The Life and Times of Ichabod Brooks by Charles Yallowitz #NewRelease #Fantasy #Magic

Charles Yallowitz has a new release to share!

Spend your summer with Ichabod Brooks in this 11 story collection!  $2.99 on Amazon!

Cover Art by Circecorp

Enter the world of Windemere with 11 action adventure short stories featuring a man who is out to make an honest living.

Some heroes seek fame. Some seek fortune. Others simply want to save the world. Ichabod Brooks only wants to put food on the table for his family.

Known and respected as the man who can get any job done, Ichabod has seen his share of adventure. Most of which have been highly exaggerated by bards. Still, the man has his famous reputation for a reason. Whether it be climbing a temperamental mountain for eggs or escorting orphans to their new homes, Ichabod takes every job seriously and makes sure he is as prepared as he can be. Not that it helps since things always take a turn for the worse.

Available on Amazon!

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Excerpt: Preparing for Galaces

“Is this any way to greet an old friend?” a dwarf in dark gray chainmail asks before plugging his ears with his dark red beard. Wanting the bard to stop, the mountaineer marches over and puts a hand over the young woman’s mouth. “Are you supposed to use her as bait? I did hear there’s a hobgoblin pack that moved in a few months ago. You know how those drooling scavengers love elf flesh.”

“Sorry about that, Dex. She latched on at my last stop and I haven’t been able to shake her off,” Ichabod replies, shaking his guide’s hand. He rubs his own black and white beard at the sight of how his friend shows no sign of graying. “I have to give this one credit for tenacity, but this is where we part ways. Galaces Mountain is not a place to go unless you have experience, an excellent guide, and common sense. So far, I don’t see you having any of those things and I’m not going to babysit.”

“I must go. That’s the only way I can write about your newest adventure,” the bard insists, unwittingly proving Ichabod right. She crosses her arms and meets the icy stare of the dwarf, who she considers leaving out of her tale. “Being the first to speak of your climb will help my reputation. I promise not to cause any trouble and pull my own weight. Elves are graceful and agile, which makes us perfect companions for whatever it is you’re doing. Besides, Galaces Mountain doesn’t look like that bad a climb. The stories must be nothing more than colorful exaggerations.”

Ichabod puts on a pair of white-palmed gloves and slips a blue band on his finger, a charge going through his body to enhance his lungs. “I suddenly relate very well to this mountain. Take a look at the empty space between us and Galaces. You’ll see why this place has earned a reputation.”

The bard puts her lute over her shoulder and walks to the yellow rope, which sparks with a mild magic. At first, she is unsure of what she is supposed to pay attention to among the shrubs and fallen rocks. It takes the elf a few minutes to recognize weather worn bones sticking out from under a boulder. The limbs are splayed since the climber plummeted with the rough stone pressed against his back and the landing embedded him in the ground. Knowing what to look for, the bard realizes that there are at least ten old corpses hidden by the mountain’s litter. The bard spots the fresh body of a yellow-skinned creature sitting behind a shrub, the armored creature crumpled from landing butt first after its fall. She is about to ask a question when a small pain runs up her arm and she collapses into a magical slumber.

“Guess that’s more humane than knocking her on the head,” Dex mentions while Ichabod carries the young woman to the dwarf’s cart. He shields his eyes as he stares at the churning clouds that have been trapped around the peak. “Looks like the eagles captured a storm beneath their nest this year. Means the winds are going to be brutal and the tunnels are infested with horned spiders and revelers. Not going to be an easy trip. Sure, you don’t want someone else to take this contract?”

“I’d love to hand this off to someone else, but Chef Zyrk always insists that I take the job. I have no injuries, diseases, or family events, so I’m here,” Ichabod replies, sheathing his sleep-inducing shortsword. As an afterthought, he grabs a horse blanket and tosses it over the bard to hide her from view. “The Starwind Eagles lay eggs every ten years and now is the time to get to them. Wait any longer and the mountain will be crawling with hunters. A youngster wouldn’t know that or have you as a guide.”

The dwarf grins as he lifts the rope and gestures for his friend to lead the way. “They also don’t have your wife making deals that you can’t say no to. She mentioned that you’re getting three times the usual pay because this baby is going to be prepared for Duke Solomon’s wedding. Personally, I’m looking forward to your wife’s cooking after this. Surprised your gut isn’t huge considering that woman can make a pot roast even the gods would praise. Did you happen to bring some of her dishes for the road?”

“I can cook too, you know.”

“You can bake, Ichabod. Not the same as cooking in my book.”

“So you don’t want the cookies I brought.”

“Oatmeal and cranberry?”

“With a touch of cinnamon.”


About the Author:

Charles Yallowitz was born and raised on Long Island, NY, but he has spent most of his life wandering his own imagination in a blissful haze. Occasionally, he would return from this world for the necessities such as food, showers, and Saturday morning cartoons. One day he returned from his imagination and decided he would share his stories with the world. After his wife decided that she was tired of hearing the same stories repeatedly, she convinced him that it would make more sense to follow his dream of being a fantasy author. So, locked within the house under orders to shut up and get to work, Charles brings you Legends of Windemere. He looks forward to sharing all of his stories with you, and his wife is happy he finally has someone else to play with.


Twitter: @cyallowitz

Facebook: Charles Yallowitz


Mae Clair: A Thanksgiving Wish Past & Present

A brief post to wish all those in America, a Happy Thanksgiving!

Although these photos were taken long before I was born, Italian families were notorious for “the more, the merrier” over the holidays. The gathering spot was usually the kitchen (although Thanksgiving dinner was served in the dining room). The more family and friends you crammed into the space, the greater the laughter and togetherness.

I loved the sense of celebration in these old family photos. Although I believe they were taken on a Christmas Eve, I thought they beautifully reflected the joy of a family gathering.

To all my new friends, writers, readers and bloggers, you’ve been a blessing to me this past year. I wish you all a Thanksgiving filled with family, friends and good cheer!

Mae Clair’s Mythical Monday with G*I*V*E*A*W*A*Y: A Ghost Story

It’s a Mythical Monday, and also the last day for Howloween Hop. For a list of all participating authors, visit the Blog Hop Howloween event page. There are lots of treats to be had!

I will be giving away two prizes:

A $15.00 gift card to Amazon or Barnes & Noble (winner’s choice)

A copy of my paranormal / time travel release, WEATHERING ROCK in Kindle or Nook format (winner’s choice)

Read through to discover how you can win. I hope you’ll also take a moment to sit back as I share a ghost story in honor of Mythical Monday. Normally, I would delve into legend or a bit of folklore that intrigues me for an MM post, but today I’m going to share something personal.

My father. Burma, India. WWII

Those of you who follow my blog regularly have probably seen one or two posts related to my father. He died of cancer when I was 13. I’m the youngest of four siblings and came as a late-in-life-baby to my parents. My mother was 39 when I was born, my father 40.  There aren’t many people my age who can say their father was a veteran of WWII, but I have several friends who are able to say that about their grandparents.

Growing up, I never really considered how much older my parents were, probably because they supported me in everything I did. When it came to writing, they were my biggest fans.I inherited my gift for words from my dad. He used to dabble with writing when he was young, but his real passion was art.

When WWII ended he left the service and enrolled in art college. His preferred medium was oil paints but, occasionally, he worked with charcoal, pastels and even water colors. After art college, he returned to the service where he stayed for the Korean War. That’s how he met my mom – – teaching at a war barracks. According to my mother, he walked into the restaurant her parents owned, ordered a ham and cheese sandwich, and her mother asked her to take it to his table. The rest, as they say, is history. 🙂

So what’s with the ghost story?

When my father was in art school, he lived with his older brother, and his brother’s family. My Uncle Ross and Aunt Judy had several young children at the time, who found my father extremely engaging. To indulge his nieces and nephew, he painted a whimsical representation of a flibbertigibbet for them. Sort of a scatterbrained, mischievous imp. Keep in mind he painted this years before he married my mother. No one in my family knew the painting existed (although we do have several others he did after he and my mother married).

Fast-forward to about a year ago when two of my cousins and I hooked up through email. We’ve never met, and they live in a different state. I can’t even remember how we found one another, but we did. Talk about exciting! Then I learned my father had painted something for them when they were kids, and they promised to ship it to me.

There were obstacles along the way, so it took some time, but it finally arrived last week. When I saw the box, I asked my husband to help me open it, saying “I want to see my Dad’s painting.” At that precise moment, there was a crash.

I had no clue what it was, but I remember jumping and asking “What was that?” My husband was coming from the other room and hadn’t heard it. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, and excited about the painting, I quickly forgot about it.

The next morning as I was coming down the steps, I noticed two of the framed pictures on the drum table in my formal living room were lying face down. I asked my husband about them, and he said “That must have been the crash you heard last night.”

Onyx, the drum table, and the bow window. One of his favorite perches.

I put them back in place and joked, saying it must have been our cat, Onyx, wanting to get in the bow window (we had to put Onyx to sleep last January because of cancer). It wasn’t until I was on my way to work that morning that I mulled it over some more, remembering when the crash occurred – – precisely when I wanted to open the painiting.

When I got home that night, I examined the pictures – – two ordinary family photos – – one of me with my sisters and one with my husband.

Are you familiar with the folding leg behind a frame that holds a picture upright? Fold it in, and the picture falls backward. Gravity will not allow it to fall forward unless it’s pushed or something propels it.


When my cousin shipped the painting to me, she sent an email that said, “Somehow I feel as though I’ve sent it home to where it should be.”

The flibbertigibbet painting, over 60 years old.

Had my father made his presence felt, welcoming home something he’d painted over sixty-odd years in the past? Or was it perhaps my mother (who died this summer), excited to see a work she’d never known about? There is no rational explanation to explain how those photos fell forward, not backward. I usually don’t buy into things like that but, in this case, I can’t chalk it up to coincidence.

Yeah, Dad. I know you were there.

So, for today’s Mythical Monday, and to be entered into the last day of my Howloween Hop gift drawing, leave a comment with your email. Do you have a favorite ghostly story, real or fictional? What gives you shivers?

I’ll be announcing the winner tomorrow on my blog, so check back to see if you’ve won. I also hope you’ll give WEATHERING ROCK a look-see. If you like werewolves, hunky heroes and romance, I think you’ll enjoy what’s in store.

And, finally, although I’m not making it mandatory, I would really LOVE if you’d sign up to follow my blog, and/or give my Facebook Author Page a “Like.” Really, guys, you can’t lose! I talk about some interesting stuff! 😀

Happy Howloween!