Sandra C. Lopez's Blog, page 391
November 5, 2013
Review: NEIGHBORLY COMPLICATIONS by Anne Conley
Claire just inherited a house, a “fixer-upper,” which is, of course, a euphemism for “shack crap.” Never one for having the best of luck with men, she runs into hot, Texas-cowboy neighbor, Max. Actually, he saves her after having fallen into a well. Instantly, there is a smoldering attraction between the two. At first, however, the two get off to a bumpy start…..mostly because she was just an uppity broad that thinks women can do anything men can and don’t need any of their protection. Well, she certainly changes her mind about that when she couldn’t lift that jackhammer. Part of me wondered what the hell was wrong with her. Who wouldn’t want a big, strong, protective man who can fix up a house? And he was STILL there even when she was acting crazy and bitchy! Now HE was a keeper! I thought that Claire was too bossy with him, but he seemed to like it. She was also kind of trampy. Who answers the door without a bra? But I was glad that Max protested against THAT. No woman of his was going to be answering the door in her underwear. Still, he did put up with a lot of her bitchiness and he liked it, too. Obviously, something was wrong with him.
Set in the lovely country town of Serendipity (in Texas,) this story has a brazen writing style and a quirky sense of humor. This town also had some meddling neighbors, which just reinforces the rule that one should NEVER get TOO chummy.
Some parts were a tad too erotic for my taste. I mean, my god, Max felt her up in an open bar! I think I enjoyed the short preview of Dream On, but I think that might have the same level of eroticism. My rating: 2 stars
October 31, 2013
Guest Post & Chapter Preview - Mike Phillips
On this Halloween, I have a guest writer, who has written a new fantasy novel.
Mike Phillips grew up on a small farm in West Michigan, living much the way people did at the turn of the century. Whether it was growing fruits and vegetables or raising livestock, Mike learned the value of hard work and responsibility at a young age. With all that hard work at home, Mike was always eager to go to school. He excelled as a student and went on to pursue a career in the sciences. Working as a Safety Engineer in the Insurance Industry, Mike soon became bored with the corporate grind. Writing engaged him like nothing else. After a few novels and numerous short stories, he thought getting published would be a pretty neat idea. And so, here it goes...
Author Mike Phillips joins us today and talks about goblins.
*** Hello everyone, and thank you for reading my guest post. My name is Mike Phillips and my new book is The World Below. I have been asked to talk about some of the more interesting characters in the book. Writing about goblins was a riot! Goblins live on the fringes of human society. They make their homes in junk yards, abandoned buildings, sewer systems, and anywhere else people try to avoid. Once they find a likely spot, the get to work. Goblins are clever with tools and machinery. They will use and repurpose anything they can get their hands on, so many of their dwellings look like they were designed by frat-boys. Not always the best of neighbors, goblins have to take security seriously. They construct elaborate pitfalls to keep themselves safe from enemies like collapsing tunnels, pongee pits, and mechanical traps. Goblins, like their human counterparts, each have a unique personality. They live in what they call crews, a sort of family, a lot like college dorm-mates. Each goblin has a special skill. One might be a bully (a most desirable skill in the goblin world). Another might be crafty at making traps. Some use sorcery or poison. Others are good at machinery. Some just eat a lot (another desirable skill). Goblins, in general, have a loose sense of morality. If it doesn’t hurt another member of the crew, with the obvious exception of fighting, then it’s usually okay. Fighting is always acceptable behavior, though if an enemy is around, a goblin is expected to stop fighting the other crew member and start fighting the enemy. Common sense rules like that are the cornerstone of goblin society. That brings us to the topic of goblin social structure. Goblin society is feudal. They organize in crews, bound by familial ties or friendship. These associations are loosely formed, and if a goblin wants to go it alone, no one holds a grudge. A crew may have two or three leaders at a time. It is not unusual for goblins to disagree, so sometimes they have no real leader at all. Though they fight with each other like crazy, but they are deeply loyal in times of trouble and would do anything for the other members of their crew. No female goblins appear in The World Below, but this mystery will be investigated in the Chronicles of the Goblin King: Book Three. Thank you so much for joining me. I hope you enjoy The World Below. Please visit me at mikephillipsfantasy.com. About the Book: Chronicles of the Goblin King Book One.
In ancient times, magical creatures inhabited the Earth. They lived on mountaintops, in the branches of trees, at the bottom of lakes and rivers.
That was long ago, before the human race declared war on the creatures they feared and hated. Now, the enchanted peoples are all but gone. Those few who remain fear being stretched out on an examination table in some secret, governmental facility. The only place they can hide from the ever increasing number of satellites and smart phones is in the World Below.
Chapter One Baron Finkbeiner sat upon his throne, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his guest. Unable to contain his irritation, he fidgeted ceaselessly, first drumming his fingers and then wringing his hands. Patience was not one of his virtues. He sent his guards to fetch Jason Hume hours ago and he was tired of the delay.
Perhaps you got the better of them, he mused, unconcerned about the fate of his guards. Jason Hume was no ordinary man. It was said he had abilities strange and terrible. That was why the Baron needed him so badly. No, I would have heard something by now.
At last the Baron lifted his great bulk from the throne and climbed down to the dirt floor. Perched on a dais made of fifty-five gallon drums, the throne was an odd looking contraption.
It was an old lawn chair, covered in scraps of aluminum foil, streamers, gold stars, and pinwheels. Ornamented plastic soda bottles hung from the armrests and spun in circles even though there was no wind. Party lights were strung along its frame, blinking like many-colored stars. All of this contrived to make it look less like the garbage it was in the dim light.
The rest of the chamber was not nearly so charming. The place was dank and poorly lit. The walls were paneled in roughly cut wood, boards four foot long nailed into squares--the type of pallet used in commercial shipping. Water seeped in through the walls and mud was everywhere.
When he reached the floor, a puddle was underfoot and Finkbeiner had to be careful not to slip. Despite the hazards, his impatience drove him to pace back and forth, stretching his muscles and fiddling with a length of cord about his waist. The act did little for his state of mind. As time continued ticking by, he became more and more agitated.
Hearing something, he stopped short. There were voices, indistinct, distant. Booted feet approached, stomping and shuffling upon the floor. As they drew nearer, the Baron could recognize the feral grunting of his guards.
They were short of breath, but whether through exertion or fear, Finkbeiner could not tell. He then realized it was a struggle for control. It was all a game. Their prisoner was resisting, not so much as to earn punishment, but enough to make their work difficult.
With a sly smile on his face, he slipped his feet from his low cut shoes and dug them into the mud. The great Earth was his home and gave up its secrets like a jilted lover. He wiggled his toes, his keen senses reading the small vibrations in the ground.
The smile swept across his features, impossibly wide. His guest had finally arrived.
Only then did Baron Finkbeiner remember the most important part of the meeting. Giggling as he went, he hurried over to a corner of the chamber where he found an old chest. It was a sturdy thing of wood and iron with a modern lock fitted into the hasp.
After a brief search of his pockets, he produced a small key and inserted it into the lock. It failed to turn. Uttering a few curses, the Baron tried to force the key to work. No matter how profane his commands became, the lock would not open.
Giving up, the Baron returned to his pockets. He wore a robe made of various scraps of fabric. It looked more like a patchwork quilt than the attire of nobility. Once the garment had been brightly colored, but now it was faded and tattered.
Pockets of all kinds were sewn within the patches of fabric --even the Baron did not know them all. As the footsteps in the corridor grew louder, his search became desperate, even frantic. He found coins, charms, parchments, safety pins, buttons, even a whole watermelon--he had no idea how that gotgot there--but no key.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. He remembered a cord hanging around his thick neck.
At the end of the cord was a brass key. It fit into the lock, and, with a turn and a click, opened the chest. Inside was a crystal ball the size of a fist. The ball was alive with energy, softly glowing white. With a satisfied grin, Baron Finkbeiner took the crystal ball out of the chest and thrust it into a pocket of his robe just as his guest entered the room.
Standing in the doorway, one of the guards announced, "You are in the presence of his Excellency, Baron Finkbeiner, Dragon of Worms, Lord and Protector of the World Below."
"No need to be so formal on this occasion," said the Baron. His thick hands fidgeted, touching the crystal ball time and time again. "Mister Hume, welcome, welcome. Do please come in."
Where Baron Finkbeiner was short and rather stout, Hume was his opposite. Lean and muscular, he towered over the guards. Even though he had a burlap sack over his head, he would not suffer anyone to guide him as he marched into the room.
"You may remove his blindfold," Finkbeiner ordered the guards.
The guards weren’t human. They stood on two legs and had two arms, but there all similarities ended. They had piggy faces and squint eyes. Their ears were large and floppy.
With a hand that looked more a cloven hoof, one of the guards did as he was told. When the bag came off, Hume scowled, his quick eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking everything in.
"What?" snapped Hume.
"No need to be so rude," the Baron replied, pleased with himself. He was unable to keep his hand from entering the pocket of his robe and fingering the crystal ball once more.
With a wave of his hand, he released the guards. They backed away.
"Following the ancient accords, I have invited you here in good faith to make a bargain."
"What is it?"
Pacing thoughtfully back and forth, the Baron said, "Something valuable has been stolen from me."
"You drag me all the way here because you can’t look after your toys?"
"Now, now, let me finish. This is no trifle I am speaking of. The Blade of Caro has been taken."
Hume burst into laughter. "What goes around comes around."
"It is rightfully mine," said Baron Finkbeiner indignantly. Perpetuating the lie he was so accustomed to telling, he went on, "I won it in a duel. The spoils of combat give me right to claim it as my own."
"So, Frick and Frock here let the only weapon that can kill their boss get stolen? I’d hate to see their bonuses at the end of the year." Hume crossed his arms. "What makes you think I’ll get it for you?"
"Because of this!" said the Baron, holding out the crystal ball with a flourish.
"So what? I can get one of those off the internet for twenty bucks."
"Look inside."
The Baron held out his hand. The crystal ball began to shine with the purest light--warm and sensuous as a spring morning. The light grew brighter andmore intense, filling the room. It was alive with power, enchanting in its simple beauty, and drawing every living thing toward it.
Lightning struck the ceiling and floor, then the walls on all sides. The pallets were blown to splinters. Thick mud oozed through the gaps like blood. A half-second later, the thunder clap was deafening.
The guards fell to the floor, holding their ears. Shards of wood protruded from their scaly skin, shedding dripping blood as black as tar.
When the smoke cleared, the Baron stood frozen with his hand clutching the crystal ball. He hadn’t been touched. Neither had Hume.
"What kind of a stunt was that?" said Hume dangerously. Electricity sparked at his fingertips.
"Sorry, sorry, my fault," the Baron sputtered. "I should have explained. All I meant was to have you take a look inside."
"You can’t trap me in that," Hume said slowly, as if to a halfwit. "Try it and the Blade of Caro will be the least of your problems."
"No, no, you are quite right. No tricks--you have my word."
"That’s worth a pile of dung."
Extending his hand, the Baron asked, "Please? Have a look?" He smiled his wicked smile, showing a mouthful of pointed teeth.
Glaring, uneasy, Hume did as he was asked.
Light from the crystal ball shone once more. This time Hume gave himself up to its magic, allowing the warm light to surround and envelope him. His skin tingled. He looked up and found the Baron travelling into the light with him.
"Here we are. Not much longer now," the Baron reassured him.
They floated in a blue sky. The air was fresh and smelled of flowers. Clouds as thick as cotton dotted the air around them. Below was a little homestead. The walls were made of logs and the roof of shake shingles. There was a wide garden with a cherry orchard and strawberry patch. A pasture held a jersey cow and a pair of goats. Chickens pecked in the yard.
"Nice place," Hume said noncommittally.
"I try to make my guests as comfortable as possible."
"Prisoners, you mean."
"Yes, quite so, but let’s not quibble over semantics."
"Your prisoners wouldn’t call it that."
They landed on the garden path and walked up to the front door. A knock on the door was met with silence. No one was home.
"This way, I think," said the Baron. "My prisoner, as you say, will not be able to see us or touch us. We are only observers, not really here at all if you take my meaning."
"Shared illusion. I know the drill."
"Good, then it goes without saying we cannot harm each other either."
Hume gave the Baron a sidelong glance. "I’m losing patience."
"Temper, temper," the Baron said wickedly, leading them down the garden path. "I rule here."
At the far side of the orchard, they found a trail to a little stream. The grass was thick and insects buzzed around their ears. A garter snake a foot long and thin as a pencil raced across the path.
When they came to a stream, they found a girl sitting on the rocks. Her back was turned to them and she held a pole in her hand. She had long, dark hair and a simple sundress with a floral print.
"Bastard," Hume said. "I’ll kill you, Blade of Caro or no."
"Now, now," Finkbeiner said wickedly. "Nothing has changed. We remain in my throne room and I still hold the crystal in my hand."
The sky went dark. Storm clouds grew thick above them. The chattering birds went silent. From the forest arose the voices of monsters. They growled and snorted. An odd collection of noises collected in what must have been a sentence. Whatever was said brought a roar of laughter and rush of activity. The unseen menace trudged through the undergrowth. Dead wood cracked under their feet. Boulders were kicked out of their away. A deer broke from the forest and ran across the stream. The monsters were close now, almost to the forest’s edge.
The girl turned. Her face was ugly with fear."By my whim your sister remains safe or is tortured beyond all human imagining. She lives or dies. It’s up to you."
"This is your bargain?"
The sky cleared. The sounds of the monsters faded into the distance. They were in the Baron’s chamber once again.
"Find the Blade for me."
"I could refuse."
Baron Finkbeiner considered the statement. "Come on Hume, I know what you are. Thief, murderer, you’re no better than me. You can do this to save your sister and earn a little coin along the way. Come now, I’ll owe you a big favor if you do this for me. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about that."
"How about I take her from you right now and save myself the trouble?"
The Baron smiled a devilish smile, revealing in some part what lay hidden beneath his human façade. "Because I could break it to powder in my hand before you had half the chance."
Considering for a moment, Hume turned what he thought was an honorific to an insult and replied, "I’ll do it, you rotten worm."
Unaffected by the intended slight, the Baron said, "Let’s not make it personal. This is business; nothing more. I know that little wench took it, the Lady Elizabeth. She has some noble idea about subverting my authority, no doubt. Find her and get the Blade. Then you can have your sister back without a scratch on her pretty little head."
"Deal."
"Not so fast. First you must swear by the blood oath not to use to Blade against me or to attack me in any way until our business is done."
"The blood oath? With you? Forget it."
The Baron’s hand became a claw at the end of a long tentacle, wrapped tightly around the crystal ball. The implication was all too obvious.
"All right, have it your way, but any dirty tricks and I’ll bring it to you with tongs. That hide of yours may be thick but there are powers beyond the Blade of Caro. Remember what Zeus did to the titans."
"Yes, just so, I expect. Now come with me. All is prepared."
For a moment, Hume stood still. Violence loomed as he looked upon the crystal ball. He was fuming but able to keep his emotions under control. Giving Finkbeiner a final, appraising look, he came to a decision and relaxed.
The choice did not go unnoticed. The Baron met his gaze and returned an appreciative nod. His hand was once again in human form. There was no transformation, no morphing of one shape to the next. It just happened.
Returning the crystal ball to the safety of his robe, the Baron put a hand on Hume’s shoulder. The gesture was accepted and they began walking. They didn’t speak as they made their way from the throne room but the tension between them had eased.
The corridors were as broad as they were tall, making gentle curves rather than straight lines. Even the intersection of hallways weren’t square. It was like the entire place was carved from stone by some great serpent, rather than nailed together from scrap wood by the Baron’s slaves.
A short walk brought them to the Laboratory. The room bustled with activity. Live specimens were everywhere. Some of the creatures were bizarre beyond imaging, sprouting thick fur or feathers in spectacular shapes and colors. Others were the product of unlikely coupling. There was a cat with a snake’s head and tail. A small dog had the claws of a lobster.
In most cases, their cages were barely large enough to hold them, let alone allow movement. More of the pig-men tended the various animals, but they cowered in fear upon the Baron’s arrival.
"Please excuse the hubbub," said the Baron, tittering like a schoolgirl. "It’s the lesser harvest today."
"Nice," said Hume, pondering the implication.
"Oh, I do so much enjoy the smell of it. Don’t you?"
Disgusted by the odor, Hume said, "It stinks."
"That’s fear." The Baron’s eyes were alight, like he was strung out on some powerful narcotic. "They know what’s coming. The poor brutes aren’t as dumb as they look. Fear and blood, there’s nothing like it."
A cauldron sat in the center of the room. It was as large as a dumpster, made of hammered copper turned green with corrosion. The lip was covered with the blood and gore of untold heinous rituals. Fire burned underneath, flaming high as they approached. The copper glowed with the heat, shining with a reddish orange light like the sun.
Unaffected by the heat, the Baron walked toward the cauldron. Hume followed a few steps behind. Even though the slaves backed away, neither the Baron nor Hume broke a sweat. This was the Baron’s work. He kept Hume safe until the deal was finished.
Inside the cauldron, a rancid mixture resembling feces was bubbling. The smell was terrible. Hume tried to hold his breath but soon gave it up and covered his mouth with his sleeve.
Withdrawing a knife from his robe, Finkbeiner offered it to Hume. It was a kitchen knife with a wood handle. The blade was serrated, bent with use, and pitted with rust.
Frowning, Hume said, "I’ll use my own."
"Suit yourself."
Cutting their hands, they let their blood run into the boiling contents of the cauldron. Smoke fumed and billowed in clouds. The smell was rancid as Lucifer’s breath. It stung the eyes and burned the lungs. Hume could hardly breathe but would not allow himself to cough. They spoke their oaths to each other, the magic binding their minds and bodies to their words.
"Done!" Finkbeiner announced. "Good luck to you. I’ll provide aid however I may. Just ask and it will be done."
"Thanks," said Hume, narrowing his eyes. "No need to show me out."
went After Hume left, the Baron returned to the throne room, finding his guards still nursing their wounds. Taking a broken pair of pliers from a pocket, he pulled the worst of the splinters from their bodies. That done, he grumbled an incantation, healing them.
"Mutt, Tigg, I want you to keep an eye on our new friend. Make sure he keeps his part of the bargain."
"Yes, Master," grunted Mutt, the bigger of the two, in a rough voice. "You want we should stick a knife in him if he looks to be playin’ round?"
"No, not right away." He took a small bottle from the shelf, amongst other potions of dubious efficacy. "One drop of this into a pool of water and we can talk. We’ll give our wizard friend enough rope to hang himself, but who knows? He might just do the job I require of him."
Mutt grinned.
"Now, to make you both a little more presentable. Clothes make the man and so does the skin."
Returning to the shelf, the Baron sorted through a number of bottles and flasks until he found what he looked for. It was a small, earthenware jug, stopped with cork and dusty with years of neglect.
"This will do the trick, but take care. The effects wear off quickly. I don’t have much, so use small sips whenever you go out in public and only when you absolutely have to. Otherwise stay to the shadows."
Taking the jug, Mutt nodded acknowledgement.
"Now go; follow him. Find out where he lives and what he does in the world above. You must not fail."
Mike Phillips grew up on a small farm in West Michigan, living much the way people did at the turn of the century. Whether it was growing fruits and vegetables or raising livestock, Mike learned the value of hard work and responsibility at a young age. With all that hard work at home, Mike was always eager to go to school. He excelled as a student and went on to pursue a career in the sciences. Working as a Safety Engineer in the Insurance Industry, Mike soon became bored with the corporate grind. Writing engaged him like nothing else. After a few novels and numerous short stories, he thought getting published would be a pretty neat idea. And so, here it goes...
Author Mike Phillips joins us today and talks about goblins.
*** Hello everyone, and thank you for reading my guest post. My name is Mike Phillips and my new book is The World Below. I have been asked to talk about some of the more interesting characters in the book. Writing about goblins was a riot! Goblins live on the fringes of human society. They make their homes in junk yards, abandoned buildings, sewer systems, and anywhere else people try to avoid. Once they find a likely spot, the get to work. Goblins are clever with tools and machinery. They will use and repurpose anything they can get their hands on, so many of their dwellings look like they were designed by frat-boys. Not always the best of neighbors, goblins have to take security seriously. They construct elaborate pitfalls to keep themselves safe from enemies like collapsing tunnels, pongee pits, and mechanical traps. Goblins, like their human counterparts, each have a unique personality. They live in what they call crews, a sort of family, a lot like college dorm-mates. Each goblin has a special skill. One might be a bully (a most desirable skill in the goblin world). Another might be crafty at making traps. Some use sorcery or poison. Others are good at machinery. Some just eat a lot (another desirable skill). Goblins, in general, have a loose sense of morality. If it doesn’t hurt another member of the crew, with the obvious exception of fighting, then it’s usually okay. Fighting is always acceptable behavior, though if an enemy is around, a goblin is expected to stop fighting the other crew member and start fighting the enemy. Common sense rules like that are the cornerstone of goblin society. That brings us to the topic of goblin social structure. Goblin society is feudal. They organize in crews, bound by familial ties or friendship. These associations are loosely formed, and if a goblin wants to go it alone, no one holds a grudge. A crew may have two or three leaders at a time. It is not unusual for goblins to disagree, so sometimes they have no real leader at all. Though they fight with each other like crazy, but they are deeply loyal in times of trouble and would do anything for the other members of their crew. No female goblins appear in The World Below, but this mystery will be investigated in the Chronicles of the Goblin King: Book Three. Thank you so much for joining me. I hope you enjoy The World Below. Please visit me at mikephillipsfantasy.com. About the Book: Chronicles of the Goblin King Book One.
In ancient times, magical creatures inhabited the Earth. They lived on mountaintops, in the branches of trees, at the bottom of lakes and rivers.
That was long ago, before the human race declared war on the creatures they feared and hated. Now, the enchanted peoples are all but gone. Those few who remain fear being stretched out on an examination table in some secret, governmental facility. The only place they can hide from the ever increasing number of satellites and smart phones is in the World Below.
Chapter One Baron Finkbeiner sat upon his throne, eagerly awaiting the arrival of his guest. Unable to contain his irritation, he fidgeted ceaselessly, first drumming his fingers and then wringing his hands. Patience was not one of his virtues. He sent his guards to fetch Jason Hume hours ago and he was tired of the delay.
Perhaps you got the better of them, he mused, unconcerned about the fate of his guards. Jason Hume was no ordinary man. It was said he had abilities strange and terrible. That was why the Baron needed him so badly. No, I would have heard something by now.
At last the Baron lifted his great bulk from the throne and climbed down to the dirt floor. Perched on a dais made of fifty-five gallon drums, the throne was an odd looking contraption.
It was an old lawn chair, covered in scraps of aluminum foil, streamers, gold stars, and pinwheels. Ornamented plastic soda bottles hung from the armrests and spun in circles even though there was no wind. Party lights were strung along its frame, blinking like many-colored stars. All of this contrived to make it look less like the garbage it was in the dim light.
The rest of the chamber was not nearly so charming. The place was dank and poorly lit. The walls were paneled in roughly cut wood, boards four foot long nailed into squares--the type of pallet used in commercial shipping. Water seeped in through the walls and mud was everywhere.
When he reached the floor, a puddle was underfoot and Finkbeiner had to be careful not to slip. Despite the hazards, his impatience drove him to pace back and forth, stretching his muscles and fiddling with a length of cord about his waist. The act did little for his state of mind. As time continued ticking by, he became more and more agitated.
Hearing something, he stopped short. There were voices, indistinct, distant. Booted feet approached, stomping and shuffling upon the floor. As they drew nearer, the Baron could recognize the feral grunting of his guards.
They were short of breath, but whether through exertion or fear, Finkbeiner could not tell. He then realized it was a struggle for control. It was all a game. Their prisoner was resisting, not so much as to earn punishment, but enough to make their work difficult.
With a sly smile on his face, he slipped his feet from his low cut shoes and dug them into the mud. The great Earth was his home and gave up its secrets like a jilted lover. He wiggled his toes, his keen senses reading the small vibrations in the ground.
The smile swept across his features, impossibly wide. His guest had finally arrived.
Only then did Baron Finkbeiner remember the most important part of the meeting. Giggling as he went, he hurried over to a corner of the chamber where he found an old chest. It was a sturdy thing of wood and iron with a modern lock fitted into the hasp.
After a brief search of his pockets, he produced a small key and inserted it into the lock. It failed to turn. Uttering a few curses, the Baron tried to force the key to work. No matter how profane his commands became, the lock would not open.
Giving up, the Baron returned to his pockets. He wore a robe made of various scraps of fabric. It looked more like a patchwork quilt than the attire of nobility. Once the garment had been brightly colored, but now it was faded and tattered.
Pockets of all kinds were sewn within the patches of fabric --even the Baron did not know them all. As the footsteps in the corridor grew louder, his search became desperate, even frantic. He found coins, charms, parchments, safety pins, buttons, even a whole watermelon--he had no idea how that gotgot there--but no key.
"Oh!" he exclaimed, snapping his fingers. He remembered a cord hanging around his thick neck.
At the end of the cord was a brass key. It fit into the lock, and, with a turn and a click, opened the chest. Inside was a crystal ball the size of a fist. The ball was alive with energy, softly glowing white. With a satisfied grin, Baron Finkbeiner took the crystal ball out of the chest and thrust it into a pocket of his robe just as his guest entered the room.
Standing in the doorway, one of the guards announced, "You are in the presence of his Excellency, Baron Finkbeiner, Dragon of Worms, Lord and Protector of the World Below."
"No need to be so formal on this occasion," said the Baron. His thick hands fidgeted, touching the crystal ball time and time again. "Mister Hume, welcome, welcome. Do please come in."
Where Baron Finkbeiner was short and rather stout, Hume was his opposite. Lean and muscular, he towered over the guards. Even though he had a burlap sack over his head, he would not suffer anyone to guide him as he marched into the room.
"You may remove his blindfold," Finkbeiner ordered the guards.
The guards weren’t human. They stood on two legs and had two arms, but there all similarities ended. They had piggy faces and squint eyes. Their ears were large and floppy.
With a hand that looked more a cloven hoof, one of the guards did as he was told. When the bag came off, Hume scowled, his quick eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, taking everything in.
"What?" snapped Hume.
"No need to be so rude," the Baron replied, pleased with himself. He was unable to keep his hand from entering the pocket of his robe and fingering the crystal ball once more.
With a wave of his hand, he released the guards. They backed away.
"Following the ancient accords, I have invited you here in good faith to make a bargain."
"What is it?"
Pacing thoughtfully back and forth, the Baron said, "Something valuable has been stolen from me."
"You drag me all the way here because you can’t look after your toys?"
"Now, now, let me finish. This is no trifle I am speaking of. The Blade of Caro has been taken."
Hume burst into laughter. "What goes around comes around."
"It is rightfully mine," said Baron Finkbeiner indignantly. Perpetuating the lie he was so accustomed to telling, he went on, "I won it in a duel. The spoils of combat give me right to claim it as my own."
"So, Frick and Frock here let the only weapon that can kill their boss get stolen? I’d hate to see their bonuses at the end of the year." Hume crossed his arms. "What makes you think I’ll get it for you?"
"Because of this!" said the Baron, holding out the crystal ball with a flourish.
"So what? I can get one of those off the internet for twenty bucks."
"Look inside."
The Baron held out his hand. The crystal ball began to shine with the purest light--warm and sensuous as a spring morning. The light grew brighter andmore intense, filling the room. It was alive with power, enchanting in its simple beauty, and drawing every living thing toward it.
Lightning struck the ceiling and floor, then the walls on all sides. The pallets were blown to splinters. Thick mud oozed through the gaps like blood. A half-second later, the thunder clap was deafening.
The guards fell to the floor, holding their ears. Shards of wood protruded from their scaly skin, shedding dripping blood as black as tar.
When the smoke cleared, the Baron stood frozen with his hand clutching the crystal ball. He hadn’t been touched. Neither had Hume.
"What kind of a stunt was that?" said Hume dangerously. Electricity sparked at his fingertips.
"Sorry, sorry, my fault," the Baron sputtered. "I should have explained. All I meant was to have you take a look inside."
"You can’t trap me in that," Hume said slowly, as if to a halfwit. "Try it and the Blade of Caro will be the least of your problems."
"No, no, you are quite right. No tricks--you have my word."
"That’s worth a pile of dung."
Extending his hand, the Baron asked, "Please? Have a look?" He smiled his wicked smile, showing a mouthful of pointed teeth.
Glaring, uneasy, Hume did as he was asked.
Light from the crystal ball shone once more. This time Hume gave himself up to its magic, allowing the warm light to surround and envelope him. His skin tingled. He looked up and found the Baron travelling into the light with him.
"Here we are. Not much longer now," the Baron reassured him.
They floated in a blue sky. The air was fresh and smelled of flowers. Clouds as thick as cotton dotted the air around them. Below was a little homestead. The walls were made of logs and the roof of shake shingles. There was a wide garden with a cherry orchard and strawberry patch. A pasture held a jersey cow and a pair of goats. Chickens pecked in the yard.
"Nice place," Hume said noncommittally.
"I try to make my guests as comfortable as possible."
"Prisoners, you mean."
"Yes, quite so, but let’s not quibble over semantics."
"Your prisoners wouldn’t call it that."
They landed on the garden path and walked up to the front door. A knock on the door was met with silence. No one was home.
"This way, I think," said the Baron. "My prisoner, as you say, will not be able to see us or touch us. We are only observers, not really here at all if you take my meaning."
"Shared illusion. I know the drill."
"Good, then it goes without saying we cannot harm each other either."
Hume gave the Baron a sidelong glance. "I’m losing patience."
"Temper, temper," the Baron said wickedly, leading them down the garden path. "I rule here."
At the far side of the orchard, they found a trail to a little stream. The grass was thick and insects buzzed around their ears. A garter snake a foot long and thin as a pencil raced across the path.
When they came to a stream, they found a girl sitting on the rocks. Her back was turned to them and she held a pole in her hand. She had long, dark hair and a simple sundress with a floral print.
"Bastard," Hume said. "I’ll kill you, Blade of Caro or no."
"Now, now," Finkbeiner said wickedly. "Nothing has changed. We remain in my throne room and I still hold the crystal in my hand."
The sky went dark. Storm clouds grew thick above them. The chattering birds went silent. From the forest arose the voices of monsters. They growled and snorted. An odd collection of noises collected in what must have been a sentence. Whatever was said brought a roar of laughter and rush of activity. The unseen menace trudged through the undergrowth. Dead wood cracked under their feet. Boulders were kicked out of their away. A deer broke from the forest and ran across the stream. The monsters were close now, almost to the forest’s edge.
The girl turned. Her face was ugly with fear."By my whim your sister remains safe or is tortured beyond all human imagining. She lives or dies. It’s up to you."
"This is your bargain?"
The sky cleared. The sounds of the monsters faded into the distance. They were in the Baron’s chamber once again.
"Find the Blade for me."
"I could refuse."
Baron Finkbeiner considered the statement. "Come on Hume, I know what you are. Thief, murderer, you’re no better than me. You can do this to save your sister and earn a little coin along the way. Come now, I’ll owe you a big favor if you do this for me. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about that."
"How about I take her from you right now and save myself the trouble?"
The Baron smiled a devilish smile, revealing in some part what lay hidden beneath his human façade. "Because I could break it to powder in my hand before you had half the chance."
Considering for a moment, Hume turned what he thought was an honorific to an insult and replied, "I’ll do it, you rotten worm."
Unaffected by the intended slight, the Baron said, "Let’s not make it personal. This is business; nothing more. I know that little wench took it, the Lady Elizabeth. She has some noble idea about subverting my authority, no doubt. Find her and get the Blade. Then you can have your sister back without a scratch on her pretty little head."
"Deal."
"Not so fast. First you must swear by the blood oath not to use to Blade against me or to attack me in any way until our business is done."
"The blood oath? With you? Forget it."
The Baron’s hand became a claw at the end of a long tentacle, wrapped tightly around the crystal ball. The implication was all too obvious.
"All right, have it your way, but any dirty tricks and I’ll bring it to you with tongs. That hide of yours may be thick but there are powers beyond the Blade of Caro. Remember what Zeus did to the titans."
"Yes, just so, I expect. Now come with me. All is prepared."
For a moment, Hume stood still. Violence loomed as he looked upon the crystal ball. He was fuming but able to keep his emotions under control. Giving Finkbeiner a final, appraising look, he came to a decision and relaxed.
The choice did not go unnoticed. The Baron met his gaze and returned an appreciative nod. His hand was once again in human form. There was no transformation, no morphing of one shape to the next. It just happened.
Returning the crystal ball to the safety of his robe, the Baron put a hand on Hume’s shoulder. The gesture was accepted and they began walking. They didn’t speak as they made their way from the throne room but the tension between them had eased.
The corridors were as broad as they were tall, making gentle curves rather than straight lines. Even the intersection of hallways weren’t square. It was like the entire place was carved from stone by some great serpent, rather than nailed together from scrap wood by the Baron’s slaves.
A short walk brought them to the Laboratory. The room bustled with activity. Live specimens were everywhere. Some of the creatures were bizarre beyond imaging, sprouting thick fur or feathers in spectacular shapes and colors. Others were the product of unlikely coupling. There was a cat with a snake’s head and tail. A small dog had the claws of a lobster.
In most cases, their cages were barely large enough to hold them, let alone allow movement. More of the pig-men tended the various animals, but they cowered in fear upon the Baron’s arrival.
"Please excuse the hubbub," said the Baron, tittering like a schoolgirl. "It’s the lesser harvest today."
"Nice," said Hume, pondering the implication.
"Oh, I do so much enjoy the smell of it. Don’t you?"
Disgusted by the odor, Hume said, "It stinks."
"That’s fear." The Baron’s eyes were alight, like he was strung out on some powerful narcotic. "They know what’s coming. The poor brutes aren’t as dumb as they look. Fear and blood, there’s nothing like it."
A cauldron sat in the center of the room. It was as large as a dumpster, made of hammered copper turned green with corrosion. The lip was covered with the blood and gore of untold heinous rituals. Fire burned underneath, flaming high as they approached. The copper glowed with the heat, shining with a reddish orange light like the sun.
Unaffected by the heat, the Baron walked toward the cauldron. Hume followed a few steps behind. Even though the slaves backed away, neither the Baron nor Hume broke a sweat. This was the Baron’s work. He kept Hume safe until the deal was finished.
Inside the cauldron, a rancid mixture resembling feces was bubbling. The smell was terrible. Hume tried to hold his breath but soon gave it up and covered his mouth with his sleeve.
Withdrawing a knife from his robe, Finkbeiner offered it to Hume. It was a kitchen knife with a wood handle. The blade was serrated, bent with use, and pitted with rust.
Frowning, Hume said, "I’ll use my own."
"Suit yourself."
Cutting their hands, they let their blood run into the boiling contents of the cauldron. Smoke fumed and billowed in clouds. The smell was rancid as Lucifer’s breath. It stung the eyes and burned the lungs. Hume could hardly breathe but would not allow himself to cough. They spoke their oaths to each other, the magic binding their minds and bodies to their words.
"Done!" Finkbeiner announced. "Good luck to you. I’ll provide aid however I may. Just ask and it will be done."
"Thanks," said Hume, narrowing his eyes. "No need to show me out."
went After Hume left, the Baron returned to the throne room, finding his guards still nursing their wounds. Taking a broken pair of pliers from a pocket, he pulled the worst of the splinters from their bodies. That done, he grumbled an incantation, healing them.
"Mutt, Tigg, I want you to keep an eye on our new friend. Make sure he keeps his part of the bargain."
"Yes, Master," grunted Mutt, the bigger of the two, in a rough voice. "You want we should stick a knife in him if he looks to be playin’ round?"
"No, not right away." He took a small bottle from the shelf, amongst other potions of dubious efficacy. "One drop of this into a pool of water and we can talk. We’ll give our wizard friend enough rope to hang himself, but who knows? He might just do the job I require of him."
Mutt grinned.
"Now, to make you both a little more presentable. Clothes make the man and so does the skin."
Returning to the shelf, the Baron sorted through a number of bottles and flasks until he found what he looked for. It was a small, earthenware jug, stopped with cork and dusty with years of neglect.
"This will do the trick, but take care. The effects wear off quickly. I don’t have much, so use small sips whenever you go out in public and only when you absolutely have to. Otherwise stay to the shadows."
Taking the jug, Mutt nodded acknowledgement.
"Now go; follow him. Find out where he lives and what he does in the world above. You must not fail."
October 10, 2013
Review: SLOPPY FIRSTS by Megan McCafferty
Summary: When her best friend, Hope Weaver, moves away from Pineville, New Jersey, hyper-observant sixteen-year-old Jessica Darling is devastated. A fish out of water at school and a stranger at home, Jessica feels more lost than ever now that the only person with whom she could really communicate has gone. How is she supposed to deal with the boy- and shopping-crazy girls at school, her dad’s obsession with her track meets, her mother salivating over big sister Bethany’s lavish wedding, and her nonexistent love life?
My thoughts: This book is a diary narrated by 16-year old Jessica Darling, the cynically witty and precocious teen. She often discusses trivial and shallow subjects pertaining to her school and family life. Like Seinfeld, it is the “book about nothing,” but it is still hilarious.
I must admit that I had a few eye rolls when she talked about the Clueless Crew. “These are suppose to be my friends. But more often than not, I can’t stand them.” (12) Then why hang out with them?
Jessica was definitely a character that I could relate to. She was so keenly observant that she was like the kid from The Wonder Years. “Am I the only creature with a vagina who thinks that weddings are ridiculous?” (32) She just tells it like it is. Love it!
“As soon as I got there, I remembered why I’d held off. I hate waiting rooms in doctors’ offices. First of all, they’re full of sick people, spreading their germs all over the place. I found this particularly annoying because I wasn’t sick. I was getting all the contamination without giving any. Secondly, the magazines suck. I guess they figure Highlights will appeal to both ends of the drooling spectrum: children and senile senior citizens. Everyone in between can just die of boredom, or of whatever disease you’re at the doctor’s office for, since they make you sit there so damn long.” (92) It’s like I could’ve almost written this.
One thing I didn’t like was her obsession over her best friend and the desire to get devirginized. Did she not have anything else going for her? Probably not, which was made her the self-deprecating and gloomy teen you just love.
I actually look forward to more Jessica Darling quips and adventures.
On the TBR list: Second Helpings
My Rating: 4 stars
October 3, 2013
Escape from L.A., Part 2
I should’ve known that fateful Sunday wouldn’t turn out the way I expected. I had planned that whole weekend out perfectly—I worked myself to the bone to get everything done on Saturday just so I could have the whole day to spend at the West Hollywood Book Fair on Sunday. Everything should’ve gone as planned that day. But when I opened the door that early morning and saw that fresh heap of a turd sitting right at the foot of my doorstep, I frowned, my body instantly filling with disgust and hate for these horrible neighbors of mine. This was surely a fine start to my day.
Deciding to put that image of that brown carcass out of my mind, we stopped by at this diner for breakfast. Some nice, crispy bacon wrapped in a tortilla with beans and eggs sounded just like the right thing for us. But, alas, the bacon was not crispy; there were chunks of fat dangling on the ends. Talk about a mood spoiler. We had to return the plates in hopes that they would rectify it and not spit in our food.
After we got our plates back, we ended up enjoying a delicious breakfast. Everything was oh-so-yummy! I had just gotten my fill, having devoured every tiny morsel of my meal, when the wind suddenly shifted after a couple of bums entered the place, sending a putrid wind in our vicinity. I nearly vomited at the smell, which was like a clogged toilet. I had just downed a good meal, but this stench was bringing it back up. Ugh! So that was the end of that meal and possibly the end of food, in general, at that point.
It was about 8 o’ clock when we got on the road to Los Angeles. The traffic was mild and easy-going. Timing was going splendidly. It took less than an hour to get there, giving us more than enough time before the fair started at 10 a.m. Sweet!
If I mentioned it once, I’ll say it again: I HATE driving in L.A. In trying to look for that student Pacific Design Center, the place offering $10 parking for the event, I nearly went the wrong way making a U-turn on one of those curvy side roads that are so popular in L.A. Those damn lines were so confusing!
Traveling down San Vicente Blvd, we came across a parking lot—actually, it was more of a road block. Apparently, the street was completely blocked off. A bunch of cars were cramming into the left-turning lane in an attempt to get out of there. I’ve never seen so many middle fingers shoot up in one setting.
We tried to make several more attempts to get back onto San Vicente by going around other streets, but the end result was the same: it was all completely blocked off. Cops were trying to direct the mess of traffic packed in a no-win situation. Car horns blared in the air as one guy shouted, “How the f#* are we suppose to get outta here?” The guy was only saying what we were all thinking.
We needed to get our bearings, so we stopped at a Vons so we could ask one of the cops how to get to the book fair. I waited in the car while my mom went to go ask. As she was walking back, I saw the glum look on her face as she was shaking her head. Oh, no. Apparently, the cop told her that we weren’t going to get to the West Hollywood park. The roads were all closed off for the L.A. marathon. L.A. marathon? Didn’t we hear something about that on the news this morning during breakfast? At the moment, I really didn’t think much of it because I was sure that we would bypass it somehow. Boy, was I wrong. I guess that should’ve been our omen right there. Somebody was trying to tell us to just stay home. But did I listen?
Now, the problem was: How the hell was I gonna get out of here!? I was hot, I was confused, and my frustration had nearly blown off the top of my head. But most of all, I was pissed because I drove all the way out to L.A. for that book fair and couldn’t get there. Steam was practically shooting out of my nose and ears. I pretty much lost it. GOD DAMMIT!
In a blind rage, I somehow maneuvered out of that disastrous pile up and found the freeway. At that point, all I wanted to do was get back to civilization and free-flowing traffic.
I guess I must have been delirious from the heat or my anger, because I convinced myself to go to the OC Children’s Book Festival in Costa Mesa. Costa Mesa wasn’t that far, and I did want to go to a book fair today. Why didn’t I just go home right then and there?
First of all, I couldn’t find the damn place—no surprise there. Second, there were just TOO MANY kids. God, I hate kids, which was why I decided not to go to this event in the first place. The only thing I wanted to see was the teen stage, and that was a big ball-buster. I think we spent about 10 minutes there before deciding to leave and forget about it. The fair absolutely sucked!
What would have been the final cherry on top of this whole fun-loving Sunday was if I had gotten a parking ticket. Walking back to the car, I saw like 3 or 4 security officers giving out tickets. Oh, shit! Panicked, I rushed to find my car, desperately hoping not to find a piece of paper fluttering beneath the windshield wiper. Within minutes, I finally found it. We quickly hopped in and peeled out of that parking lot as fast as we could. I had evaded that ticket by a small fraction. Phew!
I guess somebody decided to take pity on me in that moment.
So that was the end of a day that never started. Next time, I will look beyond the foul stench of that caca and recognize the disaster that could lie ahead.
Deciding to put that image of that brown carcass out of my mind, we stopped by at this diner for breakfast. Some nice, crispy bacon wrapped in a tortilla with beans and eggs sounded just like the right thing for us. But, alas, the bacon was not crispy; there were chunks of fat dangling on the ends. Talk about a mood spoiler. We had to return the plates in hopes that they would rectify it and not spit in our food.
After we got our plates back, we ended up enjoying a delicious breakfast. Everything was oh-so-yummy! I had just gotten my fill, having devoured every tiny morsel of my meal, when the wind suddenly shifted after a couple of bums entered the place, sending a putrid wind in our vicinity. I nearly vomited at the smell, which was like a clogged toilet. I had just downed a good meal, but this stench was bringing it back up. Ugh! So that was the end of that meal and possibly the end of food, in general, at that point.
It was about 8 o’ clock when we got on the road to Los Angeles. The traffic was mild and easy-going. Timing was going splendidly. It took less than an hour to get there, giving us more than enough time before the fair started at 10 a.m. Sweet!
If I mentioned it once, I’ll say it again: I HATE driving in L.A. In trying to look for that student Pacific Design Center, the place offering $10 parking for the event, I nearly went the wrong way making a U-turn on one of those curvy side roads that are so popular in L.A. Those damn lines were so confusing!
Traveling down San Vicente Blvd, we came across a parking lot—actually, it was more of a road block. Apparently, the street was completely blocked off. A bunch of cars were cramming into the left-turning lane in an attempt to get out of there. I’ve never seen so many middle fingers shoot up in one setting.
We tried to make several more attempts to get back onto San Vicente by going around other streets, but the end result was the same: it was all completely blocked off. Cops were trying to direct the mess of traffic packed in a no-win situation. Car horns blared in the air as one guy shouted, “How the f#* are we suppose to get outta here?” The guy was only saying what we were all thinking.
We needed to get our bearings, so we stopped at a Vons so we could ask one of the cops how to get to the book fair. I waited in the car while my mom went to go ask. As she was walking back, I saw the glum look on her face as she was shaking her head. Oh, no. Apparently, the cop told her that we weren’t going to get to the West Hollywood park. The roads were all closed off for the L.A. marathon. L.A. marathon? Didn’t we hear something about that on the news this morning during breakfast? At the moment, I really didn’t think much of it because I was sure that we would bypass it somehow. Boy, was I wrong. I guess that should’ve been our omen right there. Somebody was trying to tell us to just stay home. But did I listen?
Now, the problem was: How the hell was I gonna get out of here!? I was hot, I was confused, and my frustration had nearly blown off the top of my head. But most of all, I was pissed because I drove all the way out to L.A. for that book fair and couldn’t get there. Steam was practically shooting out of my nose and ears. I pretty much lost it. GOD DAMMIT!
In a blind rage, I somehow maneuvered out of that disastrous pile up and found the freeway. At that point, all I wanted to do was get back to civilization and free-flowing traffic.
I guess I must have been delirious from the heat or my anger, because I convinced myself to go to the OC Children’s Book Festival in Costa Mesa. Costa Mesa wasn’t that far, and I did want to go to a book fair today. Why didn’t I just go home right then and there?
First of all, I couldn’t find the damn place—no surprise there. Second, there were just TOO MANY kids. God, I hate kids, which was why I decided not to go to this event in the first place. The only thing I wanted to see was the teen stage, and that was a big ball-buster. I think we spent about 10 minutes there before deciding to leave and forget about it. The fair absolutely sucked!
What would have been the final cherry on top of this whole fun-loving Sunday was if I had gotten a parking ticket. Walking back to the car, I saw like 3 or 4 security officers giving out tickets. Oh, shit! Panicked, I rushed to find my car, desperately hoping not to find a piece of paper fluttering beneath the windshield wiper. Within minutes, I finally found it. We quickly hopped in and peeled out of that parking lot as fast as we could. I had evaded that ticket by a small fraction. Phew!
I guess somebody decided to take pity on me in that moment.
So that was the end of a day that never started. Next time, I will look beyond the foul stench of that caca and recognize the disaster that could lie ahead.
September 26, 2013
Review: THE FIRE by John Heldt
This is the third John Heldt novel that I’ve read. The Fire is the sequel to The Mineand The Journey. Our hero, Joel Smith, from The Mine returns as a geology professor to Kevin Johnson, an upcoming college graduate.
Being that it was his last summer before grad school, Kevin takes a mini vacation with his family (his mother being Shelly Preston from The Journey) touring an old city that was destroyed by a fire over a hundred years ago. Then, one night, Kevin discovered something that might allude to the possibility of time travel. “As a man of science, he felt compelled to dismiss the idea immediately. Time travel was impossible.” (17)
An intellectual curiosity compelled him to seek out the old shed in the back, a portal that somehow sent him to 1910, the year of the fire. That’s like going back to the day the Titanic sank.
It was odd that Kevin could step back into his own time—something that our earlier heroes could not do. But who could pass up an opportunity to experience another time? Certainly not Kevin, that’s for sure! He just had to go back to find the girl with “the Jane Seymour face and Gibson-girl hair.” (42)
Kevin was a smart, kind, and charismatic character. He seemed to have a chivalry complex when it came to how girls were treated in 1910—he couldn’t stand that Sadie worked in a brothel, he hated the heartless brute that courted Sarah, and he expressed disappointment on how the bright female students in his science class were programmed to think that their years were chained to household and family duties. Still, being caught between the affection of two lovely ladies is never a good place to be in.
The big question was one that he must struggle with: “Would he consider the unthinkable and give her up [or] would he consider the really unthinkable and stay?” (142)
Then there was the inevitable fire. “Would [he] ride through Wallace like a turn-of-the-century Paul Revere and warn residents that the fires were coming? Or would [he] let history run its course and let people die?” (177) Kevin must make some hard choices—some hard, life-threatening choices.
Filled with scrupulous, historical detail, this book is just another top notch in Heldt’s finely crafted belt. Readers will enjoy another time-traveling adventure filled with drama and romance. Well-written and entertaining!
September 23, 2013
Review: THE UNIVERSE DOESN’T DO SECOND CHANCES by Sean-Paul Thomas
“For as long as I could remember I was never really that great with women…they were my stumbling blocks…Better to have tried and failed than never to have tried at all. Whoever came up with that phrase, I wanted his greasy head on a silver platter.” (3) Right from the start, our main protagonists lures the reader into a world of self-deprecating humor. “My final thoughts weren't of my loving mother, my proud but stubborn father, my jolly cheery match maker sister or my average life and few friends back home in Edinburgh. Nor had I any thoughts of my dead end job, never ending bills, mortgages or my good health, my fitness, the places I'd always dreamed about travelling to and visiting one day but never found the time to do so…Instead, I found myself thinking about all those missed opportunities I'd had throughout my life with [girls].” (11)
This story is all about regret and resentment. There are no second chances in life, but what if…suddenly there were?
We follow the journey of Liam, a lonely and lovesick man, as he attempts to recapture those lost chances in fumbling ways. In part 1, we begin with Alexandra, the blonde on the bus. The two spend the day touring the Scottland landmarks while exchanging dry (and sometimes horrific) pleasantries. It was odd that so much was divulged in such a short time, like virginity loss and family death. The bulk of this segment was mainly focused on the constant togetherness of Liam and Alex, until finally their love combusts into a passionate night. Then…it’s over.
In part 2, Liam re-awakens in his 13-year old body. Re-living his innocent days of burrowing through caves and sorting through nudie magazines, Liam reacquaints himself with his old crush, Sarah—a brave, little tomboy. Together, they experience some wild adventures.
Written in reverse mode, this tale answers the “what if” questions in Liam’s life. I couldn’t help but enjoy Liam’s witty and naïve nature. His endearing gullibility, especially when it came to girls, was present throughout his lifespan. It was funny!
Although, at times, the various accents and expressions were difficult to comprehend, the characters were quirky and somewhat fascinating.
As I was reading, I couldn’t help but question how our hero was able to get this “second chance.” And how many was he getting? Was it just a dream? And why does he have trouble remembering?
What I liked best was the unique story line of time travel and re-living past moments. The writer definitely has a knack for stories.
The great message of the story was: No Regrets. Just go for it right NOW—not LATER—because you just never know... “That's what happens though when you sit back and don't go after what you want. You just never know what the hell might happen and what kind of adventures might pan out over that whole day in front of you, if you decide to take a risk.” (282)
Note: A few typos could’ve been corrected here and there. And then, of course, there’s…….the cliffhanger. Grrrrr!
September 18, 2013
Review: COME FLY WITH ME by Judith Whitmore
Summary: From mansions in Emerald Bay, to hilltop villas in the Caribbean, Come Fly with Me is the story of a woman coming into her own in a world where the sky is the limit. Kate Randolph is young, beautiful and rich, and her passion is flying. In the air she feels a freedom she feels nowhere else, and it’s where she dreams of escape from her marriage to a cold, distant husband. Rick Sanders, her tough flight instructor, challenges Kate to always rise to the occasion and trust her instincts. A series of unexpected events forces both to look beyond the usual facades, and as a result, Kate and Rick liberate each other––she rescues him in a harrowing mission into Southeast Asia that proves her mettle once and for all, and he releases her to be the woman she was meant to be––no holds barred.My thoughts: 30-something Kate Randolph was stuck in a lonely marriage to a 50-year old Sam. Afraid to lose the financial stability, she continued to stay with him, suffering in silence. Kate and Sam’s marriage kind of reminded me of the rich couple in the famous novel, Rebecca—cold, distant, and kind of creepy. Sam often talked to her like she was a small child. My only question was: Why? Why did Kate put up with him?
Then she started taking flight lessons from hot instructor, Rick. The attraction was mutual between the two. While Kate and Rick wrestle with their growing feelings for each other, the reader roots for them to give in to a “happy landing.” But “would the emotions born on the tropical island be allowed to grow, or would they wither like an untended garden?” (231)
Kate was one lucky girl! She married the millionaire and got to shack up with the flight instructor. God, it makes me want to take flying lessons!
A well-written and gripping story of what it means to “surf the clouds” and fly on your own.
September 12, 2013
New Book Preview: A TRICKY GAME by Seraphima Bogomolova
A Tricky Game, by Seraphima Bogomolova, is a mystery psychological thriller, published by Souliris UK Ltd, released on July 15, 2013.
A Tricky Game is a psychological novella telling the story of a young enigmatic woman, who finds herself involved in an edgy game of three men, whose genuine intents, second agendas, and secret longings become closely intertwined with her own destiny, creating unexpected twists that place her in front of challenging life choices.
In Moscow, Russia, an aluminium magnate, Kazimir Stankevitch, enters into an unwritten agreement with a seductively attractive young woman, Angela Moreaux, whom he secretly desires. Later that night, as she returns home from a nightclub, a shot is fired at her. While in the hospital she receives a visit from a silent masked incognito, whose true intentions she is yet to discover. At the same time, her unsuspecting associate meets in the Ritz with an elderly Swiss gentleman who delivers to him a mysterious letter. As the stakes in the game go higher, the young woman is confronted with life choices that will challenge her in unexpected ways.
***
A Tricky Game is available for sale on Amazon
Seraphima Bogomolova was born and raised in St Petersburg, Russia. She is the Editor of Avantoure.com. A Tricky Game is Seraphima’s debut novella. Currently, she is working on her second novella. For more information, visit http://atrickygame.com *** Excerpt Through the crowd of clubbers and dancing strippers, she walks toward him. Approaching, she stops, her eyes fastened on his profile. Instantaneously sensing her presence, the man turns round. Her hand extended to him, he grabs it and, parting his lips, impresses them on it, leaving a flaming trail on her skin. She pulls it away. He looks up.
"Are you playing with me?”
“I think you enjoy being played with."
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On the game."
She sits down. His eyes on her mouth, he watches her light up a cigarillo, her lips encircled around its chocolate tip. She draws on it, releasing a blow of smoke. Motioning at a waitress, he orders a bottle of Krug. Champagne's poured into their glasses, he raises his glass.
"To our agreement."
"As you wish."
"Do you think it really matters what I wish?"
"It depends."
"On what?"
"On your wish."
August 22, 2013
Book Giveaway: THE MAN AT THE CAFFE FARNESE by Janet Simcic
The Man at the Caffe Farnese is an adventure-filled coming-of-age-story. Julie Walden's fiftieth birthday slams her with life changes. She whisks two new friends to a penthouse in Rome.
One copy will be given away.
Good luck!
Contest subjected to those with a valid U.S. address. No international
a Rafflecopter giveaway
One copy will be given away.
Good luck!
Contest subjected to those with a valid U.S. address. No international
a Rafflecopter giveaway
August 20, 2013
Review: HAPPY BIRTHDAY OR WHATEVER by Annie Choi
My review today is on Happy Birthday or Whatever: Track Suits, Kim Chee, and other Family Disasters by Annie Choi.Meet Annie Choi. She fears cable cars and refuses to eat anything that casts a shadow. Her brother thinks chicken is a vegetable. Her father occasionally starts fires at work. Her mother collects Jesus trading cards and wears plaid like it's a job. No matter how hard Annie and her family try to understand one another, they often come up hilariously short.
But in the midst of a family crisis, Annie comes to realize that the only way to survive one another is to stick together . . . as difficult as that might be. Annie Choi's "Happy Birthday or Whatever" is a sidesplitting, eye-opening, and transcendent tale of coping with an infuriating, demanding, but ultimately loving Korean family.
My thoughts: Two words can only describe this book: Funny and Sarcastic.
Annie Choi compiles a wonderful collection of short stories about growing up and family dysfunction.
In “Spelling Bee,” we learn how little Annie must prove to her Korean mother that she won’t end up in the street holding a sign that reads “Will Werk for Food.”
In “Stroke Order,” Annie tries to “[reclaim] the language she once knew and then forgot and then rejected.” (pg. 75)
The family was absolutely hilarious when they tell Annie to only bring home the man she’s going to marry, which then indirectly sabotages any relationship she ever has.
If you like Las Niñas: A Collection of Childhood Memoriesby Sarah Rafael Garcia, then you’ll love this Korean version of it, which is filled with powerful and gripping stories that make you feel right at home—after all, “in the end…we are family and we should spend time together, even if it kills us.” (pg. 213)
