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Edward Lorn's Blog, page 117
June 19, 2012
Daily Ruminations: Day 18 – Monogamy
Monogamy: This is a topic I, myself, feel strongly about. Fidelity is high on my list of attributes, but not everyone feels the same way I do. My wife is the most beautiful, attractive woman I know, and no other woman “does it” for me like she does. With that being said, do you think that’s natural? Should we as a species run around spreading our legs for multiple partners or drop our seed in any woman that will let us? Or, do we need to find the right one, and settle down? I’m an equal opportunity ruminator (I know that’s not a word, or at least it wasn’t until I made it up 
) I would love to hear your thoughts on whether or not a human being should be monogamous.
Have multiple conversations in the comment section below.
E.
June 18, 2012
Daily Ruminations: Day 17 – Inspiration
Inspiration: I was going to entitle this Daily Rum “Muses,” but then I realized, not all of my followers are creative persons. So, what’s your inspiration as you live out your life. This can be a person, the world around you, or maybe, an inanimate object. We all have that reason for getting up in the morning. What’s yours.
Inspire me in the comment section below.
E.
Bad Cover #1
I’m trying to get back into my music as a hobby. The writing is going really well, but I see it becoming more of a career that I love instead of just fun to have. I need better recording equipment, I know that, but I’m working with what I have
June 17, 2012
Daily Ruminations: Day 16 – Advice
Advice: Today’s question is simple. We’ve all received good and bad advice throughout our lives. Care to share the best, or the worst, advice you’ve ever been given? I know I’ve heard some doozies, but I want to hear from you before I share too much.
Advise me in the comment section below.
E.
June 15, 2012
A Review of “Jack Is Writing” by Shaun Adams
I must preface this review with the following:
Jack Is Writing, by Shaun Adams, deserves an editor, but at face value, does not need one. There are more than a handful of errors, about four or five per story, but that in no way detracts from the strength of these tales. If anything, I felt like I had found several diamonds in the rough. They could be polished, but are just as unique and mesmerizing without touching them any further. For no other reason do I give this book four stars. Make that abundantly clear: This is a fantastic collection. The book floored me, and that is no easy task. If you peruse my blog, you will find only one other review. That’s how often I find a new piece of literature worth commenting on. We will go story by story. I will skip the 100 word additions only because I do not know how to review a story that short. I will say, though, they are all crafted by an author whose vocabulary is stammering. You will not find any unneeded words. I guarantee that.
Let’s get started then.
The Blind Star: This story shocked me. Not because of its content, but by its direction. The horror is quick and dirty, surprising and stunning. The lead up is what struck me as amazing. I just didn’t see it coming. Saying more would ruin the story, and most importantly, the surprise. Shaun leads us into the scene effortlessly, not revealing anything until the most exquisite moment. Bravo!
Favorite Quote: “…mischievous eyes sparkling in a face that resembled a walnut.”
Evil Moon: Who doesn’t love a story set in a nuthouse. This one unsettled me. Shaun puts us inside the mind of an unstable man on suicide watch. I was so pleased with this one, I actually read it twice. Madness, throughout history, has been attributed to the moon. If you’ve ever worked in hospitality, or for a hospital, you know what I’m talking about. But here, in this story, the moon is personified.
Favorite Quote: “The smell reminded him of a dead cat he had once found in a hedge when he was a child – road kill, left to rot in the summer sun for at least a week.”
Eyes of Clouded Glass: Blech! Poor, poor Clem. The description of the hag in this story is disgustingly brilliant, and utterly disturbing. Shaun spends little time describing his surroundings here, but what he uses to his advantage is a talent for show-don’t-tell. His descriptions play out through his character’s actions. You will find nothing as mundane as, “The walls were gray,” within these pages.
Favorite Quote: “I listened as worm eaten floorboards creaked and settled; a brief squabble over Frosty Jack was quickly resolved in a room down the corridor.” Let me say this: At no time does Shaun give us any information we don’t need to know. With the above quote, he adds atmosphere. To my dying day, I will scream from the mountain tops, horror is nothing without atmosphere. Shaun laid foreboding on so thick, it fucking dripped from my Kindle. Read and learn, people. Read and learn.
A Rough Parody of Billy: This is, hands down, my favorite story in the collection. It’s dark, nasty fiction at its very best. Shaun delves into weird with the ease of a trained professional. You know something’s coming, but God, you haven’t a clue what it might be. And just when you think you might know, he snatches the damn rug out from under your feet. I will be playing this nightmare out in my sleep for some time. As revolting and impossible as the story is, Shaun somehow made it very real for me.
Favorite Quote: “Billy feels the sting of haemorrhage from its passage behind his eye. It excites him, exquisite purgatory.” I mean come on, Shaun! That’s cheating. By the way, Shaun is English. Haemorrhage is just the way they spell it across the pond.
Out of a Dust Demon 5000: This is my least favorite story. It’s not poorly written, just wasn’t my thing. Funny side note: Shaun adds an afterword at the end of the story, explaining that his inspiration for this tale stemmed from Stephen King’s From a Buick Eight. In my honest opinion, FAB8 is one of King’s worst books. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Sorry, Shaun.
I Never Ordered Pizza: I think one of my least favorite questions to be asked as an author is, “Where do you come up with this shit?” Rarely can I explain, and usually respond, “It just pops into my head and I evacuate it as soon as possible.” But, I Never Ordered Pizza made me want to ask Shaun that exact question. The story is just good old fashioned fun, and oh, so fucking weird. I laughed, hard, on more than one occasion. Right where I was supposed to, I would think.
Favorite Quote: Just about everything that comes out of Cosmopolitan Smallman’s mouth. You’ll see what I mean when you read the story.
Sarcophagus Rising: This end of the world scenario seemed so real to me. I could almost see the newspaper print, hear the radio reports, smell the burnt ash in the air. Waking up to something like this would be my worst nightmare come true. I’m not a huge fan of apocalyptic thrillers, but this one had a personal feel to it. I felt so terribly sad for the nameless narrator.
Favorite Quote: “I thought I saw charred lumps of human remains; a foot in the ornamental birdbath, A head in the flowerbed.” That is copied verbatim. Even though it is my favorite quote in the story, it does have an error in it. This is what I was talking about at the beginning of the review. Small, easily overlooked typos are smattered here and there, but they don’t hurt. If you didn’t catch the error, the “A” shouldn’t be capitalized.
Eight Click’s To Eternity: Yes, there’s a typo in the title. There shouldn’t be an apostrophe in Clicks, but oh well. It is what it is. With that said, Shaun closes out his collection strongly. Not quite as strongly as he started, but that’s just my personal opinion. After reading this collection, I see Shaun has a penchant for sci-fi that I didn’t expect when I first started reading. The final piece of work showcased, has a mystery about it. It bores into that feeling some of us have that says, “We’re not alone out here in the universe.” I read another review of Shaun’s collection in which the reviewer said they wanted more, and I must agree, but only with this last story. It felt as if Shaun was halfway home, but ran out of gas before he reached his destination. I say that, but I know how we work as storytellers. Sometimes there isn’t any more. We’re only given a brief glimpse, and the image fades. Imagine bearing that cross. Knowing there’s a story, but not knowing if it has a proper ending. I deal with that shit all the time.
In summation: This will be a book I will read again and again. Maybe one story at a time, or another complete walkthrough. I’ve already read two of the stories twice just to see how he managed certain scenes. Shaun has that talent, that magic only a few possess. The power of a good storyteller is engulfing. You can sit there and listen to them talk for hours, and feel as though only minutes have passed. Shaun Adams, it would be my pleasure to waste the day away with nothing but your stories as company. Thank you for the escape.
E.
Grab Jack is Writing at Smashwords and Bibliocracy
P.S. Damn the torpedoes… Mara McBain, you’re next.
June 14, 2012
Daily Ruminations: Day 15 – Social Networking
Social Networking: How do you connect? Are their any sites that you just will not use? For me, that site is Tumblr. They will, forever, be without an E. Did you find me through some social networking platform? If so, which one? Should we, as a society, be connected everywhere, somewhere, or nowhere? Do we share too much on these sites? You tell me. Pretty please?
Connect with me in the comment section below.
E.
Ruminating On: Theme Parks
(Author’s Note: I’ll edit this one when the tears dry. For now, just ignore the mistakes.)
Ruminating On: Theme Parks
I’m a lucky guy. I understand, when it comes to the modicum of success I’ve had thus far as an author, that I wouldn’t be here without certain people. You know who you are, and I am forever grateful to you. People seem to love Bay’s End, and I’m proud to say that I wrote that book, but since the novel was published in January of 2012, the outpouring of praise has been bittersweet. Because someone very important to me, missed it all.
Irma Meister-Caringer was born October 30, 1919. During her years upon this earth, she traveled everywhere, saw everything, and loved every minute of life. Irma and Lonnie Caringer had four children. In order of appearance, they are: Donna, Barbara, Jess and Rick. One of those children, grew up to be my mother.
I have a little knowledge about my grandmother’s earlier years, but that’s not why we’re here today. You’ll just have to believe me when I tell you she lived an amazing life. She meant a great deal to numerous people, but I need to be a little selfish right now and explain to you what she meant to me.
I didn’t have a terrible childhood. Other than my father being the lay-about he was, my formative years were pretty damn good, in hindsight. Some of my most cherished memories were times spent with my grandmother. She was a lover of adventure and theme parks, and shared that love with me. Before I was ten years old, she’d taken me to every park Southern California had to offer—Disneyland, Universal Studios, Knott’s Berry Farm and Magic Mountain. Sometimes she would ride the rides with me, but as she got up there in age, those times became fewer and fewer. Finally, one year, she stopped riding altogether. That did nothing to lessen her enjoyment, though, as she would always be waiting for me at the exits with a smile mirroring my own. I think about that smile now, and it hurts. Funny how the little things that once caused joy can turn into tears after a while. I suppose they could be happy tears, but this feeling in my chest says otherwise.
When I was fifteen, we left California for Alabama. We ended up having to move back to Cali after Hurricane Opal trashed all of our stuff in 1995, but moved back to the south less than a year later. My communication with Grandma suffered greatly. I understand that people get older, and folks move on, but I could have done more to keep in touch with her. I might have called her more often. I should have. God, I should have.
The years went on and I met a beautiful woman who I would marry. My daughter was born soon after. We moved to Maine for two years and enjoyed the snow until situations outside of my control had us returning to Alabama. I was broken and destitute. I had failed my family. Because of that, I sulked, tucked my tail between my legs and dove inward. I didn’t want to talk to anyone, family or otherwise. Especially not Grandma. I didn’t want her to know the failure I had become. She didn’t deserve a grandson like me. I was an embarrassment. Or so I thought.
Time passed and things began to change. I started a company from the ground up, and was successful. I found I had time to do things I enjoyed again, like writing. And you see how that turned out. Just after I completed the rough draft of Bay’s End, I found the time and money to take my daughter to Disney World and Universal Studios Orlando. I wanted to show her some of the wonders I’d seen as a child, some of the magic I witnessed with my grandmother. My wife was three months along with my son, Chris, at that point, so she missed all the good rides—the ones that pull your face back and have you screaming like Jamie Lee Curtis in Halloween. My Daughter, Autumn, enjoyed everything I took her on, but I think her favorite was Space Mountain. As the cars pulled away from the faux space dock, and we entered that thin tunnel, I heard over the screams of other riders, my daughter’s devious chuckling. Her tone was low, deep, and came in staccato bursts, “Hee…heee…heeee…heeee.” It was rather creepy, but hilarious all the same. The excitement coming off her did little to waylay my own fears, though. I can’t stand that damn ride. Something about being in the dark, only pin lights showing through, emulating stars. I’ve always felt as if I would come across a randomly placed beam, and said crossbar would remove my head in an precise, yet messy, fashion. Even over my screams of utter terror, I could hear my daughter giggling, “Heee…heeee…” and I knew then, as we stepped off the ride, the enjoyment my grandmother must’ve felt with me so many years ago. It’s not about whether or not you enjoy the ride, it’s about the enjoyment of children – how their smiles can infect you and turn a cruel world into a place of hope and joy.
On our way to Orlando from Mobile, Irma Caringer had a stroke. My uncle Rick, whom she was living with at the time, found her lying in the middle of the floor when he came home for lunch. She’d not answered the phone when he called, and he became worried. I can’t even imagine what he must have felt, walking in, finding his mother there on the carpet, breathing, but just barely. She was rushed away to the hospital where they assessed and stabilized her. All the while, I was enjoying Disney with my daughter, just like my grandmother and I had.
We decided to stay in Orlando after hearing the news. Grandma was talking, though her speech was slurred, and she was able to move only one side of her body. My mother, who had come with us on vacation, spoke with her, told her everything was going to be all right, and said we’d be out there as soon as we could. Grandma told her to enjoy the trip. She was fine. She wasn’t going anywhere.
So we stayed. Even though the thought of Grandma loomed in the backs of all our minds, we had our fun. Universal Studios Orlando was a blast, especially for me since the amusement park is much different than the one in Hollywood, California. It was all so new, and I shared my daughter’s thrill of new things. I hadn’t had that feeling at Disney World because, for the most part, it’s just like Disneyland in Anaheim.
We’d spent two days straight walking around theme parks, so when we got back to our suite, we crashed. I was beat down and wore out, cussing my throbbing feet, my aching heels fussing over all the weight they’d had to carry over the past 48 hours. We all went to bed exhausted, but in a good way.
Mom came into our room around ten o’clock and said two simple words, “She’s gone.” I got out of bed and embraced my mother. Together, we stood in that doorway and cried. My God, how we wept. I could see Grandma’s smiling face, that same smile that had been etched across her face every time I stepped off a ride. That glowing face, those forever blush-covered cheeks pulled up so her eyes squinted and her lips stretched.
Then a thought occurred to me, something that stole the very wind from my chest and crushed my heart in its steely fingers.
She’d waited. I know with all my heart, with every beat of the thing, that my grandmother waited until we’d had our fun before she finally let go. She hadn’t wanted to disturb our trip. She knew we would leave, drop everything to come to her side, but she told us to stay, to enjoy our time. She would be all right. She would be okay.
Irma Caringer died just ten days before her 92nd birthday on October 20th, 2011. She was a selfless, beautiful woman with a heart so powerful and so wonderful that she allowed her great-grandchild the same joy she’d allowed her grandson twenty years earlier.
I miss you, Grandma. I miss you so much.
E.
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Thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far. You are greatly appreciated!
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