Tuesday, August 27, 2024

Enter the Azura Universe, with warrior women, brave heroes, and cats – by Vijaya Schartz

Find most of my books at BWL HERE

The last novel of the nine I set in the science fiction fantasy universe of Azura, is ANGEL REVENGE, Book 3 of the Blue Phantom series, coming out this October. An unruly Valkyrie on a flying tiger, a strict angel in love with the rules, and evil knocking at the gate… what could go wrong?

BLUE PHANTOM SERIES 

 amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo


This universe I created a few years ago includes three series of three novels each: AZURA CHRONICLES set on an angel planet (with Angel Mine, Angel Fierce, and Angel Brave), BYZANTIUM set on a space station, with Black Dragon, Akira’s Choice, and Malaika’s Secret – and BLUE PHANTOM set on an angel ship roaming the universe, with Angel Ship, Angel Guardian, and Angel Revenge coming in October.

All the novels of the Azura universe can be read as a standalone, but they are all set in the same galactic world, with a few recurring characters. In them, you will find strong heroines and brave heroes, angels and demons, despicable villains, and sometimes the devil in person. They will have to fight not only evil, but their own demons, overcome their weaknesses, trust in others, make friends and enemies… and sometimes they find love in the least expected places.

AZURA CHRONICLES SERIES

amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo


And always among the secondary characters, a telepathic cat. Sometimes, it’s a sweet purring furball like Marshmallow in Black Dragon, a predatory saber cat in the jungle, a wise lion protecting a temple, an engineered bulletproof beast with metal claws, or a magnificent flying tiger with a possessive streak, like in Angel Revenge.

The larger the universe, the more it tempts crazy leaders who want to control it. Many will make a pact with dark forces to rule. But the angels are watching. They traipse across the universe to fight the battles of the light against the encroachment of darkness, preserving the balance of good and evil.

BYZANTIUM SPACE STATION SERIES

amazon B&N - Smashwords - Kobo

Sometimes they encounter unexpected technology, opponents from another universe, flocks of black furry demons, flying like a black cloud through space. They have leathery wings, white fangs, red eyes, short horns, long whipping tails, and grimacing faces, and their drool is a strong acid that can burn through metal.

But always, after trials and adventures, and sometimes ultimate sacrifices, good will triumph and the universe will keep running, as it’s supposed to do, with some evil, some good, and always an opportunity for the living to make their own choices.

You can read all the previous books before the last one comes out in October.

Happy reading. Hope you enjoy these series.

You can find more of my books below:

Vijaya Schartz, award-winning author
Strong Heroines, Brave Heroes, cats


Saturday, August 24, 2024

Canadian Authors-Quebec by Joan Donaldson-Yarmey

 

 https://books2read.com/u/mKJxdd


https://books2read.com/u/mYgK6x 

https://bwlpublishing.ca/donaldson-yarmey-joan/

      I am a proud Canadian author of over twenty fiction and non-fiction books in my long writing career. But I am just one of thousands of published writers from this huge country. Canada has had a long and illustrious history of producing world renown authors and books going all the way back to the 18th century.

     Frances Moore was born in England in 1724. She was a well-known poet and playwright in England before she and her husband, Reverend John Brooke moved to Quebec City in 1763, for John to take up the post of army chaplain. During her time there Frances wrote The History of Emily Montague, a love story set in the newly formed Quebec province.

     The story is told through the voices of her characters by way of personal letters between the two. This is known as epistolary (of letters) type of writing and it was popular during the1700s in Europe. The Brookes’ returned to England in 1768 and the novel was published in 1769 the London bookseller, James Dodsley. The History of Emily Montague was the first novel written in what is now Canada and the first with a Canadian setting. Frances died in 1789.

 

Quebec

Marie-Rose-Emma-Gabrielle Roy was born on March 22, 1909, in Saint Boniface, Manitoba, which is now part of Winnipeg. After her early education she took teacher training at the Winnipeg Normal School. She taught in rural schools in Manitoba until she was appointed to the Institut Collegial Provencher in Saint Boniface. She saved her money and moved to France and England to study drama but after two years returned to Canada when WWII broke out in 1939. She settled in Montreal and earned a living as a sketch artist while writing. She became a freelance journalist for La Revue Moderne and Le Bulletin des agriculteurs.

     Ms. Roy’s first novel, Bonheur d'occasion (1945) was an accurate portrayal of Saint-Henri, a poverty-stricken neighbourhood of Montreal. It was published in French, earning her the Prix Femina award in 1947. The book was also published in English under the title The Tin Flute and won the Governor General Award for fiction as well as the Royal Society of Canada’s Lorne Pierce Medal. It was the first major Canadian urban novel.

     The novel sold almost a million copies in the United States and the Literary Guild of America made the novel a feature book of the month in 1947. Because of all the attention the book received, Gabrielle moved to Saint Boniface to escape the publicity. There she met a doctor, Marcel Carbotte and three months later, in August, they married. They headed to Paris for the next three years where Carbotte studied gynecology and Roy wrote. On their return to Canada in 1950, they settled in Montreal for a couple of years and then moved to Quebec City. Carbotte took up a position at the Hôpital du Saint-Sacrement and they lived in an apartment. Wanting a quiet place to write, Grabrielle bought a cottage in Petite-Rivière-Saint-François, Charlevoix County. There she wrote the bulk of her work. In total, she wrote twenty books.

     Gabrielle and her husband didn’t have any children. Besides writing she travelled around the world and spent time visiting her family.

     Gabrielle Roy is considered to be one of the most important Francophone writers in Canadian history and one of the most influential Canadian authors. She became a Companion of the Order of Canada in 1967 and won many awards, including the Governor General Award three times. She was on the panel in 1963 that gave the Expo ’67, Montreal World's Fair and Canada’s 100th birthday celebration, its theme: Man and His World (Terre des hommes).

     Gabrielle Roy died of a heart attack on July 13, 1983, at the age of seventy-four. Her autobiography, La Détresse et l'enchantement, was published posthumously in 1984 and the English translation, Enchantment and Sorrow won the Governor General Award in 1987.

In 2004 the Government issued a $20.00 bank note in its Canadian Journey Series which had a quotation from her 1961 novel, The Hidden Mountain: Could we ever know each other in the slightest without the arts?

 

Mordecai Richler was born on January 27, 1931, in Montreal, QC. He was raised on St. Urbain Street and learned how to speak English, French, and Yiddish. He studied at Sir George Will College (Concordia University) but left before getting a degree. He moved to Paris at nineteen and lived there for two years before returning to Montreal. He worked for the Canadian Broadcasting Company (CBC) for a short time then moved to London, England in 1954 where he married Catherine Boudreau. She was a non-Jewish French-Canadian divorcee who was nine years older. Just before their wedding he met and was infatuated by another non-Jewish woman Florence Wood Mann, who was the wife on his close friend, Stanley Mann.

     While in England he wrote and had published seven novels, the most well-known one being The Apprenticeship of Duddy Kravitz (1959). The story was about Richler’s favourite theme: the hardships of Jewish life around St. Urbain Street in Montreal in the 1930s and 1940s. He wrote a screen play for the novel and it was made into a film in 1974 starring Richard Dreyfuss. In 1960 Richler divorced his wife and Florence divorced her husband and they were married in 1961. Mordecai adopted her son and they had four more children.

     Richler and his family returned to Montreal in 1972. A compilation of his humorous essays was collected into Notes on an Endangered Species and Others (1974). He also wrote the Jacob Two-Two series of children’s fantasy books (1975, 1987, and 1995). His novel Joshua Then and Now was published in 1980 and made into a film in 1985.

     Besides writing novels, Richler also contributed articles to magazines such as The Atlantic Monthly, Look, The New Yorker, and The American Spectator. He wrote a column for The National Post and Montreal’s The Gazette and wrote book reviews for Gentleman’s Quarterly.

His last novel, Barney’s Version (1997) was based on the events surrounding his divorce and remarriage. Barney’s Version was made into a film in 2010.

     Richler was awarded the Order of Canada in 1999. He died of cancer on July 3, 2001, at the age of 70.

 

Friday, August 23, 2024

Which Book and Why? by Victoria Chatham

 





I was recently asked which of my books I enjoyed writing the most and why. I had to think about that as each has a place in my heart. My first Regency romance, His Dark Enchantress, was followed by His Ocean Vixen and His Unexpected Muse because my large cast of characters wanted to tell their stories.

The same happened with my second Regency series, Those Regency Belles: Hester Dymock, Charlotte Gray, and Phoebe Fisher. My Edwardian series, The Buxton Chronicles, started with the story of Lord Randolph and Lady Serena Buxton in the novella Cold Gold, followed by On Borrowed Time and Shell Shocked. When I began writing contemporary Western romance, I only intended to write one stand-alone title. Still, there are now three: Loving That Cowboy, Legacy of Love, and Loving Georgia Caldwell.  
 
Each has brought me joy and given me grief. Characters have wandered on stage in scenes where they didn't belong. They were intrusive, nosey, and noisy until I listened to what they were telling me. That might sound strange to non-writers, but any writer will tell you it happens. Sometimes, the only way to further a plot is to sit quietly and let the characters tell their story. Then, it is up to me, the author, to fit all the puzzle pieces together.

Part of that puzzle is the research that each book requires. Even though I had read many Regencies, and still do, when it came to writing my own, I researched each element as it occurred, whether it was the fabric for a lady's dress, a gentleman's cologne, an ornate hot chocolate cup, or the stagecoach timetable from London to Bristol. I did the same for all my books, but Brides of Banff Springs was the one I enjoyed writing the most, as Tilly McCormack was the gutsy kind of heroine I like. I also collaborated on Envy the Wind in the Canadian Historical Brides Collection. The premise for the Collection was that the stories had to be historically accurate and must contain a bride and a sweet romance suitable for readers of age thirteen and upwards.

I made many trips to Banff to delve into the archives in the Whyte Museum, spend time at the hotel, which is now the Fairmont Springs Hotel, and browse the Banff public library shelves. I talked to as many people as I could about the town's history to bring the story of Tilly McCormack to life. I recently discovered that my accountant, a distant relative of one of the real-life characters in the book, has read it several times. 

And that, after all, is what matters. However much I might enjoy my characters and the situations I may put them in, it is always so satisfying to know they matter to the readers, too. You can find all my books here:
 

Scroll down the page, click on the cover, and choose your market source. Happy reading!




Victoria Chatham

AT BOOKS WE LOVE








Thursday, August 22, 2024

You can't tickle yourself


Folk wisdom says you can't tickle yourself. That said, my wife walked while I was staring at the computer and laughing. "What's so funny?" she asked.

"Sparky and Wendy's wedding," I replied.

Cocking her head inquisitively, she asked, "Have you added to it since the last rewrite?"

"No. I'm just doing a final pre-publishing read through."

My bride looked troubled. "But you're rereading it for like the one-hundredth time. It still makes you laugh?"

A bit embarrassed, I replied, "Yep."

Shaking her head as if she thought I've lost my mind, she walked away. This is a daily occurrence at our house. It may have something to do with me spending too much time with fictional friends and not getting out of the house much.

The reality of creating fictional characters is that you become connected with them. They become imaginary friends to me, as well as my readers. As friends, they have the ability to make me laugh and cry. Yes, really. The Hulda Packer character in Whistling Pines is a composite of many relatives. You have them, the ones who don't have a filter between their brain and mouth. They say (and do) things that make you cringe. The next week you're laughing while telling your friends about them and the things they've said or done.

My real-life Aunt Hulda had a warning phrase, "I probably shouldn't say this..." Hearing those words, everyone within earshot braced themselves for some politically incorrect, and usually embarrassing proclamation. After Hulda left, we'd look among ourselves, shaking out heads. "I can't believe she said that." Then, we'd laugh.

I've tried to capture the essence of Aunt Hulda's political incorrectness in a variety of the Whistling Pines characters. In "Whistling Wedding", there's a whole plethora of potential verbal landmines stemming from Wendy's out-of-wedlock pregnancy and her impending shotgun wedding to Sparky, the Two Harbors fire chief. 

Having Wendy (an outgoing fireball) and Sparky (a clueless bachelor who's been living with his mother) moving in together next door to my protagonist has provided endless opportunities for more unfiltered utterances as they walk through the minefield of adults living together. Those opportunities range from Wendy's surprise pregnancy, consummated in an unlikely location, to Sparky's mother's insistence that Wendy is a harlot who tricked her son into getting her pregnant. There is a grand array of cringeworthy verbal exchanges.

Add to that, two librarians eager to help solve the mystery that arrives in the form of a puzzle box found inside of a donated piano and we have real Minnesota North Shore history, culture, and Scandinavian humor. 

And yes, I literally laughed out loud as I reread some of the scenes. It's not quite like tickling myself.

I hope my readers find the vignettes funny and entertaining along with an engaging historical mystery revealed by the puzzle box contents.

Check out "Whistling Wedding" at BWL Publishing's home page, B2R, or Amazon. The eBook is available for pre-order with a September 1, release.

Hovey, Dean Whistling Pines series - BWL Publishing Inc. (bookswelove.net)

https://www.amazon.com/Whistling-Wedding-Dean-L-Hovey/dp/0228631572

https://books2read.com/Whistling-Wedding

Dean Hovey

Wednesday, August 21, 2024

Hullo, from your friendly, neighborhood Editor in Chief.


 This is officially my first blog post-- no doubt being used by numerous LLM developers to dumb-down their AI.  


I will post something more substantive in the coming days, but I've too much other BWL business to attend to just at the moment, so this is me jamming my electronic foot in the digital door. 


TTFN,


JD

Tuesday, August 20, 2024

How not to write a blog..by Sheila Claydon

 



I usually think about my Books We Love blog a week or so before I write it. Will I write about something that has happened in my life since I last blogged, or will it be about writing itself, or about one of my books. Over the years, like the rest of my BWL fellow authors, I have written about many different things. Today, though, is different.

For the very first time I missed my deadline of making sure the blog was ready to post at least one day before its due publication date. My excuse is that having had my son and family who live in Singapore staying for 5 weeks (wonderful), followed by contracting what is referred to as 'the hundred day cough' over here in the UK (horrible and debilitating), my mind was on other things until I saw the date! 

Anyway, here I am, writing this in a hurry so it makes it to the blog site hours, not days late! 

My book The Hollywood Collection was first published in the 1980s under a pseudonym, as were several of my other books,  Bouquet of Thorns, Golden Girl (my first ever book) and Empty Hearts. I was, of course, thrilled, but when, a few years ago the copyright returned to me, I was even more thrilled to discover that I could republish them as Vintage romances with Books We Love. 

I had to re-read them and tweak a few things but they remain much the same, so if you are interested in what life was like in the '60s (Golden Girl) and then through the '70s and '80s, before cell phones, before the Internet, before mass tourism when London and England were quieter places, and when Russia (Empty Hearts) was a very different country, then these books will tell you. The Hollywood Collection imagines a very different America too. 

I worked hard to get my facts right but research was so different then. The National Geographic Magazine was one of my main sources for books set in other countries, as was the local library and newspapers. I also leant heavily on personal experience. Nowadays anything can be discovered at the click of a button, which actually is pretty wonderful. 

Writing the books was different too. Using a portable typewriter to produce a top copy and two flimsies using carbon paper, it took a lot longer. Mistakes had to be painted out with Tippex, or rubbed out with a special typewriter eraser, neither of which produced a very pristine copy, so often retyping was the only option. Then the manuscript had to be printed, loosely secured with an elastic band and boxed up before being sent to the publisher, who might just send it back asking for alterations! It was arduous but worth it if a book was published. Some of my early ones were not!

Re-reading them was fun though. There were so many reminders of my life when I was much, much younger. Nowadays I am vintage too. Hopefully, like my vintage books, I have stood the test of time!


Monday, August 19, 2024

I Am not Btfsplk ... By Helen Henderson

Windmaster  by Helen Henderson
Click the title for purchase information

Conflict is an author’s stock in trade. Our job is to throw roadblocks into their characters’ lives. A number of years ago there was a syndicated comic strip called Li'l Abner. Among the character were Li'l Abner and Daisy Mae. To picture Daisy Mae, picture a peasant shirt and cut-off denim shorts. For a more contemporary example of the costume, think Daisy Duke from the Dukes of Hazard television series. Another character in Li'l Abner was a small (read short) raggedy figure. The world's worst jinx, Joe Btfsplk had a perpetually dark rain cloud over his head. Misfortune followed him around enough that people would say "if he didn't have bad luck, he would have no luck at all." Not only did the jink apply to Btfsplk, instantaneous bad luck befell anyone in his vicinity.

For many years the standing joke among those who knew me was that the character Btfsplk was based on me. Among the reasons were the successful job interview that resulted in an offer. Only to be rescinded when the company closed the day before I was supposed to start. Or the time I went to work on a happy note expecting to celebrate my birthday with a weekend away, not being able to login to my terminal did not set of any alarm bells. Two of the computer guys liked to lock people out of the computer system just to see how long it took us to hack our way back in. I had already read the pair the riot act and they knew better than to mess with me. All they said when I braced them was to see the company president. Instead of the fun I expected later that day, I was home by noon. Everyone was being laid off as they reported in.

The cloud hanging over my head struck again when I tried riding our pony bareback and fell off. No soft landing for me. I landed on the only rock in the plowed field.

Maybe it was the story reacting to my black cloud that set the tone for Lord Dal's first trip aboard Sea Falcon. Neither officer nor crew had ever encountered the unusual weather they found themselves in. A thick curtain of gray covered the area from white-capped waves to the banner that hung limp from the center mast. Only when the ship crested an especially high swell did the sailor posted to the crow’s nest get a glimpse of the star-studded sky above the haze. For three days and three nights, an unearthly fog kept the Sea Falcon trapped in an endless sea of muted sounds. The miasma absorbed Dal’s magic and resisted his repeated attempts to disperse it. The strange fog also scrambled the magnetic compass, making navigation impossible. No matter to which heading Ellspeth steered Sea Falcon, the haze clung to it.

The final blast of bad luck? The sound of wooden hull scraping against wooden hull. Pirates!

To purchase the Windmaster Novels: BWL

 ~Until next month, stay safe and read.   Helen


Helen Henderson lives in western Tennessee with her husband. While she doesn’t have any pets in residence at the moment, she often visits a husky who have adopted her as one the pack. Find out more about her and her novels on her BWL author page.



Sunday, August 18, 2024

Update on current Work In Progress ~ When your characters go AWOL by Nancy M Bell

 


to learn more about Nancy's work click on the cover.


The progress on this book has been slow. For awhile, my characters refused to speak to me which was frustrating. I depend on them to carry me forward. I finally figured out why they had disappeared into the Ontario bush of 1917 and refused to come out. 
I was so tied up with historical timelines and who said this and where this other person was at such and such a time that I forgot about the underlying story I was attempting to tell. I finally pulled my head out of the rabbit hole and said "to hell with timeline etc."
I got back to my main character, Harriet Agnes St. George, and turned her loose on Canoe Lake and the Algonquin bush. One of the things which has plagued me is that this is based on actual happenings and Tom Thomson's death has never been fully explained. There are many and conflicting accounts of the events leading up to his death and those following the event. I have been sunk in a conundrum of what to use and what to disregard as not fitting with my storyline.
As this is a work of fiction, both historical and a mystery, I need to have a satisfying conclusion to the mystery. But as there is no clear indication of who the murderer was, or if indeed it was murder and not an accident, it has caused me some pause.
Clearly, I can't say such and such a historical figure was the murderer and to the best of anyone's knowledge, there were no eye witness to the attack/accident. So I have invented Harriet who tells the story in her own words from a unique perspective. I think the reader will find the conclusion and the wrap up of Harriet's story both surprising and satisfying. 
I'm not going to reveal anything more about that. Just say, keep an open mind as you follow Harriet through her journey to discover who killed her friend and fellow artist Tom Thomson.

In closing, just let me say, I hate hate hate writers block and I hate when my characters desert me and then suddenly show up in the middle of the night waking me up with "hey lady, about your story line- how about this...."

Until next month, stay well, stay happy.

Friday, August 16, 2024

Do not speak his name, by J.C. Kavanagh

Click here to order your copies of the award-winning
Twisted Climb series

https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

Hiking to the top of Casson Peak, a 554 ft. granite- and tree-adorned mountain overlooking Frazer Bay, Baie Fine (Bay Fin) and McGregor Bay, was a physical feat that soothed the soul and gratified the spirit with its mind-blowing beauty. 


 
West view from Casson Peak: McGregor Bay

South west view from Casson Peak: Baie Fine

East view from top of Casson Peak: Frazer Bay

But what made this hike even more special was the woman I met at the top of the mountain. We exchanged small talk which led to serious talk. She pointed to the expansive bay to the west and proudly stated that she was a descendant of the man whose namesake graced the bay: McGregor. In 1850, Captain Alexander McGregor, a Scottish fisherman, settled in the area with an Indigenous woman. Centuries later, Ms McGregor, an accomplished assistant professor at the Northern Ontario School of Medicine University (NOSMU), Sudbury location, revels in her native heritage. Naturally, I told her about my Twisted Climb series, and in particular, the final book of the trilogy, A Bright Darkness. The plot, for those who have yet to read it, revolves around the main characters - Jayden, Connor and Max - who are swept into the 'un-World,' a dark place inhabited by the mythological creatures and legends of the Anishinaabe people. 

Mishibeshu image from the National Museum of the American Indian

I spoke the name of the feared water monster, Mishibeshu, which plays an integral part of the book. 

"No," Ms McGregor said. "Do not speak his name."

I was puzzled.

"Why?" I asked my new friend.

"Speaking his name may call him out of hiding," she explained. "Only in the winter, when ice and snow blanket these lakes and rivers, can its name be spoken." She placed her fingers in a zipping motion over her lips. "Do not speak his name," she repeated. 

I did not repeat the feared water creature's name, but she did ask for my name, so hopefully, I have a new reader who will appreciate my rendering of the sea creature and how Thunderbird, the spirit creature that controls the upper world, subverts the resurrection of Mishibeshu, the spirit creature of the under world.

Roots of old cedar trees growing over rock, on the Casson Peak hike.
This root-on-rock imagery is in the walls of the 'un-World's' tunnel system.


Me at the top of Casson Peak.
Behind is Baie Fine and McGregor Bay.

Did this spark your interest in The Twisted Climb books? I sure hope so. Adventures, action and drama abound in this award-winning series. Here's the link: https://www.bookswelove.net/kavanagh-j-c/

Enjoy! Don't forget to tell the ones you love that you love them :)

J.C. Kavanagh, author of
The Twisted Climb - A Bright Darkness (Book 3) Best YA Book FINALIST at Critters Readers Poll 2022
and
The Twisted Climb - Darkness Descends (Book 2) voted BEST Young Adult Book 2018, Critters Readers Poll and Best YA Book FINALIST at The Word Guild, Canada
AND
The Twisted Climb,
voted BEST Young Adult Book 2016, P&E Readers Poll
Voted Best Local Author, Simcoe County, Ontario, 2021
Novels for teens, young adults and adults young at heart
Email: author.j.c.kavanagh@gmail.com
www.facebook.com/J.C.Kavanagh
www.amazon.com/author/jckavanagh
Twitter @JCKavanagh1 (Author J.C. Kavanagh)
Instagram @authorjckavanagh


Wednesday, August 14, 2024

Just for the Fun of It, short story challenge by Tobias Robbins




Just for the fun of it, me and a few friends challenged each other to write a short story based on only one word. The word for this challenge was "revolution." This little five minute read is what I came up with. If you like it then I humbly suggest trying out my book when it comes in this winter. It will be called "The Remnants of Pryr" and it is being published by BWL Publishing 

 

 

Revolution

 

Ch.1-

I will be gosh darned if that morning alarm seems louder on a Monday. Louder and angrier too. I shouldn't complain I suppose, at least I have a job to wake up to. So many Americans are out of work thanks to old man Reagan's economic disaster. Mr. Coffee and a little music will help set my mind right before class. Ever since I was a young man, music has always been my safe haven from outside stressors. I turn the giant nob of my record player and it clicks on, still set to FM I don't bother flipping on a record and just leave the radio to play while I drink my coffee and collect my supplies for today's lesson. Sleigh bells, glockenspiel, tambourine, triangle, maraca; all these elements are necessary to make an adolescent symphony of inadequacy. Oh, it's not the kid's fault, bless their little hearts, it's the lousy school system that can't afford to get me real instruments. That and of course, the Ocotillo County school board's strict censorship of any music that might be deemed offensive. Shake it off, Pete. The kids need you, even if it is a watered-down version of you. The radio cuts from the latest Bruce Springsteen track and instead is replaced with the voice of an old man babbling about a revolution. I figure it simply must be a programming error at the station downtown and flip the player to auto-drop the next record. As the needle pops and hisses over the dead air of the first cycle before Greg Allman's voice breaks the near silence; I’m pushed back a few decades to my father explaining what r.p.m meant. I'm eight and my father had just purchased our family's first record player, I bother him with countless novice questions about the machine's mysterious inner workings including the meaning of the stamped letters r.p.m next to some fantastic switches. Revolutions per minute, he says. Revolution is something going around in a circle he tells me. Like the record playing its worn-out song. Like me wading through the days for my life to take a turn. I dump out the generic music instruments onto the sofa and slide in a few Bob Dylan records. To heck with the school board. Today the kids will learn about real music.

 

Ch.2-

Piece. Of. Shit. That's all it is, just a piece of shit. One headlight, only two windows can roll up, stalls out at every damn red light. Mom should have just trashed it instead of pawning it off on me for a phony sweet sixteen gift for her baby girl. She's a piece of crap too. Her and the car both. If it breaks down on the way to work again Mathers is goona fire me for sure. Skeezy old man always eyeballing my ass when he thinks I'm not looking. Penny Mart ain’t much of a job but it least it pays. Besides I get to sneak Crunch bars all the time. That squealing sound from under the hood is getting on my last damn nerve. The radio might drown it out. I turn the mettle peg where the nob used to be and static fills the air. The car backfires like a shotgun as half a word squeezes through the static. Sounded kinda like "revolt." To Hell with it. I click the radio back off as I pull into the parking lot. Revolt, ya that's exactly the word for how I feel about this place. The engine sputters for a few seconds after I turn the key off. This job is revolting, this car is revolting, and my life since I dropped outta high school is revolting. I can't do this anymore. The Y.M.C.A. down the road offers free classes, maybe they could help me get my diploma and get a better job. I'm going to sign up for classes right now. That creep Mathers can take this job and shove it! I’m outa here. If my piece of shit car will make it there of course.

 

Ch.3-

Never have I been accused of being an impractical person. My colleagues have frequently made note of my reliability and tactfulness. I have, however, been considered too restrained. Too methodical and analytical in my thought process. I place great value on the criticisms of my peers because it helps me define and refine my self-concept. As far as the previously stated peer critique is concerned, I choose to exercise a wide breadth of individual perceptionallity. I choose to view their complaint as a compliment. Being restrained emotionally has helped me achieve positive effects in my life. This job for instance. Could any average 25-year-old get his first job directly out of college as an assistant editor? No. I can conduct myself in a mature, non-emotional way that shows a depth of character that far surpasses the competition. That is why I am trusted by the head editor of Sunset Press's reference department to put out the final product for mass production. In other words, I'm so good that I get to hit the precious and all-powerful print button. More often than not I hit the print button on conservative self-help books or the latest world atlas. This week is a 200-page cookbook with 120 color photos. Sunset Press is a small publishing house but it’s at least a job in the industry of my choice and it looks favorable on a resume to future employers. The next cubicle over I can barely make out the low mumbling of voice from a radio set. It is against policy to play any music on this floor because it greatly distracts from the writing /revising process. The theory is that subconsciously you might end up typing the words to a popular song instead of your assigned work. Despite this possible pitfall, someone has snuck in a small AM/FM radio. With its antenna concealed under a desk it isn't getting very good reception and the only thing that comes through audibly is the gruff voice of a man saying what sounds to the word "evolution" or maybe it was "revolution." What a reckless decision to bring in a radio to a workplace that requires so much mental focus. doesn't that jerk realize how distracting that is? As I try to focus closer on the green block letters forming across the black screen of my computer monitor, I can't help but hear the radio's wordplay over again between my ears. Which was it? Revolution or Evolution? Maybe it is both. Revolution is evolution. Mindlessly correcting spelling errors, I am compelled to let my mind wander into the seldom-seen outback of hypothetical thought. If evolution is slow growth, and revolution is fast change, then is it possible for the two forces to have a symbiotic relationship, one needing the other to perpetuate itself? like the predictable biological mechanism that I have become, I hit the print button without thinking. Another future forgotten masterpiece sent to the printing department. I notice that the radio isn't playing anymore and hasn't for a short time. How much time passed since my imagination took over? damn it, that’s why radios are forbidden in on the editing floor! Apparently, I have to teach that bastard in the next cubicle about acceptable work conduct. As I begin to storm out of my cubicle my eye catches something unfamiliar on the monitor. I sit back down for closer inspection. Oh god. This… can’t be… I don't make this kind of mistake, it goes against all that I am. In my absent-minded delirium, I typed "revolution is evolution is revolution is evolution" in a repeated sequence directly in the middle of page 200. There it is, interrupting the recipe for the green chili pork roast, is my huge glaring mistake. I can feel all of the blood drain from my face. My heart seems to stop beating and then start again twice as intensely. I am going to be fired for this. 

 

Ch.4-

Dad comes to pick me up early from school today. It was real early before I even get to go to Monday music class. He never comes to get me early, not even on my birthday. He says school is pointless after sixth grade anyway, but I can’t stay home and I can’t go to work with him yet. this must be a big deal cuz he never misses work. "No work - no food," says dad. The first thing I notice is our dog Rambo is in the back of the truck and so is the green wool blanket we use to wrap up my riffle. Dad's eyes are red. The truck is loud, and I raise my voice to ask him what’s going on. "This is the big one, boy. Yer uncle Mike came by the job site today and told me about what he heard on the radio. Says the communist bastards are trying to overthrow the government. Some kinda revolution and we gotta get out to yer uncle's place real quick." I look over my shoulder, in the bed of the truck I see the barrel of my 22 sticking out of the green blanket and all my dad’s hunting gear, and his gunny sack full of other stuff. "It was on the radio for real dad?" I ask. He ignores my question, “Yer uncle and yer cousins are hunkering down out at his place and after we meet up we are going to head to our spot at Redfish Canyon." His breath smells sour and now I know why his eyes are red. I scoot the beer cans on the floor with my foot. He usually only gets red-eyed when we talk about mom. Those times he cusses a lot and falls asleep on the couch on the back porch. "Don't be scared boy. We been talkin' about the rooskies dooin’ something like this for a while now." I’m not scared. I didn't want to go to Monday music class anyway.

 

Ch.5-

Margie at the front desk tells me Carl got here an hour early today. She hands me the rest of my messages on small slips of paper and I say, "better than his usual hour late."  She smiles sympathetically and I start down the long corridor to the production booth. The walls are covered in painter's plastic and lift with the draft of my passing. The remodeling has taken longer than I was promised, but image is important in the radio business and you can't try to convince today's hit rock stars to come to your radio station if it looks like a damn library. When me and Carl went into this business together a year ago we never thought it would take this long to convert an educational radio station into a top ten pop chart station. It would be easier if Carl didn't have Jack and Coke breakfasts and whiskey sour lunches. He wanted to be the D.J. so damn bad. All the fun and none of the responsibility. Responsibility that falls into my lap. I flip on the lights to the production booth and there is Carl, laid out over his control board. I sigh so loud I want him to hear it through the glass in the studio which no doubt reeks of booze and body odor. Partially surrounded by an odd assortment of records, and tapes from the old educational collection and some newer material, Carl appears lifeless. I flip on the intercom mic and say as calmly as I can, "ok. Carl old buddy, time to get to work." Without moving an inch he mumbles "Way ahead of ya." That's when I noticed the on-air button was lit. In a panic, I switch to the live feed. It's playing on a loop, just some old guy repeating "revolution". By Carl's leg is the case for an album called "The History of Revolutionary War as Read by Charlton Heston." That deadbeat couldn't even get the right album on before he passed out on the control board. Immediately I flip off the feed. Running my fingers through what’s left of my hair I try to calm down. I say, "OK this will be fine. What’s the worst that could happen?"

 

-END-

 

Tuesday, August 13, 2024

Partners in Crime



 Find me on the BWL site!

 

Writing can a lonely business. Book promotion need not be, if you have a partner in crime! I have partnered with many of my favorite fellow authors over the years.



Currently, I've teamed up several times with fellow BWL author Eileen O'Finlan, who lives in Western Massachusetts, driving distance from my Vermont home.

Together we:

*    Share the load on presentations-- half the work, 

      twice the fun!

*    Share expenses and driving on book tours

*    Advise each other  on writing and promotional         tips  that work

*   Go to conferences and enter awards contests           together. 

    (I'm happy to report that both of us have several winning books)

*   Are each other's biggest fans!







Lately we've found a link between our latest novels...the fascinating research we've encountered about New England witches and vampires. We developed presentations complete with projected power points and are taking it on the road throughout our area. Along the way we've had enthusiastic audiences and have even met a direct descendant of Salem witch trial victim Rebecca Nurse.



So, extend your friendship with fellow authors and put your wonderfully creative heads together. Find your partner in crime!

Popular Posts

Books We Love Insider Blog

Blog Archive