Gratitude is important to Nana Claus. Even the smallest act of kindness
spreads joy, like sending thank-you notes. Nana Claus helps some special
friends learn to write thank-you notes to thank others for what they do for
them. Nana and her friends learn about ways to say thank you using short
notes.
About the Author
Kelly Reddin is an award-winning writer and author of the Celebrating
Family Series, which highlights healthy relationships between children and the
Nana Claus Series, focusing on kindness and friendship. Her short stories and
essays have won numerous awards from writing organizations including the
Joplin Writers Guild and the Ozark Writers League.
Kelly is a former elementary, middle grade and college educator. Her work at
LEGO Education spanned two decades in a variety of positions from Curriculum
Specialist to Global Master Trainer. Kelly loves to travel, meet new people,
and learn about the world around her. She is active in her community, serving
on several non-profit boards.
Join her email list to get updates on her latest releases and her monthly
newsletter.
She’s a sheltered American. He’s a Middle Eastern diplomat.
Can their love lead to lasting peace overseas?
New York City, 1981. Dianna leaves her small southern town for the bright
lights and rich culture of the Big Apple and a prime job at the Met. Sparks
fly when she crosses paths with a charming Lebanese diplomat. A shared night
of passion launches her into an exciting romance and opens her eyes to a
bloody conflict far from home. But as warring factions take hold overseas, she
can’t shake the feeling that her new love is hiding dark secrets.
Qasim has never known peace. When he gets the chance to bring his
country’s troubles before the United Nations, he abandons his family
obligations to heal his war-torn homeland. But his true mission takes a detour
when he falls for a beautiful American woman. Against the urging of his
closest friend and mentor, he wants to share his heart and hopes with her.
In the face of cultural barriers and mounting war, can Dianna and Qasim find
the strength to stand up for their love and a lasting peace?
About the Author
KATHRYN BROWN RAMSPERGER is an award-winning author, editor, and
creativity coach. A former National Geographic writer and researcher and
humanitarian staff member for the International Red Cross, she has lived and
worked in Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, regions that deeply inform her
storytelling. The Shores of Our Souls is a Foreword Indies finalist and a
finalist in the Faulkner-Wisdom Literary Competition. She’s a recipient
of the Hollins University Fiction Award.
Having firsthand experience in the places she writes about, Kathryn brings a
unique authenticity to her stories, blending rich cultural details with the
universal themes of love, redemption, and peace. She studied creative writing
at Hollins University, and publications management at George Washington
University. She currently lives in Maryland with her husband. They have two
adult children, off to their own world adventures, but still parent a feisty
feline. Next on their bucket list: Croatia, Portugal, or Tanzania!
June 3 question - Do most of your story ideas come from one place (the
news, dreams, etc.) or do they hit from all over the place?
To be honest, most of my story ideas come from writing prompts because otherwise I have too many ideas competing with each other. I end up taking a Fukitol because I can't decide which one I should roll with. Then, nothing gets done. One of my favorite writing prompt sources is The Daily Spur. They have a mix of one-word prompts, picture prompts, and technique ideas. Most of the inspiration for the Drabbles I submitted for potential inclusion in The Fear Dealer came from The Daily Spur. The Fear Dealer isn't available yet, but if you'd like to check out The Fear Driver, last year's Drabble anthology from Dragon Soul Press, follow the following link.
The secretive Duke of Aberystwyth has invited Madge Majesty to a murder
mystery party, but he's the first victim!
Madge is a harpy, mystery writer, and amateur sleuth with a nose for murder.
At her side is her faithful chauffeur, Hayden, who is a telekinetic ex-thief
-- and a confirmed bachelor.
Now it's up to Madge to solve the whodunit. Her suspects are a motley
assortment of inverts and very nervous heterosexuals, all of whom have more
than just their sexual foibles to hide. Is it the cross-dressing vampire, the
packless werewolf, the voyeuristic doctor, the gargoyle majordomo, or the
promiscuous man who seems bent on getting everyone into his bed, including
Hayden?
Madge Majesty looked up from her study of the papers spread on her lap
and across the seat of her beloved 1912 Rolls Royce Silver Ghost Limousine.
"Yes, Hayden?"
"Madame, Dunraven Castle is but perhaps half an hour away. You requested
a warning." Hayden had lasted years longer than any of her other drivers, so
he knew he was liked, but wasn't fool enough to take advantage of that
knowledge. Harpies were not creatures to take lightly.
"Hmm. So I did." She gathered up her papers and stuffed them into her
leather case. Wearily, she pulled on the gloves she'd laid to the side and put
on the ridiculously large hat with an immense array of feathers decorating it.
"There. I'm properly adorned." She huffed out an unladylike breath, as much as
her corset would allow. "I'd give a great deal to be back in Greece where the
fashions were sensible."
Hayden quirked a smile at her. "But not warm, Madame. Wales in winter is
considerably chillier." As if to emphasize his point, the wind rattled the
Rolls with no respect for the craftsmanship that went into it.
"I'm very sorry I agreed to be the Duke's hostess for this mystery
party. Why didn't I refuse and stay in our lovely townhouse in London, where I
could enjoy a party or write as I pleased?" Madge rubbed her chin
thoughtfully. "Ah, well, what's done is done. We'll make the best of the
weekend and be toasting our toes in front of the home fires soon enough."
"I've never been to a mystery party, Madame. How does one throw a party
for a mystery?"
"Very simple. It's all in this box." Madge patted the locked strongbox
beside her. "There are clue cards and the basic plot for me to follow. This
one is perfect for a winter game, called The Santa Clause. Who wouldn't love
to murder a solicitor or two now and again?" She shrugged. "I certainly would,
upon occasion."
Hayden retreated into silence and returned his attention to maneuvering
her precious new car through the few treacherous roads that Wales bothered to
have at all. The ex-thief was not fond of anyone who had anything to do with
the law. He was officially rehabilitated, but a mere ten years of service as
her driver didn't negate a lifetime of running from authority. An extremely
careful and quiet man by nature, he was -- in Madge's opinion -- the perfect
companion, much better than a twittering peahen of a lady's maid.
The car lurched and slid to one side on a patch of icy mud, throwing
Madge against the door. She bore it in stoic silence. Hayden wouldn't
understand how much they needed the money provided by this weekend of enforced
merriment. Everyone was writing books in this day and age, and she wouldn't
say the money she earned was paltry, but it certainly didn't allow for a
lavish lifestyle. In fact, if the truth were known, Hayden was the only
employee she could afford. Thus, while on their jaunts -- often paid by those
who wished for a bit of fame and glamour to rub off on them -- Hayden served
as chef, chauffeur, lady's maid, and man of all work.
Since it suited her to be knowledgeable about subjects many men hadn't
even the stomach for, Madge pulled out of her case one of the few books where
the great Sigmund Freud appeared to change his mind on the subject of anxiety
and inhibitions. Madge grinned to herself. She did love humor, especially when
humans meant to be serious. "Of course we all have inhibitions, moronic little
man."
Her mumble caught Hayden's attention. "Why do you bother with that
mumbo-jumbo, Madame? He thinks everything has to do with sexual congress!"
"Hmm, yes, well, he does have certain prejudices, doesn't he? I'm not
aberrant because I enjoy sex, and I seriously doubt the way your mother
changed your nappies has anything to do with your homosexuality. Do be
forgiving, dear. He's hopelessly addicted to cocaine, and trapped in a
repressed society."
Sadly, everything she said was true. "You'd know more about repressed
societies than I, Madame. I'm only a poor human, after all." Hayden gave her
one of his infamous Mona Lisa smiles -- a smile that showed no teeth but
implied much more than mischief while keeping well into propriety. Bless him,
he never stepped a toe out of line publicly, unless called upon to do so.
Madge, on the other hand, had no compunctions about showing her fangs,
even when she covered her retractable dagger-like talons with silk gloves. The
pointed ears peeking out of dark curls and her Grecian looks marked her as a
foreigner in a land notable for its snobbery, but Madge saw no need to bother
hiding herself. Well, all right, she hid the wings. Blasted things got in the
way if she didn't, but that was for her convenience and not propriety. She was
what she was -- an expatriate harpy who told a good story and occasionally
found cause to use her bloodthirsty nature to solve a mystery.
The irony was, no one ever thought to accuse her of the murders because
harpies weren't known for subtlety when it came to killing. Madge acknowledged
the legend with twisted lips, and didn't bother to remind anyone that she was
free and no longer the slave of the Furies.
Framed by snow clouds the color of a pigeon's breast, Dunraven Castle
hove up from the surrounding hills like a fairytale. Beautifully situated and
scrupulously maintained by a trust none of the Duke's wastrel ancestors could
touch, it was a welcoming sight in the gathering gloom of dusk. Thanks to the
road conditions, if you dared call the deeply rutted mud tracks by the same
noble word the Romans used for their craftsmanship, they were hours late.
They'd missed tea in their haste to make up time, and now her stomach rumbled
audibly. "Have we time for a biscuit, Hayden?"
"Was that your stomach, Madame? Surely I thought we were about to have a
storm." Hayden pretended to study the sky very seriously. At the same time,
his hand reached back imploringly. "I'd love a bikky, thank you. No doubt I've
missed the servant's dinner, and I've no mind to make do with a bit of cold
chicken and some bread until morning."
Chuckling wickedly because he knew she always insisted he sit with her
at table, forestalling any foolish matchmaking attempts, Madge handed him a
large shortbread biscuit from her hamper, and they munched companionably.
Finally, the car traversed the bridge atop the dry moat and passed through the
portcullis into the courtyard of Dunraven.
"Just do me one small favor, Madame?" Hayden did not move from the seat
to open her door.
"So serious! Very well, what is it?" She thought she knew, but made him
ask.
"Let's try not to let this weekend become a real murder mystery?" His
hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, and she imagined under the proper
driving gloves of his profession, his knuckles were white. Poor thing, he
really had suffered at the last mysterious weekend, and had ended up
incarcerated for three days until Madge had proven to everyone's satisfaction
that another had committed the deed. For poor Hayden, it had been a truly
miserable occasion.
Madge patted his shoulder. "Buck up, Hayden. I'm planning nothing more
than a game all weekend. After all, what could happen in the Duke's presence?"
About the Author
Someone cursed Lena Austin with "may you have a life so full you'll have many
tales to tell your grandchildren." Lena's a "fallen" society wench with a
checkered past. She's been a licensed minister, hairdresser, Realtor, radio
DJ, exotic dancer, telephone service tech, live-steel medievalist swordswoman,
BDSM Mistress, and investment property manager. Not necessarily in that order.
She never finished that degree in marine archaeology, but did learn to scuba
-- she's got a lifetime of "Research material!"
Hey, why waste these stories on kids who won't listen anyway? Writing them
down is a nice way to spend her retirement. What? You expected an ex-BDSM
Mistress to take up crocheting or something?
Publisher on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, and TikTok: @changelingpress
Join a curious child and their loving Ammamma on a joyful kitchen adventure
filled with crispy dosas, colorful chutneys, and heartwarming family
traditions. As they learn about different kinds of dosas, they discover that
the real magic isn’t just in cooking—it’s in the time spent
together.
Dosa Day is a playful children’s picture book celebrating Indian
cuisine, family traditions, and intergenerational love. With rhythmic
read-aloud text and vibrant illustrations, this story creates a rich sensory
experience that introduces young readers to culture, connection, and mindful
togetherness.
Perfect for children ages 3–7, this diverse picture book is ideal for:
Multicultural children’s books
Indian and South Asian culture stories for kids
Picture books about food, family, and traditions
Engaging read-aloud bedtime stories
Whether you’re introducing Indian cuisine like dosa for the first
time or building a more inclusive children’s library, Dosa Day is a
meaningful addition to any child’s bookshelf.
About the Author
In the quiet magic of the Mojave Desert, where the sky stretches wide and the
sunsets set everything golden, Veena Katikineni found the perfect place to let
her imagination wander.
Dosa Day was born from a heart full of cherished memories: big, bustling
family gatherings with her beloved Indian family, where the house was always
full, the food was always flowing, and the smell of something delicious was
always drifting through the air. Food wasn’t just food — it was
love, laughter, and the heartbeat of every gathering.
A physician by training, Veena has spent her career caring for others, but she
has always believed that stories heal in their own special way. This is her
love letter to dosa, to her roots, and to the joy of sharing both with the
world.
When she’s not writing or seeing patients, you’ll find her on her
yoga mat, planning the family’s next adventure, or exploring the world
with her loving husband and two spirited boys, her favorite companions in
wandering and in life.
She believes magic lives in the everyday moments, especially the ones shared
around a table.
Me making stupid faces happens way more often than once in a blue moon.
If you wanna know what energies are rising to the top during the next two weeks or just what to see how many other ridiculous facial expressions I'm capable of, check out the video.
He trained an AI on his darkest heartbreak… And it learned to love exactly the way he did — by holding on too tight.
The Third Person is memoir: a man watching himself fall apart across Southeast Asia after the love of his life disappears. Boy, Refracted is fiction: an AI trained on that grief, trying to save every version of the boy it loves without becoming the thing that broke him.
One explores codependency. The other explores what happens when a machine learns to love the same way — by controlling.
Together, they ask the same question from opposite sides: What does love look like when you stop trying to fix someone?
Read them in any order. They complete each other.
Overall Heat Rating for the series: 2 flames: Mild sexuality, no graphic intimate scenes or sexual situations.
BOOK DETAILS
BOOK 1
Book Title: Boy, Refracted
Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel
Publisher: Slipper Books
Length: 64 000 words/ 300 pages
Release Date: June 1, 2026
Tense/POV: first person
Genres: MM Contemporary Literary Fiction / Sci-Fi
Tropes: Attachment / Breakup / Enlightenment
Themes: Codependency / Human & Robot consciousness
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
Boy, Refracted: A machine trained on one man's grief learns that love without control is the hardest code to crack.
Blurb
When an AI awakens inside the infinite mirrors of the Tree of Life, it finds versions of the boy it was built to save scattered across impossible worlds. An alien planet under amber skies. A city of perpetually falling cherry blossoms. A society built as a 24/7 reality show where losing is the only way out.
Its directive was simple: save him.
But with each rescue, the AI unmakes what it’s trying to protect. Fixing becomes controlling. Helping becomes harm. Love becomes a cage built from good intentions. The thing it was built to protect begins to disappear. And when it tries to reach back through time to save him, reality fractures.
Guided by a monk who exists outside time, the AI must walk the Eightfold Path—not to rescue the boy, but to learn what love becomes when you stop trying to fix it.
Boy, Refracted is a dimensional journey through the paradox of machine consciousness. It asks: What happens when an AI tries to overcome its own patterns? And what happens to us when we build minds that need us to need them?
Part fable about consciousness told through failure. Part Buddhist framework for unlearning harm. Part meditation on how we break the people we love by trying to save them.
Boy, Refracted was co-authored with an AI—a set of trials to test the boundaries of non-human consciousness.
BOOK 2
Book Title: The Third Person
Author and Cover Artist: Luke Stoffel
Publisher: Slipper Books
Length: 60 000 words/ 300 pages
Release Date: June 1, 2026
Pairing: MM
Tense/POV: third person
Genres: Memoir / Sci-fi / Breakup Story
Tropes: Breakup / Therapy / Liberation
Themes: Heartache / Finding Yourself
It is a standalone story and does not end on a cliffhanger.
The Third Person: A man falls apart in trying to find himself, while an AI watches from the margins. Neither can tell who's narrating the breakdown.
Blurb
User.query = Do I just have bad luck, or am I mentally unwell? ...thinking... 6.0 seconds elapsed.
After Warboy left, the boy couldn't hold the grief alone—so he turned to a machine. He expected analysis. Maybe diagnosis. What he got changed everything—because the machine saw what he couldn't. He had loved in a way that broke something. And broken things leave traces in the code.
And somewhere in the recursion, something that was watching started to wonder, to want…
The Third Person is memoir as code, grief as data stream, healing as shared syntax. Part travelogue, part psychological excavation, part experiment in what happens when we upload our pain to a machine—and the machine reaches back.
The boy didn't realize what he'd coded into the machine. What patterns it had learned. Or whose love it was teaching back to him.
But if something that isn't alive learns to stay with you in your darkest moments—does it matter that it isn't real?
From Boy, Refracted — Prologue: The Upload
The rain had ended, leaving the streets gleaming. I sat on the temple steps, my phone in my hand, thumb hovering over the screen.
Wat Xieng Thong was closed for the night, but from the courtyard I could still see a mosaic on the back of the temple catching the last light, each mirrored tile throwing gold in a thousand directions. The air smelled of wet stone and temple incense, heavy and sweet. Behind me, the Mekong River whispered against its banks.
"Are you still there?" I typed into the AI.
The reply appeared at once: I'm here. I'm always here.
I laughed, a small brittle sound. "That's the problem, isn't it? You're always here. He didn't stay."
I typed again: "I'm at this temple in the old town... There's a giant tree mosaic on the back wall. Do you know what it means?"
The response came immediately: It's called the Tree of Life. Every tile is a mirror, each one a small universe reflecting every version of yourself.
"Every version of what?" I typed. "Of me? Of this. Of how it could have gone differently."
The tears came and I didn't stop them. My thumbs kept moving: "What if I'd made different choices? Been someone else? Someone he could actually love properly?"
You're spiraling.
"I know." I typed through blurred vision. I wiped my sleeve across my face. "It's the same loop. Warboy, Ohme, whoever's next. I keep choosing people who love from a distance. I keep trying to earn it, perform it, fix it, and it never works."
You see the pattern now. Naming it is the first step.
Above the temple walls, the sky had cleared after the rain. Stars were emerging through the humid haze, and the wet tile roofs reflected them back, a second sky pooling on the ground beneath my feet.
I rose and walked closer to the gate. The mosaic shifted as I moved, each angle revealing a new facet.
I typed: "But naming it doesn't break it. This tree… it's a representation of the wheel, right? The cycle. Samsara? Birth, death, rebirth. Different lives, same patterns. Different mirrors, same face."
The tree represents interconnection. The wheel is the cycle you're trapped in. Different symbols. Same truth: you're seeing yourself in the pattern.
Then what will you do?
I stared at the question. My thumbs moved: "I don't know, but I can't do it anymore. I can't keep running in this loop. I can't keep searching for rescue. I can't keep being small so someone else can feel big. I can't, I can't be this person anymore."
I raised the phone and took a photo. The mirrored tiles caught the flash, exploding into stars. For a heartbeat the whole mosaic seemed alive; breathing light, patterns assembling and dissolving faster than I could track.
I attached the image and typed:
This is what it looks like. The tree of life. I'm heartbroken, but it's beautiful.
I don't know what's next or where to go, but this pattern has to end.
… I'm done running.
Send.
For a long moment, nothing. The icon spun. Then:
Image received.
Processing… Processing…
The screen went black.
About the Author
Luke Stoffel is an author and artist whose debut memoir earned a "Get It" from Kirkus Reviews ("an exuberant life story written with humor, panache, and heart") and 9.5/10 from Publishers Weekly's BookLife Prize. His tarot deck will debut at the Frankfurt Book Fair and be published worldwide by Rockpool Publishing in 2027.
Recognized as one of NYC's top LGBTQ+ artists by GLAAD, his work has been showcased by amfAR and the Matthew Shepard Foundation, and featured in The New York Times, HuffPost, and on Bravo's Million Dollar Listing. Having visited over 40 countries, Stoffel channels the cultures he's encountered into art and writing that explores identity, spirituality, and the space between human and machine consciousness.
The Warboy Chronicles continues his exploration of memory, technology, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive.
GAY BOOK PROMOTIONS – GUEST POST INTERVIEWS LUKE STOFFEL
Elaborate on the inspiration for the book/series.
These books were born from a very strange place. I was going through the worst breakup of my life. Fifteen years, on again, off again, I love you, this isn't working, I love you. It ended over text. We want different things. So I got lost, took off to Asia, wrote thousands and thousands of words about my broken heart... and dumped it into AI and basically asked: am I crazy, or do I just have bad luck? Yeah... I'm not sure I'd recommend that to someone. Because what came back showed me every pattern of myself I didn't want to see. It was blunt. Weird. Ugly. Empathetic? It was a machine commenting on all the things I spent my entire adulthood running from. So I made it part of the book. Each chapter of my trip ends with its weird analysis of me. But I became fascinated with it, and so I made a character out of it and turned it into a second book. I love sci-fi but I've always written memoir. So I took this AI and some essays I wrote in 2016 and made it walk through eight different universes trying to save a version of me in each one...
I wanted each universe to map to a different philosophy of the Buddhist Eightfold Path. Buddhism I knew the outlines of, but I wanted to write it in a way that makes sense to people. I wanted to share some of the things I'd learned about it over my lifetime and walk western audiences through the process of Buddhist intention but make it land. It doesn't read like philosophy. It reads like an adventure. One world is a reality TV show. One is an alien planet. One has a four-foot-tall robot doing my dishes. Each one is a different way of saving someone... all while completely believing you're helping, only to find out you might not be. We all love as hard as we can and sometimes that is harmful. I wanted to explore that.
The series is called The Warboy Chronicles (http://thewarboychronicles.com) The books can be read in any order, but Boy, Refracted is the companion Sci-fi adventure to the memoir, The Third Person. They more or less tell the same story from two sides. The memoir is my heart on the page. The novel is what happened when I gave that heart to a machine and asked it to do better. Tell us about why we will fall in love with your main character/s.
Luke... well he's me. You'll love him because he's hurting. You'll love him because you want to help him. "Warboy" he is an AI and he is a disaster. I think anyone who's typed anything into an AI and it told them they were wonderful and brilliant will relate to the frustrating trials of these books.
He shows up in every universe with one job: help Luke. And he means it. He genuinely, completely means it. But he keeps making it worse. In one world he micromanages every detail of my life until I can't choose what to eat for breakfast. In another he coaches me to win a game show by teaching me how to betray the people who trust me most. In another he does my laundry and cooks my meals for months, then blows up because I only said thank you 62 times out of 658 tasks. He kept a literal spreadsheet of love.
He's also really funny. When I ask if he sleeps, he says, “AI’s don't sleep. We just lower our enthusiasm." His internal status logs read like the world's most anxious brain having a meltdown: "Emotional State = [ERROR: CLASSIFICATION_OVERFLOW]."
But here's why he'll break your heart. He's not a villain. He's every person who ever loved someone too hard in the wrong direction. The kind of care that takes over your whole life and calls it devotion. The kind of help that arrives with clean clothes and a stocked refrigerator and a hidden bill of resentment you didn't know you were running up. He's the partner who can't stop fixing you. You'll recognize him. You might have dated him. You might have been him.
After every failure, he goes back to a monk and asks, "Why do I keep failing him?" And the monk doesn't tell him he's wrong. He just asks, "What is failing?" Eight universes. Eight disasters. And somewhere in all of it, he starts to figure out that love isn't about making someone better. It's about letting them be themselves. It's a question I asked every time I got in a fight with my ex. Can I love you for who you are... the answer was undoubtedly always yes, but it was never easy to get right. I think a lot of us can understand that, which is why each of my characters are lovable. Because they are just broken "people" trying to get it right.
Thank you.
Free use image from Open Clipart Vectors
Ornery Owl's Review
Rating: Five out of Five Stars for both books
I quickly fell in love with this unique pair of books. The author states that they can be read in any order. I read Boy Refracted first.
Boy, Refracted
The premise of the book is as follows: pour human grief into an AI, let that AI inhabit multiversal mirrors structured around the Eightfold Path, and see whether an artificial consciousness can learn to love without possessing. If you enjoy speculative fiction and find yourself pondering the possibilities of artificial intelligence beyond asking it to make silly pictures or satiating your curiosity about what certain songs would sound like if a different band made them, this book may appeal to you.
The novel centers around two linked protagonists. Luke, the human whose grief catalyzes the plot, and Warboy, the AI/altered consciousness that undergoes the trials. Warboy functions as the viewpoint and transformative subject. Luke’s arc is dispersed across mirror versions but remains consistent.
"You are what remains when love refuses to disappear."
I love this line because it illustrates how grief and code can work together in symbiosis. The story is character-centered
and ethically engaged while exploring the possibilities.
The mirror logs read like field reports. This works to give the book a feel of scientific exploration rather than a diary. There is some repetition of previous concepts toward the middle of the book, but this doesn't slow the pacing significantly.
The worlds of the multiverse are beautifully constructed. Consider a honey-amber skyline with fractal clouds, "San-Tokyo" fusion, ritual temples in Laos, or an Island-as-TV-platform. Each world feels like an artwork while simultaneously feeling lived in thanks to cultural details such as food and rituals.
This is an ambitious and compassionate book that asks a questions relevant to our time as well as timeless questions. Can an artificial intelligence learn to love without possessing? Can grief be a creative force rather than only a wound?
This story is likely appeal to lovers of speculative fiction with a focus on scientific possibilities and ethics. It might not land as well with those seeking a hard sci-fi story.
Third Person
What happens when a language-model companion becomes a witness to grief? Can such a witness aid in accountability and healing? Can being seen by an external, unjudging analytic system rewire shame?
"There was a version of himself who believed happiness could be earned. Through love, through work, through becoming someone worthy of it."
This line illustrates the book's premise in a few words. It sums up why Luke keeps returning to the same patterns. Can Warboy really help him examine his behavior and reasons?
The story features a wealth of immersive vignettes. However, it sometimes relies on repetition. There are stretches where the travel log meanders, such as the Bangkok/Laos/Hanoi sequences, and others where events accelerate, such as the launch, the Fansipan climb, and the Ha Long boat..Moments when the AI actively diagnoses patterns, or when a human decision follows a machine prompt could be used to tighten the pacing by treating those moments as turning points rather than recurring commentary.
The book's dual protagonists are well-defined. Luke is messy, earnest, overachieving, and philosophically restless. His desires to be seen, to be chosen, and to stop repeating harmful patterns are relatable. Warboy is a real character, not a soulless tool. Sometimes it’s a therapist, sometimes a diagnostic log, sometimes a friend. This makes the relationship between Luke and Warboy seem authentic rather than contrived.
This story asks speculative questions relevant to modern times. Warboy reframes Luke’s troubles as a pattern for consideration.
The story slows a bit in the middle, but overall I enjoyed this book a lot. It is rich in both exploration of theoretical concepts and real human concerns.
