The wind knows your name. It just hasn't said it yet.
Welcome to Mercy — a played-out silver town in the high desert, where the railroad never came and the dead don't always stay quiet. On Nameless Hill stands a cottonwood older than the territory, its bark grown around a dozen old nooses. On certain nights, the wind moves through its branches and speaks names.
Once, and you tell yourself you imagined it. Twice, and people stand a little farther from you. Three times, and the town starts measuring you for a box.
SOLO GALLOWS WIND is a solo RPG adventure you play, not a book you read. Choose your hero — the Saloon Girl, the Bounty Hunter, the Gunslinger, the Sheriff, the Gambler, the Outlaw, the Homesteader, or the Native Scout — and walk into Mercy with nothing but your wits and a six-sided die. Every choice is yours. Every roll is fate. No two journeys are the same.
• Over 1 million words • 8 complete adventures in one volume • 37 endings • Thousands of paths — you'll never walk the same town twice
No character sheets. No notes. Just read, think, roll — and listen for your name.
My readers are always welcome to email me at whatifnovels@gmail.com whether it's to discuss plot points, or to yell at me because the story took an unexpected turn, or whatever... feel free! You can also join my email list at stevenmarksbooks.com!
When I was eight, I wrote my first book — eighty‑seven pages, one paragraph, and a sci‑fi story called The Bird of Time. I handed it to my mother, hoping she’d read it. She didn’t even open it. She just said, “Nobody is ever going to read what you write.”
I threw the book away. I didn’t throw away the writing.
My mother struggled with addiction, and I was too young to understand that her words weren’t really about me. But they stuck. For decades, I wrote in secret — twenty‑plus novels that lived in drawers and folders because I was afraid she might be right.
When I turned sixty, I realized something simple and brutal: the only way she’d be right is if I never tried. So I started publishing. And readers found me. And they asked for more.
Maybe she was wrong. Maybe this is the story I was supposed to write all along.