Book Reviews: Celebrating the #authorsoftiktok

Wiped Out: Murder is a Beach (Beach Bound Book Cozy Mystery 1) by Tamara Woods

 

No matter how many brain cells it’s reputed to destroy there’s a certain magic to television. My entire repertoire of jokes ... if I could actually remember them, comes from sitcoms. Mmmm that’s not a good example. Though I’m convinced nearly two decades of watching Grey’s Anatomy were not wasted on me. I’ve a whole litany of medical jargon I can spout at the drop of a hat ... or a scalpel ... or a cranial drill for craniotomies That said, Tamara Woods’ Wiped Out and specifically the character Fraya hold a special place for me. I feel a kinship with Fraya. In places where I might feel compelled to perform an emergency tracheotomy, Fraya is equally compelled to play detective. Fraya throws herself into the thick of it, taking the skills obtained from years of watching Law and Order, not to mention the extensive training she’s sure she’d garnered from watching NCIS. And though the method to her madness is ... madness, there’s just something about her slightly over the top, barely under the radar demeanor that just talks to me. Tamara beautifully juggles these moments of amateur sleuthing with a hint of love in the air. So okay, maybe I’m not ready to walk into the nearest hospital and demand surgical privileges but I’m still right there with Fraya as she puts the pieces together to solve a series of murders and find a killer. And maybe she’ll find romance along the way. And maybe one day Fraya will make her way to the television and we can all watch her exploits as we flex those brain cells to help her catch killers.

 

 

Key of Arcandus (Carving Legacies, #1) By Lauren N. Sefchik 

My fascination with the fantastical started long before I discovered Boris Vallejo. But it was this beautifully mesmerizing artwork which most definitely added fuel to that particular fire. Each image created a tableau vivant as real as if it had been captured from life. And equally as extraordinary as something which could only live in the imagination.

So of course I collected the trading cards. Can you blame me for the lure of gazing endlessly at these images and finding myself constantly taken from one world into another.

With Key of Arcandus, Lauren N. Sefchik has taken me into a world seemingly from the artwork of Boris Vallejo. I find one image to hold onto as an exemplar of the world Lauren created, only to discover the one image barely touched the surface.

The vastness we experience as we traverse the world Lauren created for Siroun is vividly breathtaking. Each moment infused with imagery akin to Vallejo. From the Dragomyr to the attack on the library to the map practically coming to life and of course the mages on a quest.

Throughout all of this there’s Siroun as battles of ice, fire, lightening and shadows are fought around her and she leaves weakness behind to find her strength.

Lauren’s Arcandus is infused with imagery that like Vallejo, adds fuel to the fire of my imagination.

Lilith, Bug and the Whale by K.J. Padgett

 

For a lot of us, from the very first moment we heard the name Elizabeth Kübler-Ross, grief took on this sort of step-by-step color by numbers reality. And then, and then someone actually dies. And the truth is no matter how well intended no one can really ever truly define grief in stages, because even when we feel the spectrum of emotions, what we feel belongs only to us.

In my very first foray into receiving an Advanced Reader’s Copy also known as an ARC, I’ve had the absolute pleasure of reading K.J. Padgett’s Lilith, Bug & the Whale.

Given my own name it should come as no surprise I have a particular affinity for a character nicknamed, Lili. In too many ways K.J.’s Lilith and I have nothing in common. In the one place where we tread common ground, well, it is ... what it is.

Lilith dreams and I remember dreaming. At seventeen Lilith understands a forever change which I too understood, though I was much much older.

In Lilith’s “unforgettable summer” she discovers K.J.’s eloquent reminder, “we all grieve in different ways.”

For me, K.J. has captured the nuances Kübler-Ross never quite could. Giving us the enraptured moments of first love while sorrow hovers as a nearby spectre. I followed Lilith because her story is compelling, and in no small way is it due to K.J.’s talented skill at touching a shared moment of loss at its very core. And K.J. doesn’t stop there as she takes Lilith on her journey to love at its first inception. Life is a messy creature and Lilith is an echo of this complexity.

Lilith’s story is familiar and unique because we all really do grieve and even love in ways both familiar and different.

 

Spy Season: A Deception & Discipline Novella (Deception and Discipline) by Golden Angel

 

During the late 70s, all of the 80s and the early 90s, I read romance novels — almost exclusively. I loved them and really what’s not to love. Any which way you paired them, a couple coupling, and I was a swoon away from embarrassing myself.

Though many things served to steer me away from romances, I’ve got to confessed having the same male model on every cover kind of ruin the suspension of belief for me.

Eventually a whole new generation of Romance writers lured me back.  

Unbeknownst to her, Golden Angel has catered to my every whim. With her novella “Spy Season,” she has taken the spicy historical romance genre and added a layer of intrigue. Gotta love it.

Building the tension with the suspense, Angel has created something glittering which caught my eye. Evie and the Captain create this temptingly heated encounter in the throes of a life and death moment.   

There’s no denying the bright shiny object you’re looking at is pure gold. Start with Spy Season and then for the thrill of it continue the journey.

Chosen: A Last Witch of Rome Novella by Rhett Gervais

 

Sometimes it’s easy to synonymously entwine things together. Personally, I go for PB&J ... but that’s totally irrelevant. Leaving that tangent behind let’s go for the Chosen One, in my essay “Reality Bites” (copyright 2006), I called her “She, who was born to each generation as its protector with good fashion sense, you go girl.”

 

And if you still don’t know who I’m talking about, I’ll tell you. This mesh in my mind thinks - Chosen One - equals- Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Though anyone familiar with the show knows that an odd set of circumstances created two additional ... Chosen Ones, plural. Okay. Moving on.

 

Rhett Gervais’ Chosen: A Last Witch of Rome Novella, tells the origin story of Vespa.

 

Following the footsteps of the likes of Buffy, Kendra and Faith, this teenage girl is destined to be the protector of her world. Calling on the power of the weave Vespa struggles and stumbles as she comes to terms with the truth the future holds for her.

 

Like her predecessors before her there will missteps but join me as I follow her into her journey as the last witch of Rome.

Fools Rush by Gail R. Delaney 

In In 1978 Christopher Reeves gave us his iconic performance as Superman. And don’t get me wrong, I loved every moment of that performance. I’ll even confess that in 1981 walking out of the movie theater at 42nd Street prompted a knee jerk reaction where I literally looked up in the sky. 

Okay, don’t judge me. 

That said, my favorite Christopher Reeves performance isn’t Superman, it’s from the film Somewhere in Time. With hints of Clark Kent, he played Richard Collier. In the movie there’s this moment where Richard sees Elise McKenna for the very first time and he knows. And then she looks at him and she knows. 

Gail R. Delaney’s Fools Rush In, centers on capturing this quiet yet riotous moment of love at first sight. 

In Gail’s story there’s no scenario of impending doom on the precipice of the final act. No, Gail creates this moment of quiet love where two people share a look and they know. They see eternity when they look at each other. 

Gail’s Tessa and Daniel epitomize this moment. From the inner conflict to the awkwardness of Tessa trying to force a sort of first date banter into the encounter, it’s all very endearing. 

I can already hear the naysayers but remember, I once scanned the sky for traces of a red cape. 

Still, I know it’s not just me, because other people have paraphrased Alexander Pope, and like me, and like Gail, they know, where angels fear to tread ... fools rush in.

Lords of the Archipelago by D.B. Motu

 

There is an almost once upon a time quality to thinking about pirates. From the eye patch, to the peg leg or even the hook, there are images of pirates in our head swashbuckling and they are far removed from the modern era. If they appeared in faded glory and sepia tone, we wouldn’t even bat an eye. My very own introduction to even the concept of modern-day pirates came with the movie Captain Phillips. And of course the hero of that story wasn’t the pirate. With pure crime family vibes, in DB Motu’s Lords of The Archipelago there’s a Corleone in the high seas. One-part Michael, one-part Sonny, two-parts Vito and DB’s Caleb Tavington is The Godfather of The Archipelago. DB writes with an air of authenticity which reads more like a lived-in experience than it does fiction. The Archipelago vibrantly lives in the pages of this story. If that isn’t titillating enough, throw in a hint of Romeo and Juliet, and we’re ready to collectively hold our breaths for this action-packed tale which puts us in the midst of life and death battles with the hidden coves and open waters as the backdrop. And still as our mind runs amok in the thick of it, we have to keep reminding ourselves – this is a fictional story. But then our thoughts, or rather my thoughts, go astray again, and I have to think, Perhaps there really is a pirate lurking in the pages or perhaps the real pirate of The Archipelago was the author.

Rise of the Giants by Christine Marshall

 

When teaching different genres to children we often introduce them to the elements of the genre. For example, fairy tales have a component of magic. And though there are many traditional fairy tales, most of them have fixed imagery which easily lend themselves to word association. I say Cinderella, you say slipper. I say Snow White, you say apple. I say giant and ingrained into our collective brains we hear the word giant and immediately we think Jack. And that inevitably conjures myriad images ... of home invasion and theft.

 

Okay ... no ... just me then. Seriously?

 

Well step aside Jack, with Rise of the Giants, Christine Marshall has bought us a real heroic figure and her name is Charlie. Gotta love it.

 

While this forever young teenage girl stumbles along struggling to find her strength in her quest to rescue giants, you won’t want to miss a step. You’ll want to be right there with her. From her failures and foibles to her tumultuous triumphs. And remember Rise of the Giants is only the beginning.

 

Now let’s do this right. I say giant, you say ... Charlie.

 

The Bawdy Bard by Andrew Marc Rowe

 

I love the structure and conventions of poetry. I love the flow of words within the confines of the given structure and then I love obliterating the structure and throwing those rules, which were obviously made to be broken, out the window.

 

I sometimes think limericks were the first foray into breaking rules, not that AABBA, isn’t a structure. It is. It is more in terms of content where we find this defiance of rules.

 

That brings me to Andrew Marc Rowe’s The Bawdy Bard: A Gutter Sonata. I’m seriously convinced this book should have come with a warning. Wait a second it did come with a warning. I’m guessing this is akin to ... Caution: you’ll laugh so much you’ll hurt yourself.

 

And I certainly did laugh. Sure there’s raunchy humor but that wasn’t everything.

 

The bard is for all intent and purpose often mistaken for a mere buffoon and yet meshed in there with his overt crude humor are words denoting wisdom.

 

In moments verging on awareness of the world beyond the words on the page, using the narrative point of view of the bard, the reader is invited into the layers beneath the layer. And though the story can more than hold its own as an epic limerick, it is this underpinning which makes it shine.

 

So go on and join Andrew for the laughs and discover there is that and so much more.

 

dANGER by Dal Cecil Runo

 

There’s a fourth wall break we’ve acclimated to in films. We see the fourth wall break and scoot over to the edge of our seat. In breathless anticipation, excitement bubbling over we smile. We’re even tempted to wave hi to the screen.

 

Hi, it’s me. I’m here ... okay.

 

Dal Cecil Runo’s dANGER practically dangles this notion of the fourth wall break in front of us in this novelette. It’s tantalizing to a whole new level.

 

I get it, it’s a story and stories can’t break the fourth wall. Though come on. Stay with me for a minute here, this second person interjection in a first-person narrative is not something you come across every day, or in my case ever. I’ve never read anything like this.

 

The wow factor of reading someone take a narrative risk as we the reader are drawn along into an unraveling mystery and still never quite sure which narrative point of is trustworthy, that my friend, is well worth the adventure. And the danger, pun intended.

 

222 Redemption Lane by Merri Maywether

After almost a decade of mostly reading digital books, reading a physical book practically required a learning curve. Oddly enough the teacher in me, holds a physical copy of a book and instinctively I start to read aloud. Slow and steady I won, mostly I won in more ways than one. Merri Maywether’s 222 Redemption Lane was a prize from the author.

 

We all know it’s more common to talk about world building when we read about fantasy or sci-fi, and still we can’t deny the level of world building that goes into creating realistic fiction in a contemporary reality.

 

The places where they live, the community and even the characters themselves have to be fleshed out. Though set in our contemporary world, elements of Merri’s story harken to a bygone era.

 

Some of the characters are vividly written and humanly flawed. They have a tangibility that goes beyond the page. This is Merri Maywether’s secret power. She invites you into the lives of the characters and even provides the matriarchal hostess. Aunt Tee might not be the main character, but in the story and for the reader, she is indeed the lynchpin.

 

There is a tapestry Merri created with words and places and people. In the event you find it hard to locate, I’ll give you the address, 222 Redemption Lane.

 

My Name Isn’t Joe by James Thomas

I used to read with the promise of finding the one quotable line in the book that would create a moment so unforgettable the quote would mesh into my consciousness. It was too much to ask for and I knew it. Sometimes I’d be pleasantly surprised, mostly I just chose to enjoy what was there.

 

James Thomas’ My Name Isn’t Joe kept me highlighting (digital book) one great line after another.

 

There is something about the narrator, Joseph, that speaks to all of us. Letting others bungle his name because he’s too polite or has mastered futility, watching the world and being a part of little moments as a horrified observer.

 

The moments of resounding cadence, where repeated phases carry an emotional impact. The moments of quiet intensity and the moments of recognition.

 

For too many of us, we are Joseph, our names remain unspoken or butchered. We smile, we fade and then we roar.

 

As visitors to the journal of his life, it was a privilege.

LeVar Burton Rocks!

Okay, so here’s my LeVar Burton story. I’ve definitely told it before and will probably tell it again. Back in the day, when Next Gen was airing on TV, I used to go to the comic conventions, which I believed were Sci-fi conventions at the time. The used to have these conventions conveniently on 34^th street. I loved it.

At the time I lived in the projects on 26^th street and that of course, made 34^th street walking distance.

So, going to a convention was like a family outing for my sisters and I. They would come down from the Bronx with children in toll and we’d usually take up a row plus. It was great and is still one of those things I remember fondly.

One of my favorite memories of going to the conventions features LeVar Burton. Some celebrities (definitely not New Yorker) come to these events with some idea in their head that includes assimilation.

Resistance is futile.

Whatever.

I remember one Next Gen actress going on stage and seemingly going out of her way to make on going rude comments. Perhaps she thought it would make her one with us of the bad reputation. Me, I just wanted to sing a Joan Jett refrain.

Unlike his costar, LeVar Burton was not of that ilk. During the question and answer potion someone in the audience, I kid you not, asked, “What does it feel like to get transported?”

Kindly and patiently, Mr. Burton explained, how the illusion is created by editing and film cuts. It really was sweet.

That was up unit no more than five minutes had elapsed, and another person asked, “What does it feel like to get transported?”

These are the moments. These are the times where my own knee jerk reaction wants me to live up to my bad reputation without a care.

Mr. Burton looked dumbfounded for a hot second. He even looked around to the second where the previous person had been. Then he smiled, without malice without guile, and said, “Great. It feels great.”

It was shortly after that, that my niece Jessica asked him a question. I really don’t remember what year it was, but Jessie who’s married and a mom, was, I believe, no more than five at the time.

It was cute. She asked her question and he answered. Not five minutes later she raised her hand to ask another question. My sister, Nelly, her mom, kept trying to get Jessie to put her hand down. Only Jessie kept raising her hand again and again.

Soon enough, a man in the audience was called, and he said something like, “could you call on this little girl. She kept trying to get your attention.”

For a second, Mr. Burton tried to explain that he’d already called on her. Shrugging it off he called on Jessie again.

Being all bashful after all the fuss, Jessie said, “I want a hug.”

LeVar Burton just called her up to the stage and gave her a hug.

Back in the day, we didn’t have cameras or anything, but I so wish I had a picture of that moment.

For this and many other reasons, LeVar Burton is welcome to read aloud anything and everything I’ve ever written.

Short Stories on the Go! ~ Link to Buying Paperbacks

A Dreamer … A Pragmatist … A Heretic … Me … Having A Bad Hair Day … Week … Month … Year … Years

Published August 4, 2018

I often put on my decrepit Guns N’ Roses T and following what is clearly some Pavlovian response as I walk to the subway station and also in the subway station, I start singing verses from “Sweet Child O’ Mine.” Which in turn almost tempts me to speculate about nefarious subliminal messages embedded in 80s music videos that went something like this: instead of “kill, kill, kill” it said, “sing, sing, sing.” And then I remember I’m me and I don’t need much prompting to randomly burst into song.

Or maybe I just remember I can’t whistle and so I sing.

Published August 21, 2018

After spending almost ten consecutive years writing I stopped. Well, mostly stopped, as I was still writing stuff — but no stories. The ideas, the narrative and even the fleshed out characters were still playing havoc in my head, but I stopped the follow through. I stopped the part where I tooled snippets of all those fragmented pieces I’d written and threaded them together to form a whole and made a story. It wasn’t the rejection letters from literary agents — though I have plenty of those. It wasn’t the inability to self-publish — back then even doing all the editing, formatting and proofing myself still carried a price tag I couldn’t afford. I just stopped.

I spent the next three years reading — mostly not the kind of narrative that would inspire me to pound the keyboard — which I often do. Pressing harder than I’ve ever had a need to. I blame the muscle memory of manual typewriters.

Published July 11, 2018

New Cover

And so for the last three years or so I’ve been writing reviews instead of writing stories. I can’t say I suffered a writer’s block, because I didn’t. I still have a million words clamoring for a voice. I’ve just chosen to, for the most part, ignore them. It’s mostly I let my days, like my life get cluttered with other stuff. This nebulous other stuff is of the important variety and it’s paramount that it receives my undivided attention. Or some crap like that.

Years ago when I still believed I’d get a literary agent and a real publisher I bought this book that was supposed to give me tips on those kinds of things. I remember this question, though I can’t remember exactly how it was posed. The gist of it was that I would be required to identify a target audience. I wasn’t even sure what that meant. I wanted to say “human” — because that’s often how I identify myself in questionnaires, before someone scratches it off and checks off other. Which begs a question or many questions.

Published August 5, 2018

After I’d finished writing Equilibria I decided my target audience has to be the proverbial single guys who live in their mom’s basement role-playing Rift — because that other game is for another set of nerds. My nerds play Rift, or Vampire the Masquerade. But I couldn’t reach my nerds or any nerds.

Then I co-authored, Bored of Education, a satirical collection of vignettes and short stories aimed for the Erma Bombeck aficionado. And discovered Erma Bombeck aficionado does not denote a target audience unless there’s a spaghetti monster in the mix.

Published August 5, 2018

So after a little fan fiction flexing (that I never posted anywhere) I went in an almost other direction. I didn’t write a serious novel denoting why David Copperfield couldn’t hold a candle to me. No, I wrote a novel in the scope of a soap opera motif and gave it a title mostly in Spanish. WLCDRS presenta… Telenovela: Traiciones (Betrayal) is totally in English. My target audience knows who Marlena is and watches telenovelas. I couldn’t find them either.

Like a demented battery powered rabbit I kept going. Three anthologies of short stories, one of which featured only erotica, fifteen assorted novels and novellas some rooted in the multiverse with some sprinkling of monsters and/or mayhem some just plain sexual and two for teens, more fan fiction giving me a grand total of six and eight prequels to Equilibria, each one featuring a different central character from the book. Target audience: still elusive.

Then I read Seth King’s Brave and tried the self-publishing route one more time. I’m still wearing my ratty T and bursting into song – target audience: human.

© Lillian Carrero