Roy L. Pickering Jr.'s Blog, page 14

SUPPORT INDIE AUTHORS

I went on a brief Twitter rant the other day about self published / indie authors, inspired by the claim of Sarah Taylor that Self-Publishing is no longer a dirty word.  True?  Depends on who is saying it, I believe.

“Self-Publishing is No Longer a Dirty Word”: Sarah Taylor’s Indie Book Fair Keynote Address http://t.co/CqkJl7Gwot #selfpub #amwriting
— IndieAuthorsAlliance (@IndieAuthorALLI) 

Perhaps not. Yet about 98% of the time I find a new book blog & check out its Review Policy, it says "I do not review self pubbed books".
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

So the stigma is still there. Most book bloggers are not here for indie authors even though they themselves are indie book reviewers.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

To thrive as an indie author your best bet is to have a pre existing platform other than writer of fiction. Sell yourself first.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

If you're not comfortable with this, if you just want to write stories & let them speak for themselves - good luck with that!
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

If ur a blogger who LOVES books, I assume u support indie stores, indie authors, print. You don't just accept electronic ARCs from Big 5.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

Shout out to Libraries too but I couldn't fit them into 140 characters.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

My ODE TO THE LIBRARY



This is work for white people and people of color to do, sometimes together, sometimes apart. It’s work for writers, agents, editors, artists, fans, executives, interns, directors, and publicists. It’s work for reviewers, educators, administrators. It means taking courageous, real-world steps, not just changing mission statements or submissions guidelines. ~ from Diversity Is Not Enough: Race, Power, Publishing

Powerful facts based MUST READ piece by Zetta Elliot on Black Authors and Self-Publishing

Starting someplace, any place, is a good start. Good compared to not starting at all and just maintaining status quo anyway.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

If many black authors can't get agents/publication deals, so they self publish, but you as a book blogger won't review self pubbed books...
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

...Then consider yourself part of the problem, part of the reason that we need to cry out #WeNeedDiverseBooks
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

A Line A Day: Response to Garrison Keillor's position that: When everyone's a writer, no one is http://t.co/QJ0rZKdCBU
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

Any reviewers or book clubs, perhaps interested in finding indie gems by authors of color, care to check out PATCHES OF GREY?
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) 

Next up from me: MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE

Check out the interview I conducted with indie author, Todd Keisling.  If support of indie authors is hard to come by from various parties in the publishing industry machine, at the very least we need to support each other.  Below are reviews written for a few books I've read that were self published.  One of them took off (no, I'm not talking about 50 Shades of Grey) in a big way.  Perhaps it's just a matter of time for the others.





Ferryman by Carole Sutton


They say the devil is in the details and you will find a rich supply of them in this mystery novel, transporting you to 1970's Cornwall, England, racing aboard a sleek yacht or attending a fancy costume ball where far more than meets the eye is there to be discovered by those in search of answers. One of the people following trails both hot and cold is Steven Pengelly, a man wrongfully convicted of murder who gains his freedom after two years of imprisonment when the body of the woman he was supposed to have killed surfaces from the depths of the sea, freshly deceased. Although he has no further need to clear his name, the sister of a woman gone missing convinces him to join her desperate rescue mission. A man who does need redemption is Alec Grimstone, the detective who saw to it that Steven was convicted and now must follow the only path that will lead to a clean conscience, and to the true abductor/killer behind an escalating series of crimes. I will delve no further into the plot, with Ferryman being a mystery that I don't wish to spoil for anyone. Better to pick up a copy for yourself and follow the twists and turns that lead to a villian whose perversity is only matched by the clever measures he takes to maintain his depraved secrets. If you are a whodunnit fan, and who isn't to some degree, be sure to add Carol Sutton to your reading list.

View all my reviews

The Time Cavern by Todd A. Fonseca

This book transported me back in time to when I was an avid 10-year old reader, which is both ironic and apt since it features 10-year old time travelers. But I’ve gotten ahead of myself (yet more time traveling) as I pen this review about a most wonderful young adult novel – The Time Cavern by Todd A. Fonseca. I typically do not read much fiction geared towards pre-teens and those in their early teenage years, having left that period of my life decades behind. Prior to The Time Cavern I suppose the last book I read that fit this bill was the first Harry Potter book. There was a tiny bit of buzz about Ms. Rowling’s wizardry series (perhaps you’ve heard of it too) so I decided to check out Part I and found it to be an enjoyable read, though it did not inspire me to pick up additional titles in the saga. I appreciate the ultimate achievement of the Harry Potter books beyond making Rowling a gazillionaire and launching a number of movie star careers. Millions of young people in their formative years who may not otherwise have been turned on by reading in a day and age where one’s phone provides as much entertainment as an arcade decided to check out a book (and then another and then another) because tremendous buzz made it a trendy thing to do. No doubt a good many of them moved beyond the Potter books and became lifelong readers, just as the Jules Verne books I read as a grade school kid sparked my addiction to books, not only as a vociferous reader but also as a writer. Young people lucky enough to stumble into The Time Cavern will be similarly affected. In it, a bright, curious, mechanically inclined boy named Aaron moves to a new house in a rural area with his family. Initially he feels like a fish out of water but his acclimation to a new home is sped up when he befriends Jake, a classmate who is not crazy about her real name “Jacqueline” or about being passive and stereotypically “girlish”. She has a spirit nearly as adventurous as Aaron’s, which is a good thing because they soon find themselves on an adventure upon discovery of a century old diary page that eventually leads them to a most extraordinary tree. Throughout the course of this briskly told tale Aaron and Jen become detectives on the trail of a case that is simultaneously ancient and futuristic. Their interest in scholastics, particularly science, serves them well as they unearth clues in a number of inventive ways, including a most ingenious use of a tanning bed. The backdrop to their caper (which also put me in mind of the Dan Brown blockbusters but featuring considerably younger protagonists and minus the violent aspect of adult thrillers) is an Amish community, people who Aaron comes to learn have basically suspended time with their lifestyle choices rather than joining the progressive march of technology. Whether it’s a trip to a cornfield or to a planetarium, each experience throughout the narrative is learned from and the knowledge is used to propel Aaron and Jake’s progress into uncharted territory. Fonseca cleverly intertwines the following of time honored traditions with science fiction elements to generate an enthralling plot that is sure to lure any young reader away from his wii game system. As this book shows, kids today may be considerably different than kids of even just one generation prior, but what kids of all generations and all ages have always been drawn to is the opportunity to embark on a thrilling adventure. The Time Cavern showcases masterful storytelling that will immediately be passed forward to one of my nephews. I highly recommend picking up a copy for the young explorers that you love.

View all my reviews

From Where the Rivers Come by Terin Tashi Miller

Set in the not especially distant past, Terin Tashi Miller transports readers to India. You'll feel as if you are walking the streets of Benares or Dehli, tasting the food, experiencing the heat, brushing away the dust, inhaling smoke from the funeral pyres, experiencing the claustrophobia of jam packed train rides, and taking in the vividly detailed sights. The first person narrative comes from the perspective of a journalist who is foreign to India by birth and race, but has been immersed in the culture long enough for it to be ordinary rather than exotic to him. He is not so much stranger in a strange land as an observer who has seen what India offers, recognizes the differences and similarities between his American homeland and the country from where his paychecks are earned, and accepts them with minimal judgement as the ways of the world. Miller's novel is neither plot heavy nor a character study, but rather, a story of place and slow to change times which subtly indicates the fine line between escaping where you are and who you are.

View all my reviews

Elf on the Shelf by Carol V. Aebersold

An instant charmer. We'll see if it results in more nice than naughty behavior from my spirited 3 year old daughter over the couple weeks leading up to Christmas. She has definitely bought into the idea (after a little skepticism at first - "it's just a toy") that there's a scout elf situated in our home who waits until after she goes to sleep to fly back to the North Pole and file a report on her actions, then heads back to our house to be found the following morning in a different spot.







Whether it's independently published or not, when you discover a great new book (even it's only new To You) please be sure (word of mouth on and off social media is enormously appreciated by authors) to SHARE THE LOVE.       Reviews are awesome!!!

By any other name he would still be PETE ROSE

Ten years ago I asked...


Should Pete Rose be made eligible for induction into Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame? 
This is a thorny question to grapple with, and one that won’t go away easily. At least not so long as Charlie Hustle is alive and kicking and reminding us that he just may have been the greatest ever to play the game. Professional baseball is plagued by numerous problems. Compared to the surge in popularity of the NFL and the NBA, baseball is going through troubled times. Had the players’ union gone on strike this past season, it may have been enough to cripple the sport for good. That disaster was narrowly averted. But how far away is the next crisis, and will it be the storm that baseball cannot weather? Major League Baseball needs to do something to demonstrate its strength and assert its position as the great American pastime. The woes of the league are symbolized by the fact that its all-time career leader in hits happens to be shunned by the institution that celebrates the best ever to play. As long as this situation remains, there will seem to be something wrong about baseball, something missing from its grandeur. But should the situation be remedied, a bandage applied to the sport’s wounds, if the situation is a just one? This is the dilemma that has been faced ever since Pete Rose’s banishment for gambling by then commissioner Bart Giamatti, and it is likely to resurface time and time again until resolved for good.

There is little doubt that Pete Rose did gamble on professional baseball games, including those played by the team he happened to be managing. Supposedly he only bet on his own team to win, which many point to as a factor in his favor. After all, if he was throwing games that he played in or managed, the case would be overwhelmingly open and shut. Not even the most diehard supporter of Rose would claim that even though he engineered his teams to lose games in order to make money for himself, he still deserves to be enshrined based solely on his statistics. Betting against himself is what “Shoeless” Joe Jackson allegedly did along with his teammates in the Word Series many moons ago. Despite Jackson’s protestations and numbers indicating he was in fact doing all he could to win, the shoeless one remains outside the pantheon of the immortals. This is an accepted state of affairs by baseball enthusiasts, no matter how many movies are made that cast a flattering light on Jackson. 


There have been no movies made as of yet to support Rose’s cause, not even a made-for-TV one, and they makes those about pretty much everyone. Pete Rose by and large has to speak up for himself, something he has been very willing to do over the years. But every so often, an occasion will arise when the fans get to voice their opinion on the matter. Each time, the sentiment has been strongly pro-Rose. There was the moment during the 1999 World Series when he was introduced as a member of baseball’s All-Century team (he was permitted on Turner Field in Atlanta because Pac Bell sponsored the event and insisted he be included) and received the loudest ovation of the players assembled. Jim Gray interviewed Rose before the second game and asked him whether he might now admit and apologize for gambling in order to end his suspension. Rose complained during the interview about Gray’s aggressive line of question, feeling it was an inappropriate place and time. Fans sided with Pete and Jim Gray was soon afterwards made to publicly apologize for the crime of doing his job. Then there was the ceremony to honor baseball’s most memorable moments that took place before Game 4 of the most recent World Series. Rose’s 4,192nd career hit, which surpassed Ty Cobb’s long standing and seemingly indelible mark, earned him the No. 6 spot on the list. The voice of the people has been repeatedly heard on this subject. They feel Pete Rose belongs in the Hall of Fame, end of discussion. 


Induction into the Hall of Fame is not a mere popularity contest like some run-of-the-mill All Star game, however. Not that the imposing of morality has a great deal to do with who makes it into the Hall either, for the place is filled with racists, wife beaters, alcoholics, drug users, etc. It appears than when it comes to Hall of Fame induction, baseball has just one cardinal sin that it will not tolerate. Thou shalt not gamble, particularly on baseball itself. It doesn’t matter who you are, there are no exceptions to this rule. Gambling by baseball players is the equivalent of Eve eating that forbidden apple, a serious no-no. When Mickey Mantle and Willie Mays did promotions in Atlantic City long after their retirements, they were told to stay away from baseball until they disassociated themselves from the gambling industry. Now if baseball is willing to banish the Mick and the Say Hey kid, it’s pretty clear that they mean business. Their heroic achievements on the field did not matter. Their championships did not matter. Their status as legends and ambassadors of the sport did not matter. Baseball simply does not want to be connected with gambling, and if you can’t follow this rule, consider yourself an outcast. 


But Major League Baseball under the reign of Bud Selig is not in quite so strong a position as it was under the reigns of Giamatti and his successor Fay Vincent. Baseball needs the approval of its fans now more than ever. The fans support Pete Rose. Something and someone has got to give. For this reason, Pete Rose’s application for reinstatement in 1997 is at last under consideration. Pete is being asked to confess and apologize, or as he no doubt categorizes it, grovel for forgiveness? He certainly won’t be allowed to just waltz in. After all, there’s not doubt that Rose did something wrong, even if it’s unclear to outsiders precisely what. He did plead guilty to tax evasion charges, for which he spent time in a halfway house. And most incriminating, he did agree to a lifetime ban back on August 23rd, 1989. Why would someone who so loves the game agree to forever be banned from it, unless he was guilty as hell? Unless there was a mountain of evidence that he was unable bury. Best to accept the harshest of punishments, lay low for a few years until the public has forgotten that he was a bit of a jerk back in the day, and then come back when their strongest collective memory is that he was one of the greatest to ever step on to a baseball field. Now when Pete stands before thousands of fans for a ceremony, he receives nothing but adulation. In other words, he comes off smelling like a rose. 


Recent word has it that much progress has been made in this matter. Reportedly, Rose has indicated to Selig that he's willing for the first time to admit he bet on baseball and would also be willing to apologize for his 13 years of denials, and even serve a probationary period of "good behavior" in order to gain reinstatement and Hall of Fame eligibility for 2004. Rose is said to be encouraged by progress in talks among his lawyers, Selig, and current Hall of Famers who were teamates of Pete, Mike Schmidt, Johnny Bench and Joe Morgan. An agreement may indeed be finalized and announced within a couple months. But supposing these reports to true, my initial question still remains unanswered. Does Pete Rose deserve to be in the Hall of Fame? 


My opinion on the matter is that if you did the crime, you should shut up and do the time. But the duration and harshness of the punishment should be appropriate to the seriousness of the ill-advised deed. Let’s not treat a pickpocket the same as we would a mass murderer. If there is hard evidence or documented admission by Pete Rose that he bet on his own team to lose, this is enough to warrant his lifetime banishment from the sport. If he only bet on his own team to win and on other games he was otherwise uninvolved with, a suspension was certainly in order, but not a permanent one. He should make a public statement of wrongdoing, and once this is done, be put on the Hall of Fame ballot. After that, if he’s voted in, he’s in. The famously stubborn Pete Rose has to give a little, and so does Bud Selig. If they both truly love the troubled sport as much as they claim to, they will do right by it. They will give acknowledge that Pete Rose, regardless of his abrasive personality and personal vices, played the hallowed game of baseball the way it was designed to be played.



Now here we are in 2015 and I ask you the same exact question.  Should Pete Rose be made eligible for induction into Major League Baseball’s Hall of Fame? My own opinion remains unchanged from the words stated above.  He has been hustling just like back in his playing days towards eligibility for a long time.  I think it's time to wave him in and see if he can make it safely home. 


 

Mastering Triangular Zen

Back when Phil Jackson had recently won his 8th NBA championship ring as a head coach (6 with the Bulls followed by 2 with the Lakers) I wrote an article declaring that he was overrated.  I don't remember if calling people a "hater" was a thing back then, but if it was, folks from Los Angeles and Chicago and beyond surely would have called me one.  As a Knicks fan, Phil's championships with the Bulls had rubbed me the wrong way.  I took those he won with the Lakers less personally, but I didn't see his championships with a second team and different cast of players as proof that he had the Midas Touch when it came to hoops.  As I saw it, he had simply gone from one stacked situation to another and done what he was supposed to do in both.  Below I have reprinted my analysis of the legend of Phil Jackson.  These days, as a GM rather than head coach but still, my words seem rather prophetic.  Typically I love to be proven right.  But since the team he's now back with is the New York Knicks, I would have preferred to have been proven wrong.  Hope and logic say that next season will look A LOT better than this one for my Knickerbockers.  Until then, I suffer along with fellow fans.  Phil has been the butt of some jokes lately, but his impeccable legacy can easily handle the hits until he is able to follow up on Jordan+Pippen and Shaq+Kobe with Melo+player to be named later.  Prove me wrong, Phil.  I'm looking forward to it.   




Some people are blessed with a Midas touch. Others are born under a lucky star. Good fortune is the result in either case, but that which we credit for their accomplishments differs. After all, there is a crucial distinction between a man who does great things and one whom great things happen to. It is usually easy enough to tell such men apart, to see who belongs in one category and who resides in the other. But on occasion there are exceptions, enigmas about whom we cannot be certain no matter how closely we examine their lives. Take Los Angeles Lakers coach, Phil Jackson. There is no disputing the success he has had in the NBA. Six championships with the Chicago Bulls, followed by a year off in which time that dynasty promptly crumbled, succeeded by a return to coaching that has netted him two more championships in as many years. It makes one wonder why pro basketball teams even bother to play out their seasons. Shouldn't David Stern simply head over to the headquarters of whichever team Phil Jackson happens to be running at the time and hand the man his trophy? 


I will admit right now that it's difficult for me to be unbiased in my opinion about Jackson. I happen to be a Knicks fan who vividly recalls the numerous times that they fell to Phil and his Bulls, but I'm not old enough to have recollections of when he played for the Knicks. So, since I only know him as the enemy, the temptation is great for me to side with those who feel that Phil is not a genius, but merely a good coach who has been the beneficiary of having some of the most talented individuals ever to lace up a pair of sneakers play for him. At this point in time (his legend possibly to be either validated or tarnished if he makes yet another comeback), Michael Jordan is a near unanimous choice for greatest basketball player of all time. His teammate Scottie Pippen was no slouch either. When two of the five guys that a coach has the luxury of sending out are at or near the top of the NBA's list of elite performers, how can you lose? In Phil Jackson's case, the answer is that you can't lose, because with that particular hand of cards he never did fall short. 





Of course, Jackson is not the only man in recent memory to have coached a dynamic duo. To name just one, although there are certainly several more examples I can give, Jerry Sloan of the Utah Jazz has had Karl Malone and John Stockton at his disposal for years. They have been remarkably consistent in winning a great many games while together, but they have not managed to win a single title. Were Malone and Stockton simply not as good as Jordan and Pippen? Perhaps not. Is Phil Jackson a greater strategist and motivator than Sloan. Perhaps. Even so, does coaching "the greatest" entitle one to the same accolades as the men actually performing the feats of skill and bravado? I've yet to hear anyone claim that Muhammad Ali achieved what he did in the ring because Angelo Dundee was the ultimate boxing trainer. Dundee received due credit for his work, but the man who threw and received the punches received the bulk of the praise. In Jackson's case, he gets a considerable degree of glory without having to put up a single shot. 


There is ample evidence that points to Phil Jackson being the greatest coach in NBA history, and perhaps even the most accomplished coach in the history of sports. The man already has eight championships under his belt, and all signs indicate that his current team is capable of earning several more under his helm. When the Bulls disbanded, it appeared as if Jackson's streak of success was over with. No matter what team he went to next, he would not have the safety net of Superman in a number 23 jersey to bail him out. Those who had reason to begrudge Jackson his triumphs reasoned with glee that he would be brought crashing down to earth wherever he ended up. Where he ended up was with the Los Angeles Lakers. Was the drop off in talent he had to work with at all significant when he went from Jordan and Pippen to Shaq and Kobe? The results say - apparently not. Or perhaps they proclaim - give Phil a couple of excellent players to build a triangle around and he'll beat your guys with his every time, no matter who the respective guys happen to be. Which of these conclusions is the correct one? Depends on your perspective. 


Much has been said about Phil Jackson's coaching technique. His vaunted triangle offense has consistently managed to get the ball into the hands of the team's best player, or else their second best player, while a collection of carefully selected role players take care of less glamorous but still invaluable duties. Imitation being the sincerest and most common form of flattery, other teams have employed the triangle with nowhere near the same degree of success. These teams have not had Jordan-Pippen or Shaq-Kobe, but they did feature players who made the star oriented three point offense seem like a fine idea at the time. Does the fact that they failed where Phil succeeded prove that Jackson is a coach without peer? Or does this mask the fact that if Jackson had found himself in less fortunate circumstances throughout his career, he would have had far less impressive results? 





It is easy to be irked by Phil's smug demeanor; the zen aura he exudes and fortune cookie wisdom dispensed; and his largely hands-off approach to dealing with turmoil, such as his habit of refusing to call time outs as other coaches do to stall an adversary's momentum. All of these things add up to a single infuriating perception. Phil Jackson acts as if he somehow knows in advance that he will be victorious. Far more frequently than not, he turns out to be right. It's enough to make one suspect that the man has made a pact with the devil. Has Phil Jackson created his incredible string of luck, or is the streak of good fortune responsible for inventing the sterling reputation of Phil Jackson? 


When Shaq and Kobe were feuding earlier this past season, both even separately demanding to be traded, it looked as if Phil Jackson might finally be exposed for the plain old ordinary man that he just had to be. But behind closed doors the situation mysteriously righted itself, bad attitudes were checked at the door, and the Lakers peaked with perfect timing in order to enjoy the most successful NBA playoff run ever. While with the Bulls, Jackson coached a certain miscreant by the name of Dennis Rodman. Dennis proved to be a distracting divisive force who negated his rebounding prowess with bad boy behavior on other teams.  But he didn’t hurt his Bulls teammates one bit, judging by all of those rings on their fingers. Apparently being a master psychiatrist is also part of Phil Jackson's resume. 


The only thing that those of us not in the Phil Jackson fan club can point to with satisfaction are the two seasons with the Bulls when his best player was MIA chasing after curve balls. During Michael Jordan's foray into baseball the Bulls remained a solid playoff caliber team, but they did not stay unbeatable. The Knicks and the Magic outlasted Phil Jackson in those seasons, both of them ultimately going down at the hands of the Houston Rockets. Scottie Pippen arguably became the game's best player without the shadow of Jordan cast over him, so why were championship trophies awarded to Hakeem Olajuwan and Rudy Tomjanovich? Why wasn't the coaching guru extraordinaire able to continue his win streak without missing a beat? Was his mortality finally exposed? Had holes of reality finally been poked in the myth of invincibility? The point became largely moot when Jordan and Chicago championships returned, and it has been just about forgotten thanks to Jackson's continued success with a different cast of characters in LA. At this rate, the only matter that will be left for basketball scholars to debate is whether the best of Phil's Lakers teams could beat his Bulls in their prime. You aren't doing too shabby when your only worthy competition is yourself. 


After much consideration, much to my distaste, I am forced to admit that Phil Jackson is enormously talented at what he does. What does he do? He gets himself into the best possible circumstances, leaves the real leading to his best players on the floor, and keeps the ship moving forward with a steady hand. The extreme confidence and composure that he possesses transfer to the men under his watch. His players sense no fear in him, whether they are up against a quality opponent or fighting their own inner demons, so they usually gather themselves in troubled times and take care of the business at hand. If Phil Jackson suddenly found himself as coach of the Clippers or the Nuggets or the Bulls as currently constructed, would he end up with yet another championship team by season's end? Most certainly not. I'd take a man like Doc Rivers over Phil Jackson to get a group of marginally talented players to overachieve any day of the week. But on the flip side of the equation, I didn't see former Lakers coaches Del Harris or Kurt Rambis leading the Lakers to the promised land, and they had the same main weapons that Jackson utilized with much greater efficiency. I'm not sure if Phil is suited to make a bad team good, and he has failed in the past to make a good team great. But there is no disputing his mastery as taking a great team and making them a dynasty. We can only question how dubious such a feat is. 


Shaq and Kobe are still young men. As Phil Jackson has done before with his superstars, he has gotten them to submerge their egos for the good of the team and the multitude of endorsements that will surely keep coming their winning way. It may be a long time indeed before another NBA coach gets his hands on the championship trophy, so for those who haven't already done so, get used to seeing Jackson's smug grin of satisfaction. Then again, it would really be something if Michael Jordan does come back and managed to lead the Washington Wizards to the Finals against the Lakers. Could it be that the man most responsible for having created the legend of Phil Jackson is the only one capable of smashing it? 

Midas touch or lucky star? My money is on the latter. After all, if truly everything that Phil Jackson touched turned to gold, the President of this great nation would be his buddy and former teammate, Bill Bradley. Instead, we ended up with George Bush, the equivalent of a first round playoff exit at best. I suggest that Phil restrict the sphere of his influence to men in shorts from here on out.




Fingers crossed for much brighter days ahead at Madison Square Garden.

LITERARY IMAGERY

What are some of your favorite landing spots on Pinterest, Instagram or wherever it is you go in search for book related visuals?  Clicking on the images/words below will bring you to collections that I have compiled at Pinterest with literary inspiration as my guide.  When it comes to words, I spill as many as I can (which is never enough) on a routine basis.  As for pictures, I'm not the guy to come to unless you're in need of some stick figure art.  But I am thrilled to have recently completed my first children's chapter book, with text to be accompanied by illustrations by the one and only Erin Rogers Pickering.  I can't wait to see the finished product (not that I'm nudging Erin to draw/paint any faster than necessary to create artistic masterpieces) and for copies to be in the possession of young readers and parents reading to their children.




WRITERS





BIBLIOPHILE IMAGERY






LITERARY MEMES





YOUNG AT HEART - illustration by Erin Rogers Pickering






WRITER LIFE





PATCHES OF GREY





MATTERS OF CONVENIENCE





“My talent is looking into a woman's eyes and instinctively knowing what I need to. If she's lonely or bored; neglected or abused; timid or adventurous; satisfied or confused; looking to recapture the past or re-invent the present; making plans for tomorrow or merely concerned about tonight. I discover what a woman is looking for and promise it to her. If all she wants is a good time, she gets everything." - from FEEDING THE SQUIRRELS


“Life, like love, holds many secrets for us to discover. Some we unearth early on. Others take us most of our days to stumble upon, even though they are hidden in plain sight.” - from FEEDING THE SQUIRRELS


“My travels have been numerous, though no topographer could chart the shores I have landed upon. For it is not places that have been my destination, but women. I am drawn to them by a force I have never questioned. To their infinite variety of charms I am helpless. But the hold of none has been strong enough to keep me from wandering aimlessly to others.” - from FEEDING THE SQUIRRELS

#ShortStory #BookReviews and More

     WHY DO I LOVE THEE?By Roy L. Pickering Jr.


     I saw them today, my ex-best friend and ex-girlfriend.  Over a year has passed since it happened, since he so skillfully, callously, and most important, successfully plotted to steal her away.  I ducked into a store to avoid them flaunting their happiness in my face.  That would be just like them.  Or rather, I should say like Julian.  For it was his duplicity that started the chain of events, and the chain was moved along by my actions, and mine alone.  Caroline didn't play much of a part in the process.  She merely went along for the ride.     Caroline is the proverbial one who got away.  Not that she left me, for the truth is, I dumped her, just as I have ended all of my relationships for one reason or another.  But Julian was the one pulling the strings, guiding me without my knowledge towards the destination he desired.      You see, I was in my younger days quite the ladies man.  Women were simply playthings.  I know what you're thinking.  What a pompous braggart I am.  But how could I possibly benefit by lying, or even distorting the truth?  You must believe me, I was, and to a lesser degree still am, exactly what I claim to be.  Some collect stamps, some bottles of wine, others cars.  I have spent the greater part of the four decades of my life collecting women.       Tall ones, short ones, slender and full bodied have taken turns filling my arms.  Blondes, brunettes and redheads all have had more fun with me.  I've known women (and when I say know, I mean know in the best sense of the word) of every race, nationality, and flavor invented.  None of the others were quite like Caroline.     Upon first sight, I knew I was in the presence of one of God's most perfect creations.  Her visage exotically composed, angelically pure, as intoxicating and addictive to the eyes as heroin to one's bloodstream.  Her figure would have converted Liberace and made Ray Charles drool.  In bed, I bet you'd love to know the most intimate details, but I'm too much of a gentleman to divulge them.  Let's just say heaven will have to be damn good to surpass the moments of ecstasy Caroline and I experienced.     Why then, you must be asking yourself by now, did I let such a magnificent woman out of my grasp?  And believe you me, she was as captive as a woman can be.  So why did I push away this woman whose adoration of me was only matched by mine for her?  I will commence to tell you, though the recollection of events pains me almost physically.       It was in the Metropolitan Museum of Art that Julian's intricate plot began to unveil itself.  We were admiring a painting by Botticelli.  I favorably compared Caroline to the woman encased by a frame.  Caroline was blessed less amply by the most hypnotic of curves.     "Will you cut it out?"     "Cut what out?" I asked innocently.     "Your constant mentioning of Caroline.  You can't go five minutes without bringing her up.  It's growing tiresome."     "I wasn't aware of this," I replied, and indeed I hadn't been. It was quite subconscious, the way my thoughts of her would leap from my tongue.       "What's so special about her anyway?"     I was astounded by Julian's question, for the answer was blatantly obvious.  It was like asking if the sun was actually hot.     "I would think anyone who has seen her would have no need to ask," I said.     "Okay, she's attractive.  She's very attractive.  But you've been with plenty of beautiful women.  What else is there?  What makes her different from the rest?"     Julian's inquisition was beginning to annoy me.  The audacity of him to categorize her as just one of many beautiful women. There was much more to Caroline than her physical attributes.  I began to list traits for him.     "Well, for one thing she's ..."     "And don't say she's great in bed, because we both know plenty of women are great in bed."     He had knocked my first two reasons off the list.  No matter, there were plenty of others.  I prepared to recite them.  Problem was, none were springing to mind right at that moment.  I told myself there must be so many, I couldn't decide which to say first. But Julian was waiting smugly.  Compatibility came to mind. That seemed like a good choice.     "Don't say you get along really well because you know that's bull," said Julian before I could open my mouth.  "How many times have you complained that the two of you have nothing in common?"     In truth, he was right.  Caroline and I were not alike at all. Me with an Ivy league education, she with a high school diploma.  My passion for classical music and Motown, her’s for pop rock and rap.  How could I, a lover of champagne, caviar, and Baroque art, take seriously an aficionado of Burger King, wine coolers, and MTV? Much less profess to love her.  I had to admit to myself that I didn't really know.  But I couldn't confess this to Julian.     The concept of opposites attracting occurred to me, but this time it was I who discarded the idea.  I couldn't think of a more ludicrous notion to base a relationship on, and had scoffed at many a couple who did.  Hadn't I broken things off with women in the past because their attitudes and interests did not adequately coincide with mine?  And wasn't it true that this was never more the case than it was with Caroline?  So why were we together?  Did I truly love her, or had I grown impatient waiting for the perfect woman and convinced myself to be content with the one I was currently with?  She was beautiful and sensuous and a great booster of my already inflated ego, but could I honestly say that she attained the highest of my standards?  Wasn't it possible for even a connoisseur to occasionally be misled by a well disguised, but nonetheless inferior brand?  So many questions that when honestly responded to, yielded unpleasant answers.     I wondered if Caroline had pulled the proverbial wool over my bedazzled eyes.  Of course she had not.  Such deceitful behavior was not in her nature - yet another thing we didn't have in common.     And so, it was in such a manner that the "truth" finally dawned on me.  It was I who had conned me.  Caroline was never any more or any less than herself.  The pedestal she stood upon in my mind, the light that seemed always to illuminate her, had been created wholly by me.  The past three months had not been spent with Ms. Right, my future bride, my one true love.  Caroline was just one in a long line of lovers.  Our time together was meant to be a fond memory, but nothing more.     Despite these revelations, it was with deep sobriety bordering on sadness that I broke up with Caroline that evening.  Not that I had difficulty coming up with the words.  I issued my standard speech, told Caroline how much I cared for her, how it would hurt me more than it would hurt her, but that the relationship had run its course and it would be for the best that we ended it.  The moments we had shared would be eternally cherished by me, and I would always be there if she needed a friend.  Beautiful, don't you think?  Of course, she was devastated.     "I don't understand.  I thought everything was going great."     Of course you did, sweet, simple Caroline.  But how could I explain my sudden realization that she wasn't enough for me?  How could I say after the many times I had professed love (and love is not a word I toss around lightly), that I had not been lying?  I had sincerely believed what I now knew to be false.  I had no recourse but to fall back on familiar lines, not because she didn't deserve better, but because the truth was too complex to divulge.     I never again spoke to Caroline after that day, and only conversed with Julian once more.  It was a week later, and I had just discovered that he and Caroline were now seeing each other.     "Believe me, I didn't plan this in any way," said Julian ludicrously.  "It just sort of happened."     "You tricked me into breaking up with her, you conniving bastard."     "That couldn't be farther from the truth, you must believe me. I was earnest when I asked why you loved Caroline.  I had no designs upon her at the time.  I know it seems a bit too coincidental, but coincidence is all it is.  I had no idea things would turn out this way, and to prove it I would break it off in a second.  Except, I think I'm starting to fall for her.  There's just something about her, something indescribable that I simply cannot resist."     The master had been bested by his pupil.  If I was a man who settled disputes with his fists, that's what I would have done.  But I've always considered myself above that sort of thing. Instead I walked away, dignity intact, but Caroline lost.     I tried my best to get over her with the help of a host of beautiful women.  And eventually she ceased to regularly enter my thoughts.  The memory of how my supposed friend Julian duped me faded in time as well.  Until I saw them walking hand in hand today. Instantly I was transported back to when Caroline and I were together.  I remembered running my hands through her blondish-brown hair.  Or was it brownish-blond?  Gazing for hours into her sparkling blue eyes.  Or were they green?  Kissing the birthmark on her inner right thigh.  Or the left.  No, it was on her shoulder blade.  Wait a minute, was that someone else altogether?  Oh, what does it matter?  Frivolous details which can be altered cosmetically on a whim, so why quibble?  I'm certain now that it was love.








A Lesson Before Dying by Ernest J. Gaines
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

This may be the most heart breaking book it has ever been my sad pleasure to read. A young man is in the wrong place at the wrong time, and due to his poor decision making on this one ill fated occasion, ends up wrongfully accused of murder and condemned to death row. Set during a time when race relations were strained and tilted heavily in favor of privileged whites at the expense of struggling blacks who were looked down upon (in other words, a time much worse and yet insufficiently different from today), the best that his lawyer can think up as a defense is to compare the defendant to a dumb hog. When this fails to prevent Jefferson from being convicted and sentenced to the electric chair, his godmother calls upon local grade school teacher Grant Wiggins. What she asks of Grant is both simple and seemingly impossible. Jefferson cannot escape an unfair verdict in an unjust world. But instead of pitifully accepting designation as a brute animal, maybe he can find a measure of dignity in his final days, allowing him to take his final steps with head held high like a man. Grant is a cynic and less than a true believer in what we're taught about God and an awaiting Heaven. It takes the bullying of his aunt to make him accept the ultimate teaching assignment. He does his best. Jefferson does his best. Readers may do their best in the end not to cry. Many will surely fail.

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NW by Zadie Smith
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

Carrying this book around I learned that just about everyone has read and really loved White Teeth, Zadie Smith's debut novel. Some of her faithful devotees may be less enamored with NW. Not that it isn't skillfully written. But the very fragmented style Smith chose to present it in probably will not be everybody's cup of tea. The choppy format did not take away from my ability to again perceive that Smith is an exceptional talent, but this book's flow took some getting accustomed to for me personally. NW chronicles the lives of two women who grew up in the same neighborhood and are friends from childhood. They both go on to get married and keep secrets from their husbands. To say much more about the plot would bring me into spoiler territory, so I'll leave summarizing to others who are better at it. Instead I'll say that I liked if didn't quite love this book, and that I do recommend it, even if you read it only to end up saying that you preferred White Teeth. There is only room for one as your favorite, but plenty of room to fill on the bookshelf of your life.

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Happy Birthday, Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle by Betty MacDonald
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is the second Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle book I've read to my daughter. My wife was a fan from childhood but I had never heard of Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle before. Apparently the first one I read was written back in the 50's by Betty MacDonald whereas this one is comprised of a previously unpublished story and ideas for others that were found by her daughter. The story outlines were fleshed out into new installments in the franchise. My 8 year old, being way smarter than me, immediately picked up the more contemporary feel of this book. And as it turns out, we both liked this one better (perhaps because of the modernity, perhaps for some other reason that is a credit to Anne MacDonald Canham) than the truly authentic Mrs. Piggle book previously read. There was only one story (the one about a kid too cautious to attempt anything - from something legitimately intimidating like a climbing a tree to merely playing basketball with friends) that we found to be a total dud. Other than that we were charmed throughout. The concept of a woman with magical cures for annoying childhood behavior and vices is a timeless winner, so I can see why these books (originals and new entries) charm multiple generations of readers.

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HOLIDAY SHOPPING GUIDE - #GreatGiftIdeas #BlackOnBlackFridays http://t.co/PX3JPOc9GC #Christmas #Kwanzaa #JustBecause pic.twitter.com/cvjjDuJmHb
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) December 11, 2014

Pinterest board created for my novel Patches of Grey #ReadPOC2015 http://t.co/MsANGQfIT8 pic.twitter.com/n5M2IZHEUj
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) December 11, 2014

HOLIDAY SHOPPING GUIDE - #GreatGiftIdeas #BlackOnBlackFridays

If waiting on long lines and fighting through crowds to save a few dollars buying the same stuff from giant chain stores that everybody else gets is your thing - enjoy the holidaze.





















But if you're a tad more adventurous, in search of presents for others or yourself not to be found in every manic mall, clicking on any of the images below will take you to what IMHO are #GreatGiftIdeas for whatever occasions you choose to celebrate. 




Custom Watercolor Silhouette of your child


Whimsical and lively custom 8x10 ink & watercolor illustration of your home





Erin Go Paint: Etsy Shop





Pralines and Pixies





Erin Rogers Pickering at FINE ART AMERICA




Erin Rogers Pickering at PIXELS



GLUTEN FREE (GF) ILLUSTRATOR




Books always have been and always will be the ultimate stocking stuffer

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Whether it's Black Friday, #BlackOnBlackFridays, Small Business Saturday, Cyber Monday, Cider Monday or just a run of the mill Hump Day - HAPPY SHOPPING!

What Are You Thankful For?

Just in case I was not fully aware of my blessings, on Thankgiving Day of 2007 I received a powerful reminder of how much I have to be thankful for.  The health and safety of my loved ones and I is by far the most important of all my possessions, and a reason to be grateful each and every day.  If you happen upon these words I wish you happy travels this holiday season, excellent food, wonderful company, a treasure trove of laughter, and no shortage of hugs from those in your innermost circle.  If beyond that your most grandiose dreams end up coming true, that would be gravy poured on top of your feast.  I have pretty big plans for 2015 and beyond.  With any luck, plenty of hard work that has been put in will pay off.  Before the calendar signals the end of this year and beginning of what is to come, I may even be fortunate enough to earn enough votes at GoodReads for Patches of Grey to be selected as the #BlerdBookClub novel for the month of December.  I would be beyond thrilled to hear what readers had to say and to answer any questions that came my way if fate looks kindly upon me. So my fingers are crossed, and a few toes as well. But if things don't work out as I'm hoping for?  I'll still have more than my fair share to smile about.

#BlerdBookClub December Poll is up and it consist entirely of books from fellow #Blerds https://t.co/4wlaQsB1ed pic.twitter.com/wQ73db56pY
— Thelonious Legend (@TheLegendBooks) November 10, 2014

As always, HAPPY READING!

STRANGERS IN THE MORNING - A #ShortStory

                   STRANGERS IN THE MORNING                    BY ROY L. PICKERING JR.

     My perception of beauty has been forever altered, for she is by all standards of critique known to mankind the most stunning woman to walk this earth.
     Her legs rise gracefully from dainty feet and continue into the stratosphere.  Her body's sultry, dangerous curves take the mind's eye on a journey it will not soon forget.  An auburn mane frames her magnificent visage, then sprawls across bare velvet shoulders.  Her eyes are a color I have never seen, though possibly once dreamt of as a child.  She looks so good it hurts to gaze upon her, but it is infinitely more painful to look away.
     There is a simultaneous burning in my heart, gut, and crotch. I know as I have known nothing before that she is the one.       
     Who am I kidding?  What chance in hell do I have with someone like her? This is the kind of woman you see in magazines attached to the arm of a billionaire or rock star.  Certainly a regular guy like me has no chance.
     The goddess re-crossed her legs, giving me a glimpse of inner thigh.  The road which leads to paradise. 
     I would slay a dragon for her.  I would swim the Pacific, climb Mt. Everest, hike across the Sahara.  All of this I would do simply to hear her say my name.  Check that, to scream it in a fit of passion and ecstacy.  I must have her, or die trying.
     How am I supposed to go about achieving this task?  By saying something to her, I suppose.  But what?
     It is a deceptively difficult question to answer.  A woman like the one across from me has surely heard every line in the book.  If it sounds like a manufactured dime-a-dozen come on, she won't even acknowledge my presence.  I will have to come up with something original and witty.  And it must sound sincere.  Delivery is key.  I must be charming in an effortless way.  This of course will take much preparation.  Unfortunately, time is not on my side.
     She looked at me.  She glanced up and for a millisecond our eyes met.  I think my heart has stopped beating.  Lord I know I don't do this very often, but I'm doing it now.  Give me this and I'll be the best Christian you ever saw.  And if you won't help me out - how about you, Satan?  My soul is yours, just as long as I get to keep my heart for her.  I'll toss in my baseball autographed by Thurman Munson too.  Even my dog, if that's what it will take.  Just please let me have this.
     She has to have a boyfriend who she's madly in love with.  Or crueler yet, she just broke up with someone and can't bear the thought of being with another man.  She decided last week to give die hard lesbianism a shot.  Or perhaps she's just left her doctor's office after finding out that she has a scorching case of something tremendously contagious and irritating.  There will be some impenetrable barrier prohibiting me from being with her.  There always is.
     I consider myself intelligent, adequately attractive, possessing a fairly keen sense of humor.  Maybe I won't be appearing on a list of New York's most eligible bachelors any time soon, but I compare favorably to a good percentage of the bozos I see around me.  Of course this is the subway, so that isn't saying much.
     My bad luck with women is legendary.  It's always the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong something.  No matter how promising romantic ventures initially appear, the cookie inevitably manages to crumble.  
     This would more than make up for past misfortunes.  She's my every fantasy with a couple extra attractions I wasn't creative enough to dream up.  
     Did that happen?  Maybe it was just wishful thinking.  Perhaps her beauty has intoxicated me to the point where I can't tell what's real anymore.  But I could have sworn she looked at me again.  It was only for a flash, and it's possible she simply felt like looking ahead and I happened to fall in her line of view.  I'll wait and see if it happens once more.  If it does, I'll drop to my knees and beg for her hand in marriage.
     She has taken a magazine from her purse and is leafing through it.  Something she reads amuses her.  I thought nothing in the world could possibly improve upon her beauty.  Then she smiled and I know that I will do anything to be the cause of the next one.
     Our train pulls into Grand Central Station.  I am so transfixed by her gracefulness as she rises and walks that I don't realize she is exiting from the train and my life until it is almost too late.  I spring through the closing doors just in time.
     For five terrifying seconds I cannot find her.  She has gotten lost in the crowd, could have gone in any direction.  Then I see her.  I resume breathing.
     "Excuse me, sir.  Pardon me, ma'am."
     I weave in and out of the masses, doing everything possible to keep her in my sights.  I feel like a C.I.A. agent on the trail of a spy.  The fact briefly dawns on me that I have gotten off at the wrong stop.  I am supposed to be on my way to work.  But what is another dreary day of labor compared to meeting the woman I plan to spend the rest of my days with?
     She gets onto a train headed for Queens and I faithfully shadow her.  It is too crowded for either of us to get a seat, so we stand, our bodies only a foot apart.  The amalgamation of her perfume and shampoo invade my nostrils.  The train unexpectedly jerks, our shoulders briefly touch, a wave of liquid heat blazes down my arm.  She clears her throat.  A chorus of angels could not make a more glorious sound.
     For twenty minutes we are side by side.  In that time I steal countless glances.  I am certain that she sneaks a few peeps in my direction as well, but whenever I try to meet her gaze she is looking maddeningly elsewhere.
     Then it happens.  Our eyes lock in an embrace more intensely erotic than any sexual experience I have ever known.  This is followed by something wonderful, something miraculous.  She smiles, and this time the smile is for me.
     My bedazzlement causes her to once again almost slip my net.  I squeeze through the subway doors and continue pursuit.  Heading down the stairs leading to the sidewalk, I begin wracking my brain for the perfect opening.  Perfection is a lot to ask of yourself before the morning's first cup of coffee.     
     I quicken my pace to get within striking distance.  My heart has accelerated likewise.  I am now only a few steps behind.  To get her attention, I need do no more than reach out and tap her shoulder.  As for what should follow, I've decided to play it by ear.  This isn't a movie where in one short scene the dashing hero captures the heart of the beautiful leading lady.  This is real life.  I'm just plain old Lloyd Briscol.  As I see it, my only chance lies in speaking from the gut.  I will proclaim that as soon as I first laid eyes upon her, I knew it was love.  It doesn't matter that this is the only thing about her that I know.  She is who I want to grow old with, the woman destined to bare my children.  What beyond that could possibly matter?     Up until today, I have had led a mundane existence.  I've accomplished not a single thing that truly mattered.  In college, a little more studying per week could have changed my C's into A's, and those A's could have put me into medical school.  But I could never find the drive to put in that extra time.  A few more hours of overtime and a bit of kissing up would be all it takes to accelerate the forward process of my career.  Once again, I come up short on motivation.  I do not attribute this lack of aggressiveness to laziness.  It is just my opinion that the only things worth fully pursuing are those which you want with every fiber of your being.  Until I fortuitously looked up from my newspaper on the subway this morning, life had supplied me with a scant supply of such items.    
     With her by my side, I know I can conquer the world.  I simply need the opportunity to somehow make her feel for me as I do for her.
     She turns and heads towards the entrance of an office building.  I have to do something.  I must speak now or forever hold my tongue.  My mouth opens but nothing comes out.
     Perhaps she is reading my thoughts or absorbing my vibe.  Is it possible that all along she has sensed my longing?  Could it be that either God or Satan is answering my prayers?  Whatever the explanation, she stops.  She looks directly at me.  It's as if a spotlight is beaming upon us.  We are the only two people in existence.  I inhale deeply in preparation.  The moment has arrived.
     "Have a nice day."
     For the very last time she smiles at me.  Then she opens the door and is gone.
     Oh sure, I could have said something wonderfully clever.  I could have won her over in a handful of seconds, but what would be the point?  I am not so much of a dreamer that I am incapable of recognizing undesirable truth.  Like it or not but given no choice either way, the world is round.  The sky is blue.  And she could never live up to what I had imagined her to be.  So why let reality ruin such a beautiful fantasy?

Dear Bookworms

If you're looking for some guidance in picking your next book to read, perhaps the following reviews will be of assistance.


The Girl Who Fell from the Sky by Heidi W. Durrow
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

This is a beautifully crafted tale by Heidi Durrow. It is about a girl who is haunted by events that shaped her destiny early on without her having much say in the matter. Events that are only vaguely remembered and yet continue to form the fabric of each passing day. A father who has vanished without a trace. A mother who left this world in the splashiest of ways, taking her own life along with those of her other children by leaping from the roof of a building. There is a witness and a survivor, and this book is the latter's story, as well as an examination of race. She is her father's black daughter and also her mother's white daughter. As result her racial identity is both and neither, dependent on how one sees her, or how she chooses to see herself on any given day. She is trapped in a past that won't let go, facing the future with much trepidation, because she already knows that if she takes a leap she will do so without wings. But that does not mean she won't survive, because along with her blackness and her whiteness and her status as one who has been taken in upon being abandoned, like a broken winged bird, she is also a proven survivor. The narrative moves back and forth in time and is told from multiple perspectives, revealing the back story to readers a layer at a time, in as random a manner as the markings of heredity. It is filled with tragedy and longing and loneliness and confusion. Good intentions and poor decisions do battle and cancel each other out. Yet beneath it all there is muted hope that wings may one day sprout.



View all my reviews Doctor Sleep by Stephen King
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

Stephen King hasn't lost a step. A major key to his success is that if you strip away all of the spooky supernatural stuff, you'll find well developed characters who are easy to relate to, expert pacing, and no shortage of intriguing background stories and subplots. The inhuman demons who torment his protagonists may be what King's faithful readers come for, but the terror only works if those being terrorized are likable, and their behavior plausible. That's why it's easy enough for King to take breathers from the creepy and crawly to pen equally engaging stories set completely in our real world. But when he's ready to return to the darkness that resides in his mind, nobody does it better, and nobody can keep up with his pace. Doctor Sleep is a worthy follow-up to the magnificent The Shining.

22 books recommended by Stephen King since he has joined Twitter - http://www.aerogrammestudio.com/2014/...



View all my reviews Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

This is my favorite of the Nick Hornby books I have read so far, though I should add that I have enjoyed the movie adaptations I've seen more than the books I've read. To date there has been no cross over of those two lists. I haven't read the book versions of the Hornby movies I've seen (High Fidelity, About a Boy, Fever Pitch), and have not seen movie versions of the books I've read (How to be Good, A Long Way Down, and now, Juliet, Naked). Apparently A Long Way Down has been made into a movie, so upon seeing it, at last I'll be able to compare novel to movie. But you're reading this primarily because you're interested in my opinion of Juliet, Naked - so I should get to that. I'm giving it 3-1/2 stars on my personal ratings scale, but since GoodReads does not allow for half stars, I'm rounding down to 3 here. I could have been more generous and gone up to 4, but I've given 4 out of 5 stars to some very impressive literary efforts. 3 stars feels more appropriate for this one. Hornby likes to write about things that people are passionate about in addition to or instead of other people. The obsession could be sports, perhaps a particular team. Or music, perhaps a particular band or artist. That last one describes Juliet, Naked. It gives us the story of a man who is fanatical about a singer/songwriter who has not released an album in 20 years. The last album that Tucker Crowe did release is a musical holy grail to Duncan. He devotes countless hours sharing conspiracy theories about Crowe's life and music with fellow devotees on the internet. Duncan's long time girlfriend appreciates Tucker's music as well, but is more or less along for Duncan's single focus ride. Duncan and Annie are not particularly passionate about each other, and this has been the case since the beginning of their relationship rather than the result of affection dwindling over the ravages of time. They got together because in the small town they live in, they made more sense together than being with anyone else. Over the course of the book Tucker transitions from being a distant object of idolatry to a person that Annie corresponds with via email, and eventually, a flesh and blood person in their actual lives. Duncan has never had feelings for Annie comparable to his intensity of emotional reaction to Tucker's music. Nothing personal against her, as Duncan doesn't seem capable of feeling strongly towards anyone. By the story's end, Annie is perhaps finally ready to form a relationship based on desire rather than convenience of location. As for Tucker, he thinks primarily about himself and the mess he has made of his life while also managing to be a decent father to his youngest child. Towards the end of the book Tucker reflects that a considerable amount of significant events have taken place in a relatively short amount of time, yet he feels mostly unchanged by them. Likewise, I'm feeling unchanged by this book. Yet I have to say that it was an enjoyable and interesting read. Hornby characters think about themselves and others and their circumstances and their obsessions in entertaining fashion. It doesn't much matter what does or does not take place during your visit with them. Either way you're glad you stopped by.



View all my reviews Where Monsters Dwell by Jørgen Brekke
My rating: 2 of 5 stars

I was underwhelmed. Perhaps something was lost in the translation but the writing in this book didn't strike me as good enough to make it past form rejection letters from agents/publishers. Yet this didn't stop it from being published and apparently becoming an international best seller. How that happened is a much bigger mystery to me than the one solved between the front and back covers.



President of the Whole Fifth Grade by Sherri Winston
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

There is plenty in this book that I found to like. It features an ambitious African American girl who sets no limitations on her future. Those ambitions are not superficial things like being a movie star or pop star, or hoping to marry her favorite movie/pop star. Not only does she have serious entrepreneurial aspirations but also practical plans for how to begin moving towards them. It starts with becoming President of her grade at school. Enter a conniving rival who is willing to stoop as low as necessary to throw a monkey wrench in these plans. Enter an ally who encourages her to put ambition ahead of ethics. Eventually Brianna learns that ambition is as noble as the path one takes to to make their dreams come true. If success comes at the expense of losing loyal friends and losing respect for yourself, can it be considered true success? Brianna Justice's attitude towards education is refreshing. Learning is promoted as interesting and fun rather than imposed drudgery. This is a girl with a good head on her shoulders and eyes firmly set on the prize. I applaud the messages of this story but feel that the execution could have been a little tighter. There was also one too many easily found "deep dark secrets" lying around for convenient plot machination. I'm not the intended audience of this book though. My 8 year old daughter loved it from beginning to end. There's much to be said for satisfying your target reader above and beyond anyone else. #WeNeedDiverseBooks

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Goodreads Book Giveaway Patches Of Grey by Roy L. Pickering Jr. Giveaway ends October 31, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads. Enter to win




Although a descendant of Christopher Columbus may attempt to take credit for this discovery, let it be known that I am the one who is informing you that the Kindle edition of PATCHES OF GREY is free at Amazon 10/24 -10-25.



I personally read books like the people depicted below.



And I enjoy reading with the mood set just right and essential props at my disposal.

Sneak peek at illustration of main character from series of children's books I'm working on with a super talented... http://t.co/j24lWbAreH
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 9, 2014

LIFE COMES AT YOU FAST

SOMETIMES EVEN THIS HAPPENS:

White US couple sue sperm bank after getting pregnant by black donorJennifer Cramblett was five months pregnant when she realized the mistake
My advice...
DEAL WITH IT.



Because no matter what happens and how you handle it, people are going to say ONE THING, or else they're going to say SOMETHING ELSE.  So don't be so easily overwhelmed.  Even Forrest Gump was smart enough to know that life is like a box of chocolates, not a bowl of Cheerios.

Here's my fuller take on this matter in one full blast:

I'm not saying that these women are raving bigots. I'm not saying they don't have a valid lawsuit on their hands, though if they are the ones responsible for this story becoming public, I do hold them accountable for what should have remained a relatively private matter.  Obviously you go to a sperm bank to have a measure of control over what DNA you get, so if a mistake is made, someone should be accountable. BUT, my #1 takeaway from the art of parenting is that no matter what curveballs get thrown your way, you love your kid because it's your kid. Life in general, parenting in particular, is about receiving what you didn't prepare yourself in advance to handle. You didn't prepare for a colicky infant. You didn't prepare for a kid with ADHD. You didn't prepare for a light sleeper,  or a tantrum thrower, or a likes to take off and runner.  So what?  You love your kid because he/she is your kid and you deal with what you have to deal with. Some parenting situations will be easier than others.  Maybe your kid will need extra help with learning ABC 123. Maybe your kid will learn super fast and need to have catered advanced education. Maybe your kid will be allergic to whatever foods happen to be most abundantly around all the time.  You have no idea what you're going to have to deal with as a parent. But whatever you have to learn on the fly, you just do, because you're a parent and that's your job.  You become expert at whatever it is you need to become expert at.  If that's handling a different grade of hair than you're accustomed to, then that's what it is. If you live someplace where people look at you funny (as if some weren't already doing so because you're a same sex couple), well that's what they invented moving vans for.  I don't see this as a story about race tolerance/intolerance so much as a story about whining, which is something I have little tolerance for. If you can't handle the unexpected then don't become parents in the first place. The job requires flexibility, adaptability, and the ability to think outside the box.  Not everybody can do it particularly well.  But everybody seems to be an expert at suing people these days.

And below is what I had to say in tweet sized outbursts:

The various reactions tell us much about people, not so much about the situation which is cut & dry, is what it is. Oops, we f'd up. Happens
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

It's interesting that they knew about error since woman was 5 months into pregnancy, are parenting, suing just now when their child is two.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

Then again, I'm sure they've been pretty busy over the past few years with a new baby and all.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

I think those women need solid smacks upside the head (not domestically violent, but meant with love) to knock them into Reality-ville.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

That's my reaction, along with the next few tweets to follow, which will tell you a little something about me and not much else.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

I think it would be kinda cool if all women who wanted to parent received blindly anonymous sperm donation. Get what u get & don't get upset
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

We keep hearing that a postracial utopia is impossible because it's true. But if the scenario I just presented was reality, game changer.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

Spin the Wheel of Fortune to get family creation underway. Everybody walking around looking like the Pitt-Jolie household. How trippy!
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

Such madness could result in a society where judging primarily by race wasn't helpful, so you'd have to judge people as people. Mind blown!
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

People would need to live in inclusive neighborhoods 2b accepted, which wouldn't be a problem because everywhere would be inclusive. Nuts!
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

But since that's the stuff of fantasy, the real world solution to such a dilemma is of course - litigation. Sue to make this a better place.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

Life comes at u fast & next pitch is potentially a wicked curve. If u have conditions placed on those you already love, good luck with that.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014

When all you can think to do is ask "Whatever shall I do? Wherever shall I go?" - the world always has the same answer for you.
— Roy Pickering (@AuthorofPatches) October 2, 2014