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Gregory S. Lamb's Blog, page 17
September 10, 2012
Goodreads | Gregory Lamb (Portland, OR)’s review of CHASM
Goodreads | Gregory Lamb (Portland, OR)’s review of CHASM.
It isn’t very often when a début novel by an independent author comes along to grab the attention of discriminating readers. That is exactly what David Felder’s recently released novel, Chasm does. Steven King fans will love this page-turner full of suspense that grabs the reader from the very beginning.
This author knows his stuff. From his well-chosen place descriptions to his understanding of orbital mechanics and the science of manned space travel, every detail in this story comes alive because it is so believable. The characters are well developed and the dialogue meshes well with the plot. This psychological-techno thriller is a masterpiece of contemporary fiction that will appeal to a broad range of adult readers.
The story opens with the introduction of Michael Potter, who is soon discovered to be a serial killer. At first Potter seems like the cliché of the bad guy who grew up to become a master at planning each step of his crimes so he doesn’t get caught. What he didn’t plan on is the ingenuity of the protagonist, Dr. Jerry Franklin who is in fact a rocket engineer.
When Jerry wakes up after a brutal encounter with Potter, he discovers he’s been locked aboard the supply rocket that will be in lunar orbit until the supplies are needed. Not only is Jerry an intelligent engineer with the ability to solve nearly any problem, he’s got survival instincts to boot.
Every chapter is filled with detail and every detail builds up to a suspenseful and thrilling finale. There are a number of clever links between the characters in this story, including Franklin’s wife and son, who Potter takes a special interest in. The story culminates in an exciting and surprising conclusion. I hope David Felder has another hat trick for us because Chasm was such a great read!
Lascaux Flash: #19 Reconstituting
Lascaux Flash: #19 Reconstituting.
My previous blog was deleted by mistake. I’m reposting the most recent posts to get it up and running again.
September 8, 2012
Lascaux Flash: #19 Reconstituting
Lascaux Flash: #19 Reconstituting.
My first entry into Lascaux Flash Fiction can be found by clicking the link above. The “pulp” style I submitted is a far cry from the creative submissions that have already been posted. I recommend to those interested to read through as many as possible as these short pieces are inspirational.
September 7, 2012
September 6, 2012
#Flash Friday – 7 September 2012 – Prompt: “Broken”
The two young men stood on the bluff with the hoods of their thick sweatshirts pulled over their heads, their arms stiff, pressing both hands deep into the pockets of their faded jeans in an effort to ward off the chill of the morning breezes. The wind blew cold from the inland valley and then offshore to the lines of waves marching in from the North Pacific. It was what they were hoping for.
As so often happened when the sun warmed the earth from inland, the winds would invariably shift to an on shore direction and blow hard enough to destroy any hope the surfers would have of satisfying what became an addiction for both of them.
They were driven to wake early on winter mornings in hopes of standing inside of a fluid green room on nothing more than a sliver of ridged foam covered in fiberglass. Standing up in the tube, the magical and temporary space inside of a large breaking wave where every surfer strives to be.
“How big to do you think it is?” Ajax asked the other surfer standing beside him.
“Five, maybe six feet, it looks clean though. We should get out there before the wind comes up and blows it out,” said Ian as he watched the last wave of the set break and peel around the protection of the cape that jutted out to the north from where they stood.
“No, it’s bigger than that,” Ajax insisted. “Look at how long it takes for them to break. You can almost count the seconds it takes for the lip to crash out into the flat water. I’d say it’s definitely overhead, maybe even bigger. I’m glad I brought my seven-six.”
Ian being shorter than Ajax by a half a head is one of those surfers who for whatever reason is compelled to always say that the waves look smaller than they really are. Ajax knew this about his friend. He knew it was Ian’s way of getting psyched up.
As the waves wrapped around the point, the lines from each swell curved and slowed down conforming to the contour of the sea floor. The offshore wind was just strong enough to blow the tops off each wave in a mist of vapor and spray before breaking in a violent confusion of white frothing salt water. The lines of broken white soup eventually ground themselves into the sand and rocks waiting on the shore.
During the intervals between each set of waves, the offshore winds cleaned up the confused water caused by the energy of each breaking wave. The lulls between sets were just long enough for a surfer to paddle out into the line up before another set came through making it impossible to punch through the shore break.
“Come on, let’s go,” said Ian.
One of the things I love about the concept of “Prompts” and “Flash Fiction” is the process I go through when deciding what to write about. I’m always conscious of being true to the five minutes I give myself to produce something I hope will be thought provoking. However, I’m probably in violation of the intent of using a prompt in this fashion because I like to think about it ahead of time. All said, I’m not one to let a rule interfere with creativity, so long as no one loses an eye.
This week’s prompt “broken” nearly had me stumped because I didn’t want to get onto a depressing subject. Just as I was about to succumb to writing about broken promises or the broken man, something completely different popped into my head.
At first I was thinking of the musical concept of broken chords and arpeggios. Then I recalled a documentary I saw about Pink Floyd and the making of their moniker album, “Dark Side of the Moon.” I remembered a comment made by Roger Waters while discussing the simplicity of the song “Us and Them.” He described the space in between the music as being just as important as the sounds created by the instruments and vocals.
The concept of space within art, regardless of medium is something that I pondered all week. I thought of how space is created in the various art media and forms, from ballet to oil paintings. I had to ask myself how writers create that magical space between words or ideas.
I admire the economy of the poet who can eliminate words that don’t contribute to meaning. I’m equally fascinated with the novelist who can evoke emotion in the reader causing them to ponder a point, an idea, or to create an image matching a scene in a passage just read.
August 30, 2012
#FlashFiveFriday: #4 – Myths
It was two days before Jake’s mind was stable enough for him to figure out that he was in Ward 8 at Bethesda’s Navel Hospital in Washtington D.C. Before that he was on a ride like none he’d ever experienced.
He was still piecing together the chronology of events that brought him before the panel of military medical professionals who required his presence in their conference room. Jake wasn’t ready to share anything of value with them as they were all of junior rank and he was still uncertain as to whom he could trust.
When he entered the room, Colonel Jake Barrows was instructed to sit at the head of the table where there was a brown folder awaiting his review and along side it, a wooden number two pencil. He sat down and without making eye contact with his inquisitors; he opened the folder where he found nothing but blank sheets of binder paper.
“Tell us again about what you saw,” demanded the Navy Commander seated immediately to Jake’s left.
“When?” Jake asked.
“Last night when the tech was drawing blood samples you were telling him something about how impressed you were with the rapid improvements in battle field medical technologies. Do you remember what you said to the tech?” asked the Commander.
Jake was well versed in the arts of elicitation and wasn’t going to bite on the Commander’s question. Instead he scribbled something on one of the blank pages that were provided in the folder in front of him.
“MK ULTRA,” he wrote in big capital letters before frantically erasing what he’d written, realizing it was more of a thoughtless doodle than anything he’d want the care team to examine later. He quickly closed the folder and without swiveling his head, scanned the room for obvious optical sensors before returning his attention to the uniformed personnel sitting around the table.
“Well?” asked the Commander again.
“Yes, I recall complementing the corpsman on his IV technique. I might have asked him if he’d had the chance to use the advanced battlefield kits that were being sent to Iraq back when our troops were being sniped, but that is all I remember,” said Jake.
The Commander looked around at the other members of the care team in case any of them had further questions for the patient. Seeing that everyone was satisfied, he turned to the Colonel.
“Sir, I think that will be all for this morning. You’ll attend ‘group’ in an hour and we’ll let you know more about your treatment plan later today. Unless you have any questions, you’re excused,” said the Commander.
This last statement annoyed Jake. He was not used to being told by subordinate officers that he could be excused or any other offer for direction from them. He kept his emotions in check and casually slid his chair from the table and rose to depart. At the door he turned to the care team and made eye contact with each of them in turn and said, “Gentlemen, Lady, have a pleasant morning.”
After Colonel Barrows shut the door, the Naval Commander turned to the members of the care team and asked, “Well, he seemed pretty evasive. Thoughts?”
“Sir?” From Amanda Brown, a young Army Captain who specialized in psychotropic medication research came an urgent request to say something.
“Go ahead Amanda,” said the Commander.
She knew what she saw Colonel Barrows scribble or write as he doodled on the paper in the folder earlier and reached across a Marine Major who was sitting next to her and slid the folder towards her and pulled the paper out where the letters had been erased.
“He knows!” she said and looked at each of the officers around the table.
The Commander put his elbow on the table and let his head fall into his open hand as he listened to Captain Brown elaborate on the consequences or this latest revelation.
Captain Amanda Brown’s elaboration of MK ULTRA was meant to convey historical fact without confusing it with “Urban Myth.“
The passage above is formed from a story arc I’ve developed for a Techno Thriller I plan to write this fall. MK ULTRA was (or still is) a Department of Defense (DoD) experiment gone wrong. LSD was used on military personnel in a variety of positions and levels to test tolerance and ability to maintain security of sensitive information at the same time. Over the years since DoD admitted to the Classified program and terminated it, the idea that MK ULTRA might still be in use, but in a more advanced form, has evolved into Urban Myth. My techno thriller includes the deployment of STUXNET and the disruption of Iran’s Nuclear Material Enrichment Program. The modern derivative of MK ULTRA is part of that story.
Sven Johansson
Some friends of mine who read my novel, The People In Between: A Cyprus Odyssey, took this picture days after becoming acquainted with one of the story’s characters. Perhaps when I was visiting B.C. years ago, the name Sven Johansson was etched in my subconscious?
He was a real guy!
August 23, 2012
#FlashFiveFriday – The Indie Exchange
#FlashFiveFriday – The Indie Exchange. My response to the prompt “Woods” follows:
In Oregon, we call it the “Forest.” Why? I don’t know. Roof, Ruff, Tomaytoe, Tomahto, and hey, who could argue with Bill Bryson who wrote a most enjoyable book about a hike he took on the Appalachian Trail entitled, A Walk in the Woods.
That was the beginning of a conversation I was having with an outdoorsy gal I met just a week before to find out if she was really who she said she was. My plan? Yep, you guessed it. Take the lady on a “walk in the woods,” and show her a real forest. Not one of those three generations of renewable cedars in her home country, but rather an “old growth” forest of the Oregon variety.
“Seth, what is that up there?” Andrea asked as she pointed up to the bright blue between the stands of old growth Doug Firs.
“I’m not sure,” I replied.
It was true. I really had a tough time processing what we were both staring at. Then suddenly it occurred to me.
“Tree Sitters,” I said.
“What?”
“They are called ‘Tree Sitters.’ Activists who climb the trees and build camp platforms. They live in the trees to keep the loggers from cutting them down.”
“Really?”
Andrea’s question didn’t sound like she was interested in discovering the story behind the person living 125 feet above the ground. I could tell by her tone that she’d never considered that a person could be so committed to save a tree. I didn’t respond to her question.
We just kept walking, up the path through the forest breathing in the fresh air. Both of us with our heads turned up gazing in wonder.
August 17, 2012
Final Installment: Celebrating Community
Sharing Happiness:
A very dear friend of mine once suggested that I do something nice for someone, anonymously. I followed the suggestion and it felt wonderful knowing that I took an active role in a random act of kindness. I’m learning everyday how random acts of kindness are returned in spades in the most unexpected ways.
This has been a wonderful week of blog hopping and celebrating community. Until next time…
Third Installment – Celebrating Community
Sharing a favorite community photo:
The following photo was taken at the end of a day volunteering at Habitat for Humanity. The participants were Cypriot teenagers who came to the United States with a peace-building project called the Cyprus Friendship Program. The seven pairs of teens came to Portland, each consisting of one Greek speaking Cypriot and one Turkish speaking Cypriot, hosted by local families.
The pairs of teens shared a bedroom and worked through a month long “sustainable living” project to return to Cyprus with a new set of experiences to share. I was proud to learn about fostering community from this young group who came 8000 miles to teach us what it means to be committed to a cause.
