My brother, Spencer, loves all things western, especially when they're detective shows set (better still if created in) the 1970s. Think Rockford Files. The fact that Spencer actually owns and frequently wears a cowboy hat (despite having never left New England) made this an easy intro to write.
The biker leaned over me, his hot breath fanning my face. I was still reeling from the car accident and my eyes hadn’t yet adjusted to the burning desert sun. The dust was thick, choking my throat, rasping at the throats of the jeering, cat-calling crowd that surrounded me and Julie. Julie was whimpering – but with two men pinning my arms and the third demanding money I didn’t have, there was little I could do.
“I said, you gotta pay the toll, man,” the biker said. He leaned in closer, his leering face inches from my own. “You gotta pay.”
“I haven’t got anything,” I rasped and grunted when someone jammed a fist into my ribs.
“Well now, ain’t that just too bad?” the biker said and he stepped back. “All right, boys…”
He never got a chance to finish. There was the roar of an over-sized engine, a squeal of tires, a cloud of red-tinged dust, and then, most ominously of all, the booming shock of a shot-gun, fired close by.
The dust settled around an enormous pickup truck. A tall, rangy man with a battered jacket, a cowboy hat, and a tin star stood in the doorway of the cab. He held the shot-gun like it was a part of his arm and his dark brown eyes scanned the crowd as he chewed slowly on a wad of tobacco.
“Party’s over, boys,” Sheriff Traynor said and adjusted the shot-gun ever so slightly. “I think you all better go on home now.”
Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, the Catholic Church's 40-day season of fasting, alms giving, and prayer in preparation of Holy Week and Easter. Today, we are marked with ashes and reminded: "Dust you are and to dust you shall return."
It's easy to get caught up in the gloominess of that sentiment and, indeed, in the penitential rites and rituals that fuel this particular season (Fridays are the worst for a meat-lover like me!). After all, sacrifices, even voluntary ones, are often uncomfortable and prayer, and contemplation tends reminds us of how small, how dust-like, we really are. But the second reading today reminds us not to limit our vision. We may be small, but we are loved immeasurably. We may be limited, but God is not. We may not feel like we're worth much, but God gave Himself through His Son to ensure our future happiness. We may be dust, indeed, but we are dust that are loved beyond all measure.
So take up your cross and remember: the battle is already won and the best is yet to come.
Today's Second Reading:
2nd Corinthians 5:20 - 6:2
So we are ambassadors for Christ, as if God were appealing through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake He made Him to be sin who did not know sin, so that we might become the righteousness of God in Him.
Working together, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. For He says,
“In an acceptable time I heard you,
and on the day of salvation I helped you.”
Behold, now is a very acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.
One of the very first character intros I ever did was for my friend, Sarah Levesque, a fellow writer of fantasy, knower of all things Tolkien, and editor of the online magazine, LogoSophia. She's been begging me to give her another intro, but I still have a partiality to this one, which focuses on her no-nonsense, yet fun-loving approach to life. Enjoy and let me know what you think!
(Note: I know the girl in the graphic is wearing red, not green, but, alas, I have not the skills to change the color of the image!)
“…and then, after you offer them the berries, you step back three paces, bow…” here, our would-be-guide to the Elven kingdom took three very unstable steps backward and awkwardly bowed. The mead in his mug slopped dangerously, but he was a practiced drunk and not a drop was lost.
“Then,” he said, his one-eye gleaming over the prodigious growth of beard and longish nose, “you say ‘tshne Arwen ithmas’. That completes the charm.”
Ren and I exchanged doubtful glances. All we'd asked was for directions through the Dark Wood to the Elven kingdom on the other side. We'd known it to be dangerous and expected there to be some level of elvish nonsensical hoops to jump through, but this man's explanation long-winded, excessively detailed instructions even our expectations. It was, to say the least, a daunting prospect.
“And that’s how you obtain passage through the Dark Wood?” Ren asked. Concern creased his face. I knew what he was thinking, because it was the same thought I was having: going through the Dark Wood was bad enough. There was no way the pair of us could magick our way past barriers as well. Our mission was over before it began.
Our cheerful informant didn't appear to notice our distress. “Oh sure.” He nodded confidently as he carefully retook his seat. “Manys the time I’ve been in the forest, drinking their wine, making small talk with the…”
“…weasels.” A new voice erupted from very close beside me, making me jump nervously. “Wesley, you just made all of that up.”
Ren and I turned. Beside me stood a young woman, dressed in a practical green dress and a tan bonnet. She had the air of amused, but strained patience, and she stood with her hands on her hips. Though she was scarcely taller than I was seated, she commanded both the room and the liar we’d been speaking to.
The one-eyed man turned pale and his massive frame seem to shrivel before our eyes. “Aww, but Sarah…” he complained, but she would have none of it.
“If you want work, Wesley,” she said, “my father has wood that needs chopping out back.”
There was a moment's stand off, where the large drunk with the untidy beard debated his chances against the tiny girl with the confident stance. In the end, her determined stance won. He slunk away, defeated, to go chop wood.
The girl, Sarah, turned to face us. “I wouldn’t take anything he says seriously," she said. She'd relaxed and her manner was practical and efficient. This was her domain and she ruled it well. "Wesley means no harm, but go with him and he'll get you into more trouble than he could handle and charge you double the fair rate to boot."
"Right," said Ren, sounding as flummoxed as I did.
She eyed us both carefully. "But if you need a guide to get you through the woods, I can do it. And you won’t need any magical mumbo-jumbo to get there, either.”
By Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen
Cassandra and Jane live a life of glamorous perfection, and always get what they desire. When they invite Shay into their circle, everything seems to get better. Shay would die for them to like her. She may have to.
Hendricks and Pekkanen deliver another nail-biting, twisty mystery with a heavy dose of upper-class New York style for good measure. This thriller is fun, fast-paced, and absolutely riveting, but the back cover copy does the story little justice.
Shay is a data-minded loner who, while on her way to an job interview, witnesses a young woman's suicide. That's enough to ruin anyone's week, but Shay has also just lost her job, her crush, and her apartment. Desperate to find out more about the mysterious woman, she goes to her wake and discovers the Moore sisters and their tight group of friends. The Moores welcome the achingly lonely Shay into their circle... but not without an agenda. Soon, Shay finds herself caught in a web of intrigue, one that may cost her life - or more.
As I said, this is a fun thriller that's a lot lighter than these authors' previous outings (domestic violence is difficult to stomach and this book has none of that). The main character is a sympathetic mess, the main villains pleasingly calculating and clever, and the pacing is quick enough that you can read this in an afternoon or two. Will it rock your world? Probably not. Is it fun escapism? Absolutely. As such, its highly recommended.
Every once in a while, I post on my Facebook page, asking friends and strangers for volunteers in a writing exercise. Essentially, I write an intro for them into a non-existent novel. It's a fun exercise for me, as I try to use what I know about the person to inform, not only their entrance, but the style of the book or story that I think they'd best suit. Radio personality, rocker, and actor Jeff "Skumpi" Lorenz (check out his band here) graciously allowed me to use his likeness in this, a scene from a Revolutionary War epic. Be sure to let me know what you think!
Dawn came and the first reports started to filter in – there’d been a shooting in Lexington. People had died and the lobsterbacks were moving on Concord. My mother was visibly trembling, but she was determined she wouldn’t leave our tavern and farm for the troops to sack on their return. She opened as usual, but the only person who stopped by was a woodsman, tall, gray-haired, dressed in worn buckskin and carrying the longest musket I’d ever seen. He ordered a cider and then took a seat in the corner. He was asleep before I could bring the cider to him.
We knew that the British were retreating long before they came. They were falling back to Boston empty-handed and the militia was following them. Neighbors came to warn us. My mother closed up the tavern, took up her musket, and warned us to stay out of sight.
The troops that returned from Concord weren’t the same men that had passed our house that morning. They were bloodied and bedraggled, angry and frightened, exhausted and jumpy. The first group passed our tavern, stopping only to bang upon the door. We kept quiet and they passed on. We could hear shots now, growing closer and closer. The frightened murmurs became roars. The banging on our door became more insistent. By the time the last group of soldiers arrived, it had become battery. We remained behind the counter, frightened and watching my mother. It was only when the redcoats shouted, “Let’s burn it down!” that she stepped up from behind the counter and opened the door.
“My children are in here…” she said, but she didn’t get a chance to finish. The soldiers shoved her aside and stormed into the tavern. One of them grabbed her by the arm and dragged her along with them.
“Let me go!” she exclaimed and for the first time in my life, I heard fear in my mother’s voice.
Two were holding my mother. Another three were tearing their way through our supplies. From outside, I could hear the sound of the militia, yelling and frightening, but still too far away to help us. I hopped up from behind the counter and charged the soldiers.
“Let her go!” I exclaimed, with all the fury a twelve-year-old could muster.
I slammed into one of them, only to have another soldier pluck me up and heft me across the room. I hit the floor hard, all the air knocked out of my chest.
“Cockroach,” he spat and turned back to my mother.
He didn’t see the swinging musket until it was too late. It hit him on the head with a sickening crack and he was down and out.
We’d all forgotten about the woodsman. With a roar that shook the rafters, he tore through the soldiers like a demon, using his big musket like a club. It was five to one, but they didn’t have a chance. Two more dropped, the third pulled a knife but didn’t last long. The last soldier simply ran out the door and abandoned his fellows.
I lay on my back, watching the big man move like a blur of tan buckskin. When it was all over, he turned to me and offered me a hand up.
“You’ve got spirit, son,” he said. “I like your courage.” His blue eyes were bright. After all that work, he was barely winded at all.
“Who-who are you?” I asked.
“Names Lorenz,” he said. “But you can call me Skumpi, son.”
By Lisa Jewell
As Libby investigates the story of her birth parents and the dark legacy of her new home, her missing siblings are headed her way to uncover, and possibly protect, secrets of their own. What really happened in that rambling Chelsea mansion when they were children? And are they still at risk?
Lisa Jewell's new book is another family trauma/thriller with enough creepy twists and discomfort to keep the reader engaged until the very end. Told from three different viewpoints, it's engaging, uncomfortable, and riveting. In the early nineties, a well-to-do family falls under the sway of a smooth-talking control-freak, who gradually isolates them from the outside world. It's this story that really got under my skin - to be so isolated in the middle of teeming London seems all-too-easy in Jewell's tale. The abuse that takes place behind these closed doors is akin to watching a car accident: agonizing to watch, yet impossible to look away.
In terms of surprise, some of the twists are easy to spot coming, but the narrative is spell-binding and pulls you along. The ending left me feeling uncertain and little unnerved - if there's a sequel, I'll be lining up for the first copy. That said, this is not a book for the squeamish or those looking for an easy escape. Think mature Lifetime movie and you'll have a pretty good idea of what's in store.
Every once in a while, I post on my Facebook page, asking friends and strangers for volunteers in a writing exercise. Essentially, I write an intro for them into a non-existent novel. It's a fun exercise for me, as I try to use what I know about the person to inform, not only their entrance, but the style of the book or story that I think they'd best suit. About two weeks ago, singer/songwriter and actress Kate Eppers graciously allowed me to use her likeness in this, a scene from a fairy tale/fantasy. Be sure to let me know what you think!
Mila’s heart was pounding in her chest. Fear screamed for her to run onward, but her brother’s desperate cry forced her to turn. Elias was on the ground, his legs entangled in fallen branches. Beyond him, still hidden by the forest, bodies crashed through branches and underbrush. The goblins were nearly upon them.
She ran back and pulled on the branches, but they were woven tight. Elias’ face was streaked with tears, his legs scratched and bloody.
“Come on!” Mila cried, tearing at the branches. It was no use – it was an enchanted trap and there was no immediate escape. Even as the first goblin appeared, a nightmarish creature all teeth and claws, clutching its club and screeching in triumph, she knew they were lost.
“Mila!” Elias pushed her off. “Run!”
“No!” She grabbed a fallen branch and held it ready as more goblins appeared. She wouldn’t leave her little brother and if they had to die, at least they would die defending themselves.
The goblins screeched in triumphant unison and scrambled towards them, teeth bared and mouths dripping in anticipation. Cold fear drenched Mila’s body and she stepped forward so that she could absorb the first blow. The nearest goblin launched himself at her, so close she could see the black flecks in his glowing red eyes and… suddenly, everything changed.
A song rent the air, high, delicate, and gorgeous. A shimmering translucent wall of pure energy sprung up in front of Mila. The goblin hit the wall, hard, but didn’t go through. He fell to the ground and rolled away, his skin black and sizzling from where it had made contact. The same thing happened when the other goblins touched the wall, until they were all burning. They ran along the wall, looking for entrance, but it stretched far out of sight and the song held it strong. Finally, burnt and angry, they disappeared into the forest. And Mila, still reeling from this sudden change of events, turned to see singer.
A woman stood behind the two children. Even her hand had not been raised for the spell, they would have known it was she who conjured the wall, for she resonated with pure energy and song. She was of medium height, with loose blond hair, dressed a white robe. She lowered her hand, finished the song, and then smiled brightly at the two frightened children.
“It’s all right,” she said. “You’re safe now, in my kingdom.” She made a motion with her finger and the branches released Elias.
“Who are you?” Mila stammered, as Elias got to his feet.
When the woman said her name, it was so long and complicated that the children could only stare in confusion. The woman laughed.
“Just call me Kate,” she said and reached for their hands. “Come on! We’ve got places to go and things to see!”
By Ta-Nehisi Coates
This brush with death births an urgency in Hiram and a daring scheme: to escape from the only home he's ever known. So begins an unexpected journey that takes Hiram from the corrupt grandeur of Virginia's proud plantations to desperate guerrilla cells in the wilderness, from the coffin of the Deep South to dangerously idealistic movements in the North. This is the dramatic story of an atrocity inflicted on generations of women, men, and children - the violent and capricious separation of families - and the war they waged to simply make lives with the people they loved. Written by one of today's most exciting thinkers and writers, The Water Dancer is a propulsive, transcendent work that restores the humanity of those from whom everything was stolen.
The Water Dancer teeters delicately on the line of historical fiction and fantasy. It's a fascinating, in-depth look at slavery and bondage and what these concepts can do to a man. One of the most compelling sequences was when the protagonist and narrator, Hiram, begins to realize what his bondage, a fact since his birth, truly means for him in terms of freedom of love and movement. It's also a terrific look at the progressive movements in America at the time, which included everything from abolition to suffrage to free love.
It's a great set-up, but the novel falters in several areas, including prose. Hiram has such a ruminative voice that its occasionally difficult to tell when an actual action has taken place (revenge against a particular foe was so lightly touched upon that I didn't realize until much later that it had actually happened) and Coates tries to fit so much philosophy and politics and awakenings into his story that it can feel a little bloated. Everyone, from high or low in society, tends to talk in speeches, all of which feel the same. The dialog only seldom allows for differences in class or accent, which is a true shame, given the variety and caliber of characters presented here. There is magic in this book too, invoked by memory, which was promising but ultimately not terribly useful concept in the book- everything that was done seemed capable of being done through ordinary Underground methods.
Overall, The Water Dancers is an evocative, fantastical, but somewhat underdeveloped insider's look at the slave system and the Underground system. An enjoyable read, but perhaps not a destined classic.
by William Kent Krueger
Forced to flee, he and his brother Albert, their best friend Mose, and a brokenhearted little girl named Emmy steal away in a canoe, heading for the mighty Mississippi and a place to call their own. Over the course of one unforgettable summer, these four orphans will journey into the unknown and cross paths with others who are adrift, from struggling farmers and traveling faith healers to displaced families and lost souls of all kinds. With the feel of a modern classic, This Tender Land is an enthralling, big-hearted epic that shows how the magnificent American landscape connects us all, haunts our dreams, and makes us whole.
The story of four orphaned runaways, This Tender Land is a sweeping epic with heart, a truly American odyssey. Odie (short for Odysseus) is a yarn-spinner of the best kind, a brave if occasionally brash young man whose heart is as big as the American landscape. His brother, Albert, is the mechanical genius with a responsibility complex. Mose is the silent giant with a mysterious past and an uncertain future. Emmy is the hopeful, happy little girl whom they all adore - think Shirley Temple with second sight.
But the true joy of this novel isn't the characters or the landscape or the attention to historical detail: its the sense of adventure and hope that is imbued throughout the story. While the occasional heavy-handed moralizing is mildly distracting, the prose, pacing, and good-hearted nature of the story rivets you to the page. When asked by a friend of mine, the best comparison I could come up with was, if Mark Twain decided to write his own American version of the The Oddessy, it'd feel something like this. For all the darkness this novel unblinkingly faces, it's a hopeful story about home, family, and adventure.
Rejection is part of the game of life. But what does it actually mean about you, personally?
As part of my new 2020 initiative, I decided (among other things) that I was going to be braver, that I was going to put myself and my work out there a little more. I've always wanted to be a published author (hooray for Amazon!), which I managed, but I wanted to reach out and try it a different way. I decided I need to query more literary agents.
Now, for those of you who don't know, when you write a fabulous new novel, authors these days have two options: they can publish it themselves, using Amazon or WattPad or any number of platforms, or they can do it the old fashioned way. As I've always had a not-so-secret hankering to be published by HarperCollins or Penguin, I decided to pursue this route, which entails writing a synopsis of your book, a query letter for said book, and then sending query letters and samples to literary agents who, if they like it, will sign you on as a client and then shop your manuscript around to publishers like Penguin and HarperCollins.
I've been down the query road many, many times before. My twenties is a decade papered over with rejection letters. It hurt back then, when I was a tenderfoot, but now, I decided, I was tough. I've gotten bad reviews. I've gotten rejected, both to my face and online. I can take whatever is dished out. Accordingly, I lovingly crafted my letter, my synopsis, and triple-check my sample and then sent it out to a number of agents. I got back the usual auto-letters, thanking me for my submission and politely informing me that I can expect to hear back from them in 2-8 weeks. "Fine," I thought, "I can wait."
Not an hour later, the first rejection letter came in. One particular agent couldn't wait to clear my query out of her inbox. As it turns out, I was wrong - you're never too tough for rejection to sting a little.
To be absolutely fair, the pre-filled rejection letter was polite and even encouraging. My story was not to the taste of this particular agent, but fret not, for surely the perfect agent must be out there! I was not inclined to take this part of the letter to heart. All I could see was the sentiment "Thanks but move along."
Turns out, this reaction of mine is not uncommon. Being cautious creatures, who long ago were at the bottom of the land-based food chain, we tend to focus on the dangers and the pains rather than the bright side of any situation. But just because we initially do, it doesn't follow that we have to stay there.
In real terms, however, this one pre-filled rejection letter does absolutely nothing (except sound the death knell on a potential business relationship). The literary agent was quite correct in saying that just because my story didn't appeal to her, it doesn't mean that it doesn't appeal to anyone. But let's say the worst happens. Let's say no one wants to publish it. What then?
I realized very quickly that, if every literary agency in New York City rejects my manuscript, if Penguin or HarperCollins never learn of my existence, if every troll on Amazon puts my work at the top of their target list, none of that really changes anything. I'll still write. I'll still pepper my friends with questions like, "Would this work?" "What do you think of this plot twist?" I'll still type until my eyes are so tired until they feel like they are going to fall out. I'll still day dream and compose and make up brand new worlds in the privacy of my own head. It's what I do. It's what I've always done. Rejections sting, 'tis true, but they don't actually change much. I'm still me. I still like what I do and what I write, and lucky for me, I can still do it, regardless. There is great power in realizing where the real power lies.
So if you like what you're doing, keep on keeping on. Keep working it, keep growing, keep learning, keep trying, and remember: no amount of rejections can stop you from doing what you love. It may lead you to a new or different way of expressing your passion (you may not work with Leonardo DiCaprio, but you can still be in some pretty cool indie films), but in this day and age especially, there a more avenues for creative expression than ever before. So stick with it and keep going.
So I guess I better keep on keeping on. And while I'm at it, I'll treat myself to a chocolate bar tonight. Because rejection, even if it doesn't mean all that much in practical terms, it still has a sting.
So, one of my many New Year's Resolutions (I'm sort of a masochist, I guess!) was to refresh and revitalize my look and website. And lo and behold, I actually did it! Along with the new look, I'm hoping to post more book reviews and the occasional article and clips from The Early Late Night Live Show, as well as news about our film, The Dinner Party, and the new episode of Felson and Company. Also new is the fact that I'm writing now for a new publication called LogoSophia Magazine, so be sure to check out their website here: logosophiamag.com.
As for new books, I'm happy to report that there are a few in the works! One of them has just received an intense re-write (hooray for patient editors!) and there are several in the outline-stage, including a few new Encounter Series books. Speaking of the Encounter series, Margaret and I had a blast at Super MegaFest and would love to do more comic cons - any suggestions on where we should pop-up next?
As always, I'd love to hear from you all! Got suggestions, comments, feedback, complaints, cunning plans? Let me know! And good luck in 2020, everyone! Lets get this decade off to a roaring start!
By Monica Hess
On a routine delivery, a client asks Hanneke for help. Expecting to hear that Mrs. Janssen wants meat or kerosene, Hanneke is shocked by the older woman's frantic plea to find a person--a Jewish teenager Mrs. Janssen had been hiding, who has vanished without a trace from a secret room. Hanneke initially wants nothing to do with such dangerous work, but is ultimately drawn into a web of mysteries and stunning revelations that lead her into the heart of the resistance, open her eyes to the horrors of the Nazi war machine, and compel her to take desperate action.
Girl in the Blue Coat is a fast-paced, exciting adventure story that will grab you by the heart strings. Hanneke is a sympathetic lead, a young woman whose idealistic outlook has been severely damaged by the realities of war. Living in an occupied country means confronting small acts of treason every day, performed by friends, neighbors, relatives, even loved ones. But Hanneke's new-found cynicism doesn't account for the other side of the truth: that even in the midst of a great evil, great courage still exists. As she goes deeper into Amsterdam's resistance movement, she's forced to face not only great danger - but her own deeply buried guilt.
This is simply a great story, a roller-coaster ride full of intrigue, romance, and classic adventure, from stealing Nazi uniforms to infiltrating enemy offices and solving murder mysteries. Warning: once you get thirty pages in, you won't be able to stop reading, so set aside enough time.
I love it when a book defies my expectations and takes me to a terrific place! So imagine my delight when Risah Salazar of Reader's Favorite reported the same thing happening to her in her review! Below is the full review. Many thanks to Reader's Favorite for the review and remember folks: if you need a Christmas Gift, Universal Threat is at your disposal! #shamelessplug
Reviewed by Risah Salazar for Readers' Favorite
When Heather Miller introduces Jeff Levinson to her family as a friend, her brother, Nick, doesn't buy it. And when she tells them they're going hiking up a mountain, Nick had something else in mind. The three of them were supposed to trek up Lorne Mountain but Nick, in the hopes of wanting to see Jeff give up, took them to the steeper and wilder Stark Mountain instead. Heather protests but soon gives in, and the next thing they know, they are carefully treading up Stark Mountain. With Jeff getting excited, Nick feels defeated but doesn't lose hope. However, Nick's plans are put on hold when they hear a not-so-successful landing of an alien spaceship nearby. Universal Threat by Killarney and Margaret Traynor will make you scared yet have you clinging to hope at the same time.
First of all, I did not expect anything big from this book but I was wrong. This story was exciting and action-packed. I loved all the characters and how they developed throughout the plot. Though they made some pretty bad choices that seemed impractical and naive, I was still able to relate to them in some ways. Nick meant no harm, he just wanted what he thought was best for his sister. Jeff is not afraid to express himself although sometimes his personality makes others uncomfortable. Heather sees the good in everyone and believes that good will triumph over evil every time. The underlying concept of love and unity amidst conflict was evident. Killarney and Margaret Traynor's Universal Threat will help restore your hope in humanity. Trigger warnings include divorce/broken family and violence.
By Richard Roper
From the back cover:
Andrew's been feeling stuck. For years he's worked a thankless public health job, searching for the next of kin of those who die alone. Luckily, he goes home to a loving family every night. At least, that's what his coworkers believe. A misunderstanding has left Andrew trapped in his own white lie and his lonely apartment. When new employee Peggy breezes into the office like a breath of fresh air, she makes Andrew feel truly alive for the first time in decades. Could there be more to life than this?
But telling Peggy the truth could mean losing everything. For twenty years, Andrew has worked to keep his heart safe, forgetting one important thing: how to live. Maybe it's time for him to start.
This book made me want to laugh, cry, and hug everyone I know - all at once! Mr. Roper's debut novel is a surprisingly moving story of loneliness and hope. Andrew is a lovable loner who spends his free time listening to Ella Fitzgerald records while building and adding to his train collection. His social circle is limited to his quirky co-workers and the anonymous forum of train enthusiasts that he interacts with online. His days are filled with death - his job is to bury the forgotten and the lonely. And that's his existence until a series of events, including the arrival of the irrepressible Peggy, shakes his world and leaves him wondering: could he had more?
The prose is both hilarious and heartbreaking and the characters a lively and easy to like. Told in a distinctly British style, Anglophiles will especially love this story. But what's best about How Not To Die Alone is the heart, humanity, and hope that it leaves the readers feeling. Death may be the end, but there's an awful lot of living to do in the meantime and that living can be rich and full of love. Highly recommended.
My friend, Chuck Miceli, offered me an advance copy of his new book, "Wounded Angels", available everywhere on 01-14-2020. (I'd previously reviewed his first book, Amanda's Room.) The following is my review!
Wounded Angels is the love story of Frank and Maureen Russo, two young people who meet and fall in love at a skating rink in New York City just before the outbreak of World War II. Maureen Bower is a product of the Great Depression, a young woman whose early life was rocked by the ruin and suicide of her beloved father. Frank is an Italian American whose great personal confidence is nearly broken by the horrors of war. They marry and are separated by war, then reunite after to form a family. Enduring the ups and downs of American life in the fifties and sixties (Vietnam enters with its usual tragic results), Frank and Maureen’s relationship deepens and develops over time. They move to Connecticut and look forward to a long, happy retirement when the worst happens: Frank unexpectedly dies of heart failure. Abandoned again, Maureen sinks into a deep depression that isolates her from her daughters and friends... She is lost – until she discovers an unlikely friend in spit-fire Doris Cantrell, a woman whose drifting, hard-loving lifestyle differs greatly from Maureen’s own. As their unlikely relationship develops, Maureen begins to wonder: is there life after death? Can the assistance of another wounded soul help her see through her loss to the life left behind?
Miceli’s story of love, loss, and recovery unwinds like a tale told during a long afternoon’s visit over a cup of coffee and the reader reaches the final page reluctantly, feeling as though they are leaving a new-found, long-sought friend. It is moving, heartbreaking, and ultimately uplifting, and yet there is nothing truly remarkable about Frank and Maureen’s story. They are like many couples all over the nation: hardworking, loving, ordinary people leading ordinary lives with ordinary problems. And yet that in itself is the charm and the magic of this tale: it dives deep into the often overlooked lives of the ordinary and finds the extraordinary. Miceli’s light and often humorous touch is much in the manner of Erma Bombeck or Frank Capra and his world feels whole, real, and fully realized.
To quote “It’s a Wonderful Life”, “Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?” Frank Russo may have been ordinary, but his loss gouges a deep hole in the lives of his wife, children, and community. As Maureen begins to heal, she learns that loss isn’t the end of the story. The end may also be a beginning. Wounded Angels is about imperfect people in an imperfect world, learning truths about love, loss, and beginning again. It will leave the reader satisfied and with a sense of hope, a truly fine story told in a loving, thoughtful manner.