Tag: Castalia House

From Rod Walker’s new bestselling novel, YOUNG MAN’S WAR:

Dad had come into the living room. He was a big man, and he looked like the sort of cop who would kick down doors and come in with his carbine blazing. He kept his head shaved, even though it kind of made him look like a Nazi, but I think the comparison pleased him. Right now, he had a massive scowl on his face, and I cringed a little. If that whining sound ticked him off and he thought it was coming from the game console…

“Yeah, Dad?” I said.

“Mute that,” he said. “I need to listen.”

I nodded and hit the mute button on the remote. The game’s chipper music went quiet, and I could hear that whining sound. It was now louder than the noise coming from the console’s fans.

“It must be the air conditioner,” pronounced Maggie. She tended to be a bit of a know-it-all. “That sounds like an air conditioner motor.”

“Maybe one of the neighbors is fixing something,” I said. “Or their car won’t start.”

“No, it must be the air conditioning,” said Maggie. “A broken car doesn’t make that noise.”

I looked up at Dad to see what he thought, and I blinked in surprise. There was something on his face that I had never seen before.

Dad looked…

He was frightened.

“Dad?” I said.

He didn’t say anything. I don’t think I can describe how shocking this was. Dad never showed fear about anything, ever. Chicago at that time wasn’t exactly a safe place, and people had tried to break into our house a couple of times. Dad had beaten the would-be burglars within an inch of their lives, his scowl never wavering. For him to show fear was as shocking as if the sun had gone dark in the middle of the day or had risen in the west.

“Dad?” said Maggie, concern in her voice.

“Oh, no,” he said in a quiet voice. “No, no, no. Not now. Not now.” He looked at Maggie and me. “I had really hoped you two would be spared this.”

“What’s wrong?” said Maggie.

Dad seemed to pull himself together, his face drawing into its usual hard mask. “Get your grab bags and go. We leave in five minutes.”

I pushed to my feet, puzzled, but I knew better than to disobey. “What’s going on?”

“And get your guns,” said Dad. I blinked at that. As you might guess, Dad was a gun nut, but he was equally fanatical about gun safety, and he had drilled into us that we were never to pick up a gun in a crisis unless we needed to use it, and never to point the weapon at anything unless we intended to kill it. “Guns, grab bags, kitchen in the five minutes. Go!”

He all but shouted the last word, which kicked us into motion. Dad didn’t shout. We scrambled up the stairs, and Maggie vanished into her bedroom, and I went into mine. My grab bag was the closet. Dad was ever careful, and the grab bag had been loaded with clothes, food, tools, weapons, supplies—everything you needed to survive in a disaster or a crisis. Part of our chores included packing and repacking the grab bags, making sure that everything worked and that nothing had expired.

I pried up one of the floorboards in my room and took my gun from its hiding place.

I say “my” gun, but it was technically Dad’s, and I was forbidden from touching it save at his express word or during a life-threatening emergency. It was a Glock 17 pistol, and while I would never win any shooting competitions, I was a decent shot with the thing. I checked that it was unloaded, and then pulled out the clips from the hiding place and tucked them into my grab bag.

Handling the heavy handgun seemed to send a shock through my brain. Before, the pure habit of obedience had taken over, but now I was beginning to wonder. Why were we doing this? All we had heard was an odd whining noise. Maybe it really was just the air conditioner acting up. The central air unit for our house was older than I was.

Then again, I had never seen Dad that freaked out by something. Angry, yes. He got angry and cold a lot. But frightened?

I shrugged, checked the grab bag one last time, and headed for the stairs. Maybe Dad was freaking out over nothing. If so, it was no big deal. Better to go along with what he had in mind that risk a punishment.

Maggie had beaten me downstairs, but she was always better organized than I was. Her eyes were wide in her face, though she seemed otherwise calm. I guess Dad’s alarm must have gotten to her. The whining noise had gotten louder, so loud that it was starting to get annoying.

“I guess,” said Maggie,” that’s not really the air conditioner.”

“No,” I said. I started to point out that I had told her so, but I stopped. The noise had gotten louder, and it also sounded…strange. I had thought it sounded like a broken machine, but now it didn’t sound like anything I had ever heard before, and it made the hair stand up on the back of my neck.

“It sounds like something screaming,” said Maggie.

“Yeah,” I said.

Then I saw the light.

It was nine o’clock at night, and the lights were off in the kitchen, the kitchen door closed. But around the edges of the door I saw a flickering, colorless light, almost like the fluorescent lights in a hospital emergency room. The light kept flickering, and I realized that it was flickering in time to the undulations of the whining noise.

“Roland,” said Maggie. “I think that’s coming from the alley.”

I started to answer, and Dad came hurrying down the stairs. He was dressed in something that looked like riot gear—body armor and cargo pants and a harness for weapons. He was carrying a lot of weapons, two pistols, several grenades, a pair of heavy tactical knives, and he was holding an AR-15 with a lot of custom modifications.

“Dad,” said Maggie. “If you go outside like that, you’re going to get arrested.”

“I’m not,” said Dad. “The force is about to have bigger problems. In a couple of hours there might not even be a police force. Are you both ready?”

When the Dark Gates open and unleash the monstrous Darksiders on an unsuspecting Earth, only the toughest and most determined people will survive. Roland and Maggie Kane are more fortunate than most, because their father, Daniel, is a Chicago cop who has taught them how to shoot and prepared them for almost every eventuality. But, as the Kane family soon learns, there is just no way to prepare for an alien invasion.


However, Roland also discovers that although the Darksiders’ blood may be green, the invaders will die as readily as any man after being ventilated with enough high-speed projectiles.


Rod Walker is the New New Heinlein, and The Thousand Worlds marks the return of science fiction to its classical form and historical heights. Written in the style and tradition of Robert Heinlein’s 12 classic juvenile novels published by Scribner, YOUNG MAN’S WAR is an exciting tale of survival, courage, independence, and the indomitable spirit of Man.

If you enjoyed MUTINY IN SPACE and ALIEN GAME, you will definitely like YOUNG MAN’S WAR. In my opinion, it is easily the best of the three books. It is not necessary to read them in any particular order,  as The Thousand Worlds setting links all the stories together, but only in the sense that all of them take place in the same science fiction universe. This is the kind of science fiction that SJWs destroyed beginning in the mid-80s. This is the kind of science fiction that people have been lamenting their inability to find for decades. And this is the kind of science fiction that Castalia House was created to publish.

But don’t take my word for it. From the reviews:

• Reading ‘Young Man’s War’ put me in mind of Larry Correia’s ‘Monster Hunters’ books, especially the first one. And I mean that in the very best of ways.
• Young Man’s War grabs your interest from the start and moves right along without meandering or relying on cliches. I enjoyed the pace and the ending was surprisingly uplifting.
• Rod Walker has clearly given some thought about how a civilized society would break down and then rebuild after the government evaporates. He captures the feel of Heinlein’s juvenile novels in the voice of the narrator and his focus on succeeding in his missions being worthy goals.
• This is a coming-of-age story where a teenager becomes a man in about the roughest situation you can think of. The blurb said Young Man’s War is an exciting tale of survival, courage, independence, and the indomitable spirit of Man.” The book delivers.
• If you like stories where the humans are overrun by strange, terrifying, evil aliens and the survivors immediately decide to *kick their slimy alien butts off our planet*, with tons of gunplay and excitement and a plot that keeps you up till 2am promising yourself “just one more page!”, then GET THIS BOOK NOW.

To know how to live, do we need God and religion, or does religion only produce wars, hatred, intolerance, and unhappiness? Does giving up God mean giving up morality, or can we finally live a peaceful and fulfilling life as atheists by following science and reason instead


Anthropologist Christopher Hallpike has spent a lifetime’s research on the morality and religion of different cultures around the world and shows that trying to base a moral life on atheism and science actually has some very nasty surprises in store for us.

Narrated by Jon Mollison. 7 hours and 27 minutes.

From the reviews:

• This book is a tremendous overview and discussion of one of the most important philosophical questions there are. It covers not only philosophy, but history, religion, anthropology, and biology in a broad-ranging discussion of the various aspects of the question. I learned a lot by reading it.
• Hallpike delivers here an intellectually rigorous work that shows how common atheist strains of thought such as the meaninglessness of the universe and the denial of free will do not justify any of western atheists’ professed liberal beliefs, even when such beliefs are otherwise worthy.
• A remarkably fresh take on an old question. Hallpike brings his years of experience as an anthropologist to the bigger questions of what religion is, and how only some kind of religious-based metaphysic can really one to speak meaningfully of “good”, “evil”, and “morality”.
• A valuable, learned and intelligent contribution to the debate about God, coming to the matter from an unusual but productive base discipline. 
• Probably the best refutation of evolutionary psychology and sociobiological claims about “human nature”. A must read.

The hilarious #1 Humor bestseller is now in paperback!

From the reviews:

• Truly side-splitting! Both touching and hilarious, a glimpse into a world seldom seen by those not in law enforcement.
• If you want to laugh so hard you fall out of your recliner and blind yourself with tears of laughter, this is the collection of tales for you. Sorta the opposite of pc. If you have worked in or around law enforcement, this might remind you of personal experiences, just written down with great verve and descriptions.
• Hilarious — as always! The LawDog has been one of my favorite bloggers for years. His voice is distinctive and perpetually entertaining. Run, do not walk, to plunk your money down for this collection; I promise you’ll be laughing your head off.
• Larry Correia led me to this gem. If you are at all a fan of short stories, told in a self-deprecating humourous way, get this now, and make everyone else wonder what you are laughing at. “Work for it fat man!”
• Great stories written in a fun and thoughtful manner. Entertaining insight into the people and culture of the small communities which make up the backbone of America.

BUT WAIT, THERE IS MORE!

LawDog had the honor of representing law and order in the Texas town of Bugscuffle as a Sheriff’s Deputy, where he became notorious for, among other things, the famous Case of the Pink Gorilla Suit. But long before he put on the deputy’s star, he grew up in Nigeria, where his experiences were equally unforgettable, and in most cases, every bit as funny. In THE LAWDOG FILES: AFRICAN ADVENTURES, LawDog chronicles his encounters with everything from bush pilots, 15-foot pythons, pygmy mongooses, Brigadier-Captain
Azikiwe, and Peace Corp hippies to the Nigerian space program.


THE LAWDOG FILES: AFRICAN ADVENTURES are every bit as funny as the previous volume, as LawDog relates his unforgettable experiences in a laconic, self-deprecating manner that is funny in its own right. Africa wins again, and again, and again, but, so too does the reader in this sobering, but hilarious collection of true tales from the Dark Continent.


Now available for preorder.

Larry Correia has announced a Book Bomb on LawDog’s behalf:

Book Bomb time once again, and this is a really special one. I’ve known the Lawdog for about twenty years now. He was one of the original alpha readers for my first book because we were both moderators on the same gun forum. Ian is a great guy.

As a small town Texas cop he used to post these funny true life stories, and they were hilarious. Seriously, the guy has a gift. Some of these stories have become internet legend, like the amorous armadillo, the pink gorilla suit, and the shootout with Santa.

After nearly two decades of us bugging him, Lawdog has finally written a book!

It was another mutual friend, Peter Grant’s idea that I write a forward. I was happy to do so, because Lawdog is funny, talented, and has a way with words that can be making you laugh one minute, and punching you in the feels the next. I’m so glad he finally put together a book.

It’s already risen from 742 to 424 on Amazon as a result. THE LAWDOG FILES is an excellent book that will appeal to pretty much anyone with a sense of humor, so with the help from Larry’s fans, I won’t be surprised to see it punch through to double digits.


380 now. 189. 137. 108. 104. 101. 92. 87.

Amazon Best Sellers Rank: #82 Paid in Kindle Store
#1 in Books > Biographies & Memoirs > True Crime
#1 in Books > Humor & Entertainment > Humor > Business & Professional
#1 in Kindle Store > Kindle eBooks > Biographies & Memoirs > True Crime

Thank you all! Larry adds a note:

To put this accomplishment into perspective, True Crime is a very competitive genre. The previous #1 is from a big deal author, who has been #1 on the New York Times bestseller list, the book has been reviewed in places like the NYT, USA Today, Time, and the Wall Street Journal, and it’s currently #19 on the very big deal Amazon Most Read List.

LawDog had the honor of representing law and order in the Texas town of Bugscuffle as a Sheriff’s Deputy, where he became notorious for, among other things, the famous Case of the Pink Gorilla Suit. In THE LAWDOG FILES, he chronicles his official encounters with everything from naked bikers, combative eco-warriors, suicidal drunks, respectful methheads, prison tattoo artists, and creepy children to six-foot chickens and lethal chihuahuas.

THE LAWDOG FILES range from the bittersweet to the explosively hilarious, as LawDog relates his unforgettable experiences in a laconic, self-deprecating manner that is funny in its own right. The book is more than mere entertainment, it is an education in two English dialects, Police and Texas Country. And underlying the humor is an unmistakable sympathy for society’s less fortunate – and in most cases, significantly less intelligent – whose encounters with the law are an all-too-frequent affair.

Already a bestseller, THE LAWDOG FILES are available exclusively at Amazon and are free on Kindle Unlimited. I vastly enjoyed these true stories; if you can imagine Garrison Keillor, with a gun, in a small Texas town where all the children are below average, only funnier, more succinct, and without a superiority complex, you just might be able to imagine how LawDog writes. But you will never, ever, be able to anticipate where some of his stories are going.

From the reviews:

• I have been reading these shorts since the early 2000s on TFL, and it’s great to see them finally collected in a single place. By turns hilarious, poignant, and thought provoking they show the life of a deputy sheriff in small town West Texas, and the miscreants one encounters in the course of duty. It’s a de facto tribute to all those who wear the badge, day in and day out, and the things and people they have to put up with. Highly recommended!
• Terrific American humor. LawDog leads the reader on a fantastic and hilarious journey through human psychology, the realities of rural Texas, and the ups and downs of LEO life. Going into the book I was uncertain what to expect. He’s much more than a Sheriff’s Deputy – a humorist of great eloquence and adroitness.
• Joseph Wambaugh’s books are superb because he was an LA cop. LawDog’s book is right there in authenticity, tone and hilarity. And just as Wambaugh spins his books in a manner that any non-badge toting, gun-holstering civilian can understand, LawDog doesn’t take his readers into the world of quirky and twilight zoned law enforcement–he brings that rarely seen side of law enforcement to the reader and does so with the ease of conversation as though you were sitting around the card table for the weekly poker & cigar night.
• LawDog is one of the best writers I have ever encountered. I feel like I am sitting around a fire, hearing stories from a favorite uncle. His descriptions are hilarious and his “translations” of colloquialisms are incredibly creative and spot on.
• About the time I was reading about the “Serving Platter of Doom +3”, I was laughing hard enough that I couldn’t see the page. If your eyes are dry after reading about Mr. Johnson, you have no soul. I recognized the “two beers” from my own time in law enforcement. All in all, I enjoyed this book far more than I should have, and I suspect you will too. It gives you a mostly unvarnished look at a few moments in the life of a law enforcement officer.

This is an excerpt from Swan Knight’s Son, Moth & Cobweb Book 1. It is available for $4.99 and via Kindle Unlimited. It is also available in a hardcover edition as the first volume of The Green Knight’s Squire trilogy for $27.99.

Gil had fashioned himself a hiking stick by finding a likely length of wood and trimming off the twigs. As they hiked, Gil said, “Are you sure there is a need for knights?”

Ruff said, “Sure! Sure! Anyone can tell you. Ask anyone!”

Gil thought it actually might be a good idea to ask around. Gil looked at the long grass in the meadow, saw a rustle, and perceived it was a rabbit. He called the rabbit over, telling Ruff to stand a bit away.

The rabbit sat up on its hindquarters. “What can I do for you, my good sire?”

“Um. I am looking for a job.”

“Everyone is welcome in the warren! How are you at digging holes? Plenty of clover this time of year, the does are in heat, and no need to worry about the wolf. You see, you don’t need to outrun the wolf; you only need to outrun your brother.” The rabbit wore a smug look. “That is a saying we have! When danger comes, abandon your loved ones! So, will you join? The more among us, the merrier! The more targets for the hungry wolf, the better our chances to stay alive!”

“No, not a job as a bunny. I was thinking of being a knight. Have you heard that they have any openings? Um– within walking distance of Blowing Rock, North Carolina?”

The rabbit scratched his ear with his hind leg thoughtfully. “I heard something about knights over around Pisgah National Forest. Something in the wind. Winter knights and Summer knights getting ready for Michaelmas. But I think they were elfs. You know, the hidden people, the Night Folk.”

“Elfs? What can you tell me about them?”

The rabbit shivered. “Nothing. I mean, they steal human beings from the daylight world. Put the come-hither on them. Take you down into their warrens. More targets for the hungry mouths, so more chances to stay alive if you get me. A lot like rabbits, elfs. The more, the merrier.” The rabbit shivered again. “Say nothing! They have sharp ears and many spies.”

“Yeah, I think I met one.”

“They don’t like people talking about them. It is better to call them ‘the Good People’ or ‘the Kindly Folk’ or ‘The Rich Ones’ or something like that.”

Gil said, “Are they real? Where do they come from?”

The rabbit said, “Kindly and good and rich. Like I said. Don’t talk about them. As for knighthood, stupid idea. Knights wear metal for their fur, and they fight. Outmoded, outdated, old-fashioned idea. The latest and best way is to study how to run away!”

Another rabbit, this one smaller and with a nose that never stopped twitching, emerged from the grass just then. “Sire, I could not help but overhear the conversation. Knighthood is one of those theories whose days are past! Rabbits are forward-looking! It is not for nothing that we have such ears, to hear of all the latest trends in the newest thought! Running away is the new fashion!”

Other rabbit voices now came from the grasses. “Quite so! Everyone agrees,” said one, and another said, “Always listen to rabbits! We have the more recent and most profound ideas on all matters!” and a third, “A consensus has been reached! The debate is over!”

Gil said, “But rabbits always run away. Always have. Isn’t that like your thing you are famous for? How is that new?”

But then the two rabbits he could see froze, ears high, motionless as statues. In the near distance was a thrumming noise of a rabbit rapping his hindleg against the ground, their warning signal. The two visible rabbits bounded away with astonishing speed and were gone, and no rustle was heard from the grass.

Gil looked up and saw a wolf across the meadow, grinning. Gil beckoned him over. The wolf, tongue lolling, came trotting closer but slowed warily and stopped several yards away. The wolf sat down on his haunches.

“Well, you have a strange smell about you,” said the wolf, “A scent not of this world. You look like a Son of Adam, but I think you are a Son of someone else.”

“Who?” asked Gil. “Whose son am I?”

“Cut off all your fine silver hair, and give it to me, and perhaps I will tell.”

Gil said curtly, “No.”

The wolf stood up, and his ears flattened. “You do not know where my pack is or how you are surrounded, do you?”

Gil said, “Pardon my manners, Brother Wolf. Your request took me by surprise. I am not able to cut off all my hair at this time to present to you, for I promised some to my friend, a wren who is using it to line her nest. Please tell me why you want it.”

The wolf sat on his haunches again, green eyes glinting like flames. “You are well spoken, Brother Man-cub. But it would be rude of me to tell you the secret of your own hair that grows on your own head.”

Gil said, “What if I cut a handful of it and present it to you as a gift?”

The glitter in the wolf’s eyes changed, growing less dangerous but more greedy. “That would be noble courtesy indeed, Brother Man-cub.”

Gil drew his knife and cut off a tail of hair from behind his ear. He opened his fingers, and the strands floated down to the grass just before him. The wolf stood up and started to step forward but then paused, as if measuring the distance between the knife still in Gil’s hand and himself. He looked then at the silver hair on the grass, then at Gil’s eyes, and then back at the knife.

Gil said, “What, pray tell, is the matter, Brother Wolf?”

“You still have your knife in your hand, Brother Man-cub.”

“So? It would be discourteous not to offer my hair to your pack mates as well. Have them come out of hiding and show themselves, and we will exchange gifts and secrets of noble worth.”

The wolf said, “No, not so, my packmates—which are many in number, and ferocious fighters—would deem it untoward to impose on a generous heart like yours.”

Gil said, “Come, Brother Wolf. Please take these strands of hair as a gift.”

The wolf stepped slowly and warily toward the spot at Gil’s feet where the hair lay gleaming. Very gingerly, watching Gil and Gil’s knifehand with both eyes, the wolf lowered his head and gently took the hairs between his teeth.

Gil tightened his grip on his knife. It was a tiny, almost invisible motion, but the wolf froze. His head was still down, and he was very close to Gil, but not in any position to spring.

“True courtesy,” said Gil softly, “would be truly satisfied if we both performed as we said. Have you no gift to offer in return?”

The wolf’s eyes were locked on the knife, whose blade gleamed brightly.

The wolf spoke in a husky whisper, moving his lips but not his teeth. “Ask me three questions if you please. That will be my gift.”

“Thank you,” said Gil.

“You are most welcome.”

“Whose son am I?”

“I know not.”

“But you said–”

“The scent of death is upon you, which marks you as a Son of Eve and Adam. Yet also the scent of the mists of otherworld around you, which follows the Sons of Titania and Oberon. Yet you are not of one nor of the other, neither of the Day-born nor the Night-kin. You are one of the Twilight Folk. You are a son of Moth. Your family is called Moth.”

“That does not tell me much, Brother Wolf.”

“You did not give me much hair, Brother Man.”

“What makes my hair precious?”

“Long ago, were men who were my brothers, wolves who walked on two legs and who walked through the wood as warily and swiftly as do I. They worshiped many spirits, including the great wolf spirit. They danced the Ghost Dance, to turn the bullets of the white men away. Those who had hair like yours to weave into their ghost shirts had charmed lives, and the weapon they most feared, the weapon with no dreams, would not bite them. So it is for you: you will not die by firearms.”

“What? Am I bulletproof?”

“Ask your third question, kindly and gracious brother, for I must be away!”

“Uh, sure, uh. What about knighthood as a career? Are there any jobs open?”

“For that profession?” and now the wolf made a low and ugly chuckle in its throat. Then, the wolf recited:

And ever and anon the wolf would steal
The children and devour, but now and then,
Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat
To human sucklings; and the children, housed
In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,
And mock their foster-mother on four feet,
Till, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,
Worse than the wolves.