MMWUC: The Long Cold Winter

I, for one, am enjoying the long winter of 2012-2013. It's the winter without end despite Punxatawny Phil's prognostication. At least Sir Walter Raleigh, Raleigh's own large rat, predicted the long winter correctly. I was sick with the adult croup, a bad cold, and then the neurovirus from the Tuesday after Thanksgiving until about January 20th. That was tree cutting time, garden rehabilitation time, and landscaping project time. Now it is all squeezed between now and whenever winter ends, because when it ends, the ticks will burst from hiding, the green pine tree pollen will be as thick as volcanic ash, day time highs will go from the 50s to the upper 80s immediately, and plants will grow while you watch them. I've been splitting time outside and inside. I'm a hot weather writer because I can't handle the heat and sun, so when this winter breaks, writing will begin in earnest. So, the production of the poetry book, POEMS FOR A PLATYPUS, continues heading for a deadline a week away, the short story that I'm writing has exceeded the 5,000 work maximum by 6,000 words, so now it is something else, and the pull of the next Detective Stark novel is getting too strong to resist. I'll get to it, I tell my subconscious, the moment winter ends.

Book Review: Firstborn

Firstborn by Bob Stewart has a villain that's as creepy bad as you can make him. No Mercy Percy lives up to his name throughout the story as he pursues those who he perceives have done him wrong or the offspring of those who have done him wrong. I'm not sure I'm going to invite Bob to any sleepovers on the off-chance that he has more of Percy to excise from his subconscious, where all scary stories evolve, but I enjoyed the story, and it was nice to read one that appeared to have been edited with loving care.

This is a suspense thriller not for the faint of heart. Which means if you like your villains on the order of Hannibel Lecter, Max Cady, or the Zodiac Killer, then this book is for you--a slam-dunk "5". The lawyer, well, for such a well-renowned, inquisitive defense attorney, he was a bit slow on the uptake. Bob did a wonderful job of planting clues that lead up to helping discover what was going on, but the 'bright' lawyer seemed a bit on the dull side to me. I kept shouting, "Connect the dots. Connect the dots." The reason for No Mercy Percy's transition from country bumpkin to super villain was remarkably believable, but his ability to disguise himself at times proved a bit tough to swallow.

I loved the peppering of the smaller details both in Texas and New Orleans. Made you feel right at home. While I love the fight in the expectant parents, balanced with the sense of betrayal, for none thriller lovers this is a fence-sitter, but it kept me up past my bedtime two nights in a row, so I'm going to nudge it ever so gently into the "5" rating side of the fence. Read in a well lit room.

Book Reviews: Two for the price of one

The opening of Tokyo Smoke & Mirrors sucks you right into the story. The ABNA Quarterfinalist richly deserves to be in the running for the finals. What can be better for a mystery than to find several dead bodies off the bat, and then two of what promises to be three main characters, struggling with their new situations that aren't quite what they were supposed to be. The smoke and mirrors action starts us out of the gate. Can't wait to see where it goes. It's a 5-star start.

AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT

The PHOENIX PROJECT is a slim sci-fi novel about a possible future born from a deep recession in the United States. While the author's knowledge of neonatal care is obvious, the story takes too long to get to the main plot line. I do, however, like that we return to this knowledge later (kudos). A vague similarity to THE ROAD exists in that why things happened is not necessarily as important to the story line other than that they did happen. Unlike THE ROAD, however, the specific reasons for the manipulation of the populous, encompassing the terror of big brother, denial of freedoms, loss of family, forced eugenics, intrude and prevent a smoother read. Constant reminders of the outside world render what is happening in this enclave less believable based on what the heroine knows. And we know what she knows because this is written in the first person.

What was important was the heroine's attempts to manage her future and save her daughter. On some level, she does an admirable, logical job of trying to maintain family. On other levels, she flails. As revelations tumble out at the end of the novel, my reasons for being unable to embrace her are born out: no man seems able to resist her innate charms (black street youth, the old squeeze, the improbable new squeeze, the evil bad guy, her savior from the second banana bad guy); she's smart and talented beyond her years, yet barely uses that intellect to understand then undermine the ramifications of what she is doing; she can take beatings beyond reason and still keep on ticking. Sadly, the other major characters lack depth. Also, read fast. You may not fall into some of the plot holes that exist whenever a megalomaniac tightens his grip on people and place. I do like the rise of the bad guy's power represented through the conference room changes (kudos - Shades of the breakfast scene montage in CITIZEN KANE.)

Grammatical hiccups occur too often, though none are killers. However, the sequel-setting epilogue is an unnecessary information dump, wrapping up some things to make the ending palatable. The author missed a huge opportunity to make a moral, political, ethical statement by not providing enough information throughout the story to allow the ambiguity at the end to led to fevered discourse. Phoenix is a slightly better than average story that missed an opportunity to be a seminal work of fiction, a solid "3". This author does bear watching for future books. 

MMWUC: Responsibility to Dream

I took off last week from blogging. I was told, "Don't do that again?" I didn't know that my simple little reminder for everyone to start writing was influencing anyone. So, let's get back to basics. The worst words written are better than the best words stuck in your head. So write. Open the file now. Just write.

There was a man from Nantucket. No. The man from Nantucket wore his windbreaker like a shield against the latest Nor'easter. Ineffective. Wind pelted him like small stones; daggers of cold sliced threw the smallest opening; rain oozed through the same openings like evil creeping out of a cemetery towards unsuspecting young lovers. He sidled up to the oak tree, broad from two hundred years growth and stubby from long winters, short summers, and a constant on-shore breeze. The barren branches hung heavy to one side like a bad Trump over comb, but at least the near hurricane-force wind gusts didn't slap debris against him. The rain still came; the cold still bit. Soon,  however, the electricity went out and the small houses disappeared into the dark forming ill-defined shadows. King smiled. Another story blossomed in his head.

Book Review: The Circle of Law

The Circle of Law owes much to Judeo-Christian tolerance with a nod to eastern philosophies as the basis for its laws. At least no one spoke like Yoda. Law is a well-written tale with splashes of situational humor as the Ancients attempt to restore order to Cadeven and end the current realm, which has helped to devastate the land after the Ancients broke up years ago over internal squabbling. It is a quick and easy read, but there are a significant number of characters vying for space on the page that might be too much to keep straight for casual readers in such a short book. The power of the Ancients seemed to ebb and flow without much sense to me despite all the explanations.

For my tastes, the action lagged a bit. Despite a sad and disturbing opening (kudos), the story tension drifted for the first third of the book. The characters seemed to get almost everything they needed without much effort. Insufficient characterizations were common. I thought Marki was about 10 in the opening. Then, 4-6 months into the story, I find out she is really seventeen and attracting two suitors. The concept of time and distance was very loose. Some journeys seemed to take a couple of days. Later, they seemed to take weeks. (The king just seemed to happen by while everyone else struggled to get up Mt. Orr.) Just how long was a gestation period? Your pregnant. Boom, here's your baby. These issues disrupted my absorption into the story.

I wish the author would have dug deeper into the conflicted characters. At the 77% mark in the story, there is a very poignant point about outliving a loved one and how difficult it is to be in love knowing one partner is going to die early in life (kudos). I wish there had been more passages like this, digging beneath the surface. Issues aside, Law is a pleasant read. Those who enjoy this genre will like the redemptive aspects of the story along with the imaginative world in which the characters live. But for me, it was a little better than an average tale. It is a top-shelf "3".

MMWUC: Need an A$$hole

Do you need a real a$$hole in your novel? How about a dumb crook? Do you ever wonder if you think like the rest of America or are out of touch because you've been working on your novel inside your home, having your food delivered, family delivered, books delivered, and garbage trucked away? There are solutions. There are educational tools right at your fingertips. I'm too old (or unwilling) to put myself in the position for some activities, but that doesn't stop me from finding the answers to these and other probing questions.

Want to see some real a$$holes? Turn on Jerry Springer and to a lesser extent, Murray Povich. "Yeah, he slept with my cousin and her mom while I was pregnant and holding down two jobs, but I love him. Ain't he adorable?" Camera pans to some six-foot toothpick who smiles so all the world can see the halitosis seep out of this half toothless mouth like a light mist. Then, he becomes sharp-witted. "Yeah, well, duh! That twernt even my kid. You slept with my Dad." "Only once," she screams. "So when is the baby due," Jerry asks the rotund, four-foot, six-inch butterball. "What'cha all taking about? I ain't pregnant now." Inspired yet? Ready for the next class.

Switch over to Judy Judy or COPS. JJ can be mean, but then again she has to deal with some real dumb crooks AND a$$holes. "Yeah, I smashed my sons piggy bank in the middle of the night to get money for some beers. Hell I'd put money in it before." His right eye twitches. "You’re an idiot," Judge Judy yells, "Tell him Officer Byrd." Barely audible Byrd says, "No bulb on there." Judge Judy stares down at the guy in jeans and tee-shirt. "You were divorced three years already. You lived in another town. What gives you the right to even go into your ex-wife's house?" He meets her stare. "The door was unlocked, it was after midnight, and I had visitation rights that day." JJ's hair tips explode on fire, "You're an idiot and a thief." Byrd shakes his head and mumbles, "A$$hole." (Favorite COPS episode is when the guy swore he didn't have any dope, yet the cop got the camera guy to move and focus on the ear, where a joint was rolled up and stuck there. The cop pulled it out eventually. The guy looked surprised, "Guess you got me.")

This girl came up when
searching for Officer Byrd.

Family Feud. No, stop laughing. Some of these people are really unintentionally funny, especially when Steve Harvey is on a roll. I usually eat my breakfast during FAST MONEY. That's the lightening round where two people have to answer questions that were asked of 100 people to see how well they match their answers. Takes all of five minutes. Just enough time to eat a bowl of oatmeal, or two eggs with ham and toast, or a cup of cereal. Try to guess along with these people. You'll find out whether you're inside the lines of what others are thinking or that you really should stay in that house and right that book: SQUIRREL INVASION: Why You Should Never Fall Asleep in Your Backyard Wearing a Peanut Butter Make-up Mask.

Writing school is all around us. Just need some imagination.

Book Review: Southern Scotch

Like Quentin Tarantino movies? Like violence and mayhem? Enjoy a bit of magical realism in a retribution tale in America instead of discovering ice as in One Hundred Years of Solitude? This is your book. Southern Scotch is fast paced, twisty, and even has a good sense of character growth (or retardation) in it. It is well written and without many of the grammatical gotchas that plague many self-published books. It even has a dark sense of humor sprinkled throughout it reminiscent of Elmore Leonard.

All-seeing (despite one eye) and seemingly all-knowing Boss McTavin starts out as a lovable lump with issues, but a mistaken beating changes his life, and he becomes some sort of Avenging Angel with Jackie Chan-like physical abilities. With a reluctant grifter as Robin to his Batman, they move forward to avenge wrongs done to both of them. The story is centered in Atlanta and delves into the seedy side of life. It is a world that most of us probably have never seen or know about, but which the author does a good job bringing to life as the Dynamic Duo execute Boss's plan, that unfortunately has holes in it, relies on some good luck, and features some horrific bad turns for the Duo.

While I enjoyed the book, I must admit that there were times when I got lost in what was really happening. Sometimes the descriptions weren't grounded enough for me to form the necessary mental image. This may be unimportant to some readers just along for the ride, but it did bug me. The author took risks with the point-of-view, but pulls it off. The ending was awkward: every time I thought I was done, there was another ending and then another one. To me, it took away some of the magical nature of Boss and his situation. I have no problem with those who give this book a "5" rating. For me, this is top-shelf "4".  

MMWUC: Simplicity

Some days you just have to be reminded to focus on what is most important to you in the long run, short run, this week, today, or in the next hour. Whether it is a novel or a word, as long as you move it forward, that's what counts. And yes, losing 10,000 words through a great edit is moving forward.

I've been hammering on a short story that was nothing more than a spit of a memory, a lost night that meant nothing over forty years ago, that wasn't even an important night for me, but for someone else. I've been dragging characters around on the page like Linus with his blanket, sloshing them through the ink, so they could leave their mark on my MC. I've pulled other thoughts, feelings, emotions, and stories absolutely unrelated to this story and made them related like an unknown sibling found, embraced, and folded into the family. I've tapped into locations I've never been to and let Google Earth make them come alive. And I've watched on music video over a hundred times in the past week, making it speak to me in the haunting tone I want to bring to the story. I want slosh Samuel Addams beer on the reader; sniff the salty air of Asbury Park in the 1970s; touch a dead body that rises again; hear the voices in my head--my MC's head; and see the loves of my MC's life as clear as the person in the mirror in the morning.

The story wants to run out of bounds, but I keep reining it in, focusing it on the laser sharp original intent. After 3,100 additional words on Sunday, it is now 5,973 words. 973 beyond what is required, mandated, allowed. Tomorrow and the next day and the next, I will focus on editing it to make it sharper. Always focusing. Tightening. And if it should remain beyond this goal after the good editing fight is over, perhaps it will whisper that it was intended for another goal, and I am only a tool used to give it birth. Focus on that! And write.

Book Review: The Next Planet Over

Got Link?

The Next Planet Over by Dennis Burns is a futuristic novella that taps into some of the fears, actions, and reactions surrounding the rebirth then eventual decay of human existence on this rock, rendering it uninhabitable. These people must move on. Bottom line: the story needed to be extended. The fine characters needed more depth, especially given their situation. While I do get the punch line at the end (which would be a big spoiler if mentioned here), there were several points that weren't wrapped up satisfactorily for me, especially the climax. Others might be okay with it--the end justifying the means by which we got there.

The story telling is fine and the writing adequate (like most self-pubbed stories, there are some grammatical issues, but nothing horrible). Some geo-political touches and environmental points made in the story are surface thin. Is the author trying to be sincere, ironic, or sarcastic with them? I could not put a pulse on the intent. It causes the story to lose some traction as a tense science fiction drama occasionally.

Still, it's a nice rainy afternoon or bedtime read with a lot of nifty futuristic gadgets and gizmos that the point-of-view character explains, sometimes a bit more than necessary, slowing the story a bit. The world-building is solid, and I never felt like I was being beaten up by the prose. For me, this is a three. Except for the ending "shocker," it's an average read with a few surprises and twists as you would expect, but only minimal characterization. But, this is a story for sci-fi buffs. For them, I can bump it up to a tepid "4".

MMWUC: Pope Rick?

The writing job isn't going to well at the moment. Sales are very slow. Is it me or the market? My next promotional push is two months away. The poetry book is two months away. I got offered $15 for fifteen two-hundred word articles about the tensile strength of spider webs (that's a half-a-penny per word). I passed. There has to be something better.

Then this morning I see that there is an opening in Vatican City. I'm going to submit my resume to the College of Cardinals to see if I can't get the plum position of Pope. Hey, I'm Catholic. I've read the Bible, beginning to end, including all the begotting. I belonged to the Newman Club in college. My wife was the church organist at the Milwaukee Basilica. I know where my church is, and I visit it a few times a year. Heck, A MATTER OF FAITH deals with a lot of catholic dogma, a principle or set of principles laid down by an authority as incontrovertibly true. I can declare things with authority. I've seen the movie, Dogma, about thirty times, and The Ten Commandments a dozen times. I figure I can make some much needed changes and still have time to write on the side.

For one thing, the popemobile is lame. I'd convert the latest batmobile for my use. You'd scare the crap out of sinners and get to more people faster, people who need to see you. God's representative would once again be seen as all powerful and cool. Buddy Christ in Dogma might have been over the top, but it proposed moving the relationship in the right direction. I'd push that. The hat has to go. Hats lost their luster after JFK went without one at his inauguration, and it would get rid of the high-paid Cardinal whose soul (sic) job seems to be making sure the hat doesn't tip over. I'd keep the cape. In my papacy, I'm a superhero, as a Pope should be. I'd get rid of the forty pounds of vestments for one blinding-white, light-weight, bullet-proof vest with a cross in front, fish on each bicep, and the question, "Got God?" emblazoned on the back.

Also, too many Cardinals, Bishops, and other hanger-oners shuffling around Vatican City. You want to do the Lord's work, get out of the finery and visit a slum or at least a suburban enclave where heathenism seems to exist with impunity on television. Women priests? Yeah, I'm for that. We had a woman Pope once! Priests marry? Sure, why not? The only reason it was stopped was because of bad inheritance laws for Papal families. Fix that. Don't castrate the priests. Fish on Friday...I might actually bring that back. I'm a fisherman, and I need every excuse possible to put out a line, put up my feet, and pop a cold one. And these changes are only for starters. Yes, this might be the beginning of a beautiful story. Next, Pope Rick Versus the Alien Invasion.

MMWUC: No excuses

It's your Monday Morning Wake-Up Call, especially if you're a writer. Groundhog's Day is over. SuperBowl has been played. (I lost my bet with Sydney.) Christmas decorations have better been taken down by now. Yeah, sure, Valentine's Day is coming up, but most writers are probably looking for a new angle rather than another Hallmark sweet story.

- - - Turtle Love - - -

Johnny loves Debbie, but Debbie is an alien incapable of love, so Johnny tries to find a brain to transplant into Debbie. He finds Doreen, whose brain he believes has hardly been used. She's addicted to shoes she can't afford, pungent nail polish that is changed every eight hours, and turtles, and not even Ninja turtles, real-life boxer turtles. She's perfect for the swap. Unfortunately, Johnny finds out that he has a soft-spot for reptiles, loves the smell of fresh nail polish, and realizes that Doreen has some measure of fiduciary responsibility because she never buys the shoes she can't afford. She just plasters the walls in her rent-controlled two bedroom flat with pictures of them. When Johnny starts hanging out with Doreen more than Debbie, Debbie's dormant emotional synapses snap to life when the smell of Silver Streakiness nail polish follows Johnny home one night. Debbie's passion is ignited. Johnny, exhausted by attending an all night rave with Doreen, doesn't notice and falls asleep.

Debbie stalks the pair with pure hatred--not a hard thing to do because if they aren't home they're at the pet store where Doreen works. When Debbie confronts the pair, she says, "I hate you." Johnny pees in his pants in fear; Doreen screams so shrill dogs cry; the turtles slip into their shells. Debbie's eyes glow with laser intensity as she stares at the two of them.

"I never knew you could do that," Doreen says.

"Love must have been the next to the hatred synapse," Debbie responds.

They step over Johnny's melted corpse. The turtles follow.

- - - Or, Something Like That - - -

Now, get out there and make a day of it!

To Bee or not to Bee

Aunt Bee says, "Howdy." Man, did we run!

Book Review: Murder Most Academic

Bonus Review this week...Murder Most Academic by Alicia Stone

Read the ARC. Former call girl and now a History Professor, Trinity Pierce, is a survivor. She's a loyal friend, solid colleague, and now must morph into a detective for the sake of a friend's request despite the danger that exposing someone else's past can have on her buried former profession. The great writing makes this slim novel fly by, making it a perfect read at the beach, on a plane, or while some boring professor drones on in the classroom. This is a solid mystery delving into two worlds that don't usually cross paths: prostitution and academia. It's a delicate balance that the author carries off with style. The twists will keep you looking over your shoulder as much as they do for Trinity, and the danger to her current life grows as the story progresses. Can Trinity catch a kidnapper and murderer, and save herself? Read, find out, and be surprised. First book for 2013 to put the little piggy toe into the 5-star rating camp.

Book Review: The Fall of Billy Hitchings

In the write (sic) hands, The Fall of BillyHitchings would make an interesting indie movie. It has some quirky characters, sharp action sequences, unexpected plot twists, and an interesting take on morality with regard to "does the ends justify the means" both for the good and bad guys. As a novel, though, it missed out on the opportunity to be a very good book through some sloppiness. It needed a pass-through by a more thorough editor, not for the writing mechanics, but for ironing out the rough spots.

After a fast-paced, but hard to swallow opening, the plot settles into a story with a cast of characters that you just know are going to merge later to help clarify what's happening. Give it time. Though the characters are distinct, most are somewhat superficial. A number of "jumpy" points caused me to retrace who was saying what to whom. And by the end, some characters and subplots just disappeared (Crazy Jenny for one) from the pages without solid wrap-up. It was more annoying than story killing. Also, the black moment was hard to visualize even with the vague clarification afterwards. How does one character get away with the "good" guys while another gets whisked away by the "bad" guys when they are feet apart? The flip-flop of who had the plates (not a plot spoiler here) didn't make sense in the end, considering their value to the "owner".

On the upside, some humorous situations, mostly at the expense of the Indian character trying to master American idioms and the wiles of feminism, keeps things moving. It's word-play not slap-stick and usually well done. The book does have a good plot and John Reeves could evolve into an interesting series anchor. The story moves and is a quick read. I had a lot of empathy for Billy and his situation. Despite some of my nit-picking, this is a decent beach read and squeaks into a 4 rating.

MMWUC: Controversial Poetry

I'm working on a poetry book for April 1st, the beginning of International Poetry Month. I consider myself a novelist not a poet, but I've been scribbling poetry since high school, mostly while hiding in dark corners of the Shop-Rite supermarket where I worked or other such venues. Occasionally  I'd write something nice, but most of the early stuff was like a Hallmakesque bad trip, mahn.

Later it got better. Recently, it's more like haiku format, but without the strict defining form of haiku as originally penned--though sometimes I get it right. I've also written a fair number of Twitter-related poems bound by the 140-character limit. Writing using twitter is actually a neat exercise in minimizing your style, that is, distilling down your words to get the maximum meaning from your rambling nonsense. Later, you can add back in the nonsense if you desire. I've found it quite useful. You should give it a try. It's like what the NASA scientists must do to anything sent in space: How much can we put in this tiny space to get the maximum results? Even if you're writing a flowing literary fiction piece about the affect a sneeze had on the love life of a rich woman's downfall from grace to poverty and ultimate rise at the cost of the downfall of her lover who dies of syphilis from an angry short-lived affair with his aunt after she was raped by aforementioned woman's father who had relapsed from his opium addiction and was out of his mind, (breath) tightening is the number one rule of good writing. (You would have thought that I would have tightened that sentence for you. Where would the irony have gone?)

Back to the main point: uncomfortable poetry lies at both ends of the spectrum. gushy love poetry from day's of yore:

Love
-----
Love comes in different ways,
and to most of God's creatures
on unexpected days.

Or, to the really weird stuff that enters the head and needs to be purged least you go insane thinking, where did that come from?:

Jeffrey Dahmer's Cat
-----
I found myself up on a hill
where I caught a little chill
I went hunting for a thrill.
Shot a cat. Kill, kill, kill, kill.

Both extremes will be in the poetry book, POEMS FOR PLATYPUS. Readers will have to decide whether to befriend or run away from me. But in either case, do so efficiently.

Book Review: The Pit Stop

Amazon Link

A short review for a short story that I picked up in the electronic give-a-way rack. The Pit Stop is a solid short story mystery with a few confusing passages between clarifying reality from paranormal activities, some which don't really get explained away clearly, and dream sequences. I'm not a fan of dream sequences to help explain the plot, but these were adequately handled. The nice thing is the surprise killer, but it also brings to bear some less than stellar police work to finding a killer. It's better than average, but not great--a "4".

MMWUC: The answer is blowing in the wind

Involuntarily, I got dragged into an argument over self-publishing vs. traditional publishing. Some days I get tired of this discussion. Bottom line: every writer needs to go the best path for him or her.

"Chatting with the same friends over
& over is great, because I forget after
about ten seconds what they say."

Yes, we all know that the traditional publication business favors massive block busters and celebrity one-shot wonders. The business is in disarray and the big houses are collapsing into each other. Soon they will be a BLOB with only smaller presses hovering around it like small moons around a giant gaseous planet. However, like in all walks of life, there are still honest and reputable persons in this industry (agents and editors and publishers) sniffing around for that writer who has that something else, the zing to their words, that style to their prose, that story that rises above all the other barely retreaded tales with a fresh perspective on humankind. If you have that, you should really, really look for an agent despite the miserable returns they offer--the potential national exposure far exceeds what most writers get from hobnobbing with the same people over and over again on the social media marketing circuit.

"It's Marvin Gaye. 'What's
going on?'"

Conversely, self-publishing is not the panacea to literary stardom or financial independence that people shout about. Sure there are those exceptions who make it, and immediately sign with a big traditional publishing house, but, in general, most self-published writers are too impatient with their wares, unwilling or unable to deal with the soak time and editorial bitch-slapping necessary to make their story rise above the average story that is 5-rated by friends and family and then sits, after about six months, on the shelf like another can of beans (thanks for the image Billy Joel). But it can be fun. It can be exciting to try different styles and genres without the gate-keepers. I'm publishing a book of poetry in April, after having put out a short story anthology, which was preceded by three mystery novels of considerable length. Would happen in the traditional publishing world. It makes me happy to do the side projects. Just wish it made me money...I'm honest.

"Murder! Murder! I'm outta here."

I remember taking a fiction writing class with Lee Smith in 1988 at NCSU. A well-respected agent was brought in as a guest lecturer one week to talk about her job. Like lap dogs, we all asked the normal questions, but the tone got a bit more contentious when Lee asked why the agent's share (and many other agents) had recently gone from 10% to 15%. The agent seemed a bit offended by the question, but slapped on that professional smile and said, "Well, I have to work a bit harder now to make a sale." End of lecture.

Well, I have to work a bit harder now too, and it didn't seem like a good reason for her or the industry to pick the pocket of the person producing the goods at the time. Why is it always the producer (writer, artist, farmer, fisherman, etc.) who always seems to get screwed the worst? I guess it's because we love what we do the most regardless of how we find those who appreciate it.

Book Review: Portrait in Wicker

The author of Portrait in Wicker wrote that she penned this short novel in two months. Unfortunately, it reads like it was done in two weeks. The basic premise of the plot, centering around a bigger-than-life child pornography ring with the protagonist as one of its earliest rescued victims, is worthy of Grisham or Connelly. The craft here is not. While there are some nice twists in the story, some were just silly and coincidental beyond belief. The protagonist seemed more interested in coffee, and later sleep, as though the author figured these made for significant character traits. They did not. The flat characters could have used deeper brush strokes rather than the psychology 101 that was painted here for some seriously afflicted good and bad people.

I sensed little understanding of how the FBI or police actually do their job. Also, evidence is kept in a chain-of-custody not a chain-of-command. Silly errors like this cropped up all of the time, along with numerous grammatical issues above my usually forgiving threshold. A host of civilians would not make up the kind of impromptu FBI/police/victims/judges SWAT squad in the way they were portrayed in the book with the psychologist protagonist seemingly running most of the show. And the ending made no sense whatsoever. "This is the story xxxx told me in his own words. Of course he thought I wouldn't be around to tell anyone, that I would be dead...." Hey, nice way to ruin the ending and suck the tension out of the story as the second banana bad guy spills his guts for no good reason.

There is much repetition. The ending dragged on, and when the ultimate bad guy was revealed, it wasn’t plausible. Where was all the "deep" psychological justification for the really bad guy to erect such an empire of evil as there was for the second banana bad guy? And there was no real reason to believe that this person could even pull it off, in secret, for all these years, while holding down a stressful full-time job. I nearly put this book down several times, but forged on. The author should remove this book, work on it for a year, and give the premise a story to match it. This is a "2".

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.