Time Pebbles

Hello and welcome. My name is Moggie.

Since you’ve circumnavigated the world wide web to find this site, you probably realize, as I do, that Jerry Merritt is the greatest writer in the history of the universe. So I’m beyond thrilled that the webmistress has afforded me this space to eat tuna and sleep commune with fellow fans and lavish much-merritted merited, public praise on my favorite author.

I intend to highlight a different opus from the Merritt canon on every solstice and equinox as dictated by my endearingly sluggish, personal calendar and clock. Meaning my august September October debut is purrfectly timed for a fall encomium of the sensational new audiobook, Time Pebbles. Released in May, 2018, by Podium Publishing and narrated by Emily Sutton-Smith, this sterling production impeccably supports the soporific haunting storyline, making for a coma-like slumber stimulating listen after a hard day’s nap in a favorite window sill.

If you doubt my objectivity (and why would you), I commend you to  . . . (whoops, Freudian slip) mouse-over and/or swipe the accompanying book cover, which will light up with five-star reviews by Mr. Merritt’s slightly less sycophantic ardent admirers. My sole interest is enjoying some quid pro quo Albacore promoting the best in spoken-word literature. Hence I unabashedly bestow upon Time Pebbles the highest rating possible: Five Paws. Or, perhaps more accurately, Five Paw Prints.

Which necessitates a brief explanation. You see, I simply can’t award “stars.” The practice of reaching across millions of light years to pluck a few nuclear fusion reactors out of the sky seems over-the-top to one as overwhelmingly, stunningly, spectacularly devoid of the human penchant for hyperbole and metaphor as Yours Truly. No, this Literal Literary Lion gravitates to an infinitely more subtle and personal rating system, albeit one posing certain challenges to a quadruped. Yet neither my exalted feline sensibilities nor my anatomical normalcy could deter me from awarding Time Pebbles the Five Paws it so richly deserves.

So how did I manage the fifth print, you may ask? A word limit Modesty prevents me from detailing the heroic sacrifice involved. Suffice to say I would have paid any price, even an arm and a leg. As it turned out, it only cost me my eighth life.

But not to worry. I have nine.