. Every so often a bit of light caught her eyes and he could
have sworn the colors switched sides. The green was on the left now and the hazel on the right. Shaking his head, he told himself he had gotten the sides wrong to start with.

“Don’t stare,” she said.

Ethan started. Alice stared straight through him, her expression a little warmer than belligerent.

“I wasn’t staring.” He didn’t remember staring, only looking. There was a difference. When he brought up his hands, he brought up his pistol. Training dictated his reaction to a threat.

“Never point that unless you intend to shoot someone.” Alice’s cold tone implied she meant it. She stopped moving as if to give him a clearer shot. James hid his head behind hers because Ethan couldn’t see his face at all.

Ethan lowered his gun, his motions measured.

“What the hell are y’all doing pissing around back there?” Dale’s voice came from somewhere ahead in the gloom.

Ethan suppressed the guilty look of fear which threatened. “Nothing. Just a… misunderstanding.” Ethan hesitated.

Alice didn’t respond.

Dale said, “Stop trying to get into the weird chick’s pants and hurry up.”

With a sigh, Ethan holstered his gun before looking at Alice again. She smiled a not nice smile. Ethan moved to a space alone between Dale and Roger and Alice and James. It seemed safer that way.

Central was once an old subway switching station. Now, it was reinforced against intrusion and required guard access. You had to prove you weren’t infected and crazy before you were allowed in. One of the reasons for the long tunnels: even if you managed to get into them after being bitten and
could navigate close enough to come across a gate, by the time you made it the guard would shoot you because you’d turned. No muss, no fuss, no danger to anyone else. Once the coast was clear, someone would come out and drag the body away to be burned. No need to leave a plague body so
close to the front door.

One of the leaders said they had to be ruthlessly efficient in these times. Ethan could see that in how they handled the dead.

A converted subway car served as the nearest gate to Thirteenth Street. The refugees had parked the car on the tracks where they wanted it and then carted rubble and concrete until it stood an impassable wall ten feet thick with the emergency exit door of the subway car as the only way
through. The windows had been reinforced with steel so that slits remained to see through and little doors so you could point a pistol.

“Hello to the returning.” The PA system rigged into the car greeted them. “Names please?”

Roger was up first. “Roger Mackie. Thirteenth Street building 2.” He took off his helmet and held it under one arm.

Dale did the same. “Dale Barnard. Thirteenth Street building 4.”

Ethan didn’t wear a helmet. “Ethan Post. Thirteenth Street spotter.”

There was some shuffling the group could hear over the PA before the person asked, “Registering one other movement signature, but no corresponding heat signature. Can you confirm?”

“Yes, we can confirm. Located a live one top side. No signs of infection.” Roger spoke up. “Central has authorized entry.”

“Hold position for Central confirm.” The request for authorization went back to Central Command. No one was going to let someone in just because they said Central okayed it. That would just be stupid. Of course, it didn’t take a whole heck of a lot of sense to do guard duty in the first
place. Ethan shifted from foot to foot as the time stretched on.

“Central has confirmed, but they stated there were two. Where is the second?”

“He’s here. She’s carrying him.” Ethan saw the eye-roll as Roger answered the question.

“Understood. Proceed through.”

The door swung open, allowing one person at a time to enter and walk through. Another safety precaution: bottlenecking entrants into a kill zone in case they should make it through all the other safety precautions. It did manage to keep the body count down. They made it through. Ethan couldn’t get used to the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, by people with
guns, as they hopped out the other end of the car and officially made it into Central territory.
Once they were out, Alice swung James around to the front so that he could use his arms. He was pointing at something, though not saying anything. Occasionally she would nod as if they were having what amounted to a wordless conversation.

“What’s he pointing at?” Dale asked.

Alice shook her head. Apparently, whatever was going on was for her only to understand. James stopped pointing, keeping his thoughts to himself.

Order Now
October’s free read is:

Warriors of the Four Worlds

by Ronald T Jones!

The Vingin are a peaceful species. They are genetically incapable of committing violence. Humans and Zirans have long been their protectors. While Humans have shown an appetite for violence, they have never reveled in it the way their Ziran counterparts have. Zirans are a brutal species with a powerful lust for bloodshed. Human and Ziran muscle managed to defeat a horde of genocidal aggressors. But the aftermath of that struggle bears no promise of lasting peace. Storm clouds of treachery are brewing, and the shaky bonds that held this tripartite alliance together are unraveling. The tempest of a new war is brewing. Lev Gorlin, a hard-bitten veteran of the last war, must once again stand firm in the face of a new threat…
Download your copy here.

Do you love to read? Do you want more FREE eBooks? Mocha Memoirs Press is actively seeking readers for our Read and Review Program. If you’d like to read more free eBooks, please fill out this form.
Are you an audio book lover? We have a treat for you! The Cybil Lewis Mysteries are being narrated! Books one and two have been completed and are available here!
Did you know that Mocha Memoirs Press has over fifteen titles available for free on Kindle Unlimited?
Mocha Memoirs Press is actively seeking submissions. If you are a creator of bold, fearless fiction, we want to publish you!
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About Egg Embry

Egg Embry wrote comic book short stories, edited comic book series, wrote and drew a webcomic, and contributed to comic book journalism across the 2000s. Now, he buys the opportunity to write for a variety of tabletop role-playing games in the tradition of vanity press. NOTE: Articles may includes affiliate links. As a DriveThruRPG Affiliate/Amazon Associate/Humble Partner I earn from qualifying purchases.
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