The Great Glitterbeard Challenge

In 2011, I was feeling in a rut. I had a book to write, and the idea was solid in my head, but for whatever reason, my inspiration failed me. In order to remedy the situation, I called a good friend of mine and challenged her to a writing competition. The details of the challenge aren't necessarily important; what is important is the fact that simply being engaged in a challenge that I could actually lose spurred me onward. I put my head down and worked, and in forty-eight days later, I put the finishing touches on a little book called Silas.

So here we are, almost five years later, and I find myself in the same position. I've been putting off writing the third book in the Covenant series, and it's time for me to find a way to kick myself in the ass. That means I had to get back in contact with my old friend and together cobble together another challenge that will help put our production into overdrive.

So hey, Mercedes Yardley...I CHALLENGE YOU!

Yup, that's her. And okay, she was the one who actually put forth the challenge to me when I complained about not feeling motivated, but hey, let's not split hairs, okay?

So this is the way this challenge will work: Once the starting gun sounds tomorrow morning, the first writer to reach 90,000 words combined in their various projects wins. It's simple, right? That's the beauty of it. And you know what else is beautiful? The fact that winning pretty much means you're the awesomest awesomesause in awesomeland.

But for the loser...ah, the loser. Here's the catch. Public embarrassment is always a great motivator, right? Of course it is. Which is why Mercedes proposed that the loser has to dress themselves up in a glitter beard, take a picture, and use that as their public profile picture for a whole month. A WHOLE DAMN MONTH! And in case you don't know what such a thing as a glitter beard might look like, well...

Or something like that.

As you can plainly see, this is not a challenge either of is will be keen on losing. Oh the humanity! And to keep myself honest, I'll be sure to post regular word-count updates. When? Not entirely sure. It's a work in progress, I say with a shrug.

So there you have it. Once again, the gauntlet has been thrown, Mrs. Yardley.

Let the best alien being win!

(And I'll likely be greeting everyone glittered up in a few months. Dammit.)

Check out Mercedes' blog, A Broken Laptop, or visit her Amazon Author Page. Trust me, it's worth it.

THE SILAS BLOG TOUR IS OVER!

And we have a winner!

There were over 450 entrants into the contest, so there was some tough competition. So congratulations goes out to...

KAREN OLIVIA!

Thank you to all of the blogs who participated! It was a fantastic experience for myself, and with the fantastic reception this book has received, things are only looking up from here!

A huge thanks goes out to Kismet Book Touring for organizing this whole shebang. You do great work ladies!

Review: The Black God's War: Splendor and Ruin Book I by Moses Siregar

Rating: 4.5 out of 5

(Reviewer’s note: I received this book as an ARC from the author)

Spirituality and religion. These words have been the salvation and bane of human existence since we first formed coherent thought. From the tribal convictions of the earliest African nations to the ancient Greeks to the world as we know it today, we have celebrated them together, found solace through their teachings, fought and killed each other over their differences.

What Moses Siregar has sought to do in The Black God’s War: Splendor and Ruin Book I is show the dangers of intransigent religious belief, to do for literature what Aqualung by Jethro Tull did for music: demonstrate how spirituality and religion are projections of our own thoughts, fears, adorations, and prejudices, that desires propel our convictions rather than the other way around.

The Black God’s War tell the story of two warring peoples – the Rezzians, modeled after early European culture (Celtic in particular) who believe in a covenant of ten gods, and the Pawelons, whose principles and appearances mirror a more eastern, Buddhist/Indian ideal. We are first introduced to Lucia, the daughter of the Rezzian king Vieri, at the birth of her brother Caio, who, by the way of markings on his hands, is proclaimed the people’s Haizzem, or savior. It is here that Lucia is first haunted by Lord Danato, the god of the underworld according to Rezzian myth. He kills her mother and sets in motion a series of nightmare experiences that will forever alter the makeup of this innocent young girl.

By the time Caio is nineteen, the war that has begun (for nefarious reasons disguised as virtue) between the Rezzians and Pawelons has been raging for ten years. Lucia does all she can to fulfill her father’s wishes for victory, though she sometimes has a hard time telling what is real and what is a dream because of Lord Danato’s nightly visits. Caio, on the other hand, is gentle in nature. He wants peace, to use his uncanny abilities to heal people, not fight a war he doesn’t believe in. But being the Haizzem, it is his sacred duty to lead Rezzia’s army, so he does so…reluctantly at first.

On the other end of the spectrum we have Rao, the only remaining prince of Pawelon. He has become a sage, the most powerful sage in the history of Pawelon, and he takes it upon himself, along with his best friend Aayu, to travel from his homeland and assist his father, the Rajah Devak, in defense of their country against the invading Rezzian army. Like Caio, he wants peace – but unlike the Haizzem, his father, though brutal, is a generally fair man, and is allowed the courtesy of his own convictions. In almost every way this makes him the better of the Haizzem, one whose ability to love and forgive is below no other.

As the story progresses, we are thrown into multiple “coincidental” scenarios that are seemingly set up by the Rezzian gods. At least, this is the way things are presented on the surface. If one looks a little deeper, they will see that all the gods did was point the way. Every decision made, though sometimes predictable, was solely the result of the free thoughts and actions of the characters. They are all bound by their upbringing and nature, and it isn’t until they realize this that all the major players begin to actually change. And the nature of the gods, themselves, are brought into question as well. Are they timeless deities or a result of the combined subconscious power of the people? It’s a question the story asks often in the latter stages, and it’s one that really makes one think.

I won’t go any further on the plot other than to say the battle rages on, the gods get involved in some rather surprising ways, and eventually there is a rather brilliant climax that left me grinning from ear to ear.

As a novel, The Black God’s War works on many levels. For sheer entertainment value, we have many epic battle sequences. As a love story, we have Lucia and her brother’s protector, Ilario, as well as Rao and his lover, the young, beautiful, and precocious Narayani. As a spiritual tome we have many segments discussing the nature of spirituality and its effects on the people who practice it. And it’s also a tragedy, in by which only through sacrifice and understanding the nature of balance can the issues presented ever be truly resolved.

And that’s really what the book is about, when it all boils down to it. We have two differing opinions, western pre-Christian (that looks very much like early Christianity, despite the numerous deities), and the nature-loving eastern “godless” peoples. In some ways this book could be looked at as a fantasy retelling of the Crusades, as the lily-white forces descend on the dark-skinned masses, trying to “enlighten” them by basically killing off a whole gamut of folks. How one could ever read a spiritual text and think the murdering of a whole ethnic group because they don’t believe in your god is justified is beyond me. But it happens, and just as in this tale, the results are always disastrous.

Siregar does a fantastic job of painting both faiths in a kind light, though the Pawelon’s, by the nature of their not having started the war, obviously fares better in presentation. It allows for almost every character to come across as sympathetic – Lucia especially. Her tormented nature shines through in everything she does, from her conflictions to her anger to her confusion over the role she has to play in the grand scheme of things. She is the main character of this novel, and more than lives up to it.

That being said, if Lucia is the main character, Rao is the one who steals the show. With his compassion and understanding, his willingness to take risks and ability to see through the veil of righteous deceit, he comes across as an individual who could one day be a spiritual leader strong enough to lead his people to enlightenment. He is young in this book – about the same age as Caio – and yet we see a glimmer of the man he could be, the man he is well on his way to becoming. It really is quite beautiful.

And do you know why it’s beautiful? Because as a character, Rao is balanced. And as I said, this is the main point I think Siregar is trying to make. When his prose speaks of the nature of life and death, of the scales that must always be adjusted, he’s talking as much about the cosmos in general as he is any religious belief. The concept of Karma, after all, can be boiled down to a scientific principal – for every action there is an equal opposing reaction. We see it in nature, we see it in the universe, we see it in people. For every (perceived) evil in the world, there is an equal (perceived) good. I write “perceived” because, just as Siregar presents in The Black God’s War, evil is subjective, not quantifiable on any realistic scale. This book has no evil characters, even though the characters themselves often think their opposing party is such. And in order for their war to end, each individual must come to their own conclusions and make choices – yes, choices, free-thinking choices – about what is right, what is wrong, and what path will best lead to a sense of harmony, both between their respective peoples and within themselves. Some make this discovery, others don’t. You’ll have to read it to find out which is which and what happens when their choices are made.

For a first-time author, Siregar surprised me with the strength of his voice. It’s consistent, and he knows what he wants to say. However, it’s not perfect. He can be a bit wordy at times, and a couple of his major characters (a Pawelon sage and the Rezzian king) are a bit one-note. Normally I wouldn’t make a huge deal out of this, but with the other characters being so fleshed out, complex, and believable, the presence of these less-than-satisfactory entities was all the more obvious. Not a huge deal in the grand scheme of things, but something I feel I have to mention. As it stands, the author isn’t quite up to the level of Salvatore, Dalglish, or Pyle, but he’s not too far away. This book is proof of that.

In conclusion, The Black God’s War is a unique experience. The plot is intricate, the characters even more so, and the message is one of beauty. By the time you flip to the last few pages, I hope you have the shivers just as I did, which is how I know that Moses Siregar is going to be around a long time, and his voice, one of unity, passion, and loving sensibilities, is important – in the world at large as well as literature.

So bravo, Mr. Siregar. You wrote a damn good book. You should be very proud.

Plot - 9

Characters - 8

Voice - 9

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 45/50 (4.5/5)

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Review: The Shadows of Grace by David Dalglish

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

Would you sacrifice your child for the world?

Questions. Life, many times, comes down to having the strength to ask oneself the correct ones, leaving the answers almost secondary. In literature, we judge characters, especially those who’ve fallen from grace, by their actions. And yet those actions are often a direct reflection of not having the intestinal fortitude to look past the shiny veneer of their unfortunate circumstances and ask, “Is what has happened to me my own fault?” A great example of this would be Humbert Humbert from Vladimir Nabokov’s Lolita. He is a character who is obsessed with an underage girl, and throughout the novel he questions not what depravity lies within himself that causes him to fall for (and run off with) this “nymphette”, but the societal pressures and breakdowns that force him to do so. He hates his life and his actions yet takes no action to remedy – or understand – them. In the end, he dies the same way he lived – ignorant and afraid of asking the right questions.

In The Shadows of Grace, the fourth book in David Dalglish’s fantastic and captivating Half-Orc series, the questions come to the forefront. No longer are the brothers and heart of the story, Harruq and Qurrah, slogging through life letting events guide their actions. They make choices, they contemplate their place in the world. Qurrah, for his part, finally begins asking questions of himself – only he’s not asking the right ones. The line at the beginning of this review is his. However, he has it all wrong. For any parent, for any being living in any form of society, the real question should be “Would I sacrifice myself for my child?” However, the simple fact that he asks that question shows a change in his character. He’s learning, pondering his station in life and looking inward rather than reacting to the horrors that have always surrounded him, for the first time.

Harruq is on a different path. He’s asking the right questions for someone in his situation. He’s led his people, folks he’s learned to love and appreciate, to safety. And yet he fights the inner battle of regret. He had a chance to kill his brother in the past and couldn’t do it. Should he have? Is the price of his love for his brother worth the thousands who’ve died by his hand, not the least of which being his own beloved daughter? Is Qurrah worthy of forgiveness for his sins? Does that even matter?

The answer to this is complicated. It’s both a resounding NO and a heartfelt YES! The brothers are a metaphor for choice and faith in one’s abilities. They are a fable of sorts. Think of two inner-city siblings, raised in a culture of violence and fear. One overcomes his upbringing, goes off to school, and becomes a productive and admirable member of society. The other takes the easy way out. He falls prey to the corruption that surrounds him, joins gangs, lives a life of aggression and brutality. The first example we put on a pedestal, idolizing for his ability to rise above. The latter is vilified, looked at as a lost cause and written off. Should he be? If we are able to commend the successful brother for overcoming the trials and tribulations of a rough childhood, shouldn’t we also feel pity for those who aren’t able to triumph? Shouldn’t we try to place ourselves in his situation and ask, “If that were me, would I have the strength to be the better man?” Most times, we don’t. Just look at the headlines of any local newspaper if you require proof of this. Are they worthy of redemption? Some would say no. But they are. It’s hard to look at the horrors they’ve committed and see a soul worth saving. It is the great among us, those with an almost mystical amount of compassion, who have the ability to forgive. Not forget, forgive. And in this particular book, it is Harruq who encapsulates this. He has no reason to forgive his brother. Qurrah has given him nothing but pain. And yet he does. He sees through the veneer of hatred and revenge and bestows upon his brother the greatest gift he can – a clean slate. It’s a beautiful occurrence, and the scene at the end of the book where this happens is a stunning piece of writing.

The Shadows of Grace is a very, very deep book. Besides the aforementioned plotlines involving Harruq and Qurrah’s path to redemption, there is political intrigue, huge battles, and emotional threads that run throughout most every word on the page. We are reunited with old friends, watch some of these friends give up their lives for the greater good, and are given a fresh perspective on matters of faith and self-sacrifice. Harruq and the Eschaton, along with King Antonil, lead the survivors from Velderan into the city of Mordeina, where they find peace and rest after heading off to warn neighboring towns of the approaching armies of orc and undead. Ultimately, truces are made between warring factions and battles are fought. Long-held prejudices are put aside. Before too long, we end up back in Mordeina, where a siege of the great city is under way. The war demons brought through the portal held open by Qurrah and Velixar are ready to exterminate all life. This scene, in particular, is written spectacularly. It delves even further into Harruq’s growing sense of honor and grace (there’s that word again) and the violence that follows his epiphany on the state of his life and faith is almost a foregone conclusion…though there is a particularly unexpected occurrence that helps swing the almost impossible odds against our heroes back in their favor. I won’t discuss it much, because it’s a bit of a spoiler, but I will say that some might find it to be a deus ex machina. It’s not. If you sit back and think about the plot, of where Dalglish is taking this tale, it makes perfect sense.

These points are interesting, but this book really finds its legs in the aforesaid growth of Harruq and Qurrah and the overall message I think the author has presented to us. And it is this message, the parable that the storyline of all the books have combined to now reveal, that is the most wonderful aspect of all.

What we have here is an allegory – or a critique, if you will – of Christianity. It’s brilliant, and I never thought of it, never noticed the events occurring could be discerned in this way before. There are three factions at odds with each other, in the form of the gods the author has created: Karak, Ashhur and Celestia. Karak is the personification of the Old Testament; demanding of obedience and order, self-sacrifice, and complete devotion. Ashhur reflects the New Testament; he demands only love and forgiveness, and all who worship him hold the promise that they will one day be blessed by a lifetime in the golden afterlife. Celestia is the universe itself, a deity devoted to balance. She refuses to let the scales tip too far in one direction or the other – in other words, cause and effect, or every action has an equal or opposite reaction. The three of them combine to form its own holy trinity of sorts, the three-become-one. I might think that if all the particulars sat down and thought about it for a second, they might find that they’ve been fighting the wrong war all along.

Just like the gods, the major characters have biblical counterparts. Qurrah is Abraham, the man asked to forgo everything, even his beloved child, for the sake of a God that seems outwardly cruel and remorseless. His faith is constantly tested, and just as often as not, he fails those tests. Harruq is Saint Peter, the loyal ruffian who denied Jesus yet, in the end, was the one charged with bringing His church to the people. And Tessanna, Qurrah’s lover, is paganism made flesh, all blood magic, sacred runes, and without a singular frame of reference to base her sanity upon. They form their own trinity, as well, and I have no doubt that, come the fifth and final book, it will be the interplay between these six differing yet similar characters that will form the crux of both the outcome and its message.

This was a fantastic book. It was my favorite of the author’s, actually, until the last fifty or so pages. There, I had two issues. One is with a character that emerges toward that point, a great servant of Karak named Melorak. The way he came into being seemed…convoluted somehow. It was hard for me to relate to or care about him. Secondly, after the battle of Mordeina, Dalglish seemed to rush the proceedings, as if he couldn’t wait to get to the final confrontation. I can’t blame him, as that concluding scene is beautifully written, possibly the greatest of the entire series, full of both sorrow and a morose sort of joy. If I’m being honest, it didn’t really bother me – the story is too good to be thrown off by something such as this – but still feel I must mention it, and it did prevent me from placing this tome ahead of its only emotional equal, The Cost of Betrayal.

That being said, this is a special story. All of the threads Dalglish has created are coming to a head. There is a battle brewing in the future, and the soul of everyone in Neldar is at stake. Come take the journey, get lost in it. Cry with the characters, feel their joy and pain, let them into your heart.

You’ll be glad you did. Trust me on this.

Plot - 10

Characters - 8

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

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Review: The Death of Promises by David Dalglish

Rating: 4.7 out of 5

“To the abyss with it all. I just want to burn stuff.”

For anyone who’s been following this blog, it should be readily apparent that I hold the Half-Orc series by David Dalglish in the highest regard. I love the characters, the darkness, the action, and the passion his work portrays. I read them in quick bursts, usually finishing in less than three days, and this book, “Death of Promises”, the third in the series, was no different.

This novel is a bit of an oddity. We pick up the story shortly after the last one ended, with Qurrah Tun and his batty goddess-girlfriend, Tessanna, off in search of a mythical spellbook he hopes will be able to cure his lover’s fractured mind. He takes hold of the book, only to discover that it is not what it seems; it is not a tome of spells, you see, but the journal of Qurrah’s old master, Velixar. Just like everything else in this book, there are layers upon layers of manipulation and underhanded motives.

The reason I say “oddity” is because the author takes a huge risk here. For the first half of the novel he focuses not on the heroes of the story – the Eschaton, which includes Qurrah’s brother, Harruq – but instead on the antiheroes. He outlines Qurrah’s further descent into madness, reintroduces Velixar, who has risen from the grave yet again, and demonstrates how their combined powers of darkness sweep the land, bringing a vile sort of order to the chaos that surrounds the forgotten realms, where those cursed by the gods now live. It is risky, and also very brave, storytelling. Some might bristle at this development, but I appreciated it. Especially after the emotional end to the last book, it made sense to go in this direction. That one was Harruq’s chance to shine, to show us his depth of caring and forgiveness; this is Qurrah’s opportunity to radiate the darkness he clutches inside him. That juxtaposition is necessary. If this is indeed a redemption story, then we need to see how far down the rabbit hole the villains will go. And let me tell you, they go far.

Come the second half of the novel, all the old particulars are back in force. In fact, the last third of the text is dedicated to a single, huge battle – the invasion of Velderan by the forces gathered by Qurrah, Tessanna, and Velixar. It is an intricately written series of skirmishes and mass combat, and it comes off as both exciting and concise. In fact, in a lot of ways the final battle reminded me of the siege of Helm’s Deep in The Two Towers, if you took away the monotony and uselessness to the overall story arc. This fight means something. It’s harsh and brutal. It encapsulates everything that makes the brothers different, and shows us how much they’ve grown into their distinct personalities since The Weight of Blood opened this world to us all.

As with the rest of the books in the series, author Dalglish presents his themes of choices, both good and bad, love and obsession, and the nature-versus-nurture argument that rages between the brothers and their opposing views of the world. However, in this episode, he introduces another theme, one that I appreciate more than any other: the dangers of religious fanaticism.

Most every character in this book is a fanatic. From Lathaar and Jerico, the paladins of Ashhur, to Velixar and the dark paladins of Karak, there are divergent beliefs that clash with each other around every turn. This, when it all comes down to it, is the reason this war starts in the first place. Kind of a “My God is bigger than Your God” type of bloody argument. It rings true, not only to this fictional world, but to our own, as well. And when you look at the construction of the characters, you can see that the most balanced of them, the ones most comfortable in who they are, are the ones who hold their faith not as a be-all-end-all, but as a leaning post for the thoughts and situations that trouble them. Harruq and the Eschaton are this way – strong in their faith, but open to other viewpoints and understanding of their free will. Qurrah is also this way, though through his descent we can see the fanaticism start to trickle in, which makes him all the more dangerous. And at the end of the day, it is those who are able to harness their different faiths, to meld old and new ways into something positive, that saves the day and offers our heroes at least a glimmer of hope for the future.

Just as with the other books in this series, the writing is pretty much spot on. My only complaint is that one major character – Tessanna’s mirror opposite, the goddess-made-flesh named (appropriately) Mira, is a bit wooden. However, this is remedied by the confrontation between the two of them, where again the subject of faith is explored. It is a beautifully written scene, and makes a character that had been previously uninteresting shine. But what does this have to do with faith, you ask? It seems the goddess Celestia, who created these two, had a plan for them. Their combined power, while locked in conflict, would destroy the inter-dimensional portal Qurrah and Velixar opened, in the hopes of freeing their god Karak from exile. But Mira’s free will, and her unwillingness to die for the cause, changes things. At first glance, it seems as if Mira made a mistake. The portal is still open, and demons are spewing forth into their world. However, on a more philosophical level, it makes perfect sense and could one day lead to the salvation of all their people. The gods are locked in an eternal struggle, constantly using mortals (and immortals) for their own means. It’s a vicious cycle, one proven by the fact that Tessanna and Mira, these “daughters of balance”, are not the first of their kind. They’ve appeared before, whenever the scales tip in either Ashhur or Karak’s favor. It’s manipulative, locking those on the surface into constant discord between contrasting sides of the same coin. But now, that balance has been obliterated. Now, we see that it’s not up to the gods to decide the fate of the world, but the people, themselves. In a place where free will exists, this is the only acceptable way for the conflict to end, and I’m glad to see it’s been done this way.

Yes, folks, “Death of Promises” is a fantastic book. It doesn’t quite reach the heights of “Cost of Betrayal” in certain regards, but is its equal in others, which makes it great, something that should be read. It’s a wham-bang thrill ride that will make you think and feel. The emotional threads are still there, and they still grasp you with their tentacles and pull you in even further.

Just like Qurrah, take a dive in and see how far down the rabbit hole goes. You won’t be disappointed.

Plot - 9

Characters - 9

Voice - 10

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 10

Overall – 47/50 (4.7/5)

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Review: Flaming Dove by Daniel Arenson

Rating: 4 out of 5

This will be my first review that uses my new rating system. I am now judging a book by four criteria – plot, character development, writing style (punctuation, grammar, use of writing devices, etc), and how much the story affected me. These will all be best-of-twenty-five, and when those scores are added together, I come up with the overall rating.

There, that should explain it.

All of which brings me to my latest review – “Flaming Dove” by Daniel Arenson. Now, I read and reviewed Mr. Arenson’s first novel, “Firefly Island”, some time ago. I loved that book. It was everything I was searching for in my fiction. So when his latest book arrived in my Kindle, I thought, “oh yes, here we are, give me more.”

Flaming Dove is the story of Laila, a woman born half-demon, half-angel, during the outset of Armageddon. She is the quintessential loner, existing on the outskirts of what society is remaining after war between heaven and hell broke out on earth, with only her trusted wolf, Volkfair, for companionship. She is surly and a creature without a place to call home, a fact that the novel drives into your head early and often. She fights with modern weapons and kills angels and demons equally, reinforcing the point that she is a woman who belongs to no one. She is, to make a long story short, a wild card in this seemingly endless war.

It seems that heaven and hell have come to a stalemate, you see, and the opposing generals, Beelzebub (who has killed Lucifer to take hold the mantle of hell’s ruler) and the archangel Michael, his brother, are desperate to find an edge, or a loophole, that they can exploit. And both of them look to Laila as being that edge. From the beginning, the battle is on to lure her to one side or the other. Who should Laila choose, being that no matter who wins, she is pretty much screwed? This, to me, was the most interesting part of the novel. This is a creature that has no stake in the outcome, and yet that outcome means everything. It was quite entertaining to watch her flip and flop through her decisions, trying to come up with a satisfying answer to the hardest question of all: where do I belong?

There are huge battles and small, sincere moments that lure the reader in. Most superbly done are Laila’s attack on hell for the former and the struggles of Laila’s sister, the angelic Bat El, as she experiences love for the first time – with a demon, no less – and weighs the consequences of her ultimate decision.

Here it is. Decisions. Much as with Firefly Island, decisions made and not made once again compose the root of Arenson’s novel. Unlike that previous book, however, I found myself not as interested in the outcomes of these decisions. And the reason for this is simple.

Humans.

This is a story of angels and demons pitted against each other. In the whole length of the book, there were two humans introduced, and only one of which who was in any way important to the plot. This confused me. This is Armageddon we’re talking about here, the ultimate face-off to decide the fate of man. And yet, there are no people to be seen. This struck me as an odd way to approach things, for what we get are two opposing sides fighting for what is pretty much a useless, destroyed hunk of rock. Now, I understand that humans have fought for much the same thing over the history of our species, and I assume the point was to paint both sides as being no better than we are – flawed, deceitful, full of pride, and easily wounded. This is all well and good, and I applaud the effort, but the problem a tale such as this has is that you’re fighting the religious stereotypes that have been passed down for thousands of years. Angels reflect the good, demons the bad. Sure, there are biblical stories of angels being less than completely pious, but still there is the assumption that, come the end of the day, they are righteous. To paint them as otherwise is a slippery slope and difficult to pull off.

In certain ways, the author does succeed. I found myself caring about all the peripheral characters, Beelzebub and Bat El more than all. And this took skill. However, with both sides being flawed and hard to root for, not to mention almost indistinguishable from each other, the novel must rely on Laila to carry the word of the day.

For the most part, she is up to the challenge. She is presented, as I said earlier, as a jaded loner. Actually, in almost every way she is the picture of humanity, which makes the decision to cut out the human element of the plot all the more bothersome. Because at the end of the day, though she is much like us, she is still a powerful (and immortal) being with claws, wings, and a halo of fire. This makes her, even in her state of emotional unrest, somewhat difficult to relate to, which also makes the themes the author is trying to get across fall a bit flat.

As for those themes, I get it. There is no such thing as pure good and evil. However, I simply don’t feel like it was unveiled well enough to strike a poignant chord in me. Also, these themes, as well as other things, are repeated, time after time, which can get a bit tiresome. I understand that Laila has no home, that she feels as if she doesn’t belong anywhere. I understand that blades glint, scales shimmer, and both angels and demons have wings. To bring these points up time and again makes the writing stagnate, which doesn’t aid when trying to keep a reader entrenched in the writer’s world.

Now, I understand that this review sounds like I’m blasting the novel. I’m not trying to. I did enjoy it, only not as much as I thought I should have. You see, Arenson is a supremely talented writer. Even with what I see to be bad decisions in regards to the plot and execution of the story, it is imminently readable. The battle scenes are epic, the dialogue flows smoothly. The characters were fleshed out and believable. The emotional chords between a girl who’s never loved and a man who’s loved too much are heartbreaking. The ending shocked me with its power. (Though this book will forever end at chapter 21 for me, because the last chapter seemed like piling on, preaching, and trying to set up a possible sequel) But I wanted more. Especially after reading Firefly Island, I expected it.

At the end of the day, even with all my ranting, Flaming Dove is a good book. It will keep you turning the page and make you care for the people who inhabit it. My problem is that it’s not great.

But then again, that could be only me. You might think differently. So check it out, because even with its faults it is worth the price of admission.

Plot – 9

Characters – 7

Voice – 9

Execution - 9

Personal Enjoyment – 6

Overall - 40/50 (4.0/5)

Buy Flaming Dove for the Amazon Kindle

Review: The Quest for Nobility, Book 1 (The Rule of Otharia series) by Debra L Martin and David W. Small

Rating: 2.5 out of 5

Sometimes, when reading a series, the first installment is all about the buildup, of setting the tone and the world in which the rest of the tale can take place. I know this, because when writing my own series, The Rift, I realized that the first book had almost nothing to do with the next three. Often times, the writing is poles apart from what you find later, as the author grows into his or her (or, in this case, both) style. I say this not meaning the story or the method is bad by any means. But it can be a little irritating.

Thus mentioned, I bring you The Quest for Nobility, book one of The Rule of Otharia series by the writing team of Debra L. Martin and David W. Small.

This is purported to be a science fiction novel. It is, in a way, seeing as much of the action takes place on the aforementioned planet of Otharia. The people on this planet, however, look and act very similarly to you or I (with a couple important differences), and their culture is fashioned after what one might find in sixteenth-century Europe, what with barons, dukes, duchies, a lack of many of the technologies we see everyday, and whatnot. In this way, the book steers far away from science fiction and enters the realm of fantasy. If not for portals opening up to modern-day Earth, one could forget they were on another planet at all.

Most people on this planet are gifted with the three major classifications of psychic abilities: empathy, telekinesis, and telepathy. The society’s royals hone their gifts at institutions, while the layfolk are resigned to letting theirs stagnate. This is typical of caste societies – those in power are afforded every opportunity imaginable, while those on the lower end of the spectrum are not.

Despite their reliance on a ruling class, on Otharia it seems that there has not been a king in many, many years. Now, the ruling dukes have formed what they call The Grand Council, a parliament of sorts. It is this council that votes on all the major decisions that affect the different duchies. It is because of this voting system that there has not been a king in such a long time, which is something that Grand Duke Vodgor is intent on changing. He plots various nefarious schemes, forming an underground political entity, fixing competitions, and clandestinely killing off any rival dukes and duchesses who oppose him (with the help of his deliciously evil psychic assassin Nils), in hopes of somehow convincing the council to appoint him king.

It is during the time these plots are taking place that we meet the three main characters of the story – Dyla and Darius Telkur, twins set to rule after the murder of their parents, and Eclasius Jortac, son of a rival duke. These three, after some problems early on in their relationships, bind themselves together to win the Grand Competition, a yearly competition, in hopes that the money won will save the Telkur duchy.

Things go wrong, very wrong, when they win. A rival team is murdered and Vogdo’s underground group is set to blame the twins for their deaths. Because of this, they are forced to flee, and they decided to go to – you guessed it – Earth. Here they have a few misadventures, meet up with an expert on Stonehenge, and figure out that there seems to be a connection between Otharia and Earth that they hadn’t expected.

All right, enough about the plot. It’s time for some exposition on my part.

I honestly found this book maddening at times, even though it interested me throughout. The dialogue is choppy and robotic, the characters seem too perfect to root for, and there are some seemingly major holes in the timeline. Also, as some might note, it is written in third person omniscient, my disdain of which I have been quite open about. I feel like I must explain this, however. It’s not like I oppose to the use of this point of view; on the contrary, I find it quite entertaining, when done right. There is a quaint beauty to it. The problem is it’s one of the hardest viewpoints to construct correctly in the first place. The writer needs to handle segues between different characters’ thoughts with a certain delicacy that difficult to both explain and execute. I’ve read some that are done well and loved them. If I’m gong to be truthful here, these authors don’t.

As for the timeline gaps: I say this because the order of events seems skewed. When Darius, Dyla, and Eclasius head off to Earth, they are there for four days, five max. However, back on Otharia, it seems as if weeks or even months have passed. This might just have been me missing something, but it still riled me.

I don’t want to be all negative, and I won’t be, because there were many good things about the book, as well. It’s set up in a quirky and fun way, with a segment from various informative texts preceding each chapter as a way of explaining how the rules of this world work. I found these to be among the most interesting components of the book, as they disclose their information in a just-the-facts way. It is a departure from the style of the rest of the book, and it makes these sections stand out, which is a very good thing. The dissimilarities between the Otharians and Earthlings are intriguing, as well. They are painted as superior, in a way, and humans as paranoid deviants. However, we can plainly see through the way the people of Otharia are constantly (and easily) misled that there is something to be said for the paranoia we, as a people, possess. I don’t know if this was an intended statement by the authors, but I very much appreciated it.

Also, the storyline itself is intriguing. I don’t want to give too much away here, but there are links between the planet Otharia and Arthurian legend that make me say, “Yes, please, more.” The end is fantastic, when all the threads that run through the tale are uncovered, and this makes the whole journey – even the irksome parts – worth it. There is potential for the stories down the line that could make this a special experience, and it is with this fact in mind that I say the following…

When thinking about what to rate this book, I gave it two-and-a-half stars. However, I didn’t stop reading until the book was done, and it did stay with me for long after I put it down. That, in itself, is a feat. So I decided to download the sample of book two, titled The Crystal Façade. I’m glad I did. The writing in the second book is ramped up more than a few notches. The story flows much easier. In other words, it looks to be very well constructed. Based on this fact, I say no one should give up on this series. After all, as I said in the beginning, this is an introductory novel. Even Harry Potter was a bit below par in the first couple books, but by the end of the series, it was all made worthwhile.

I have a feeling this particular chain of books could be, as well.

The Quest for Nobility - Kindle edition

Plot - 8

Characters - 5

Voice - 4

Execution - 4

Personal Enjoyment - 4

Overall - 25/50 (2.5/5)

Review: A Galaxy At War by John Fitch V

Rating: 4 out of 5

Have you ever read a novel and gone through about a hundred different opinions of it before you finished? Have you ever started out disliking something, grew to appreciate it, then loathe it, have it grow on you once more, become ready to throw it away, and finally put it down, wait a few days, and then say, “I’m not sure what I read, but it just might be brilliant?”

This, in a nutshell, was my experience reading “A Galaxy At War” by John Fitch V.

“A Galaxy At War” is the story of Ryann Germayne, a pilot for the GFS (Galaxy of Free Systems). It seems that the GFS rules its universe with a sort of aluminum fist. It makes demands on the planets under its control and will not let them govern themselves, and yet though most of the book they seem a bit weak and pathetic for what is portrayed as a powerful political entity.

Long story short, the Rebels are fighting back against the cruel rule of the GFS, and Ryann and his wife, Joslyne, who is the gunner on their ship, The Tub, traverse space, trying to hold back the Rebels any way they can.

At first, I thought this book was a parody. There are so many clichés throughout the first third of it. You have the witty banter between Ryann and Joslyne (“hotshot” and “flyboy”?), a robot assistant who can speak hundreds of languages, and political intrigue that really isn’t that intriguing. Add to this the humor that comes from the overuse of the term “photonics” (why is it red and green and what does that mean?) and the fact that everyone’s favorite drink is “stimu-tonic” (what, coffee’s not good enough in space?) and you have the perfect ingredients for satire.

However, after a while, those elements disappear and the tone becomes muddled. Allegiances flip-flop for seemingly no reason at all. There are severely over-explained plans that are far from complex and yet presented as such. During this time, I seriously considered putting down the book.

Come the end, I was glad I didn’t.

Something strange happened along the way while I was rolling my eyes at the text. All of a sudden the tone became dark and serious, and the writing reflected as such. The characters’ previous actions began to make sense. It all came upon me quickly, as if I hadn’t been paying attention the whole time and it only just then popped into my brain and screamed at me to look closer. It became more than a space opera, turning into something meaningful, something that would make the 9/11 conspiracy theorists proud.

So I didn’t write my review immediately afterwards and sat on the book for a few days. In that time, it’s gained greater notoriety in my head. The themes make sense, and the humor does, too. I think I finally understand what Mr. Fitch was trying to accomplish with it, and in the opinion of this reviewer he pulled it off.

In other words, try out A Galaxy At War. By the time you’re done, I think you’ll have enjoyed it…though it might take a while to figure out why you did.

Check out the book's Amazon page here

Plot - 9

Characters - 7

Voice - 8

Execution - 8

Personal Enjoyment - 8

Overall - 40/50 (4.0/5)

Review: FEAST by R. Scott McCoy

If the contents of my last article weren’t enough to tell you, let me speak plainly that I am an individual who is constantly looking to expand my horizons when it comes to the materials I read. There are times that I tire of reading the same “Big Four” of the horror industry, though this is not to say that I bore of their work. Quite the contrary, actually; what I really desire is to find different points of view, to explore differing ways of building plot and character. As I’ve said many times before, this is how we grow as writers; without a diversity of the ideas we intake, creativity and innovation suffer. If you want a perfect example of this, just take a quick peek at our nation’s capital.

Needless to say, I was quite excited when FEAST, a slim little slice of morbidity from R. Scott McCoy, arrived at my doorstep. Mr. McCoy is, along with his career as a writer, the publisher and editor of NECROTIC TISSUE MAGAZINE, a former e-zine which will soon be publishing its first print issue. This is a man who sees literally thousands of manuscripts come across his desk monthly. One would think he possesses a pretty decent grasp of what people in general like to read.

With Feast, Mr. McCoy proves the truth in this assumption.

Feast is the story of Nick Ambrose, deputy sheriff of Santa Cruz, California. He is a man of duty and honor, who also has the innate ability to read a person’s guilt. His brother, Pete, is also a police officer, and at the beginning of the story we find the two of them together, driving through rural California to investigate the dwelling of a man named Donald P. Reid, who is suspect of being involved in a series of kidnappings.

This is the start of the tale, and it takes no time at all before the action starts. Events turn interesting very quickly. By the time the third chapter rolls around, Nick is left to deal with newfound abilities (and their consequences) that he would have never imagined, even in his wildest dreams. He proceeds to stumble into San Francisco, presumed dead by his peers, armed with power he doesn’t understand and a head that now has not one resident but three, in search of a childhood friend, who to him is the only one who can help him.

I will not go into detail about the rest of the book, because that will only lessen your enjoyment of the read. There are twists and turns and conflict with the purest of evils, which is man’s inherent greed. Nick of course triumphs, but there is no doubt that, by the time the end of the book rolls around, that he will face obstacles on his road ahead, and most of them will prove to be horrible, indeed.

Feast incorporates themes and contrivances that are common in both horror and fantasy, such as the swallowing of souls and the ability to read the auras of individuals as if were were visible lifelines. Though the tools are common, I found the execution to be original and inspiring. Instead of the plot driving the characters, in this tale we have Nick, the protagonist, moving the story along. He acts with confidence (even through his inner uncertainty) and uses his own personal torment to come to grips with the way his situation, and his future, have changed. This is a nice change of pace from the usual, where the outside elements – the ghosts and ghouls who populate the story – dictate where the path leads.

This is not a deep book; the characters, while flawed, are inherently simple. There is nary a philosophical waxing to be seen. And this is not an insult. The book is what it is; a story of character development and action, where each page brings a new trial and a new set of obstacles to overcome. This makes the story read quite quickly, and there is a lot of charm in its straightforwardness. Can you tell I enjoyed it?The only complaint that I have about FEAST is its length. At 155 pages, it reads as the first few chapters of a much larger work. The end leaves you thirsting for more, bad pun intended. I wished there were more story there, as by the time I finished I felt the story had really picked up steam and then left me hanging. I realize that this is a function of small press, where the shorter (and cheaper to produce) is the better, but it still was a bit frustrating. Here’s hoping, from this reader’s perspective, that there are more tales of Nick Ambrose on the way.

To purchase your own copy of Feast, please visit Amazon.com.

Thank you once again for your time. This little book is a gem. You will not be disappointed.

The New Ladies of Horror

Throughout my life, the women in it have always been among the most important to me. From my mother to my grandmother, to all the aunts who looked after me as a child, to the brilliant schoolgirls I felt kinship, admiration, and adoration for, to my daugher, to the love of my life who I'm going to spend the rest of my life with, they have all served to inspire and motivate me towards bigger and better things, while grounding me in a state of introspection through which friendship, family, and personal exploration can grow. I love and cherish them all.

Having said that (or perhaps to expound the point), I am an equal opportunity observer when it comes to the matter of the sexes in the world at large. I find Ellen Degeneres as side-splittingly funny as Eddie Izzard, Jane Austen as overrated as Thomas Hardy, Carly Fiorina as amazingly adept with money and expanse as Bill Gates, Tracy Chapman as soulful as Jeff Buckley, Maya Angelou as gifted with prose as Robert Frost, and so on and so forth. Through this, however, I have noticed there is one arena where women - truly inventive women - are severely underrepresented. And this arena is one which is very close to my heart; horror literature.

As a teen I fell in love with Anne Rice. The Witching Hour was the first novel of hers that I read, over a week-long stay at my cousin's house-on-a-lake in New Hampshire, and it was most certainly not the last. I read each of her books up until she became a new-wave holy roller. She's right up there with Barker, King, Layman, and Koontz. But after her, what for the other popular women in the genre?

Not much.

So now we're left with the Stephanie Myers' of the world, creating dumbed-down versions of Rice novels. (Don't get me wrong, I applaud Myers for her success, but let's face it; she writes for twelve-to-fifteen-year-old girls. To include her in the genre would be akin to calling Judy Blume an example of post-feminist literature) There's a chasm of female frighteners out there that begs to be filled. I wish to, right now, start it off my pouring a couple drops in, myself.

I present to you two writers who carry with them as much talent and inventiveness as any I've read of late. Their names are Mercedes M. Yardley and Michelle Howarth, and it is a pleasure to read the both of them. Now, I'll take the opportunity to delve into each one.

Mercedes M. Yardley describes herself as a writer of whimsical horror, and I defy anyone to come up with a better description of her work than that. There is an ingrained mystery in everything I've read, a sense of witholding that sucks you into a story and threatens not to let you go, even after the tale has reached its conclusion. She can be haunting, quirky, and sometimes humorous, yet never lapses into self-mockery or confusion.

The three stories I've looked over - Murder for Beginners (Shock Totem #1), The Container of Sorrows (The Pedestal Magazine), and Water Boy (Whidbey Writers' Workshop) - are each unique in their voice yet consistent in their ability to captivate. Her writing has the added bonus of making one ponder the little things in life, the tiny needles which poke holes in our collective souls. And her as-to-now-unpublished novel, which I've had the honor of reading the first chapter of, will end up being quite the unorthodox little gem once it is published. From the small portion I was able to see, it reads like the lovechild of Doug Adams and Peter Straub. It is truly alluring.

Whereas I have only just recently been introduced to the work of Mrs. Yardley, one Michelle Howarth I have been ingesting for years, since the day she arrived at the Writers' BBS as a naive yet passionate young pup. My, how she has grown over these years; into a woman of vast talent at both finding the hilarity buried in the gloom and penning cringe-inducing horror, sometimes simultaneously. Her creations, while jocose, reveal a hidden depth and darkness, saying that once this particular author decides she will do away with pretense, we all best look out.

I have read most stories Michelle has created and published, and even many that haven't, and it is impressive how undeviating her voice stays throughout, capturing the reader, engrossing them and then grossing them out, until finally the rug is pulled out from under you, revealing the crux of a joke that has been played on you, the reader, with skill and aplomb.

So there you have it; two woman who have the potential to not only thrive in this genre, but transend it. They are a pair of the freshest and most creative minds I've had the pleasure of exploring in years. Read them. Enjoy them. Support them. They need this, from all fans, of not only horror but good literature, to thrive as they deserve to.

The website of Mercedes M. Yardley can be found here.

The website of Michelle Howarth can be found here.

Do it. Start exploring. I guarantee you won't be disappointed.

This has been a message from the Journal. I only have your best interests in mind.

Digging Up Donald

"Did you throw open the doors of Heaven to one and all?"
"Don't be daft, it would fill up with Christians. What would Heaven be if there were Christians everywhere? We'd all have to watch our language."


On Fridays, the public library in town closes down early. There will be no checking out books after 5 PM. That means by the time I get out of work that day, the lot is empty and the doors are closed.

I say this because I have become a ravenous reader, going through books the way junkies go through their latest score. I rely on these forays into fantasy to, as I’ve said before, both build my own craft and escape the doldrums of a monotonously busy work week. In other words, finishing a novel on a Friday, if I have no new purchases handy, will leave me high and dry for the weekend and reduce me to perusing my ever-growing bookshelf at home for some retread reading material.

Recently, this very circumstance occurred, and I happened to pick up a book a friend of mine had written back in 2004 titled Digging Up Donald. I shrugged, grabbed it off the shelf, and read it for the first time in four years, when Steven Pirie, my friend and fellow author, sent me ten copies to sell at an international art exhibit that Artwiffy hosted back in ’05.

Boy, am I glad I did, because for a second read, this one blew me away. It is such a fantastic book, filled to the point of spilling over with horror, comedy, and mostly coming-of-age wisdom. The tone is wry and distinctly British, and anyone who ever enjoyed an episode of Monty Python or Black Adder – or maybe even Twin Peaks - will eat this up. I don’t know why I didn’t rave like this back when I first passed my eyes over the sentence, “It was biscuits at ten paces”, four years ago, because I knew even then that I loved it. Perhaps I wasn’t at a place in my life where I could fully appreciate it; or maybe I couldn’t find the proper words and confidence in those words to express myself accurately. Either case, that time is past, and now I am here to sing, baby, sing.

Digging Up Donald is the story of a family in the small English town of Mudcaster, a place that stands on the brink (and frontlines) of Armageddon. Demons have infiltrated the town, you see, and are planning a war that only the Family can stop – with the help of the peculiar and wholly original Donald, of course, for whom the book is named. There are quite a few funny instances where Mother and Father plan to get down and dirty with the whole business, all the while keeping true to their quaint, small-town British sensibilities. The situation with their daughter, Maureen, who is faced with losing something every woman of child rearing age fears, is played out tongue-in-cheek, and her relationship with her sheepish husband Brian is developed with a maestro’s display of wit and sexual metaphor. The townspeople, each of whom is distinct, add more than the story’s backdrop; they’re just as vital to the plot and feel as any of the major characters, which include, among others, the family’s quirky (and deceased) Uncle Norman and a wily, disembodied brain predisposed to acts of extreme violence.

As I said earlier, however, this is a coming-of-age story as much as anything, and to this point the central character is Robert, Mother and Father’s youngest child. His passage to adulthood is marked with the generalities usually ascribed to such tales – responsibility, exploration, loss, young love – only presented in an original and heartwarming fashion. Robert’s romance with Joan, the daughter of the Reverend Likewise (who might not be what he seems) is both sweet and filled with youthful daring, and proves to be a central cog in the resolution of the conflict. To juxtapose this, his rapport with The Grandmother (another shrewdly crafted character) surveys the duplicitous discord-versus-culture inherent with the coexistence of the older and younger generations. Their scenes together are painted with brutal honesty, yet there is a definite tenderness there when you peel away the outer layers.

The underworld is another thing of beauty, created out of a familiar mold and then flipped, upside-down, on the plate of pages. Wait until you see the rapport between the souls here, both lost and found. It’s sure to have you both rolling on the floor laughing and scratching you chin, saying, “huh, that makes sense.”

As a tale of the never-ending battle between good and evil, Digging Up Donald doesn’t forget to present the idea that, even in this fantasy world, not everything can (or should) be lathered in extreme shades of black and white. God is an overbearing father who seemingly doesn’t care too much about what goes on beyond his own gates, and the devil character is very polite with an irresistible swashbuckling charm. The demons are things we can loathe, laugh at, and feel sorry for, all at the same time. It also offers what I find to be a brilliant proposal; that this supposedly unending battle goes on for no other reason than the fact the particulars, the powers-that-be, aren’t forward thinking enough to realize there could be an end, presenting the immortals of both the upper and lower realms as creatures locked in a stubbornly ignorant perception of history.

Needless to say, this is one of the most intelligent, earnest, and hilarious books I’ve ever read. I’m not speaking (er, writing) in superlatives here. The only other novel I’ve completed which it compares to is Another Roadside Attraction by Tom Robbins. I definitely recommend this to any and all audiences. Pick it up, and you won’t want to put it down until you’re finished.

Yes, gentle readers, it is that good.

You can purchase a copy of Digging Up Donald here.