Category Archives: Kathryn L. Ramage

Now on sale: Storylandia 19, Who Killed Toby Glovins?

Where to buy: online store; also Amazon (eligible for free shipping); and Kindle.


Sample pages

Where to buy: online store; also Amazon (eligible for free shipping); and Kindle.

Who Killed Toby Glovins?
Kathryn L. Ramage
ISBN: 978-1-942007-10-4

Freddie Babington has solved two mysteries. When he travels to Norfolk in the autumn of 1923 to attend the wedding of Amelia Marsh and Evelyn Tollarhithe, he doesn’t anticipate a third murder investigation. Then, on the evening before the wedding, a friend of the groom is found stabbed under circumstances that look compromising for Evelyn. Freddie agrees to take the case for Amelia’s sake. As Freddie digs deeper behind the friendship between Evelyn and Toby Glovins, and uncovers old family secrets, he learns that the question of who murdered Toby is more complicated than it first appears. And so, he discovers, are his feelings for the disappointed bride.

Kathryn L. Ramage has a B.A. and M.A. in English lit and has been writing for as long as she can remember. She lives in Maryland with three cats. As well as being the author of numerous short stories, novellas, and essays, she is the author of “Maiden in Light,” “The Wizard’s Son,” and “Sonnedragon,” novels set on an alternate Earth whose history has diverged from ours somewhere during the medieval period. All three are part of an intended series of fantasy novels that mostly take place in a dukedom called the Northlands, a part of the Norman Empire that roughly covers the north-eastern U.S. For more information, please visit her website at www.klr.wapshottpress.com.

Also by Kathryn L. Ramage
The Wizard’s Son
Maiden in Light
Sonnedragon
Storylandia 10: Death Among the Marshes
Storylandia 16: The Abrupt Disappearance of Cousin Wilfrid

Where to buy Storylandia 19, Who Killed Toby Glovins? At this online store; also Amazon (eligible for free shipping); and Kindle.

The Wapshott Press, publisher of Storylandia, is now a 501(c)(3) nonprofit. Tax deductible donations can be made here: https://www.paypal.me/TheWapshottPress and thank you so much for your support!

Testing the new website

Pageflex Persona [document: PRS0000038_00062]

Testing to see if all the crossposts and social media are working.

Storylandia 16: The Abrupt Disappearance of Cousin Wilfrid

Where to buy: 10% discount code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon; and Kindle.


Larger version
Sample pages

Where to buy: 10% discount code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon; and Kindle.

The Abrupt Disappearance of Cousin Wilfrid

By Kathryn L. Ramage

A murder mystery set in the 1920s. This story begins shortly after Freddie Babington’s first investigation in “Death Among the Marshes.”

1

Abbotshill had never been Frederick Babington’s home, but he was as fond of it as he was the environs of Marsh Hall. This tiny village ten miles from Ipswich had once been the site of a medieval abbey, now in ruins. In these modern times, a collection of quaint cottages, a post office, and a brown-timbered tavern sat at the convergence of five country lanes on one side of a mill pond. On the other side of the pond was the old mill with its enormous wheel, more cottages, and shops around a green. The Mill Wheel Inn sat adjacent to an on-request railway platform.

Babingtons had owned the former abbey lands since the days of the Reformation and had been a prominent family in the area for centuries. Many of them still lived in the vicinity… which was where the problem began.

Where to buy: 10% discount code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon; and Kindle.

Webhosting donations (yes, a fundraising appeal):
If you like what we’ve been publishing here, you can help out with the webhosting bill with a donation, if you are so inclined, click here. Donations go right to the webhost, DreamHost, so the temptation to spend it on something else will be nonexistent.

Or we’ll be equally grateful if you send us a PayPal donation (I’m not a snob) c/o The Wapshott Press.

And for superb webhosting, please consider:

For webhosting dream deals.




Thank you!

Storylandia 12 is now on Sale!

Where to buy: 10% off with this code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; Amazon, eligible for Free Shipping; Kindle


Click here for a sampler of the issue. Enjoy!

Paullette Gaudet

Celebrity Sperm Bank

I am so sick of this shit. They should rearrange their letters like I do and call it USuCk. I mean, who do they think they are? They don’t even know who I am, ’cos when I said, “Do you know who I am?” they were all like, “We know you’re about to fail this semester,” and I was like, “Whatever,” and they just told me I’d have to take it up with my professor. So, here I am in Debussy’s office when I could be, like, anywhere else and not soiling my skirt on this sticky, splintery-ass, pseudo-interrogation chair in front of his desk.

He’s got a beard like he’s from the nineteenth-century and goes, “Hello Cecille, it’s nice to finally meet you,” like he’s never seen me before. Which, okay—I guess there’s a chance he hasn’t noticed me in the twelve-thousand people in his American Lit class. And, I guess I’ve never raised my hand, or even been there that often, but still

Sarah Rasher

Prince Charming Rides in from Brooklyn on a Bike

Tonight you’re the one making the booty call. Your logic is flawless: you want to get laid, Grindr scares you, you’re too lazy to make yourself pretty for going out, and it’s going to be four hours until anyone interesting goes near a bar anyway. In the past—and by “past,” we are talking three times, four if you count the night you met—in the past, he has called—and by “called,” we mean texted, this is the modern age—he has called you. Still, you don’t believe this is a faux pas, and if it is, you do not want to be fuck-buddying a guy who’s put off at being the called rather than the caller.

He texts that he will be right over. You primp expediently.

His name is Ethan. You met him at a party thrown by a girl you don’t know who is friends with your friend’s boyfriend. There was punch: two parts pineapple juice, two parts grenadine, eighteen parts tequila. You fooled around in the bathtub and, thank you Jesus and blue agave, immediately friended each other on Facebook. He used this information three weeks later to invite you over. You have never seen him sober.

Kathryn L. Ramage

The Family Jewels

A mystery set in the 1920s, continuing the adventures of Frederick Babington.

It was a beautiful, crisp, and colorful autumn afternoon. Frederick Babington, who was visiting his aunt in the Suffolk village of Abbotshill, decided to take a walk. Though the injuries he’d received during the Great War had taken a long time to heal, he was beginning to feel truly well again. His leg no longer pained him and he’d discarded his cane.

Billy Watkins, Freddie’s manservant who had saved his life during the war and looked after him diligently since, insisted that he take a coat in case the evening grew chilly and not tire himself by going too far. Freddie promised to be back in time for dinner and grabbed his tweed coat down from the rack by the front door on his way out.

He had a delightful time wandering the country lanes around Abbotshill, climbing the green hills and kicking up piles of golden and russet leaves that had fallen under the trees. At dusk, he headed back toward his aunt’s house by way of the Rose and Crown pub; a pint of the local beer seemed just the thing to complete his outing.

Patrick Satcher

The Glint

Why do things have to be so complicated, he thought while watching the boy cry. Old man Johnson, the veterinarian, had come down from the pavilion where both men had seen the race and the accident. Dr. Johnson had administered the shot that made the horse’s spasms stop forever. The boy didn’t stop crying until the tractor came with a chain to drag the carcass down to the far end of the arena. Even then he stood watching the boy.

A glint from the movement brought him back to his place in the stands. Tobacco spittle had sprinkled his white shirt with various shapes of browns. Flecks of sputum had made concentric circles of shadings. Splashes and stains. He must have been mumbling to himself he thought. Then he heard the hurried conversations re-creating the accident.

“Broke one foreleg and I’ll be goddamned if he…..”

“You see that jockey? That old boy sure enough must have broke his back.”

“When’s the next race?”

“And then the other leg tried to catch all the weight and she just busted into a heap.”

“Too bad. What are you drinking anyway?”

Julie Travis

The Ferocious Night

“La mort, c’est le commencement de quelque chose.”
(“Death is the beginning of something.”)—Edith Piaf

The end: when had it begun?

In Geoff’s opinion it had started with the body they’d found washed up on the beach. He was mistaken—a story, a final chapter, does not begin from nowhere, in the fiftieth year of a man’s life; it simply continues—but he was convinced that had they not found the body, he would still be alive.

The storms had thrown a multitude of items onto the beach; piles of seaweed, sections of fishing nets, driftwood, a scattering of stones, many of them big enough to cause injury should a person be struck by one. They were not unusual, but this time the sea had cast up something else. It was not immediately identifiable, just a light coloured shape on the sand. As they approached it, two crows hopped into sight, pecking at whatever it was. It was then that Geoff suspected it was a body. Ever the protective father, he warned Lillian to stay away, but ever the headstrong daughter, she ignored him.

They studied the body.

“What is it?” asked Lillian.

It was a white mass, tapered at one end, about three feet in length. Geoff guessed that its girth was almost as much. It was covered in thick, white fur. The underside was shaggy and dotted with sand. Geoff was almost tempted to stroke it. The top was different. The fur here was unattractive; assimilating, it seemed, with the white stickiness underneath.

Where to buy: 10% off with this code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; Amazon, eligible for Free Shipping; Kindle

Thank you!

The Wapshott Press would like to thank Ann Seimens and Sam Labutis for their support of this issue.

“Death Among the Marshes” (SL 10) review

“The detective with a notebook is a commonplace in murder mysteries, and Death Among the Marshes pays homage to this trope, not once but twice – the investigating police detective brings one out, as does Billy Watkins, the manservant of the main protagonist Frederick Babington. Set in the early twenties, this clever novella also gives specific mentions both to the Sherlock Holmes stories and to the first of the Poirot mysteries by Agatha Christie, The Mysterious Affair at Styles (1920). Set in the fictional Norfolk pile of Marsh Hall, seat of Viscount Marshbourne, by the village of Marshbanks, Death Among the Marshes is Kathryn Ramage’s way of having fun with the country house mystery genre while also acknowledging that living in the aftermath of the Great War was no less difficult for many returning soldiers than surviving the actual conflict.”
A tortured but decent sleuth, by Calmgrove, March 3, 2014

And check out his other reviews of Kathryn L. Ramage’s fantasy novels:

Maiden in Light

The Wizard’s Son

Storylandia 10 is now on Sale! Death Among the Marshes, a murder mystery set in the Twenties, by Kathryn L. Ramage

Where to buy: 10% discount code: HDCYF4CR at this online store; eligible for Free Shipping at Amazon; and Kindle.

Storylandia 10 – Death Among The Marshes, by Kathyrn L. Ramage

Chapter 1 Sampler

Cover “Misty” by Eleanor Leonne Bennett

Storylandia, The Wapshott Journal of Fiction, Issue 10. The novella “Death Among the Marshes,” a murder mystery set in the Twenties by Kathryn L. Ramage.

Excerpt:

Death Among the Marshes
A Murder Mystery Set in the Twenties

The Great War had made many boys into old men, but in spite of all he’d suffered, Frederick Babington still looked surprisingly youthful for his 26 years. He was a pale, intense, and solemn young man—more pale, Billy thought, since he’d been wounded so terribly. At least he no longer limped and the burn scars on the small and ring fingers of his left hand were now only puckered reddish skin. His dark hair had been cropped short during his last stay in a private nursing home over the winter past, but it was growing out again and beginning to curl just as it used to.

Billy watched as one loose curl fell forward over Freddie’s brow as he returned his attention to the book he’d been reading before the interruption, a newly published mystery novel titled Whose Body? When Freddie lifted his eyes from the page a moment later, Billy pretended an interest in the book.

“What’s that one about?”
Continue reading