The air in Morgan’s bedroom felt thick with the residual hum of the lab, but as Toby unzipped his bag, the atmosphere shifted from the extraterrestrial back to something painfully human. He pulled out the leather-bound volume his father had sent—a field guide to British lepidoptera. The spine was creased from years of careful use. Toby’s fingers moved with a practiced, rhythmic speed, flicking through the plates of Swallowtails and Peacocks until the pages settled on the Red Admiral. In the lower-right corner of the cream-colored paper, a small, embossed seal caught the light. It was the crest of the Academy, but it looked different here—intertwined with a hand-drawn geometric flourish. "I think this might be important," Toby said, his voice barely a whisper as he stroked the page. Morgan leaned in, her eyes scanning the scientific notes. "Red Admirals are incredibly strong flyers," she said, her academic training kicking in. "My father told me they can travel hundreds of miles, even in the worst weather. They’re resilient." "Yes," Toby nodded, his gaze distant. "My dad told me they can reach as far as the Scottish Highlands. He said one had recently been found near Loch Ness. Very rare, that far north." Morgan’s breath hitched. The blood drained from her face as the fragments of her recurring dream began to lock together like gears. The vivid red-and-black wings she had seen in her sleep, the Highland grass, and the small, metallic glint beneath the butterfly’s thorax—it wasn't just a dream. It was a map. "Toby..." Morgan’s pulse quickened, a drumbeat in her ears. "The little metal mark. It’s exactly where your dad put it on this page." She looked closer at the illustration. There, tucked into the corner of the drawing, was a tiny, hand-inked symbol. It wasn't part of the original printing. It was a curved insignia, a metallic ink that shimmered with the same unnatural luster as the specimens in the lab. It matched the shape she had seen in the grass of her dreams with haunting precision.

For those of you that care, I finished the Ai Book Trailer. This is my first time learning the tools and learning how to put a trailer together. I liked the images that Midjourney was producing but I wasn't satisfied with the character consistency. It was good but I learned that Nano Banana on Higgsfield is the best generator for character consistency. So I redid the whole project using Nano Banana and I am well pleased with the results. Let me know what you think and yes I need to redo my cover whenever I get time but this will work for now. I may even do a little advertisement experiment to see how it performs on Facebook, Instagram and Youtube. Maybe have them run before the big booktube accounts? @Kimber Hardick @Kimberly Davis @Melanie Hodgkiss @Fred Oliver

Let me tell you something about turning seventy. Nobody throws you a parade. There's no certificate that arrives in the mail congratulating you on making it this far. What you do get is a whole lot of people treating you like you're already halfway to the grave, speaking a little louder when they talk to you, asking if you need help with things, you've been doing perfectly well since you were six years old in 1955. Well, I've got news for everyone: I'm seventy years old, and I'm not dead yet. Not even close. My husband? Yes, he's dead. It's been five years now. And for a long time, too long, if I'm being honest, I acted as if I'd died right along with him. Wore my widow's weeds like they were sewn onto my skin. Became a professional mourner. An expert at being the sad woman at the end of the pew, the one people whispered about at church socials. "Poor thing," they'd say. "She's taking it so hard." And I was. God knows I was. Forty-eight years of marriage doesn't just evaporate because someone's heart stops beating. You don't just shake it off like water after a swim. But here's what I've figured out, sitting in this house that's too quiet, eating dinner at a table set for one, watching television shows he would have hated: I earned the right to have the life I want now. Not the life everyone thinks I should have. Not the life that looks appropriate for a woman my age. The life I want. George Burns, now there was a man who understood something about aging, once said, "You can't help getting older, but you don't have to get old." I've got that quote taped to my bathroom mirror, right next to the magnifying mirror I use to pluck the chin hairs that have decided to throw a party on my face without my permission. Every morning, I look at those words, and I think: He's right. Getting older is mandatory. Getting old? That's a choice. And I'm choosing not to.

This thread is for authors in the Historical Fiction Genre to be able to meet and discuss topics and issues faced in this genre. If you are in this genre and you do not see your name listed, please comment below and tag me in it. Link to the Historical Fiction Member Database: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1Xit4uXpX5x8MjCpfnUdP__ar8KnnkkgpAtGpmV89hWo/edit?usp=sharing ----------- @Jessica James @Sophie Perinot @Rebecca Phillips @Gary Olive @Sam Smith @Kate Wiseman @Keith Wood @Christopher Tradgett @Charlotte Fox @Fabian Foley @Margaret Moxom

This thread is for authors in the Memoir/Biography Genre to be able to meet and discuss topics and issues faced in this genre. If you are in this genre and you do not see your name listed, please comment below and tag me in it. Link to the Memoir/Biography Member Database: https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1xeSOik4y8kwoHu8xkqE9Ldlv5FVNe5ignU_ZPX04Ci8/edit?usp=sharing ----------- @Kimber Hardick @Rolade Berthier @Lynette Simmons @Rebecca Phillips @Carol Van Den Hende @Bobbie Bennett @Len Boswell @Celeste Friedman @Anita Biers @Luke Monin @Deone Graham @Margaret Moxom @Kimberly Davis