MMWUC - Gingerfest

Ginger Root

It's nine in the morning and my feet are soaking in a ginger root hot bath once again. Why? Well, Diane suggested it and the quad of women playing recorder in the house yesterday agreed that it will help me recover from the flu I picked up on Friday that manifested itself on Saturday and beat the snot out of me on Sunday...nasty, nasty, nasty. The house smells of ginger. Good thing I like ginger. I feel that I might have to deal with this for a few more days at least.

BUT...It did not stop me from writing my minimal 500 words yesterday. I won't look at the muddled words I put down for a while, but I put them down. Don't forget your words. As a writer, that's all you can depend upon.

I think my next book will be, "The Year of Being Sick". While nothing I've had since Thanksgiving has been deadly (well, the flu can be), no matter how much I carp about it, being under the weather for an extended period of time does lead you to have some weird thoughts that can be extrapolated into a weird semi-humorous conspiracy story. Just what was in that flu shot? My wife and I had different flus and different times. Who sneezed on me to give me the cold I had? Was it on purpose? And why can't the doctor identify the type of respiratory infection I had? What isn't he telling me? Is it really an alien parasite? So much bullhock to write. So little time. Time to heat up the ginger root water.

Write on! Write on!! Brothers and sisters, amen. Write on!!! 

Book Review: When Ravens Fall

Quoth the Raven:
Nevermore

If you like deep character studies with considerable violence, mayhem, and a lusty ogre, When Ravens Fall might be your book. The author has crafted an interesting story in which the plot lines twist and turn, and eventually end up pulling the reader and the major players to a satisfying ending, and a well-played final confrontation. (Yeah, I got the aiming parallel from the opening to the ending. Well played.) To get there, you have to negotiate some off-putting language, the author's unique telling style, and the liberal use of head-hopping between characters. Sometimes it was quite effective; sometimes not so much; sometimes confusing.

The author has certainly created a character as bad tothe bone as the 1980s song would suggest a person could be--he was born that way. His ability to manipulate people and miraculously stay out of prison was as extraordinary as the weakness of so many people to fail to see what he really was -- a psychopathic monster. It was well played most times, though I do believe it dragged a bit when psychoanalyzing some of the secondary characters.

I'm surprised that after six months on the Amazon shelves, it appears I'm going to be the first reviewer--a rarity for me. The author's publisher must be asleep, marketing-wise and editorially. There were a number of editing issues, mostly grouped in the beginning and end, but none of that affected my rating. This book straddles the fence. I'm not a fan of vast head-hopping, I think it often defocuses the story. I'm also not a fan of gratuitous violence in a vacuum of a balanced response. The police must not exist in this part of the U.K. But I must admit I liked bow tied around the plot. Raven can caw a 4, just barely.

MMWUC: Writers Write

Even if you listen to music
just keep on writing.

Your Monday Morning Wake-up Call (MMWUC) is short and sweet today: Write. No pretenses. No excuses. Get the cat off the keyboard. Tell the family there's cereal, bread and butter, frozen TV dinners. There will be another sunny, rainy, snowy, windy day in the future to explore the outside. 500 words. Do it! Do it, now! Don't make me get Jillian Michaels on your case to sweat out those words. I know it's math 500 words a day x 300 days is 150,000 words. Hey, it's a novel or two!

I'm guilty just as you are of not giving myself permission enough to write. Let's stop that. Before you go to the next blog, twit, Facebook picture of fuzzy kittens, go write for 20 minutes.

Okay. It's the wake-up call. And it's short. I have to go write.

- - -

Ronald stared at the girl. She was in her mid-teens, maybe sixteen if he had to put an age to her face: light blue eyes framed by thick shoulder length chestnut hair-a Maureen Sullivan look. The small button nose centered or slightly oval face, and the lips were in need of puckering, primping, lipstick, and kissing to make the fuller. She wasn't perfect, but she was perfect to him, especially when she smiled and the dimples formed. How can the mere appearance of a dimple make him almost fall to the ground and blow in reverence in her direction. The girl listened to her friend, the more iconic blond cheerleader-type chatter on and on and on. He couldn't hear her words, but heard her nasal high-pitched voice and squeals of laughter when she said something she was obviously in love with. The girl...too impersonal, she was Robin to him wore a button-down brown coat with leather trim that extended to just below her knees. Her brown boots rose to meet the hem. She had a habit of touching the cheerleader on the shoulder with her brown-gloved hands. Leather also, Ronald assumed. The action always toned down the cheerleader as though Robin sensed the one-sided conversation had grown to loud even in the open air park shortly before noon on that Sunday.

He'd seen Robin twice before, distance glances, too brief to snack on. Today, was an unexpected feast. She's been there alone for five minutes, when he first thought about approaching her, but then the cheerleader arrived. Now, twenty minutes later, whatever courage he had dissipated.

Ronald had tired of his parents' continual arguing and left with his e-reader for the park despite the cool temperatures. The weather, however, was on his side. No wind stirred and the sunshine warmed his chosen little alcove. Early daffodils, grape hyacinths, and a trio of late-blooming Daphnes filled the air with a strong fragrance. A few early strollers lingered over the smell; he suspected they wanted the small bench he occupied. Not happening. He pilfered a soft drink, three egg bagels, and grabbed a handful of jellies and jams in little packets from the kitchen when he left. He'd eaten one of the bagels with grape jelly. For him, it as a gastronomical delight. He was there for the long haul, and seeing Robin was the bonus that crowned his day.

A boisterous voice up the path to his left yelled, "Yo!"

Robin and the cheerleader looked up. His stare met Robin's for a micro-second that burned in his heart.

- - Okay, 20 minutes up. 427 words. Just do it! - -

Book Review: Mind of a Madman: Evil Unleashed

Mind of a Madman: Evil Unleashed is a thriller. Like most thrillers, the suspension of disbelief must be overcome for the thrilling part of the story to grab the readers by the throat and allow the story to march forward unrestrained. It didn't work for me. The "carefully planned" escape was more coincidental luck and poor police procedures than careful planning. And our main protagonist is declared dead twice in the most incompetent ways possible in the first two days. And he seemed to get, find, or stumble across just what he needed at every turn. Still I read on. The author had an engaging character with a never stated mental problem (for which there was never any true indication that he was getting medical help though it was stated he was), and I was curious.

But the unlikely pursuit of Caleb, the escaped prisoner, across several states by a Kansas cop, sometimes as unglued as Caleb, and later joined by a Nebraska State Trooper, who quits his job to continue the pursuit that stretches over several months (don't remember the weather changing) and across several states, made the story harder and harder to accept. Caleb is one bad dude, and the graphic violence is what you would expect. She nailed some of those scenes. How he wanders around at his size without being spotted defies normal life, but this is fiction and a thriller.

I must confess. I was angry with the ending when I felt like I was coming to a conclusion only to turn the page and be greeted by a notice that the story continues in a second book. There are books that are series, where stories continue, new characters, new events, highs and lows, new adventures, even the reappearance of bad dudes, like Caleb. But they usually end with a conclusion, a message, a meaning, a lesson learned, a story arc completed with the bad guy confronting the last standing good guy to ensure his message: evil triumphs over good. This story just ends. Despite my issue with story construction, the writer writes well enough to garner a 3 for this novel.

MMWUC - New Year's Day Resolution

A Monday Morning Wake-up Call (MMWUC) on New Year's Day Eve. I don’t think that's happened to me before. I know I should write about my personal resolutions, but being a few days short of sixty, I've been too disappointed by the number of resolutions I've failed to accomplish, despite attempts to lose weight, exercise more, control temper, get a date for a prom, work harder, blah, blah, blah. I guess I'm just not that big on laying out these self-imposed, stress-filled expectations that try to make one undo what they've become comfortable with--even if what one has become comfortable with is a life-threatening habit.

"Pass the pork rinds and another Bud. I'm breaking my personal best of 36 hours in the port-a-potty lounger. Don't forget my cigs. Hey look, STARS IN DANGER OF THE HIGH DIVE. Now that's entertainment. I'm sure they'll show the best belly-flops upfront. I bet they'll have a wardrobe malfunction with a honey. Damn shame this kind of stuff wasn't around for Marlon Brando, Orson Wells, and William Conrad. Those whales in the 1980s would have cleaned out the pool."

When I was one, I wanted a second pacifier. That was my resolution, as I recall. Did I get it? No. Maybe that set a pattern for me. I don't know why it took me so long to figure out that resolutions should be kept to one or two little objectives--baby steps can lead to great strides in a long trip in the pursuit of personal perfection. But the most important thing is--do something. And yes, I'll use the old Chinese proverb, because it is so true: A trip of a thousand miles begins with the first step. And so it is with resolutions.

I wonder what kind of NYD resolutions James Bond would make? Sherlock Holmes? Nero Wolfe? So writers, what one resolution would your favorite protagonist make?

Book Review: MFA in a Box or Rick Boxed Out

Philosophically Phunny

The book MFA in a Box explains why I don't have an MFA -- I don't get philosophy. I don't get the nuance of the nuance of the pinprick of a needle on the flapping of a butterfly's wing in Brazil that forms a tornado in Kansas in a week and how that affects your characters. John Rember has written a book about why writers write books. He has delved deep into the mythological stories to support his case. It is a case that some people will flock to like bees to my marigolds: others will run to Anne Lamott, StephenKing, and Donald Maass for their thoughts on digging into a characters psyche in more precise and succinct language.

He could have easily written, most writers don't dig deep enough. They are unable or afraid to dig deep enough into the psyche of the character to expose the hell in their soul, and then they don't go below, into the very fires of Hell to identify the source of the fire that rages, and that, writers don't sift through the ashes of that fire to parse out that infinitesimally small glowing ember that explains why not getting a blue fire truck for their third Christmas drove that character to slaughter nineteen women dressed in blue during months in which a blue moon occurred. Or, something like that.

Okay, he makes some good points, but his tortuously elaborate explanations sometimes drove me to drink, and I'm supposed to be off diet sodas. That is part of the reason it took two weeks to read this book -- trying to pay close attention, because I must be missing something. But, I agree with his overall premise: whether you are trying to emulate Jonathan Franzen, writing whirling waltz of his own creation, or pound out a genre book that moves to its own predetermined beat to satisfy the masses that like that familiar beat, both are served by understanding their characters to a level deeper than what we are routinely spoon-fed. I'd fail his class, but I'll give his book four-thumbs up.

MMWUC - Holiday Preparations

Unless your soul is in need of a quick overnight fix, complete with ghosts, time travel, and spirits, there is still time to prepare for the holidays. Yes, pull out that diary that you will write in for two weeks in January, coinciding with your New Year's resolution, and start now. Capture the essence of the holiday spirit while you are within it. You know you will only keep that resolution for a short while anyway. Who'll look back with awe at your new observations in January over weight loss, new friends, digging up old friends who barely remember you, digging up old friends who'd rather still be unfound, musings over the 20 minutes' walk per day you started on January 2nd that dwindled to every other day by mid-January and that was a mythic adventure by time you watch Groundhog's Day on February 2nd.

Write about what is happening right now. Like my wife popping out of bed at 6 a.m. after going to bed at 1 a.m. so she can start the preparations for the Christmas Eve meal. A meal that we could cook in our sleep. A meal that we could start at 3 p.m. and still be ready for the horde at 6 p.m. Write about the 7:12 a.m. call, after rolling over in bed and trying to go back to sleep from Afghanistan. Taliban? Karzai? Nope. Skippy! And it's his birthday. But I already sent him an online message 12 hours before December 24th, because I knew he was that far ahead. So, not being a big telephone talker, I greet him for a few minutes, and then turn him over to wifey who loves talking on the phone. And yes, I get a few more minutes of sleep until Sydney decides it is time for me to arise and start cooking the rice for fried rice. But I know the real reason. Sydney, a 20-y-o cockatiel, awoke and saw the rice cooker. His motivation is simple. Wake daddy. He makes rice. I eat rice. It must be a special day for me. Cockatiels are so egocentric. So the tapping on my forehead forces me to rise. I hear organ music in the kitchen. My wifey was an organist. I get every Christmas choral with the ambiance of the phantom of the opera as a backdrop.

The fire has died. The house is cool, not cold. Wifey stops the nonstop chatter to Afghanistan. "The fire's out. The house is cold." I can take a hint. And so the holidays begins in earnest.

And so should your preparations for the 2013 holiday season. Capture these moments so that in July you can write a 67 page holiday story and self-publish it on Amazon in November for $1.99 and annoy everyone with your emails, tweets, Facebook postings, Linked-In announcements, Pinned pictures portraying and praising your prose, so you too can be declared a best-selling author at capturing the spirit of the holiday. It is about giving, giving back what you experienced so that we can all benefit from the rising spirit, and as George Costanzo would say, "Happy Festivus for the rest of us." Now let's arm wrestle. I know I can take Sydney two out of three times.

MMWUC: Sleeping In

I slept in this morning--to 11:13 a.m. to be exact. Sydney flew over and sat on my head, "Whatcha doing?"

I rolled over. "Not much," I replied.

And therein summed up the whole situation.

Book Review: Two books--Seasonal and Thriller

Buy it here.

It's that time of year, so I read a holiday-themed collection. Seasons Readings - A Collection of Holiday Themed Short Stories popped onto my Kindle. And you can't go wrong with the nine offerings in this holiday-themed collection. Though none of the stories really break any new or startling holiday territory, they're a solid grouping of stories. The opening story, Home for Christmas by Lia Fairchild and the last one, Kate and The Irishman by Mary Pay Hyland give us our sugary sweet Hallmark treat for the holiday romantics.

Nestled between these to anchoring stories, we have an assortment and some with a mystery bent. Though I liked A Basketball, A Storm Drain, and a Choo-Choo Train by Sue Owen, it seemed odd to savor the holidays with a serial killer. Another strong mystery story with a Twilight Zone twist at the end was The Jade Elephant by Libby Fischer.

Eleanor's Christmas Surprise by Tania Tirraoro gives us a story with a sharp reversal at the end. I felt that if the author would have dug a bit deeper, this story could have commanded space and dollars at some of the better print magazines. The bugaboo I had with it is why give away the story with the title--drop 'Surprise' from the title--and don't tip your hand. Rounding out the selections were stories that will satisfy most readers. The collection rates a "4".

- - - 

Upfront disclosure: I read Premonitions when it was a head dump of a few chapters; read it again when it was a complete novel in need of love; months, years whiz by. Read Premonitions when was being shopped around by an agent. Ran through it again recently.

Buy it here!

There is something satisfying in watching the evolution of a head dump into a full-fledged novel of power and sass, tenderness and carrying, and, of course, much danger, death, and destruction. The author has woven a story that is every parent's nightmare on steroids where bad guys hold all the cards and their opponents are little kids and one kick-butt lady named Mallory with attitude to spare when it comes to her kids and her premonitions.

Like many thrillers, this is one best served and read in a single sitting. I'm not a devotee of thrillers. They rely on me suspending too much of my disbelief as my anal retentive, procedural-oriented brain sniffs minor cracks in the plans of both the bad and good buys. However, I never waived though in my belief that the author was going to take me on Mr. Toad's Wild Ride and then some. Take Premonitions with you when you have the time to feast on the words and enjoy the story as a single meal. It is a solid "4".

MMWUC - Handicap Your Protagonist

Me and the missus have been very sick. We've gone to the doctor. She has the flu and is recovering nicely. I have the "respiratory infection from Hell" (the doctor's words) and am a step away from living out a Stephen King horror story, BYLINA AND THE GIANT BITE-ME BUG THAT HAS NO NAME OR CURE. Great. Now, I'm a step away from the CDC coming to quarantine my house. But, I do have some meds that hold the promise of me getting some sleep tonight.

Doctor's rendition of the
infection he saw.
(bylinous supersillious)

But fighting this superbug with a lack of sleep has given me a new perspective to our crime fighting heroes and their seemingly endless good health. My next short story book, Super Good Guys with Bad Hair Days, features the following--

* watch as Columbo, everyone's favorite rumpled detective, turns an hour long episode into a made-for-TV movie, when a bad case of incurable hiccups forces every interview into a word-pulling marathon. Rather than be subject to another long-rambling, stuttered accusation, the killer reveals himself by killing Columbo. Adrian Monk has to finish up the case. Killer commits suicide.

* stuffed-up with a bad flu for which he refused the help of Doctor Watson, Holmes misses the telltale sign of the dead woman's perfume on the suspect/waiter, fails to hear the drop of the small syringe on the floor, and doesn't detect the acrid taste of the poison injected on his breakfast muffin. Holmes dies; Watson emerges from his shadow.

* observe as 300+ pound William Conrad of Jake and theFatman runs down a another black urban youth and sits on him to await the cops. In my version, he limps from gout for 50 yards as the youth taunts him by running backwards. The Fatman grabs his chest, a heart ache in the making, the kid whips out a $50 from the stash of money. "Buy a Richard Simmons tape tubby." The money floats to the sidewalk, the kid steps backwards into small hole, and twists his ankle. Conrad stumbles forward, face crimson with pain and falls on the kid, trapping him for the police.

I'm rambling, but I have an excuse. What's yours? Throw your good guy a health-inspired curve ball when he least expects or needs it. Up that ante just one last notch.

And as a bonus, you can give him the eye infection I also have for which I have to put drops in my eyes. For me, this is a torture of unbelievable dimensions, but Sydney is not prepared to be a seeing-eye bird.

Book Review: Angela's Song

Angela’s Song is a well-written and superbly researched book--no doubts there. However, I found the overall story a bit sluggish and without much tension as a I waited for a more compelling story arc to form. It never did. Other than Jack’s initial rejection of dating Angela, this story was a straight shot to an end that was never in doubt. The real problem was Angela’s internal spiritual growth in a cocoon of Catholic spirituality, almost completely unthreatened by or unchallenged by outside elements or people with other persuasions, beliefs, or social statuses. The story was insular on that level and that’s a shame. The true strength of any conviction is not when it is supported on all sides, but when it is challenged by opposing forces but stays true to that conviction. That is the missing element here.

This message might be fine for Catholics looking for a book that reinforces the best of the Catholic beliefs, but it needs more heft to engage other readers with its positive and life affirming message. When mild hiccups in the relationship occurred or Angela had doubts, Jack always had the right answer, solution, or financial wherewithal to right the ship without breaking a sweat. It bordered on being annoying at times. Angela’s situation was a difficult one, dealing with the death of a spouse. (My latest novel deals with the same subject matter.) The authors did a good job with the stages of grief. Another solid effort was with the introduction of the back story. A lesser novelist might not have been so restrained. Finally, the authors did a good job tracking and using the little story promises along the way, including Angela’s song.

I’m Catholic, and Catholics looking for a validation of their beliefs will crown this a “5”. But from a story perspective and analyzing it as a general read, this is a tepid “4”.

MMWUC: Santa Claus, Christmas, and the Groundhog

The proliferation of holiday stories is like clockwork, and maybe I'll join in some day after the trend has weened, and I'm once again in the dust of the marketing strategy like a salesman for public pay phones. I don't have a holiday story again. I tried to write one, and maybe still will, but I haven't a clue when I'll find the time, and the story I started morphed into something where everyone dies and zombies make presents of brains to each other, each zombie hoping for Einstein's brain, still locked away somewhere. The stories of holiday mirth, redemption, and, sometimes, murderous Santas, are selling on Amazon and elsewhere for $.99 to $5.99 (seriously now!) and are from six (you kidding me) to sixty pages.

Blatant Plug For My Book (quadruple
hubba-hubba for the prairie dog)
Great stocking stuffer...really.

I've sampled a few, but I have no patience for something written in a fifteen minute morning break from the tin cup production line that was never vetted, proofread, or given more thought than the fate of Tibetan monks living without Twinkies is given. And that is really something to think about. And being original for the holidays is not an easy task.

I say, boycott the sham stories (but not mine should I write it), and stick with the tried and true: Alistair Sims in Scrooge, Jimmy Stewart and Donna Reed (hubba-hubba) in It's a Wonderful Life, or Gary Grant, David Niven, and Loretta Young (double hubba-hubba) in The Bishop's Wife.

More so to the point, start working on your Groundhog Day story now, despite the fact that one of the cinema's masterpieces covers the holiday well, Groundhog Day with Bill Murray and Andie MacDowell (triple hubba-hubba). Or maybe write a May Day celebration story. At least then they may be edited in time for release and be longer than six pages. Perhaps I'll start a marketing trend for a change.

Book Review: Best Books for 2012

I never understood why the "best of" lists come out in late December or early the following year. What people really want to know is: "What were the best books for the past twelve months so I know what to order over Thanksgiving when the real buying season begins." Well, here you go.

Best I Read in 2012

First off, order my books so I don't have to be a door greeter at Walmart for four months next year to pay property taxes because businesses don't hire former technical writers past a certain age.

Secondly, I've only been given one of these books by the author. In fact, most of these books have been blindly picked from various sources to the surprise and delight (and sometimes consternation) of the authors. I will admit to downloading some "free" books.

Thirdly, I've blogged my rating methodology. I've climbed on Amazon to the 11,082 ranked reviewer. I'm still not entirely sure what that means, but it feels good. My wife was unimpressed until I pointed out that there are more than 12,000,000 ranked reviewers on Amazon. So, I must be writing reviews that people like to read. And, I try to keep my reviews honest--no gimme "5" ratings. And not every book with a "5" is a perfect book. Get over yourselves. There are no perfect books, just books that someone thinks are at the top of their class. And when I do review, I take into account the genre in which the book resides. It would be foolish of me to downgrade a YA book because it lacked the intensity of a King novel. And I don't only read mysteries.

Fourthly, I've met my goal of a book per week although some have not been self-published, which was the other half of the goal, and yes, a few were short story collections. There were not 52 reviews. I struggled mightily with several books that were such a mess that I didn't bother to finish or review them. In hindsight, maybe I should have slapped a "1" or "2" on the book, but you know, sometimes you just have to be ready to read that particular book. For example, I love the movies. I have now seen all but two movies in the AFI100, but yet it took me over thirty years before I saw "The Godfather" trilogy even though I knew intuitively they were great movies. Go figure.

So, in no particular order, the "5" rated, best of the best books for 2012 are:

* Red, Green, or Murder (Posadas County #10) by Steven F. Havill - unmasking murder.
* The Might T by Everett Powers - sometimes even bad guys have a real point to make.
* Just Like That by Les Edgerton - gritty, tough, and real.
* Child of my Heart by Shelia Rudesill - heartbreaking and uplifting.
* Little Mountain by Bob Sanchez - classic internal and external struggle for justice.

The best book I read this year: Little Mountain. Other fine books from 2012 to consider:

* Storm Surge (a Jonie Waters mystery) by Tamara Ward - stay out of the water.
* Bigfoot Hunters by Rick Gualtieri - stay out of the woods.
* Murder Deja Vu by Polly Iyer - stay out of the way.
* Wind Over Troubled Waters - Book One by Edith Parzefall and Francene Stanley - stay out of trouble.

What did I learn? Most self-published "stories" are as good as those stories championed by agents and published by publishers; however, self-published books were rarely as polished in production value, as well edited (though overall quality is down), nor as tight plot-wise as those put out by major publishers. Self-published authors, in general, are still too impatient and too self-reliant (Rick raises his hand) with getting their books out there, and there are still some self-published authors that don't want to hear that message. Being a self-published author, I DO understand the frustration with that message. Several "3" rated books just needed to be beaten like a dirty rug a few more times to truly shine. I'm only beginning to understand the time lag necessary between writing, editing, revising, and publishing. I have no idea what the timeline is to becoming independently wealthy from writing.

Now, what are you waiting for? Buy, read, and eat turkey.

MMWUC: Damn I Need One

I was just reminded that it's Monday. What, were all you sleeping? How come no one told me it was Monday. I thought it was weird when my wife left early this morning. I began to think that maybe she was giving platelets or had a recorder gig or maybe her choir was singing somewhere or she was playing games with her parents in the assisted living center or maybe she went shopping for turkey or Christmas-related bargains (I've learned not to ask to many questions at this time of the year.).

Sydney didn't tell me. Everyday is the same to him unless it's different by means that he just doesn't understand.

Oh, well. Hope you had a respite from all the usual nonsense I spout here. BIG, BIG news coming soon.

Write on! Write o!! Brothers and sisters, amen. Write on!!!

Guest Blog: Why I'm not coming out of the closet

Not me!

It's dark in there. I like the dark. And when I don't like the dark, I know that Rick will be there to bring me out of the dark. The closet is warm and cozy. I sleep on the folded towels, and I love when they come from the dryer, because they are so nice to be on top off, and the warmth oozes into my body. The closet is huge, and there is so much to explore with its secret corners of stuff untouched for year after year after year. I'm tempted to chew through the lids to find the treasures within them. The only downside is that there is no food in here. Other than some chewing on the wooden shelves and drywall, the pickings are fairly slim. But, I can sleep just fine in here until I hear the writing chair squeak, and I know that Rick is working on something wonderful. That's when I scream bloody murder, and I know he will come. He always does.

Me. I am the People Whisperer!

I've trained him well. Because, after all, I AM the people whisperer.


Next week...exciting news. I can tell. He keeps me up until 2 in the morning working on something. If I could read, I'd tell you about it.

I am, Sydney!

Book Review: 2 4 1--Cats and Publishing Hell

If the cover art didn't tickle my fancy, I doubt I would have picked The Girl with the Cat Tattoo by Theresa Weir as a read. But I did, and I'm glad I did. This novella was listed as a romance, I guess it's because the cat, Max, is trying to set up his owner, Melody, with a new boyfriend two years after his first owner and her husband, David, a cop was murdered. You got all that. Good. I liked Max. He moved and thought like a cat, not that I'm a cat whisperer.

Amazon Link

Though the subject matter underlying the story is quite deep, getting back into life after the death of a spouse, it is given broad brushstrokes for this story. The story also leaves little doubt what the outcome is going to be. Just how we get there is the somewhat interesting part, especially with the odd costumes that the heroine wears as part of her job that are very inappropriate for the situations in which she ends up.

While the mystery was nicely woven into the story, the ending was a bit ho-hum with a character out of the blue and the final solution not as sharp as it could have been. It felt a bit like a test case for a line of stories with only so much time invested and a bit of an attempt to steal some thunder for a similarly titled novel (cat=dragon). Still if you like cats, a little romance, and mystery light, this could be your cup of tea for a short drive to grandma's for Thanksgiving. A solid "4" from me.

Bonus Review

How the HELL Do I Do This? A Blogging Writer's Tiny Guide for Self-Publishers By Kareen Wade is a non-fiction advice book targeted for self-publishing authors. It took the time to eat two egg McMuffins, two hash browns and one refill of an extra-large diet coke to go through the book. The bottom line: Uneven, but for $.99 you could do worse, and I have found many books of lesser value for similar price on the same topic.

Amazon Link

This one was part cheerleader and part marketing guide with an uneven mix of emphasis on a few topics and drive-by hits on some topics. The big thumbs-up for the book were many of the links to other sites and the author's enthusiasm to help everyone maximize their sales. The downside is the material felt like it was gathered in a rush and lacked some focus on maximizing your effort except for a huge pump-up of Google+. It was also a bit of a mixed bag for the reader as to the knowledge base necessary for the writers to even address some of the advice.

But like most advice in the fast-paced world of self-publishing, what's hot today is old news tomorrow. Writers venturing into the world of self-publishing need to be on their toes for those tidbits that have true value in selling their wares. If you're a newbie, this might be your grab-bag of information and techniques worth a "4", but overall, it is a slightly better than average source of publishing advice, a strong "3," with the hopes that if it is re-issued with a clearer sense of direction and prioritization, it can move up in ratings. 

Monday Morning Wake-up Call

It's Monday. It's morning. This is your wake-up call. Since most times this blog is about writing, the craft, inspiration, stories, events, failures, or successes, I'm going to try and inspire you with the movement of dirt.

Well, not just any dirt, North Carolina dirt, which if y'all are from here, you might recognize it as most parts clay, heavy, wet gray clay or the heavier and denser than a neutron star, red clay. The road I live on is a private road, apart from the much larger part of our exurbia development. Each of my four neighbors and I own this road, which means we have to maintain it along with the beautification alongside it so it doesn't look like the setting for a horror movie like "Last House Down the Lane" or a backwoods thriller such as Deliverance. In all we do a good job of the 1/3rd of a mile long black-top road that ends at Randy's house.

But, I've had a pile of dirt alongside my road frontage. I paid a six-pack of beer for it to a tired driver who had just wanted to dump his last load of the day from the deforestation project known as the next housing development about four miles away. When I waved the common late Friday afternoon currency, he delivered. The pile sat. Oh, I'd take a wheel barrel full of dirt once in a while, separate the rocks out, and spread the dirt at the edge of the blacktop to keep it from caving in the low spots. But it was long, slow, hard work. At the rate I worked through the pile, Sasha Obama would be looking for her second term as President, and I would probably have forgotten why I was moving the dirt in the first place.

The pile loomed as a constant reminder of things undone, like a good story that needs a strong revision that you just can't seem to get enthused about. Water pooled in front of the pile, which had become a dam in the deep V ditch alongside the road. Thousands of frogs played all summer long in the rich water (clay has a lot of minerals), a black snake enjoyed them thoroughly until a broad-tailed hawk enjoyed the snake. All kinds of water plants nestled along the shoreline of the fifteen-foot long, six-foot wide impromptu pond. I even saw two small fish in the pond one day unclear how they arrived there. I was even considering leaving the bottom portion of the pile as a dam and make the pond a permanent feature, but my sister-in-law, who does not live in our development and was aghast that I'd let the pile sit for 18 months, threatened to call our Homeowners' Association and complain.

I turned to my sister-in-law, "I am the Homeowners Association Board."

It's a small association. I duly noted her complaint then ignored it.

Still, when Randy offered to help me move the pile with his baby backhoe and scoop, I took him up on his offer.

So yesterday, Sunday, we moved the pile. At some point in the four hour long process, all the other neighbors stopped by to watch the progress, catch up on each other's news, suggest ways to break up the bigger clumps of red clay, including dynamite. I thought a block party was going to break out.

The pile was moved, the pond drained, sister-in-law overjoyed, and wife relieved that the second-longest item on the to-do list was vaporized. Neighbors seemed happy that the black-top is now supported better. But this morning I was a bit sad to see the pile gone. The dirt had accidentally created an environment that made frogs, snakes, fish, and hawks thrive. Now, it's just another ditch on the side of the road like thousands of other ditches, wishing they could be more.

I guess I just miss my dirt.
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Now, don't tell me you can't think about something in your life about which to write. Time to write.

Book Review: Killer Twist

C. A. Larmer has woven an intricate plot for Killer Twist that unfolded a bit too slowly for my taste, but was, nevertheless, well done overall. Once it got going, she threw in more twists than a Chubby Checker revival dance. I must confess I did catch on to the primary and secondary bad guys early in their introductions, but the reason why they did the nasty wasn't clear until the big reveal to Roxy Parker, the amateur sleuth who took risks I'd never be caught taking, especially at the end. That woman's nuts.

Well composed and without mechanical hiccups this was a solid read. Even the slang and unusual accents were carried off much better than most writers. The author made Roxy well rounded enough, but missed a good opportunity to put in more of the Australian scenery and atmosphere for a story being sold elsewhere in the world. It did not affect the rating, but I hated the cover.

Some harsh language early on would probably put-off some of the cozy mystery readers, but woman amateur sleuth readers should flock to Rozy Parker, a heroine in heels, with a seemingly never-ending and over-sized closet--but this is from a guy's perspective. The overall impact is not quite enough for a "5," but I have no problem with a solid "4" rating for this down-under mystery.

MMWUC - It's not a NANOWRIMO blog

Okay, so you're not doing NANOWRIMO. That's just dandy. It's not for everyone nor is the timing always write (sic) to set aside a month to start another project that might not lead to anything. BUT, But, you can still feel the energy from NANO by signing up and getting into conversations with fellow writers that might lead you to riff a story idea for the future.

I'm struggling this year with NANO because I've got several irons in the fire, but it didn't stop me from joining the fray and riffing an idea that might, just might become something new down the road. Okay, yeah, it's weird, but for writers, the Gordon Gecko creed of choice is "weird is good."

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Suck it up, McCabe. - - - - The two-dimensional vampire was trying hard, but couldn't penetrate any of the flat characters she wrote. Woe is me, the vampire thought, as the hunger drove him to desperation, sucking the life out of an unwary semi-colon and two oblivious chatting colons, misplaced at the beginnings of a pair of lists. He eyed McCabe's whining over the crappy writing she was layering on page after page. For thirty days and nights he would have to suffer this plot full of heroic werewolves. He'd never met a courageous werewolf. They were all neurotic roustabouts, running hither and thither once a month during the full moon, and then, as if no one noticed, they would sit in their own stool during the new moon when their manic stage ebbed, and they became true tortured souls. And why do all the girls they get seem so zaftig? How come after thirty days of being two-dimensional, the bloated, yummy muse with no insight gets bumped off by a pasty-faced internal editor with more opinions than craters on the moon? He sighed and the paper floated off the table. McCabe picked it up. "Harrumph. The one good line I right and it falls to the floor." She read: "The time of desperation, when the black moment overlaid the darkness, only then will we be able to see where the speck of hopeful light shines like a pinprick for us to use as a moral and physical signpost." She kissed the line on the paper and felt a sting.

The two-dimensional vampire feasted again.

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There's at least three potential stories in that three minute riff. Go forth and let your writing mind expand via inspiration and silliness with other writers.

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Oh yeah, my new novel, All Of Our Secrets, is available on both Smashwords and Amazon in e-book format. Paperbook format comes late this week. Enjoy, it's the best yet. And you're beating the big marketing push.

Guest Blog: On the Value of Book Clubs, Part 2

Author Judith Stanton, in part two, tells us the other side of the story

Have you ever been a featured author at a book club? I have, not nearly often enough, and I’m afraid the opportunities to do it may be dwindling. As we shift our advertising focus to blogs, Facebook, tweets and Pinterest, it may feel like a poor investment of your time to take an evening off to talk to half-dozen to a dozen readers who just read your book. Too much time for too few sales.

Amazon Link

But if you want a rejuvenating fix there’s nothing quite like it. So here’s how, and why, to do it.

The how. If you haven’t yet made the best seller lists are won the National Book Award, you’ll have to reach out to find some clubs. Ask people you know, and ask at local book stores—chain or independent—what reading groups are near you. Don’t forget used book stores. Some owners have a good line on their local clubs. If you feel funny making a cold call or email to introduce yourself and your book, perhaps a mutual acquaintance can recommend you, perhaps even that bookstore person.

Be willing to travel, maybe an hour or two there and back, but start as near home as you can. You’re not in this for profits, but overnighting in a B&B isn’t worth it unless you and your spouse are celebrating your twentieth, thirtieth, whatever, anyway.

And keep an ear out. With my novel I met a lot of people doing field research. When I’d mention I was writing my novel, they’d mention their book clubs. I kept a little list. Some of them live farther away than I would normally go, but live close to a horse competition I need to research. Two birds, one stone.

With my first couple of novels, I visited a few book clubs. Had a grand time, and learned a lot. To my surprise, some of the most hard core readers have never met an author, and certainly not in their own home. They made me feel like a star. I started off talking about how I came to be a novelist and came up with the story they’d read, but really all I needed to do was open the floor for questions and let ‘em rip! Which character did they like best and why? What surprised them about the story? Is this the kind of book they usually read, and how did they like it?

Bottom line, with any readers, and certainly book clubbers, I make sure I say early and often, as writers we LOVE our readers. We write for YOU. We don’t EXIST without you. You bring the books of our hearts and our imagination to life.

Believe me, they will never have thought of how critical they are to the entire creative enterprise. It’s a conversation, it’s symbiotic.

And that’s an amazing bond. After that, they love to hear about nitty gritty research problems, which characters surprised you, who got away from you, who wouldn’t come to heel and so was interesting. Field trips, surprise library finds, how the Internet has transformed research. In the end, they relish our journeys, just as much as we relish theirs as they take our books in their hands or our books in their Nooks or Kindles. They take us on vacation. They take us to their doctor’s waiting room, sit by their loved ones in ICUs and read our stories. They take us to bed. They fall asleep with our books on their chests, and wake, and pick us up again, escaping to worlds we create for them.

I love my readers. Visit a book club, and love yours too, face to face, handshake to handshake, and sometimes hugs. AND SIGN ALL THEIR BOOKS. Be sure to ask how to spell their names.

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Judith Stanton - Horse Woman, Author, Editor, and Lecturer

A Stallion to Die For: an equestrian suspense

—Qualifying for the Olympics can be deadly for woman and horse.