Prehistoric fiction is boring. Change my mind – Virtual Book Blast for: Natural Selection – Guest Post by, Jacqui Murray…

I’ve been asked this by both readers and writers who errantly think our prehistoric ancestors were too dumb to be interesting. Many people hark back to early images of Neanderthal cave men and movies like “1 million BC”–I wouldn’t waste time on those either!

If you’re like so many others, let me change your mind. You think our predecessors’ small brains–about 2/3’s the size of ours–meant they were unintelligent, slow thinkers just waiting to be food for sabertooth tigers and proto-wolves. When you think about them at all, this is the image that pops into mind:

By the time you finish this short article, you’ll see your ancestors like this:

It’s a well-documented fact that our predecessors’ intellect exceeded all other animals they shared the planet with by over 20% which meant your forbears outsmarted, out-thought, and out-maneuvered most of their fellow inhabitants, despite their lack of sharp teeth, thick skin, tearing claws, and blistering speed. And, because that big brain accomplished nature’s most important two tasks–to survive and procreate–with time to spare, your ancestors used their excess cerebral power to invent, think, and plan.

Yes, other animals also had free time, but because their brains were small in all the wrong places, they usually used their free time to sleep.

A big brain is a pretty powerful weapon.

That’s why my prehistoric fiction series, Man vs. Nature and Natural Selection in particular is riveting. Our predecessors’ lives were filled with mind-numbing adventure, survival against all odds, death-defying drama, and the need to beat nature at its own game. Our ancestors routinely saved their lives in ways none before them ever considered.

Doing the impossible was a way of life.

This is why the trilogies in Man vs. Nature were originally categorized as “prehistoric thrillers”. The main characters are damaged superheroes who survive despite no clothing, no fire, no homes, no technology, no claws, no tearing fangs, no spiritual beliefs, and no thick hides.

So the answer to the question, “Are these stories boring?” is:

“Not even a little”.

—images credit: Deposit Photo—

Virtual Book Blast for:

Natural Selection

Summary

In this conclusion to Lucy’s journey, she and her tribe leave their good home to rescue former-tribe members captured by the enemy. Lucy’s tribe includes a mix of species–a Canis, a Homotherium, and different iterations of early man. In this book, more join and some die, but that is the nature of prehistoric life, where survival depends on a combination of our developing intellect and our inexhaustible will to live. Each species brings unique skills to this task. Based on true events.

Set 1.8 million years ago in Africa, Lucy and her tribe struggle against the harsh reality of a world ruled by nature, where predators stalk them and a violent new species of man threatens to destroy their world. Only by changing can they prevail. If you ever wondered how earliest man survived but couldn’t get through the academic discussions, this book is for you. Prepare to see this violent and beautiful world in a way you never imagined.

A perfect book for fans of Jean Auel and the Gears!

Available at Amazon:

USAUKCAAUSIN

Excerpt:

Chapter 1

One Pack Ends, Another Begins

Africa  

The Canis’ packmates were all dead, each crumpled in a smeared puddle of blood, Upright killing sticks embedded where they should never be. His body shook, but he remembered his training. The killers’ scent filled the air. If they saw him—heard him—they would come for him, too, and he must survive. He was the last of his pack.

He padded quietly through the bodies, paused at his mate, broken, eyes open, tongue out, pup under her chest, his head crushed. A moan slipped from his muzzle and spread around him. He swallowed what remained in his mouth. Without a pack, silence was his only protection. He knew to be quiet, but today, now, failed.

To his horror, a departing Upright looked back, face covered in Canis blood, meaty shreds dripping from his mouth, the body of a dead pup slung over his shoulder. The Canis sank into the brittle grass and froze. The Upright scanned the massacre, saw the Canis’ lifeless body, thought him dead like the rest of the decimated pack. Satisfied, he turned away and rushed after his departing tribe. The Canis waited until the Upright was out of sight before cautiously rising and backing away from the onslaught, eyes on the vanished predators in case they changed their minds.

And fell.

He had planned to descend into the gully behind him. Sun’s shadows were already covering it in darkness which would hide him for the night, but he had gauged his position wrong. Suddenly, earth disappeared beneath his huge paws. He tried to scrabble to solid ground, but his weight and size worked against him and he tumbled down the steep slope. The loose gravel made gripping impossible, but he dug his claws in anyway, whining once when his shoulder slammed into a rock, and again when his head bounced off a tree stump. Pain tore through his ear as flesh ripped, dangling in shreds as it slapped the ground. He kept his legs as close as possible to his body and head tucked, thankful this hill ended in a flat field, not a river.

Or a cliff.

When it finally leveled out, he scrambled to his paws,managed to ignore the white-hot spikes shrieking through his head as he spread his legs wide. Blood wafted across his muzzle. He didn’t realize it was his until the tart globs dripped down his face and plopped to the ground beneath his quaking chest. The injured animal odor, raw flesh and fresh blood, drew predators. In a pack, his mate would purge it by licking the wound. She would pronounce him Ragged-ear, the survivor.

Ragged-ear is a strong name. A good one.

He panted, tail sweeping side to side, and his indomitable spirit re-emerged.

I live.

But no one else in his pack did.

Except, maybe, the female called White-streak. She often traveled alone, even when told not to. If she was away during the raid, she may have escaped. He would find her. Together, they would start over.

Ragged-ear shook, dislodging the grit and twigs from his now-grungy fur. That done, he sniffed out White-streak’s odor, discovered she had also descended here. His injuries forced him to limp and blood dripping from his tattered ear obstructed his sight. He stumbled trying to leap over a crack and fell into the fissure. Fire shot through his shoulder, exploded up his neck and down his chest. Normally, that jump was easy. He clambered up its crumbling far wall, breaking several of his yellowed claws.

All of that he ignored because it didn’t matter to his goal.

Daylight came and went as he followed White-streak, out of a forest onto dry savannah that was nothing like his homeland.

Why did she go here?

He embraced the tenderness that pulsed throughout his usually-limber body. It kept him angry and that made him vicious. He picked his way across streams stepping carefully on smooth stones, their damp surfaces slippery from the recent heavy rain, ignoring whoever hammered with a sharp rock inside his head. His thinking was fuzzy, but he didn’t slow. Survival was more important than comfort, or rest.

Ragged-ear stopped abruptly, nose up, sniffing. What had alerted him? Chest pounding, breathing shallow, he studied the forest that blocked his path, seeking anything that shouldn’t be there.

But the throbbing in his head made him miss Megantereon.

Ragged-ear padded forward, slowly, toward the first tree, leaving only the lightest of trails, the voice of Mother in his head.

Yes, your fur color matches the dry stalks, but the grass sways when you move. That gives away your location so always pay attention.

His hackles stiffened and he snarled, out of instinct, not because he saw Megantereon. Its shadowy hiding place was too dark for Ragged-ear’s still-fuzzy thinking. The She-cat should have waited for Ragged-ear to come closer, but she was hungry, or eager, or some other reason, and sprang. Her distance gave the Canis time to back pedal, protecting his soft underbelly from her attack. Ragged-ear was expert at escaping, but his stomach spasmed and he lurched to a stop with a yowl of pain. Megantereon’s next leap would land her on Ragged-ear, but to the Canis’ surprise, the She-cat staggered to a stop, and then howled.

While she had been stalking Ragged-ear, a giant Snake had been stalking her. When she prepared her death leap, Snake dropped to her back and began to wrap itself around her chest. With massive coils the size of Megantereon’s leg, trying to squirm away did no good.

Ragged-ear tried to run, but his legs buckled. Megantereon didn’t care because she now fought a rival that always won. The She-cat’s wails grew softer and then silent. Ragged-ear tasted her death as he dragged himself into a hole at the base of an old tree, as far as possible from scavengers who would be drawn to the feast.

He awoke with Sun’s light, tried to stand, but his legs again folded. Ragged-ear remained in the hole, eyes closed, curled around himself to protect his vulnerable stomach, his tail tickling his nose, comforting.

He survived the Upright’s assault because they deemed him dead. He would not allow them to be right.

Sun came and went. Ragged-ear consumed anything he could find, even eggs, offal, and long-dead carcasses his pack normally avoided. His legs improved until he could chase rats, fat round ground birds, and moles, a welcome addition to his diet. Sometimes, he vomited what he ate and swallowed it again. The day came he once again set out after what remained of his pack, his pace more sluggish than prior to the attack, but quick enough for safety.

Ragged-ear picked up the female’s scent again and tracked her to another den. He slept there for the night and repeated his hunt the next day and the next. When he couldn’t find her trace, instinct drove him and memories of the dying howls of his pack, from the adults who trusted their Alpha Ragged-ear to protect them to the whelps who didn’t understand the presence of evil in their bright world.

Everywhere he traveled, when he crossed paths with an Upright, it was their final battle.

72 thoughts on “Prehistoric fiction is boring. Change my mind – Virtual Book Blast for: Natural Selection – Guest Post by, Jacqui Murray…

  1. With new archaeological discoveries made regarding ‘primitives’, there was nothing primitive about them. Highly evolved and complex thinkers, and that comes through your stories. 🙂

    Liked by 2 people

  2. I think people make false assumptions on far too little information, when it come too our ancestors. Those cave paintings and stone tools are just blips on their culture. It’d be like someone finding an empty coke can and assuming we all just sat around and drank soda. Kind of foolish in and of itself, isn’t it?

    Liked by 2 people

  3. I loved this post – it’s hard to believe that prehistoric humans could even survive such a world. Your book trailer is excellent, too. Thanks for featuring Jacqui here, Chris, and congratulations, Jacqui, on Book 3.

    Liked by 3 people

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