Kae Cheatham's Blog: Whoa! Another Author?, page 8

Getting Lucky – Review

From the book page:

When a young reporter is killed in a hit and run accident, freelance writer Robyn Guthrie agrees to finish one of the stories the reporter had been writing for the local newspaper. But nothing is as simple as it seems when she finds out about shady land deals, an old high school nemesis, and Robyn's aging mother.

I'm not a fan of first person stories, but I must say this one was handled well, with no dips into third/omniscient point of view. I also like authors who have a good command of the English language (and how to write it); DC Brod does that well.

I'm really a fan of well-paced mysteries with intriguing, well-thought-out plots. Alas, Getting Lucky didn't measure up. Slow, with a lot of detail but not much action, it bounced around, with protagonist Robyn Guthrie's comments on everything and everyone. The hit and run death of fellow reporter Clair seemed to set up one type of story, but quickly jerked to another track after way too many pages on the deceased and her family. Too many coincidences, too: mostly that Robyn's boyfriend has useful connections for anything/everything that could be a possible problem. Also a lot of information was given that was never essential in the wrap of the story, such as the price of the land deal vs the price paid. Since Robyn's thought of scamming the bad guys included repurchase of the land. What price was paid? And the congressman--asked to help out with the scam, but it's never shown that his involvement was a help (all it took was one or two sentences.)

The editor of the newspaper is totally lost by the end of the book after being prominent in the beginning. There's a "shady character" who isn't so shady, but the telling of Robyn's first meeting with him was useless and a waste of pages.

I haven't read other books in the Robyn Guthrie series, but from the book pages, I see the stories are driven by the interaction between Robyn and her mom. This is good and often funny, but what's with Mom being 84? I realize there's a bit of dementia here (which can occur at any age), but Robyn is only in her 40s. No mention is made of Robyn being a late-life child. This hit me, since my kids are in their 40s, and I (who married late for my generation and waited several years to have kids) am not yet 70 (close, but not yet). Maybe this was addressed in earlier books.

These are just a few of the dissatisfactions that had me reading fast, trying to get the book finished—I feel an obligation to read an entire book when I get it free from netgalley. This could have been an interesting mystery if Brod had fine-tuned the story, cut the slag, and sent a polished manuscript to the publisher rather than her first draft of a decent idea. It was probably her pubs. fault—pushing her to get another Guthrie mystery out pronto. Nonetheless, reading this one dampens my enthusiasm for reading the others.

Dead Heroes - Book cover

I think this is it. Still in the draft stage, so any comments and suggestions are VERY welcome.

A Grand Murder - Review

I read a bit of this story on Indie Snippets, and decided to buy it.

The story (from the book page):

When a prominent local businessman and friend of the chief of police is murdered on the front steps of his posh Grand Avenue Hill home, Saint Paul homicide detective Catherine O'Brien a pithy, vertically challenged, St. Paul, Minnesota, homicide detective with a monstrous coffee habit and her partner Louise are given two days to find his killer.
They soon discover their victim had a list of people with motives to murder him, including his fashion designer ex-wife, his mistress's husband, and the chief of police. The only evidence they have to go on is a missing cell phone, a stolen book, the victim's letter opener, and an ugly pair of Alpaca wool mittens.

Grand Murder was a fun read with interesting and well presented characters. The book blurb calls the protagonist Catherine O'Brien as pithy. So well put. Told in first person, from Catherine's point of view, author Stacy Verdick Case takes no time in getting the protagonist's personality front an center. There is plenty of action along with good police procedural stuff, and enough twists to keep you guessing.

I liked all the secondary characters, especially her partner, and look forward to future crime-solving adventures from these two.

Poetry Sunday 7

3 A.M. Near Harlem, Montana

Deer walk the road edges,

Ghostly against shafts of headlight

Beams. Alert ears and dart-bright

Eyes help form their strategy.

Some leap out, vaulting

The hard unnatural strip before

The wheeled monsters arrive.

Others get it wrong—are struck,

Maimed, left to die on the shoulder.



I have not yet killed.

I drive slowly, as intense as they,

Relieved when gray flanks pivot

Away from this asphalt.

My lights skim brush and glint

on dangerous strands beyond.

Posts and thin, spiked barricades

Cordon preened land thick

With succulent grains. But

These flats used to be ragged with

Prairie grass, sprouting

White-winged flowers in spring.

Aspen grew like small stilts

To be pulped in cud for food.



That was generations before

These nightly treks. Now

Deer must trot new paths between

Fences, onto gravel driveways

Into barns and feed lots where

They take their tithe.

Farmers curse the losses,

String more wire. Highways become

Mortuaries for the slow.

copyright 2008, Kae Cheatham
All Rights Reserved

SciFi Book Is Nearly History

No. Not spec fiction that is coming true. But the Gem of the Galaxy book will be history at the end of the year. On 31 December 2011, this book ebook will disappear.

Gem of the Galaxy contains two novels from the GOG series, Child of the Mist and Daughter of the Stone.

The two are available in print and electronic editions. The electronic editions are $2.99 each.

Gem of the Galaxy is $3.49--for both books, plus bonus material.
for NOOK and KINDLE

Dead Heroes – Excerpt 2

I should have put these with the first excerpt; these are the epigraphs for the story

"Let us study thoughts as separate and distinct entities that have energy. Thought energy can affect, independent of physical manipulations, all manner of physical objects."
– Anonymous

"Through metaphysical philosophy, our continued study of reason and intuition will increase links with the common intellect. There are no boundaries between the human mind and the physical world."
– The first tenet of True Insight. ESR Colony, Earthside year, 2602.

And on with the story, here introducing a major protagonist in Chapter 1:

08/24/3321 in the outer sector

Nathan played a card and stole a look at the other six players. A few frowns, a sly grin, and the ever stoic expression of Sammi Wright, one of his roommates for the past sixteen days. Nathan was into this game and part of him didn't want it to end. When they stopped playing it would be because they had arrived at the Blalock space station. After that, just a few hours of elevator transit down to the main New Esrii space port. His off-planet work rotation would be over and he'd have little to do, waiting, as he was, to be accepted at a seminary. He concentrated on the cards, but his secondary thought wondered how to contact Sinoa. He'd met her during his work assignment on Krellanon. He liked her serious nature, and he was pleased when she had added his name to her friends list so he could make calls to her private com. Her work rotation ended four days before his. But soon after she had left, he found out her parent was Zaya Glen. The Scholar Elite Zaya Glen who was on the seminary board that had twice refused his entrance.

Don't call Sinoa. That's nothing but trouble. Another round of cards was slapped down. He felt a compulsion to contact Sinoa—not just because she was attractive and fun—something more. And she's privileged and the child of S.E. Zaya Glen.

A succession of cards hit the table. "Nooo!" came a groan from his roommate. Nathan played his and was greeted with hoots and "not again!"

"Another round," he said, scraping in his bounty of six dessert chits for the space port cafeteria. "We've got a few minutes."

"I'm out," someone said and pushed back from the table. Three others joined her.

"Playing with Nathan is like playing the computer," someone said with a chuckle. "I'm going to get my gear. Maybe that will hurry up this ol' bucket and we can get home."

"Just the two of us?" Nathan looked up expectantly and shuffled the cards. His gear was already packed in the bag under his chair.

"Naw. Think I'll check out the events calendar," Sammi said, pulling his compac from a shirt pocket. "We're getting back the day before school break. Should be something interesting going on."

Nathan shuffled the cards. He sighed; thought of Sinoa. Have to see her again, and soon. Such an insistent thought!

"Hey, here's something you'd be interested in, Nathan." Sammi said. He slid the pad across the table. "Sage Lanj Gamion will be speaking his city's park this evening. Broadcast on Tel Six."

"Sage Gamion?" Nathan stared with interest at the listing. Lanj Gamion was a leading philologist, and philology was one of Nathan's key interests. Gamion was old; some thought he was the oldest person on New Esrii, although Nathan knew better. "I'd like to hear him in person, not on the tel," Nathan said as he took out his own pad, pulled up the information and transferred it to his calendar.

He stared at the details as the ship's call announced the approach to the space station. Lanj Gamion speaking and—Nathan couldn't believe his eyes—Gamion lived in the same city as Sinoa.

"I'm going to get my gear," Sammi said, retrieving his pad and getting up. "See you in a few."

"Yeah," Nathan said, felling slightly dazed. He knew he was definitely going to that park this evening. But should he ask Sinoa to go with him? He fiddled with the cards as he thought. It was mid-morning. She'd be doing her student teaching, then she'd have her regular classes until mid-afternoon. He'd have to leave a message. He wondered if the access she had given him was correct or she had been humoring him. He could call after he got home—when she had finished with her classes. He shuffled the cards. Or maybe he should just go to the park and hope have an accidental meeting with her. He shook his head, bewildered by his inability to decide. Zaya Glen is her parent.

The ship's call announced two minutes to docking. He stood up and tamped the cards in a neat stack. To call? He pulled a card and tossed it on the table: a queen. Or not to call? He tossed out another: five.

"Time to strap in." Sammi was back. "The docking will be smooth as pudding, but we've got to get all belted and padded." He made a face and shook his head.

"Right," Nathan said. He took up his gear bag, returned the cards to the depository and followed Sammi to the passenger seats.

Feedback Welcome

Alias Dragonfly – Review

The publisher sent me the download of this book after I requested it from netgalley.

The story (from the book page):

"Don't love a spy," warns fifteen-year-old Pinkerton agent Maddie Bradford, a lonely, rebellious outsider with a mind on fire and a photographic memory. It is 1861, the Civil War has just started and this motherless teen must move with her soldier-father from New Hampshire to Washington, DC-a city at war, packed cheek by jowl with soldiers, Rebel spies, slave catchers and traitors of all stripes bent on waging a war of destruction against the Union, and President Lincoln himself.
Maddie's journal, written in secret, of course, begins with her arrival at her aunt's DC boardinghouse through the first year of the Civil War, a time, as Maddie puts it, full of "dips and dangers," when she becomes a fearless Union spy. And then there is the mysterious, maddening Jake Whitestone, a young man who awakens something equally dangerous in Maddie: Love in a time of terror.

Alias Dragonfly is well presented history, with an interesting fictional character to tie it all together. The battles and Washington City are shown in all their glamor and ugliness. The book is enhanced by Jane Singer's great history notes at the end.

And Maddie? Quite a neat hero. But the book lacked in pace. Maddie's spying adventures didn't start until after two-thirds of the book. I really got tired of her "learning the trade" even though it was written well, and wanted a more specific story than Maddie's trials on becoming a spy. Several story bits seemed thrown in, such as Nellie and Isaac. The well-portrayed "battle" at the end between Maddie and her doppelganger (who was only hinted briefly in the book's beginning) was poorly set up; except for a grabber for future Maddie episodes, this scene seemed fairly pointless.

Good history, good writing, slow story (And the cover doesn't look anything like the character--until the last bit of the novel when she finally does some spying).

My First Publisihed Book Keeps Selling

I really pleased that Montana Historical Society in Helena, Montana, has ordered more copies of Spotted Flower and the Ponokomita for the Museum Store.

This is the first book I published--decades ago. A great book for young readers (grade 3 +), with cover and illustrations by American Indian artist, Louise Ogemahgeshig Fischer. Available in print, and as e-books for NOOK and KINDLE.

Here's the web page

Dead Heroes – Excerpt 1

The WIP that was my November "getting serious" project, is in it's final stages. Part is off to a beta reader, and I'm slowly going through to refine it. The title Dead Heroes has had mixed reactions. Opinion?

I've started the book with a prologue. What do you think of that? I have prologues in many of my books, and I don't know if that's good or bad. Do readers skip over these like they're reported to do with Forewords? Anyway. Here's the précis and the prolog.

PRECIS: The elite ruling class of New Esrii comes under attack by expatriates and dissident citizenry. It is up to a few citizens to sacrifice everything for the good of the whole. Can they do it? And, since a rogue star threatens to wipe New Esrii off the star map, will their actions be for naught?PROLOGUE

03/16/3297 Near the beginning

On the planet Yiven, the Blessing of Regeneration festival ran at fever pitch, with revelers filling narrow streets of the planets six contained cities. The religious aspects of the event were over and now streamers adorned every corner and confetti littered the pale green pavement. Among the many stone alcoves and awning-covered palisades, adults careened from one loud street party to another. Children and the less adventurous hung from balconies watching and yelling their excitement under streaks and bursts of fireworks that had been set on the pod-city exteriors. By next year, the pods could be dismantled. Much of the terraforming efforts on this small continent would be complete. That would be another Blessing of Regeneration.

With the night sky of Yiven alive with real and artificial glitters, a sober marking of the night took place on other continents and in the far reaches of the planet. History elders of the aboriginal Yivenese, those sentient creatures who had lived on the planet for millennia, looked toward the solar fault. Through centuries of oral history and another five hundred years with their written glyph language, they kept the records and could speak of times when this solar fault didn't exist, when the three planets beyond it had not been and only Yiven revolved in the space around their sun. Now the solar fault had created two sectors: inner, where Yiven had always been, and outer. While humans celebrated, Yivenese shamans peered to the heavens and studied a preternatural shimmer at the far edge of the solar system. Before dawn, they gave an ominous prediction: Sougalo, The Warrior star, was returning. By legend, it was Sougalo which had caused the solar fault.


Few humans on the planet knew the legend of Sougalo, nor would they be interested in the Warrior's return, even though it would profoundly change their lives. Regeneration festivities wore on. Women rejoiced if their child was born during this time, and others were ensuring that they would be with child by next year's celebration.


Many influential leaders made their way to a party hosted by Tyus Derkson, the head of state,--the Supreme. Junior Senator Marta Tovich was at home, preparing for her dinner guest. On hearing the door bell, she went to the entrance to her second-floor suite, her gauzy yellow caftan swinging around her; the glowing panels in the wall made her wavy brown hair shimmer with golden light. She opened the door. "Edgar! You're early. Not that I mind, of course."


"I've brought you this," Edgar Jahn said holding out a cloth-wrapped bundle. He glanced over his shoulder and closed the door. Marta sensed tension from him as she took the gift. She carried it to the main room and set it on a console. "It's not quite finished," he was saying. "I'd wanted to add more patina, but..."


She unwrapped it. "It's lovely, Edgar," she said, smiling at the sculpted bust of her and their daughter. She kept her hand on it as she turned where he had paced into the main room.


"We have to talk," Edgar's voice was tense. Giddy laughter wafted from the street through the open window.


"You sound so serious?"


He paced back to her. "There's a good chance the Senate police are looking for me."


"What's happened?" She gripped Edgar's sleeve.


"It's because of Gerren," he said, his voice low and tense. "He became angry that he wasn't involved in any festivities—hadn't been invited to parties. he used his mental skills. Hurled things around. He scared himself."


Marta remembered Gerren Simsun as the toddler she had first seen nine years ago. A beautiful boy with sleek long hair as black as night and green, green eyes. He was still an arresting character as an adolescent.


"Derkson tried to placate him, but after he left…" Edgar drew a long breath. "Well, I decided it was time to explain, so I went to him…started to tell about the differences, about Terms and Sigens. They keep psi sensors on the boy's room, Marta. I hadn't realized."


Marta bit her lip. The differences. Would that ever be forgotten?


"No, I don't think so," Edgar responded to her thought. "But it should be discussed honestly, not avoided."


"There's no need. You and Gerren are the only two—" Marta swallowed and licked her lips.


"The only two Sigen in this sector. Yes. But anyway, Derkson's guards burst in... I'm sure he'll know I was there."


"I'm surprised they didn't arrest you then."


"Well, I wasn't quite there...was..." He sighed, and Marta understood. Edgar had visited Gerren with telepathy—a skill Derkson had outlawed.


"Marta, I'm afraid for the lad. I think Derkson has revenge on his mind, and somehow Gerren is part of his plan."


Marta frowned. "Revenge would mean going into the outer sector--traversing the solar fault." She and others of the governing senate, held an altruistic dream to continue what the war had attempted: free the Terms on New Esrii and bring them here to Yiven so they could be normal.


"It seems you still feel as separate from our culture as does Derkson" he said. "But we're all humans; the outer sector culture is our history. No matter how we began, we're all from the same culture. If the New Esrii leadership could learn the truth about procreation, I'm certain they would--"


"Don't say it!" Marta spun away, her brown curls whipping about her shoulders. "They didn't listen on their hypocritical amnesty visit, and there's no reason to believe they would listen now!"


"You were just an infant at that altercation. How can you hold so much anger?"


"Edgar, don't! You know what they prohibited us. All of us…even you. Look what you have here." She touched the sculpture he had brought, her expression softening.


No matter how she tried, Marta couldn't stop resenting the ruling class of the outer sector.


"Do you resent me, too?" he asked.


"You know I don't, Edgar." She took his hand, kissed the fingertips, sent a silent apology for her prejudice.


A staccato pop of firecrackers jolted into the quietness. A haze of smoke drifted in with its tangy scent.


"I have informants," Edgar said quietly. "Yivenese, who Derkson doesn't attempt to understand. They've apprised me of his communications through the solar fault. There must still be sympathizers on New Esrii who are willing to attempt reconciliation. But knowing Derkson, I doubt he wants a peaceful dialogue." Edgar rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. "I'm convinced all his planning is geared toward the Tal Apex."


Marta searched her knowledge for the term. "You mean when that vagrant star passes close to this solar system?"


He nodded. "In another twenty-five years, the outer-sector planets will be in direct alignment with Tal, causing great stress. Derkson probably plans to hit them while they're hampered with environmental calamities."


"That might be his dream, Edgar, but even if there were a way to do it, the young people here won't allow a war. Their lives are comfortable! Without needs!"


"The young don't control the Senate, Marta. It's the Senate Elite, whose memories, like yours, go back to the Amnesty visit. I'm sure he'll issue an severe reprimand for tonight, but I don't know how long Derkson will consider me useful." He squeezed her hands. "I won't let him use Gerren or destroy the civilization of our progenitors! And if what I suspect is true, I'll have to go back to warn them."


"Go back?" Confusion crowded her thoughts. "Derkson would never allow you--"


"I have a special way to travel, Marta. Another option."


She stared at him, realizing what he meant and appalled by the thought. Thought transference, remote viewing, they could all do that, although the talents were forbidden by Derkson; but those of Sigen genus could do more, such as telekinesis. And someone as precocious Edgar...


"You don't mean you'd attempt strellics?" Just saying it seemed to take her breath. She shuddered and pressed her hand on her chest. "It's so dangerous! You told me once that the most advanced students have little control of the procedure. Gerren's mother tried and it led to her death."


"We don't know that for sure—she might have gotten home."


"Nonetheless, strellics are freak occurrences with no guarantees."


"I have no choice but to attempt it. I have to warn the outer-sector people."


"But who will you warn? So many years have passed, and many of the Sigen were involved in the attack here."


"I know of someone. Gerren's other parent. I'm certain he'll be receptive."


Her doorbell rang. They both stared toward the foyer. Someone pounded on the door. "Professor Tovich," came the call from the corridor.


"I'll protest this," Marta said with a whisper, her anger rising. "It's not fair."

"No. It would only jeopardize your standing in the Senate. You're needed there."


The doorbell rang. Neither she nor Edgar moved, staring into each other's eyes, longing for more time, for different times. He embraced her and whispered, "Watch out for Gerren. The boy's potential is magnificent for either vice or virtue."


He pulled away and headed for the open window. The pounding came again. "Professor Tovich! We need to speak with you."


Tears stung her eyes. "Be careful, my love," she whispered.

Feedback Welcome

Poetry Sunday 6

"Emergence" © 2009 Kae CheathamContaining Circles

I've been told that doodling boxes shows a longing

For security. Boxes are solid and strong,

Like daddy's briefcase or the house on the

Block where we live; or old ice chests

From which kids are warned. Objects that stay

In one place, unmoved by most any inclination.



Space, they say, is round, unknown, the insecure

Cosmos; spheres and black holes

Encompass this oblate earth, revolving.

But I imagine a dimension beyond, with lines

Ruler straight--a box with shadowed corner,

Sides unseen, protecting glittery stars.



Life reflects this, like the square sink,

With circular drain hole; the stove with coiled

Burners; rectangular doors with small round

Knobs to open passage. And I

Draw neat perimeters, design right angles,

Fine-lined pen-point sharp to keep the edges clean.



Smugly I know I, too, am a container. Arranged

Among precise limbs and T-squared shoulders are

Round places more symmetrical than door knobs,

As fiery as the stove, fantastic comets of

Emotion. While on my quadrilateral bed, I

Shelter galaxies.

As published in Art/Life, 1988
Copyright Kae Cheatham, All rights Reserved