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Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Terry's at the Baltimore Comicon This Weekend!

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I will be at the Baltimore ComicCon this weekend, in Artist Alley with Lance Sawyers (Lanse of Bune) of Gallery 71/Lance Sawyers Studios. He will be selling art. I will be selling autographed copies of Hawkmaiden, Spellmonger, Warmage and . . . the first few proof copies of Magelord. 

Since I only have a limited amount of the last, I will be selling them only as part of the three-book (so far) package there. After the con, you'll be able to order autographed copies of all currently-available Spellmonger books (1-3, plus Hawkmaiden) from Gallery 71. I'll be dishing the deets later.

In fact, I'll be making a lot of announcements about release dates and such at the con. I'm hoping to be able to get the technology to do a Facebook Live post, but we'll see what happens. I love the Baltimore con, and I always have a great time -- looking forward to it.

Lastly, I am in the final phases of revision on Necromancer. It's already going through editorial review. Emily says its good. We'll see.

If you're at the con, stop by. It's your shot to ask the author anything. I might even tell you.

Tuesday, July 18, 2017

Updates! (UPDATED!)

Now that we've hit the mid-point of summer, I figured I'd give y'all an update on my progress.

As of this morning I've completed 40% of the rough draft of Necromancer.  And a goodly portion (about a third) of Trask's Odyssey.  I took about two weeks off for Scout camp, swim meets, and general summer maintenance, as well as a couple of great conventions where I promoted the heck out of Spellmonger.  New books have been ordered in preparation for the Baltimore Comicon, in September, so put that on your calendar if you are local and want to see me.

In other news, Magelord Audiobook is up for pre-order, and will be available July 25th!  I'm hoping to have the hard copy version available around the same time.  I'll keep you posted.

Back to the word mines.

UPDATE: Just approved the proofs for Warmage - you may now order the book in hard copy at the following address:

I will also be offering autographed copies for sale at the Baltimore Comicon and at Gallery 71.

That is all.

Tuesday, June 13, 2017

Terry Mancour will be appearing at Heroes comic con in Charlotte this weekend!

 I will have a limited number of signed copies of Hawkmaiden and Spellmonger available for sale (this is the last bit of the old cover, before we switch over to the new), as well as a couple of other goodies. If you're a hardcore fan, stop by and see me and chat. I'll be in the booth with my art director, Lance Sawyers ("Lanse of Bune") and other good folk. I might even have a few goodies to give away to superfans . . . Look for the banner with the Dead God's face and let me know what you think of the prototype t-shirts. I will be ducking out early on Sunday, Father's Day, to spend some time with my young-uns, but I should be there all day Friday and Saturday. Hope to see you there!


Tuesday, May 16, 2017

SPECIAL AUDIOBOOK BONUS OFFER! The Spellmonger's Yule, Read By John Lee!

As a special promotional offer by, a special audiobook of my recent short story, The Spellmonger's Yule, is now being offered by!  It's a free sign-up, and you get the entire short story (for new fans, this will contain some serious spoilers, but will also introduce you to the direction the series takes)

This is an amazing endorsement of my work by my publisher, and I feel grateful that they invested in this promotion.  Please show them it isn't wasted by taking a listen.

And yes, I've started Necromancer.  No, I don't know when I'll be done.

Friday, May 12, 2017

Terry at Tidewater Comicon this weekend

I'll be manning a table for Spellmonger at the Tidewater Comicon in Virginia Beach, VA. this weekend, although I'll be cutting out early on Sunday to go see my mom for mother's day.  I'll have hard copies of Hawkmaiden and Spellmonger to sign.  Stop by and see me, if you're in the area!

Also, Warmage is kicking ass on and Hawklady is burning up the charts, for a YA book.  Thank you all for making me a success!

Thursday, May 4, 2017

Hawklady Now Available For Pre-Order, Release May 9th With Warmage Audiobook!

Hawklady, the second in my Spellmonger Cadet series, is now available for pre-order via the link below.  It will be released the same day as the Audiobook version of Warmage (which is also available for pre-order).  It's a trim 85,000 words, but it's a good adventure story featuring Dara.

The  cover ugly.  It's also the temporary cover.  It says so right on the cover.

And don't forget that you can order a hard copy of Hawkmaiden at this link:

I'll have a hard copy version of Hawklady as soon as the art is done.

I really enjoy doing these cadet novels, and I think I'd like to do at least one a year from now on.  But I'm considering changing to a different character for the next one.  Perhaps one we haven't seen before.  But what kinds of characters (young people, please) would you like to see in the future in the Cadet series?  Discuss.

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Trashy Summer Beach Reading Season Has Begun! Pick Up A Bad Penny!

                 The Tawdry Story Of A Time-Traveling Serial Rapist On A Mission To Save Humanity!

                                WARNING! SEXUALLY EXPLICIT CONTENT! ADULTS ONLY!

When they brought in the handsome man in a straitjacket to the Dixmont Psychiatric Hospital in Pittsburgh, 1958, it was obvious that the patient was not only a madman, but a dangerous, if charming, sociopath. As "Tom Doe" reveals his story to the disbelieving psychiatrist he spins a tale out of the wildest pulp fiction: he's from the future, and he's here to impregnate as many women in the past as he can . . . to save humanity's future! He's a Casanova Agent, employed by the future Department of Public Health in the late 21st century, where a deadly genetic virus has rendered the bulk of the population sterile, and he has a mandate to knock up the cream of 1950s femininity to implant the corrective code. 

As the tale turns from pure sociopathic sexuality and the worst kind of lurid behavior to a paranoid fantasy involving a beautiful enemy agent and a war between competing timelines, the fantastic story of seduction and passion, pursuit and eroticism is laughably insane . . . until Tom produces a penny from 1964 that seems to support his story. With the future fate of humanity on the line, will this madman find a way to free himself and save the world . . . or is he just a sex-crazed pervert spinning the biggest lie in all of history?

Complete with typo in the series title . . . you know it's good!

Tired of Fifty Tame Shades of Mediocrity? Waiting eagerly for the next Spellmonger book, but wishing there was a lot more explicit sex and vintage Cadillacs involved? Consider the book that will likely ruin my reputation! Blatantly pornographic and bordering on sociopathic, this pulpy, tawdry tale is YOUR chance to indulge in a guilty pleasure that mixes bold-faced erotica with intriguing sci-fi time travel adventure! Read the book that's been rejected because no one knows how to market it! Get the opportunity to throw your Kindle down in disgust at just how far the world has slipped into decay! First in a trilogy, don't forget that Amazon Prime members don't have to waste a DIME of their own on this experimental trashy novel! 

And, in case you missed it . . .


You have been warned.

Tuesday, February 7, 2017

Spellmonger's Yule up, so is Audiobook Spellmonger!

The Spellmonger's Yule: A Spellmonger Series Short Story by [Mancour, Terry]

Spellmonger Audiobook

Saturday, January 21, 2017

Official Audiobook Launch Date for Spellmonger!

I received word yesterday from Podium Publishing that the audiobook version of Spellmonger will be available at on February 7th!  Behold the new, professional cover they came up with!  Delight in the amazing tones of John Lee (incredible work, I'm very pleased)!  Amuse yourself for hours hearing how the character names are actually pronounced!

The cover price will be $39.99, or thereabouts, but that's a lot of hours of entertainment.  Additionally, Podium has graciously allowed me the use of the art for both my Amazon and Createspace works.  That means that you only have a limited time to buy the old version, destined to become valuable collectables after my inevitable death.

In other news, my writing schedule (which was hashed anyway) is undergoing revision, a familiar place for me to be.  I'll be releasing the short Spellmonger's Yule in conjunction with the audiobook, and then turning my attention to finishing up Hawklady before moving on to Trask's Odyssey.  After those, I'll be focusing on Necromancer, which I'm pushing to be out by midsummer.  Or late summer.  Regardless, I won't Martin you.

But there's more to do than merely write: I'm taking some time for valuable Series Development work.  Next week I'm meeting with my creative team, during which we will map out a convention schedule for the next year.  At this point, the only firm date I have is the Baltimore Comic-Con, but I'll be looking at others east of the Mississippi.  I'm also open to panels and such.  If you know a con you'd like me to appear at, let me know - and let THEM know you want me to be there.

The point of this exercise is blatantly and unapologetically commercial: I'm at the point in my career where I have a wonderful, magnificent base of fans, and a work that is primed for Prime Time.  Developing the creative elements of the series into a visual medium - either live-action or animated - is the logical next step.  That means a lot of groundwork, and I've been building a great team for just that purpose.

But wait, there's more . . . more audiobooks.  Warmage will be hot on the heels of Spellmonger, and Magelord soon after.  The smooth and professional way in which Podium does their art should see at least two or three more of the series turned into audiobooks this year.  That also implies some work on my part, because each book requires me to go back through each line and find all of the mistakes and fabricated words for inclusion in the work, so all those mistakes everyone hates get fixed.  While this is great, it takes time.  So scheduling reliably is . . . problematic.

But fear not: Necromancer will not mark the end of the series, just the end of the first third of the series.  I have twenty more novels in the main plot arc to get through.  Plus shorts, one-shots, the Cadet series, and stuff I haven't even thought of, yet.

Plus, there's the Super Secret Project, which will be released suddenly, unexpectedly, and likely to the dismay of some of my fans.   I've kept it on the shelf long enough, though, and I think it's time.  (cue dramatic music)

Thank you to everyone who expressed their sympathies for my father's passing.  He was the greatest single influence in my life, and every word I write originated, in one way or another, from him.

Tuesday, January 17, 2017

The Wisdom of Irv

This is a piece I did ten years ago about my dad, who passed away on January 3rd.  At the time he had just had a scare with a stroke, and I felt compelled to prepare my thoughts against the inevitable day when he would die.  While I didn't use this at his service, in part because it was dated (the lad referenced is about to turn 13) I felt compelled to re-post it here (for lack of a more appropriate space).  He did, indeed, teach me many, many valuable lessons betwixt then and his death.  Including the proper way to die.

But first and foremost, he taught me how to be a dad.  This was written for my 38th birthday, and my 48th now looms.  The sentiment, however, is as authentic now as it was then.

I was struck recently by how good I’ve got it. I live in the greatest civilization the world has ever known, with all the world’s knowledge available for my study in the time it takes to Google, enjoy a standard of living undreamt of by the vast majority of history’s royalty and superrich, and just a century ago the likelihood that I’d be dead by now would be pretty high. It would make a great story to tell you how hard I struggled against overwhelming odds and untold suffering to achieve my current life, but that would be fictional bullshit. I’ve had it good from the start, and I can directly pinpoint the reasons that are most responsible.

This thought occurred to me the other day as I was passing by the playpen where my youngest son, not yet two, had grown dissatisfied with the entertainment value of Noggin and pleaded with me to pick him up, with his customary cry of “Holdju! Holdju!”, accompanied by raised arms and frantically waving hands. Cute.

Just then a flood of comprehension washed across my soul, and the planets aligned, and I had what some would call a quasi-mystical experience. I’d say it was a flashback, except that I was no where near as pharmaceutically liberal in my youthful experimentation phase as most of my peers. I just remembered being in a similar situation when I was around the boy’s age. And that made me appreciate my father, Irv, who himself just had an ostensibly important transitional birthday, his 60th.

If you don’t know Irv, you are the poorer for it. He, like me, is a father to three children, three boys, no less. He was a “Sedimentation and Erosion Control Technician” (read: “Dirt Inspector”) for Durham County for a decade and a half, and had other, less glamorous jobs before that. On paper, he was completely unexceptional: middle class, two-year degree, wife ‘n’ kids. But read between the lines there and you find out just how subtly exceptional he was.

My Dad is the wisest man I know, bar none. While our opinions on many subjects (politics included) have diverged slightly over the years, he remains the most astute analyst of human social interaction and behavior that I have ever known. The lessons he has passed on to me have gone far beyond the “fatherly wisdom” variety, and delved into deep, rich territory.

Unlike the vast majority of his peers, he did not pursue affluence or wealth. Prosperity, yes. Having just enough was enough. “Friends are more important than money” was one of the many, many maxims he instilled in me, and he proved it, over and over again. Faced with the inevitable choices that a middle-class family has to make about expenditure, he consistently chose the path that led to investments in his family, not in things. Oh, he could have, easily, by making the choice to pursue a soul-killing job in middle-management somewhere. But he didn’t, and I am the richer for it.

He was not the typical Boomer Dad, thank the Goddess. He was an outstanding parent, conducting the brain-busting, wallet-draining task of raising three precocious boys to men without investing a shred of self-important ego into the task. He didn’t cheat on his wife, indulge in cocaine or fundamentalist religion, go through some self-delusional pity-party midlife crisis, or any of the other asinine stunts his generation was prone to. He lived life well, a life to be envied, and he had no regrets about the way he did it. If he had disappointments in his life, I rarely knew about them, and bitterness was not in his nature. When I take a survey of my closest friends, I find myself in the enviable position of having the same set of parents, in the same household, that I started out with – which makes me an aberration. I don’t mind.

Perhaps I suffer as a writer because I didn’t experience the agony of “daddy issues”, testosterone-laden competition between father and son, mutual disappointments, constant arguments, or the idea that he “just didn’t understand” me, but I can live with professional mediocrity if that’s the price of admission to greatness.

Irv always understood me. He never tried to dominate me, or live life vicariously through me or my brothers. He never tried to make me conform to an uncomfortable social stereotype, or worry overmuch what other people thought about me. We were never trans-generationally alienated. From adolescence on he treated me like an intellectual equal, if an undereducated one. He never tried to push me into a career, or really do anything but exploit my natural talents and interests. He ensured I learned the skills I would need in manhood, and did it in a non-coercive way. Seeing how my peers were raised, I know full well how lucky I was in this.

I know he had issues with his own father, and that makes his parenting that much more impressive. Faced with an occasionally belligerent and rigid-minded dad himself, he went out of his way to raise us with a healthy dose of affection and demonstrated love. He did not become his father.

I said Irv was wise. That’s not something you hear often these days, that a man is Wise; Wisdom is a highly undervalued commodity in our world, but Irv, in his wisdom, knew that, and took advantage of it. He taught us to look at a situation fully before acting, not act in haste without sacrificing the spontaneity essential for a well-lived life, and stay informed on everything that could potentially help or harm us. He taught us how to make strangers into friends, and friends into allies. He taught the art of the Hat Trick, solving your or your friends’ problems through networking, craftiness, and initiative. He taught us how to tell when we’re being bullshitted. He taught us drywall and auto repair and how to do little inexpensive romantic things to keep your marriage running. He taught us how to pay attention to those with wisdom (that is, learning from the mistakes of others; everyone can learn from their own mistakes.). He taught us to be our own men.

Irv was, and still is, a Boy Scout leader. Despite the issues that have arisen surrounding that organization, it still has tremendous value as a repository for knowledge and wisdom – merit badges are “survival tickets” and the moral codes taught by the BSA, while often viewed through a very narrow, conservative lens, are nonetheless strong and important values that are rarely taught any where else. In his retirement he and my mom have become Red Cross volunteers and Ruritans, because helping out your neighbors in a crisis and making your community a better place is the right thing to do. He taught us that community service isn’t just something a judge makes you do. He taught us that Enlightened Self Interest often looks like pure altruism, if you don’t look too closely.

Irv is a political animal, astute in recognizing power structures and adept at realizing their strengths and weaknesses. He is a shrewd negotiator, mostly because he doesn’t try to “get the better end of the deal” all the time. He frequently views the Big Picture, trying to put local issues in a greater context and seeing how trends in the greater world will have a local effect. During his tenure at Durham County, he became known as “the man with the hat”, and it was rare we attended any public event without at least a few folks shouting “Irv!” gleefully, then introducing their entire family. Irv once confided that the hats he wore were a sort of reverse camouflage – he could go somewhere without it, and most folks wouldn’t recognize him off-hand. He could disappear just by taking off his hat. Ingenious.

Irv is one of those rare and special Boomers who is not technophobic, which pleases me to no end. He gave me my appetite for high technology and science-fiction (he passed me Heinlein’s The Rolling Stones when I was 8, and it changed my life – not that the book was that special, but it was Real Grown Up Sci-Fi). He has a knack for seeing the social implications of a new piece of technology and projecting into the future what effect it might have. At this late stage he is embarking on a part-time job in computer hardware repair.

Irv knows a bargain when he sees it. While we were not the most affluent of families growing up, we usually lived much higher on the food chain than our family’s income would indicate, largely because my Mom is a demon shopper and my Dad can find hidden resources in the unlikeliest of places. He taught us that a two-year old car is better than a brand new car, and that the best car of all is one you got cheap and you can keep going until the wheels fall off. He isn’t above a good scavenge – he taught me that trash piles are unappreciated resources and that everything has value . . . eventually.

One of the most important lessons he taught me was that sometimes you just have to tip your head back and sing! That doesn’t seem particularly earth-shattering – lots of people sing. But in his immediate family such public displays of emotion were heavily discouraged – an unfortunate by-product, along with hard teasing, of our Scottish cultural heritage, I believe. He spent twenty years teaching himself how to play guitar and sing. After twenty years he became a pretty decent guitar player. He never became a good singer. Didn’t improve one iota. Couldn’t carry a tune in a gunny sack. Had little musical talent at all – but that never once stopped him from expressing himself in the media he preferred. He still sings – badly – but he doesn’t play guitar any more.

Which brings me back to the present, and back to my mystical experience, and back to my appreciation of my father in a way I hadn’t fully realized before. A few weeks before my youngest son (“Holdju! Holdju!”) was born, my father suffered his second stroke. The first had been bad enough; it had reduced his range of movement and strength on his right side.

With some physical therapy and determination he had come back to the point where you really had to look to notice any defect. This second stroke, though, struck hard. He is mostly paralyzed on his right side which, among other things, precludes his ever playing guitar again. That’s got to be devastating to a man who had little natural talent to begin with, and whose ability was almost entirely self taught. That was a tumultuous time for us all – my Dad came home from the hospital to live with me and my wife and kids, because they live out in the boonies and I was closer to the hospital, as well as having through no fault of my own a handicapped accessible shower and toilet.

A week later we went back to the hospital for the youngest to be born. He now walks with a cane (“Papa’s Hook”) and a leg brace, and there is just the barest hint of a speech impediment. But he walks, and he talks, and he still sings upon occasion. No, the stroke didn’t make that any better, either. But not much worse.

The reason I bring all of this up is that on my 38th birthday I am realizing that my father’s influence on my life, the lessons he taught me, didn’t stop when I moved out of the house. They continue to this day. The struggle he has faced these last two years have revealed a great deal of his character and his personal vulnerabilities that I was previously unaware of. I’ve seen dark parts of my Dad that I’d rather not have experienced – quite understandable, under the circumstances. He still faces depression on a daily basis, I know. But in facing that struggle, with all of its attendant heartbreaks, disappointments, and profound feelings of loss, my father has taught me lessons as valuable as any imparted in childhood. He has taught me how to face the abyss in your own soul, how to challenge adversity, and how to adapt to changing circumstances.

As he stood in the Ruritan hall at the surprise party my mother had so adeptly arranged (haven’t forgotten about you, Mom, you get your own article), he looked out at the crowd of Boy Scouts and grandchildren and friends, and in that moment he taught me how to age gracefully, love life, and deal with adversity. For a half-paralyzed, retired old man on a fixed income, my Dad remains active: he’s rebuilding a 1960s era John Deer tractor that he dearly loves – one handed. He remains a Red Cross volunteer and Scout leader, as well as an active Ruritan. He has a network of friends and allies that Karl Rove would envy. He has six active grandchildren that he remains very engaged with – he’s the perfect grandfather. For a man with one good leg and a quickly-retrained left hand, he accomplishes a remarkable amount. If that ain’t a lesson, I don’t know what is.

But it all started, if my flashback was accurate, when I was a baby my son’s age or thereabouts, with me looking up to his bearded face (God, when he shaved his beard off once when I was 11 I freaked!) from the daycare center near to Mott Community College where he got his 2 year degree, my arms extended, hands waving, shouting my own version of “Holdju! Holdju!” when he came to get me. And the smile on his face when he reached down and picked me up and played with me in a manner which most manly men would have avoided, clinging instead to their rigid idea of traditional masculinity and the very minor role that babies play in it. I saw that smile reflected back at his 60th birthday party, and now when I look at the long, slow journey of middle age and beyond, with the inevitable conclusion, I know how to handle it. Because Irv taught me. He continues to teach me. And I have many more lessons yet to come.

So I reached over and picked up my last child, hugged him tight, and went all Goofydaddy for a good five minutes when there was probably some important stuff I had to do. Because I learned from Irv that my most important job in the world is making sure that my kids have a happy childhood and that they have a friend, first and foremost, in their father.