Michael Milardo's Blog
February 3, 2018
Amazon Review
5.0 out of 5 stars
Restores Your Faith in Humanity
ByG. Robinsonon January 30, 2018
Format: Kindle Edition
I never thought I’d be interested in a coming-of-age book about a boxer, but the writer of this book created a world that was heartwarming and completely absorbing. The main character deals with a deep rage from a tragic event in childhood and the shame and burden of alcoholic parents, but the compassion and deep caring of others changes his life. The underlying rage doesn’t dissipate, but it becomes transformed and fuels his success as a professional boxer.
The author is a great storyteller combining both the sweetness and grit of life and recalling a way of life in a simpler time, but one that was as full of good and evil as the present. Every day events are told in a way that make them vivid and remarkable. The author created a world I wanted to live in. In fact, I did live in it during my reading of the book and will likely re-read it to return to that world. It’s much like our world, but with more love and warmth. A sweet thread of romance runs through the book along with a backbone of strength of a friend whose support and caring never falters.
This is a book that will make you look at life through a different lens. It’s deceptively simple in its narrative, but the characters’ emotions are so raw and unfiltered that you engage deeply with them. I wanted to live in their world and for a time I did. It is a book I will return to read again and again.
Restores Your Faith in Humanity
ByG. Robinsonon January 30, 2018
Format: Kindle Edition
I never thought I’d be interested in a coming-of-age book about a boxer, but the writer of this book created a world that was heartwarming and completely absorbing. The main character deals with a deep rage from a tragic event in childhood and the shame and burden of alcoholic parents, but the compassion and deep caring of others changes his life. The underlying rage doesn’t dissipate, but it becomes transformed and fuels his success as a professional boxer.
The author is a great storyteller combining both the sweetness and grit of life and recalling a way of life in a simpler time, but one that was as full of good and evil as the present. Every day events are told in a way that make them vivid and remarkable. The author created a world I wanted to live in. In fact, I did live in it during my reading of the book and will likely re-read it to return to that world. It’s much like our world, but with more love and warmth. A sweet thread of romance runs through the book along with a backbone of strength of a friend whose support and caring never falters.
This is a book that will make you look at life through a different lens. It’s deceptively simple in its narrative, but the characters’ emotions are so raw and unfiltered that you engage deeply with them. I wanted to live in their world and for a time I did. It is a book I will return to read again and again.
February 21, 2017
Review
Love and Illusions: Sunlight and Shadows by Michael MilardoMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Presented in a range of genres, Love and Illusions, Sunlight and Shadows is a unique blend of love and childhood stories ranging from the poignant and profound to suspenseful and horrific. Each story will capture your imagination; some will capture your heart. Written without a wasted word, the stories will leave you wishing for more.
View all my reviews
"Who's Ricky Flowers?"
A free reading of "Who's Ricky Flowers?", a short story from my collection entitled Love and Illusions, Sunlight and Shadows, is available on my Facebook page, Michael Milardo Books. Hope you give it a try!
February 14, 2017
Love and Illusions, Sunlight and Shadows
A collection of ten short stories by Michael Milardo
From the back cover:
A remarkable collection of ten finely crafted stories, Love and Illusions, Sunlight and Shadows explores the complexities of human nature in ways that are at once poignant and profound, passionate and demanding. Each story, whether its main character is a child or an adult, is rooted in contradictions: good vs. evil, light vs. shadow, reality vs. illusion- the antitheses we all experience and explore in life, whether we are ready to, or not. While each story is unique, each also echoes the other's themes as they delve into the nuances of love and loss, truth and deception, and the decisions we make while confronting these issues that ultimately define us as human beings. Perhaps the theme that most unifies these riveting tales, however, is childhood, particularly in the first four stories, which feature children trapped in situations they are mentally and emotionally unprepared to handle, but must seek to resolve, anyway. The remaining six tales, while implementing adults as their protagonists, also examine the effects their childhood experiences have had on their mental and emotional make-ups.
From the back cover:
A remarkable collection of ten finely crafted stories, Love and Illusions, Sunlight and Shadows explores the complexities of human nature in ways that are at once poignant and profound, passionate and demanding. Each story, whether its main character is a child or an adult, is rooted in contradictions: good vs. evil, light vs. shadow, reality vs. illusion- the antitheses we all experience and explore in life, whether we are ready to, or not. While each story is unique, each also echoes the other's themes as they delve into the nuances of love and loss, truth and deception, and the decisions we make while confronting these issues that ultimately define us as human beings. Perhaps the theme that most unifies these riveting tales, however, is childhood, particularly in the first four stories, which feature children trapped in situations they are mentally and emotionally unprepared to handle, but must seek to resolve, anyway. The remaining six tales, while implementing adults as their protagonists, also examine the effects their childhood experiences have had on their mental and emotional make-ups.
February 8, 2017
Bobby Stitch | Michael Milardo
Excerpt from Chapter 10 – “Mr. Gray”
Slowly, the reels began to turn and, moments later,
as we stopped reminiscing, again we heard the
voice of fight announcer Jack Drees on the tape recorder.
“…and there’s the bell ending round nine here at the
Miami Beach Auditorium, and if you’re just tuning in on your
radio, you’ve been missing one action-filled bout between two
raging bulls at opposite stages of their careers. It’s been a slambam
affair all the way between the Bronx Bull, former middleweight
champ Jake LaMotta, veteran of one-hundred five
fights entering tonight, with eighty-three wins, thirty by knockout,
versus young Bobby Stitch from Middletown, Connecticut,
just outside of Hartford, with a record of sixteen wins and no
defeats, all of those wins by way of knockout. I’d say it’s either
man’s fight going into the tenth and final round. Stitch had the
better of the going early on in the bout, hammering Jake with
solid shots to the head and body, even staggering him in the second
round. But then LaMotta rallied in the middle rounds, using
his vast experience to rattle the youngster with some clubbing
rights, especially in rounds five and six. But as I just reported to
you, Stitch stormed back in the ninth, staggering LaMotta with
a pair of vicious left hooks that had Jake hanging on for dear life.
Slowly, the reels began to turn and, moments later,
as we stopped reminiscing, again we heard the
voice of fight announcer Jack Drees on the tape recorder.
“…and there’s the bell ending round nine here at the
Miami Beach Auditorium, and if you’re just tuning in on your
radio, you’ve been missing one action-filled bout between two
raging bulls at opposite stages of their careers. It’s been a slambam
affair all the way between the Bronx Bull, former middleweight
champ Jake LaMotta, veteran of one-hundred five
fights entering tonight, with eighty-three wins, thirty by knockout,
versus young Bobby Stitch from Middletown, Connecticut,
just outside of Hartford, with a record of sixteen wins and no
defeats, all of those wins by way of knockout. I’d say it’s either
man’s fight going into the tenth and final round. Stitch had the
better of the going early on in the bout, hammering Jake with
solid shots to the head and body, even staggering him in the second
round. But then LaMotta rallied in the middle rounds, using
his vast experience to rattle the youngster with some clubbing
rights, especially in rounds five and six. But as I just reported to
you, Stitch stormed back in the ninth, staggering LaMotta with
a pair of vicious left hooks that had Jake hanging on for dear life.
February 7, 2017
Bobby Stitch | Michael Milardo
Excerpt from Chapter 8 – “IF I LOSE, I SHALL DIE”
Fourteen.
I quickly counted the number of creaky wooden steps to
the third floor as we started the climb, Mr. Arbella, practically
running, leading the way, as always, filled with boundless determination
and energy, as if anxious to get to an urgent appointment.
Maybe he was, but the appointment was mine.
“’Bout half as many steps to the third flawr as the second,”
said Dowie. “That be a good thing.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Mr. Arbella, approaching the top,
barked over his shoulder. “The challenge is what’s at the top of
these stairs.”
Driven by a desire to match his determination and energy,
and to show him how anxious I was to meet the challenge, I
bounded up the steps two at a time, arriving at the top just
before he did. Immediately the ring appeared before me, like
some mystical shrine, as did the cloth banner stretched across
the cracked, egg shell-colored wall just beyond it, the letters big,
bold, black against a crimson background: IF I LOSE, I SHALL
DIE.
Fourteen.
I quickly counted the number of creaky wooden steps to
the third floor as we started the climb, Mr. Arbella, practically
running, leading the way, as always, filled with boundless determination
and energy, as if anxious to get to an urgent appointment.
Maybe he was, but the appointment was mine.
“’Bout half as many steps to the third flawr as the second,”
said Dowie. “That be a good thing.”
“Looks can be deceiving,” Mr. Arbella, approaching the top,
barked over his shoulder. “The challenge is what’s at the top of
these stairs.”
Driven by a desire to match his determination and energy,
and to show him how anxious I was to meet the challenge, I
bounded up the steps two at a time, arriving at the top just
before he did. Immediately the ring appeared before me, like
some mystical shrine, as did the cloth banner stretched across
the cracked, egg shell-colored wall just beyond it, the letters big,
bold, black against a crimson background: IF I LOSE, I SHALL
DIE.
February 6, 2017
Bobby Stitch | Michael Milardo
Excerpt from Chapter 7 – “Black Doors and Dreams”
It was a day for change and, hopefully, saving lives.
And maybe, I thought as I awoke at dawn Monday
morning and looked out at the green traffic light and its reflection
on the window of Wilson’s Gym, wishes I had made upon
a star could come true. At least, one of them could.
Sunday’s events had jump-started my hopes. As planned,
Dowie and I had met at seven that morning to run our first mile
together, crossing the Arrigoni Bridge into Portland, and then
returning to Middletown. Bundled in gray sweats, towels
wrapped around our necks and shoulders and stuffed into our
sweatshirts, making our upper bodies look freakishly and laughably
large, Dowie pretended he was a professional trainer and I
was a young title contender, though for which title neither of us
was sure. As we huffed and puffed along the way toward Portland,
a chilly breeze blowing our hot air back into our faces, fogging
my glasses, we discussed Saturday’s fiasco at the Palace. I
was relieved Dowie had mentioned none of it to his parents,
and then I told him about Louise kissing me on the lips, or at
least how I thought she had kissed me on the lips. Lying in bed
Saturday night, unable to sleep, I had gone over it again and
again, still trying to decide if it was true, at times convinced that
it was, then doubting it as I touched my lips where I thought she
had kissed me, imagining her kiss again. If only she had worn
lipstick I would have evidence that she had. Suddenly my heart
raced, and there was hope for truth. Lipstick! Immediately I got
up out of bed, went into the bathroom and turned on the light.
Sticking my face close to the mirror above the sink, hoping that
to make herself look like a young woman maybe Louise had
begun wearing lipstick, I searched for a trace of red or pink, but
there was none. Turning off the light, sighing in disappointment
and convinced that I might be going crazy, I returned to bed and
after about another hour of torment and debate, I finally fell into
a fitful sleep.
It was a day for change and, hopefully, saving lives.
And maybe, I thought as I awoke at dawn Monday
morning and looked out at the green traffic light and its reflection
on the window of Wilson’s Gym, wishes I had made upon
a star could come true. At least, one of them could.
Sunday’s events had jump-started my hopes. As planned,
Dowie and I had met at seven that morning to run our first mile
together, crossing the Arrigoni Bridge into Portland, and then
returning to Middletown. Bundled in gray sweats, towels
wrapped around our necks and shoulders and stuffed into our
sweatshirts, making our upper bodies look freakishly and laughably
large, Dowie pretended he was a professional trainer and I
was a young title contender, though for which title neither of us
was sure. As we huffed and puffed along the way toward Portland,
a chilly breeze blowing our hot air back into our faces, fogging
my glasses, we discussed Saturday’s fiasco at the Palace. I
was relieved Dowie had mentioned none of it to his parents,
and then I told him about Louise kissing me on the lips, or at
least how I thought she had kissed me on the lips. Lying in bed
Saturday night, unable to sleep, I had gone over it again and
again, still trying to decide if it was true, at times convinced that
it was, then doubting it as I touched my lips where I thought she
had kissed me, imagining her kiss again. If only she had worn
lipstick I would have evidence that she had. Suddenly my heart
raced, and there was hope for truth. Lipstick! Immediately I got
up out of bed, went into the bathroom and turned on the light.
Sticking my face close to the mirror above the sink, hoping that
to make herself look like a young woman maybe Louise had
begun wearing lipstick, I searched for a trace of red or pink, but
there was none. Turning off the light, sighing in disappointment
and convinced that I might be going crazy, I returned to bed and
after about another hour of torment and debate, I finally fell into
a fitful sleep.
February 5, 2017
Bobby Stitch | Michael Milardo
Excerpt from Chapter 5 – “Echoes”
Aweek had passed since that evening, and now a door
was slowly opening, revealing all that had been hidden
in the darkness beyond it. Two promises made to me by a wise
man would soon be kept. Other promises, ones I had made to
him that same Saturday evening, would require more time- to
see if I could keep them.
“What? You did what?” Mr. Howard had responded angrily
when, shortly after presenting me with his boxing gloves, Dowie
and I bragged to him about how I had taken on Goliath Jack Graham
and driven him to his knees.
“We need to talk! Right now!” Growing even more furious,
he spat his words and glared at us, his fiery eyes instantly
scorching us, vaporizing our smiles. “Remove those gloves!
Right now!” They were the gloves he had worn fourteen years
ago, in 1931, when he won the U.S. Navy light-heavyweight
boxing championship.
Aweek had passed since that evening, and now a door
was slowly opening, revealing all that had been hidden
in the darkness beyond it. Two promises made to me by a wise
man would soon be kept. Other promises, ones I had made to
him that same Saturday evening, would require more time- to
see if I could keep them.
“What? You did what?” Mr. Howard had responded angrily
when, shortly after presenting me with his boxing gloves, Dowie
and I bragged to him about how I had taken on Goliath Jack Graham
and driven him to his knees.
“We need to talk! Right now!” Growing even more furious,
he spat his words and glared at us, his fiery eyes instantly
scorching us, vaporizing our smiles. “Remove those gloves!
Right now!” They were the gloves he had worn fourteen years
ago, in 1931, when he won the U.S. Navy light-heavyweight
boxing championship.
February 4, 2017
Bobby Stitch | Michael Milardo
Excerpt from Chapter 3 – “Storm Clouds and Blue Eyes”
“Dad…! Mom!”
Dropping the cake on the floor, I ran to my father as he
struggled to lift his bleeding head, and called to my mother for
help. Blood streaming from his nose, pooling beneath him on
the hardwood floor, I ran to the kitchen, grabbed two dish towels
off the counter, and ran back to my father. Supporting the
back of his head with one hand, I used my other hand to pinch
his nose with the towels as I wept, the sharp smell of bourbon
on his breath and the blood smeared on his face making me
wince and cry harder.
“Mom!” I yelled again, checking my father’s nose to see if
the flow had lessened. It hadn’t, the blood now soaking his
upper lip, mouth, and chin, streaming down his neck. I pinched
his nose and screamed yet again.
“Dad…! Mom!”
Dropping the cake on the floor, I ran to my father as he
struggled to lift his bleeding head, and called to my mother for
help. Blood streaming from his nose, pooling beneath him on
the hardwood floor, I ran to the kitchen, grabbed two dish towels
off the counter, and ran back to my father. Supporting the
back of his head with one hand, I used my other hand to pinch
his nose with the towels as I wept, the sharp smell of bourbon
on his breath and the blood smeared on his face making me
wince and cry harder.
“Mom!” I yelled again, checking my father’s nose to see if
the flow had lessened. It hadn’t, the blood now soaking his
upper lip, mouth, and chin, streaming down his neck. I pinched
his nose and screamed yet again.
February 3, 2017
Excerpt from Bobby Stitch
From the Inside Flap
An excerpt from Bobby Stitch by Michael Milardo...
"'What happens?'" Blinky repeated my question, twisting his mouth to one side, his eyes suddenly bulging. "What happens? Why...Nothing. Nothing happens. Ever again. Nothing for you. Not a single thing. No TV fights. No title shot. No big pay days. Maybe no more fights. Nothing here in the States, anyway. Nothing. Zippo. Nada. Zilch. Ninguno." Chuckling, pleased with himself, he cut a chunk of meat, stabbed it with his knife, shoved it in his mouth. And chewed, smiling as he did. As if he were chewing on me.
Suddenly devastated, as if I had been sucked dry, nothing but a void inside of me, I felt a darkness descend, the void now everywhere, black, inside and outside of me. The world dead, nothing but a starless night, a night without hope or dreams, without a future. Nothing. An end to my career. Black-listed by the Mob, the parasites, rats, and weasels. Not a dime to pay the bills. I fell back in my chair, barely breathing, not sure if I wanted to.
"Deal...?" Staring into the void, I heard Satan ask.
"Deal...?" he repeated. Waiting for me to answer.
"Deal...?"
I caught a glimpse of his smirk, his weasel mouth moving as he chewed, dots of blood spattered on his shirt cuffs.
"Yes..." I said, imagining my father watching me lose. And then rising from the table, weightless, empty, I drifted across the dining room and out the door. Walking, a shriveled nothing, toward 86th Street, rain fell. But not on me. I no longer existed.
An excerpt from Bobby Stitch by Michael Milardo...
"'What happens?'" Blinky repeated my question, twisting his mouth to one side, his eyes suddenly bulging. "What happens? Why...Nothing. Nothing happens. Ever again. Nothing for you. Not a single thing. No TV fights. No title shot. No big pay days. Maybe no more fights. Nothing here in the States, anyway. Nothing. Zippo. Nada. Zilch. Ninguno." Chuckling, pleased with himself, he cut a chunk of meat, stabbed it with his knife, shoved it in his mouth. And chewed, smiling as he did. As if he were chewing on me.
Suddenly devastated, as if I had been sucked dry, nothing but a void inside of me, I felt a darkness descend, the void now everywhere, black, inside and outside of me. The world dead, nothing but a starless night, a night without hope or dreams, without a future. Nothing. An end to my career. Black-listed by the Mob, the parasites, rats, and weasels. Not a dime to pay the bills. I fell back in my chair, barely breathing, not sure if I wanted to.
"Deal...?" Staring into the void, I heard Satan ask.
"Deal...?" he repeated. Waiting for me to answer.
"Deal...?"
I caught a glimpse of his smirk, his weasel mouth moving as he chewed, dots of blood spattered on his shirt cuffs.
"Yes..." I said, imagining my father watching me lose. And then rising from the table, weightless, empty, I drifted across the dining room and out the door. Walking, a shriveled nothing, toward 86th Street, rain fell. But not on me. I no longer existed.
