Books I have authored.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

An Excerpt of Eric Lotke's Making Manna

Making Manna by Eric Lotke
An Excerpt

The kindergarten classroom is bright with color. Sunny windows with rainbow curtains look over a grassy playground. The floor is carpeted in blue, scattered with yellow throw rugs and purple pillows. In the center is a cluster of red tables with little green chairs; on each table sits a stack of paper, and jars with pencils, crayons, and little scissors with rounded points.
Angel stands by himself in the corner. His clothes are all new to him, but every one of them came used from Goodwill and the Salvation Army. The room is filled with kids, but nobody seems to notice Angel standing quietly.
Two girls in matching red Elmo sweaters greet each other with a hug, and chatter excitedly about a playgroup called LittleKinz. Two boys in Redskins jerseys dare each other to jump into the deep end of the pool when they get home. One tells the other that his parents can’t use their opera tickets on Saturday. “My mom said to tell your mom that you can have them if you want.”
The only African American child is in the center of a little crowd, dressed in bright pink from top to bottom. She wears a pink shirt covered by a pink vest, pink pants with pink socks and shoes, and a pink hat with a pink feather. “We made the biggest dog fort!” she is telling the other kids. She and her sister found “every blanket and towel in the house” and hung them over the sofas and chairs in the living room until the “the whole room was full.” They crawled around in the space underneath and made space for all their “stuffy dogs” so each one had a room of her own.
“We played in it all day,” she says. “But then the maids cleaned it up. That ruined it.”
Eventually the teacher moves to the front of the room. “Come on up, boys and girls. Welcome to kindergarten. I’m Ms. Milton and I’ll be your teacher. We’re going to spend the whole year together!” Ms. Milton is wearing blue jeans and a green blouse with flowers, and her hair is entirely silver-gray.
“Who here knows how to write his name?”
Almost every hand in the class goes up. Angel’s doesn’t.
“That’s wonderful!” Ms. Milton cries. “I thought you looked smart!” She ushers them toward the tables and sets them to work making name tags for themselves. “There are stickers and crayons,” she explains. “You can decorate them anyway you like.”
Angel stays where he is, rooted in place at the edge of the hurly-burly, while Ms. Milton bustles around setting the kids up and passing out the supplies.
“Done already?” she says to the African American girl in pink. She peels the back of the sticker that now says Veronica West and places it in the center of her shirt. “Everyone else do like Veronica,” she says. “Peel off your sticker and put it on when you’re done. You can keep drawing until everyone is finished.”
Another girl raises her hand. “I’m done,” she says.
“Peel your sticker and put it on,” Ms. Milton replies.
She turns and all but stumbles on Angel, standing silently in his space. “What have we here?” she asks.
Angel straightens his back and stands tall. “My name is Angel Thompson,” he says. “I don’t know how to write my name.”
Ms. Milton seems almost embarrassed that she hadn’t seen him earlier. “Then we’ll teach you,” she says with a smile. “That’s what we’re here for.” She waves toward a teachers’ aide who Angel only now notices, also standing quietly to one side of the room. She brings Angel to a special table by himself, not far from the others, but clearly separate.

By the end of the morning, Angel is pretty good at writing his name and knows a lot of other letters besides. The teachers’ aide, Miss Stephanie, spends most of her time with Angel, though occasionally another child comes over for a few minutes’ attention. For lunch he eats the sandwich his mom made for him, peanut butter and jelly, with two Hershey’s kisses on the side. “That’s what my mom always made for me,” she’d said.
The activity after lunch is drawing. The children are again shown to the desks with the papers and crayons, and invited to draw pictures of their families.
“Can I draw my dog?” asks Veronica West.
“Your dog, your cat, your house. Anything you want,” says Ms. Milton. “But start with your family.”
Angel is placed into the tables with the other children, but near an edge, and Miss Stephanie gives him special attention.
This at least is familiar to Angel. Miss Josephine’s day care had crayons and papers—though not as many colors—and Monet loves to draw at home. With encouragement from Miss Stephanie, Angel draws three stick figures in a row.
“Who’s the tall one?” Miss Stephanie asks. She’s pretty tall herself, with long black hair and eyeglasses in a big round circle. She wears blue overalls over a yellow turtleneck.
“That’s my mom.”
“Which one is you?”
Angel points to the smallest stick figure, drawn in the same pink crayon as his mother. “That’s me,” he says. “My name is Angel.” He points to his nametag and his face lights up in a smile. Then he reaches back for the crayons and for a minute it’s as if Miss Stephanie doesn’t exist. He leans close over his drawing, all his attention on the little figure at the end of the row. Carefully, deliberately, he retraces the lines and redraws the figure. Then letter by letter, he spells out his name under the drawing. He looks back up at Miss Stephanie, and points back and forth between the picture and the word. “Angel,” he says. “That’s me!”
“That’s you, all right,” Miss Stephanie cheers. She reaches down for a hug and a pat. “You’re the Angel.” The she points to the third figure, midway in height between Angel and his mom. “Is that your dad?” she asks.
Angel looks at her like she asked which one is the elephant. The question makes no sense. “I don’t have a dad,” he says.
“Surely, you have a dad somewhere,” protests Miss Stephanie. “Are your parents divorced?”
Angel stays silent.
“Does he live in a different state?”
“Mom says he died in a car accident,” Angel explains at last. “With my mom’s parents too. It’s just the three of us that’s left.” He pauses as if he’s going to have more to say, but then nothing follows, and he looks blankly down to the page.
“So who is this?” Miss Stephanie asks, her finger is still on the third figure. “Your older brother?”
“She’s my sister.”
“Why is she drawn in brown?” Angel and his mom are stick figures drawn in pink crayon, but his sister is brown.
“Because she looks like her.” He points toward Veronica West. “She says to tell the truth when I draw.”
Lights are starting to go off in Miss Stephanie’s eyes, as if she is starting to understand. She looks carefully at Angel, who clearly has no African blood in his veins. “Do you and your sister have the same mom?” she asks.
“No,” says Angel. “She has her own separate mommy.”
“The same dad?”
“Nope,” Angel replies. “She has her own daddy too. His name is Zeb. She tells me that I met him once. But I was a baby. I don’t remember it.”
Now Miss Stephanie is again looking confused. “If you have a different mom and a different dad, what makes her your sister?”
“She’s not legally my sister,” with an emphasis that suggests he’s heard it said this way before. “She’s in a different foster family but she lives with us.”
“Why’s that?”
“She likes us better. We’re nicer than the foster family. I met them a couple of times. They have lots of foster kids and my mom—my real mom—says they only do it for the money.”
All this time Miss Stephanie had been standing up over Angel, and leaning down toward him. Now she gets down on her knees so she’s nearer his height. “What’s your sister’s name?”
“Monet. Like the artist.”
Miss Stephanie smiles. “Does she like to draw?”
“She loves it! Especially with colors. We draw all the time.” He leans in close, takes advantage of her proximity to whisper confidentially in her ear, “She’s in sixth grade.” Then he gathers himself to say something difficult, and minding his diction, he concludes, “She’s in Sidney Lanier Middle School.”
“Good work,” says Miss Stephanie, beaming. “That’s great. I was an intern at Sidney Lanier.”
Angel looks brightly back at her. “Her bus leaves at 7:10, a whole hour before mine.”
“Thanks for telling me,” says Miss Stephanie. “Do you know where Monet’s parents are? Her real parents?” She smiles as she echoes his way of saying it.
“Yes.”
“Where are they?”
Angel slows down and straightens up to tackle something difficult again. “The Virginia Department of Corrections,” he says. He pauses to make sure he got it right.
Miss Stephanie stands up and steps away.
“Mom is in Fluvanna and Dad’s in Nottoway,” Angel concludes with a triumphant smile, naming the prison where each is held. He got it all right.
And just in time, too. Because at that moment, Ms. Milton calls everyone’s attention back to the center of the room. “Time to pack up,” she says. “All done drawing. Now it’s quiet time.”

Miss Stephanie and Ms. Milton shepherd the kids to a giant double-door closet, filled with rolled-up soft mats, one for each kid. The two boys in Redskins jerseys have a little push scuffle about who goes first, but it is quickly broken up, and soon enough each child has unrolled a mat and is lying quietly on the floor. Angel picks a spot on the edge, between Miss Stephanie’s desk and the window. He doesn’t sleep, but he lies quietly listening to the sounds. Some kids are reading, and turning pages in their books. Other kids are breathing in a way that makes Angel think they’re asleep. Outside he hears birds. They sound like the same ones he has at home, sometimes singing at random, and sometimes in response as if they’re talking to each other. A teacher quickly hushes any children who talk.
What seems like a few minutes later, a church in the distance chimes one o’clock. Ms. Milton starts to circle the room. “Wakey, wakey,” she says. “Time to roll.” She and Miss Stephanie supervise the kids standing up to roll their mats and use the bathroom. Angel is the first one with his mat rolled and returned to the closet. He helps some other kids roll their mats and work out the tricky elastic bands that hold them shut.
“Thank you very much,” says a blonde haired girl in a blue tank top.
“You’re welcome,” Angel replies.
Veronica West has her mat rolled but can’t get the elastics to stay in place. “Want a hand?” says Angel, scooting in beside her.
She looks at him like he’s holding a gun to her head. “I can do it,” she declares. The elastic snaps loose again and the mat starts to unroll. She scowls at him. “Look what you made me do!”
Angel reaches down to arrest the mat. “Hold it like this,” he suggests.
“Like as if you know,” says Veronica West, as she rips the mat away from him and sets it down to start anew a few steps away.
Angel leaves her be and stands quietly to the side until all the mats have been put away. Veronica West is last, until Miss Stephanie takes her mat away, fixes the elastics and replaces it gently into the closet.
“Story time,” says Ms. Milton. “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.” She holds in the air a giant book, with a picture of a little blond girl and a family of bears on the cover.
Some children shout out in enthusiasm. “Hooray!” Angel hears, and from behind him, “My favorite!”
Other kids aren’t so happy. “Not again,” says one of the boys in a Redskins jersey. His friend grumbles but Angel can’t make out the words.
Angel himself doesn’t know the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Indeed, he doesn’t know many stories at all . . . though he knows he likes them. The other kids all push around Ms. Milton, and she directs them to sit around her in a loose circle. Angel soon finds himself on the outside edge.
Ms. Milton opens the book so it stretches across her lap. He’s never seen a book so large in his life. Miss Josephine had a scattering of books, though none nearly so big, and she rarely read them.
“Once upon a time, there was a little girl named Goldilocks,” begins Ms. Milton. She holds up the book so everyone can see the giant picture of the pretty blond girl.
“She went for a walk in the forest.” Again she holds up the book to show the pictures. Trees in the sunshine, a deer in the shade and birds flying above.
“Pretty soon, she came upon a house.” Ms. Milton holds up the picture of a wooden cottage. “She knocked and, when no one answered, she walked right in.”
The audience murmurs in anticipation. Angel, too, senses the possibilities.
Showing the pictures as she goes, Ms. Milton tells the class how Goldilocks explores the house. One bowl of porridge is too hot and one too cold, but the third is perfect so she eats it all up. One chair is too big and one is too small, and the small one breaks when she tries to squeeze in. Then at last Goldilocks comes to the beds. One is too hard and one is too soft. But the third bed is just right. She lies down to take a nap.
“Don’t do it!” cries one of the Redskins boys. Other kids laugh.
“Stay awake,” warns another.
But Goldilocks can’t hear them. Soon she falls asleep in the bed.
Angel leans forward in anticipation.
Soon the owners of the home come back, and they’re bears! Ms. Milton holds up the pictures for all to see. A big scary papa bear, a friendly momma bear, and a cute little baby bear. A family of bears who live in the woods. Before long they find the chairs that didn’t fit and the smallest one that broke. They find the porridge that Goldilocks tasted and the perfect one she’d finished off. Each discovery makes them angrier than the last. Eventually, they find her upstairs in their bed.
Goldilocks wakes up in horror at the three hairy beasts . . . “and runs straight out the door and into the forest, crying mommy, mommy, mommy all the way home.”
The kids all cheer. Ms. Milton holds the giant book aloft, pages open to Goldilocks tearing through the woods with the bears chasing behind.
One girl echoes, “Mommy, mommy, mommy all the way home.”
Another cries out, “Run faster!”
Ms. Milton lets them celebrate awhile, then encourages them onwards. “How’d you like it?” she asks the class.
The children respond with more cheers.
“Do you think she made it home?”
Again more cheers.
“Does anyone have any questions?”
At first the room is silent. The children don’t seem to know quite what to say. Eventually Veronica West raises her hand.
“What’s on your mind, Miss Veronica West?” Ms. Milton inquires.
“I want to know if bears can have dogs.”
“I didn’t see any in the story . . . but yes, I suppose they can. I don’t see why not.”
The blonde girl in the blue tank top who Angel helped with her mat raises her hand.
Ms. Milton singles her out. “What’s your name?”
“Tammy Atford.”
“What’s your question, Tammy Atford?”
“Does she get in trouble?”
“What do you think?”
“I bet she does.”
“Then I bet you’re right. Seems like she didn’t even make the bed!”
All the kids laugh. Ms. Milton keeps the conversation moving on along those lines, calling on every child by name and sometimes asking them to repeat their names for all to hear. Some kids are worried about the broken chair and want her to say she’s sorry. All of them hope she gets home safely. Angel doesn’t say a word. But he’s sitting in a place with a good view of the book and he studies the artwork on the cover, especially the red cardinal in the tree.
“Is there anything else?” Ms. Milton asks at last. Does anyone have anything else to say or ask?” The room is silent while she looks around.
Finally, Angel sits up straight and raises his hand. Ms. Milton sees him immediately and leans his way in encouragement. “What’s on your mind, little Angel?”
“My name is Angel Thompson,” he says.
“Thank you, Angel. What’s on your mind?”
He gathers himself to speak deliberately. “It’s about the porridge,” he says. “That’s like oatmeal, right?”
“Yes, porridge is like oatmeal.” She makes a gesture as if stirring and eating from a bowl in her hand. “Is there something you’d like to say about the porridge?”
“Why doesn’t she mix it?”
Ms. Milton looks at him in confusion. “Mix it?”
“One bowl is too hot. One is too cold. She could mix them. Put too hot and too cold together. Then she’d have more porridge that’s all just right.”
Ms. Milton’s eyes open wide in comprehension. Mix the porridge, of course!
Angel forges ahead boldly. “She could still eat the bowl that’s just right. But if she’s hungry she can eat even more.”
Now all of the kids seemed to understand. A positive murmur fills the room. He catches some words behind him. “Mix the porridge, mix the temperature!” Someone else says “hot and cold together” while a different voice says “more to eat!”
Veronica West’s voice rises above the hubbub. “She’d get fat.”
“Not from one bowl of oatmeal,” protests Angel. “And she seems to be hungry.” He finishes with words he’s heard many times around the house. “You never know where your next meal is coming from.”
The kids fall silent and look at him in surprise. They don’t seem to have heard that before.
“But she still needs to pay for it,” he concludes. He looks deeply troubled, like he’s solved one problem but raised another. “I don’t know how she can do that.” He turns to Ms. Milton for answers. “Does she have any money? Does her mom work at night?”
Still Angel is the only one talking. The room is silent while Angel waits for an answer, but at that moment the school bell rings. The kids all jump up like they know what it means, though Angel waits for Ms. Milton to make the announcement. “All done for the day. See you tomorrow!”

COPYRIGHT 2015 BY ERIC LOTKE

This book may have been received free of charge from a publisher or a publicist. That will NEVER have a bearing on my recommendations.

Tuesday, March 29, 2016

A Q&A with Eric Lotke the Author of Making Manna


Interview Questions for 
Eric Lotke
Author of Making Manna



1.      Who is your favorite author? Favorite book?
I don’t really have favorites. My tastes are diverse and changing. I enjoy biographies by Doris Kearns Goodwin and political science by Jacob Hacker.

The best novel I read lately was The Master Butchers Singing Club by Louise Erdrich. It’s copyright 2002 but the setting is America post WWI and the characters are timeless. Men We Reaped by Jesmyn Ward was a highlight of 2015 and I expect it to last a while. It’s the memoir of an African American woman in low-income America. All of the men important in her life disappear over a couple of years — shot, drugged, suicide or jailed. But somehow the police who happily patrol the neighborhood every night with searchlights can’t manage even to arrest the drunk white driver who kills her brother.

I’ve also been delighted to re-read John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars. The first time was on my daughter’s recommendation. The second time was voluntary after seeing the movie.


2.      What book are you reading now?
I just started Viral by Emily Mitchell. It’s a collection of short stories and I’ve only read a few so I don’t have an opinion yet. But it came highly recommended and the first story is terrific. It’s about a small business where the staff are measured, marked, ranked and made miserable because they aren’t smiling enough.


3.      What inspired you to write Making Manna?
Trigger warning. This story has a really bad beginning.

Twenty years ago I was working on a death penalty case. The young man on death row was the product of an incestuous rape. I wrote those words in his social history — “product of an incestuous rape.” The phrase was so distasteful that I horrified even myself. The case came and went but those words stuck with me.

Years later, I wanted to write something hopeful and uplifting. The world is a mess. I wanted to say something nice.

So I went back to that kid. I started there but gave him a different ending. I took the worst beginning I could imagine and turned it into something positive.


4.      What was your particular process in terms of outlining, plot and character?
I had a beginning in mind, from that death penalty case. And I had an end in mind. But I wasn’t sure how to get there.

I found that I could always and only see a few chapters in advance. So I would tell the story that far, then taking that as the baseline, outline what happens next – with the endpoint in mind. The characters and internal details developed as they went.


5.      Where is your favorite place to write?
I am opportunistic in time and space. I work full time and I have two kids. I drive them to practices, lessons and activities – and have an hour or two to write while I wait. When I was lucky, I’d have a whole half-day at home on a weekend. It mattered that I wasn’t on deadline. If I needed time to figure something out or went a month without a free minute, that was okay. I always keep a notebook handy. My creativity is better than my memory.


6.      What was your favorite part about writing the book?
This was really interesting. When I wrote a scene that was happy and light, I was in a better mood at bedtime. When I wrote a scene that was dark or dreary, I wasn’t as joyful in real life. Putting myself into the mood to create the scene expanded beyond the page.

I suppose it went the other way, too. One weekend I had a lot of time to write and I was looking forward writing the scene that came next. I expected it to be happy and triumphant. As it turned out, I was a little blue that weekend. Maybe I had a cold, something was wrong at work or the kids were annoying. Whatever. I don’t recall. But I remember being a little down as I started … and it is quite clear that this fundamentally happy scene has a melancholy undertow. I always wonder if that undertow was inherent in the material and it would have been there anyway, or if it reflects my temper over the weekend.

In any case, I quite like the complexity and I never sought to iron it out.


7.      Why did you decide to write from the perspective of Libby rather than her son, Angel?
The book begins from Libby’ point of view. Angel is a baby. Yes, he’s occasionally cute, but he’s more of a prop than a character. Mostly he’s a logistical problem that needs diapers and daycare. Starting in Part Two the story moves to Angel’s point of view, and it ages with him from kindergarten to high school. In the end the two points of view come together. Now they’re equals.

One smart reader described it as a “coming of age” story of both the mother and son at the same time. I think that’s exactly right. Libby was so young when he was born! She has so much to figure out, and so does he. I think changing the point of view helps bring that development to life.


8.      Libby comes from a tough background but manages to work hard and support her family. How accurate do you think her life is compared to a real-life girl in her situation? What research did you do to keep the novel grounded?
All of her problems are real. She has a bad boss and not enough money, and she’s (justifiably) afraid of the police. She solves her problems in ways that are always credible and based on real world experience. I readily admit, however, that her success is unlikely.  Does one in five people like her succeed? One in twenty? A hundred? I want to show the hopeful possibility – while also making it clear that life is hard and the odds are against her.

Good luck makes a difference, too. Libby meets Sheila at the outset, and her health stays good. She gives the good luck back, though, doing favors for others. I think it’s honest to show that luck makes a difference. That’s not a novelist’s trick.


9.      Sheila and her husband have a bad experience with the prison system. Does this aspect of the plot come from your experience as a lawyer?
Absolutely. That’s the heart of the story. Typical fiction shows us courtroom dramas with cutting cross examinations and explosive closing arguments. My personal experience brings you people with really bad lawyers who accept really bad plea bargains. Justice on TV is about crime labs and DNA exonerations. The real justice system is about kids who miss their parents in prison, and cops who book you so they can bill overtime on your court date.


10. How else did your career influence the book?
Can you tell that I once earned my living as a chef?

More importantly, my life as a parent influenced the book. It would have been a different book if I weren’t a dad.


11. Libby talks about one day getting her GED and maybe even going to college. What would be her major in college?
Heavens! I don’t know. I’d have to put her in college, have her meet some people, take some classes and live some college experiences … then she’d be in a position to decide.

During the story, a supporting character decides to go to college. As an author I was struggling to decide what college she should go to. So instead of thinking, I worked it out as a story.

First, I knew she was on a tight budget and could only afford a small number of application fees. Second, the logic of her situation defined her choices, for example, her state school. Third, her profile as a candidate determined which schools would admit her and under what terms. In the end she made a choice that followed naturally from the options available.

The point is that instead of deciding where she should go to school from a big fat Barron’s book, I just followed the situation to its conclusion. It feels real because it is.


12. What do you hope readers will take away from Making Manna?
First, I want readers to have a good time. Escapism is okay. You deserve a break today. You bought my book: I owe you a good time.

But I also want readers to reflect on the understory and worry about the injustice, especially in the justice system. The obvious problem is bad cops and excessive prison terms. The subtler problem is that people who need protection don’t get it, and people who’ve been hurt don’t get help. That’s a different failing of our justice system. I explore those failings and show a different way out.


13. Do you plan to write a sequel?
I hadn’t planned to, but people have asked and now I’m tempted. A plot is starting to take shape. I have another book in mind, too. It depends, of course, on how this book is received.

Come back on March 30 to read an excerpt of  Making Manna



This book may have been received free of charge from a publisher or a publicist. That will NEVER have a bearing on my recommendations.

Saturday, March 19, 2016

Dark Lady by Richard North Patterson




Legal thriller does not really describe this book.  There is anguished soul searching, perverse sex and brutal murders set in an economically challenged city.   

Stella Marz is an assistant prosecutor in the city of Steelton which was loosely based on Cleveland.   Stella spends a great deal  of time concerned about her past and what it has taken to get to  her current position.  Her boss is running for mayor and if successful she may have the opportunity  to be the chief prosecutor.   How much of her integrity and morality will have to be sacrificed for her to reach her goals?   That is the question that provides her searing soul searching throughout the book.  

Gritty inter-city crime and big city graft are the setting of the book.   The author seems to see that reaching any type of success in this type of environment necessitates an extremely flexible moral fiber.  

Soul searching trumps action  but there is action and some very touching emotional scenes. 

I highly recommend the book.

Web Site: http://www.richardnorthpattersonbooks.com/
 

Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Nora and Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor and a GIVEAWAY

 photo Nora and Kettle Blitz Banner.png


After reading the excerpt I think this book is going to be a hit.   Go to the end to enter the Rafflecopter Giveaway! 
Bill

Title:    Nora & Kettle
Series:  A Paper Stars Novel
Author:   Lauren Nicolle Taylor
Published:  February 29th (ebook), March 15th (print)  
Publisher:  Clean Teen Publishing
Genre:  YA Historical
Recommended Age:  13+
Synopsis:
“What if Peter Pan was a homeless kid just trying to survive, and Wendy flew away for a really good reason?”
Seventeen-year-old Kettle has had his share of adversity. As an orphaned Japanese American struggling to make a life in the aftermath of an event in history not often referred to the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II and the removal of children from orphanages for having “one drop of Japanese blood in them” things are finally looking up. He has his hideout in an abandoned subway tunnel, a job, and his gang of Lost Boys.
Desperate to run away, the world outside her oppressive brownstone calls to naive, eighteen-year-old Nora the privileged daughter of a controlling and violent civil rights lawyer who is building a compensation case for the interned Japanese Americans. But she is trapped, enduring abuse to protect her younger sister Frankie and wishing on the stars every night for things to change.

For months, they’ve lived side by side, their paths crossing yet never meeting. But when Nora is nearly killed and her sister taken away, their worlds collide as Kettle, grief stricken at the loss of a friend, angrily pulls Nora from her window.

In her honeyed eyes, Kettle sees sadness and suffering. In his, Nora sees the chance to take to the window and fly away.

Set in 1953, Nora & Kettle explores the collision of two teenagers facing extraordinary hardship. Their meeting is inevitable, devastating, and ultimately healing. Their stories, “a collection of events, are each on their own harmless. But together, one after the other, they change the world.”
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | GoodReads

  Excerpt from Nora & Kettle by Lauren Nicolle Taylor:
FAMILY
KETTLE
Time is hard to tell when the lights flicker on and off with a mind of their own, but the frigid air makes me suspect it’s nearly dawn. One day, they’ll stop working all together as the wires erode from lack of maintenance.
I scrape my eyelids of sleep and grit, propping myself up on my elbows. The sound of snoring kids is intermittently drowned out by subway cars whooshing through tunnels. No one stirs. The rattle of wheels over tracks is a lullaby, comforting, reassuring.
Two nights home and now I have to leave again.
I sigh loudly and collect my gear. Keeper’s small voice penetrates the hazy light. “You going already?” she whispers as she wipes the back of her hand under her runny nose. I crawl over sleeping bodies and touch her forehead. She feels a little clammy, a little too warm.
“You feeling okay, Keeps?” I ask softly.
She nods her head and coughs into her palm. “Just a cold,” she says and smiles for me. Her big, green eyes blink, red rimmed. “Mubbee I got allergies?” she asks.
I sling an arm around her slim shoulders and laugh, pulling her to me. “Maybe. Just take it easy today. Make sure everyone cleans up before lunchtime, eh?” She scribbles notes in a frayed pad of paper I gave her six months ago, licking the tip of the pen every now and then.
The corners of her mouth are stained with black ink when she grins and nods. “Yes sir, Kettle.” She sniffs again, and I hand her a handkerchief from my pocket. She nuzzles into my chest, almost purring just like a cat.
“I don’t need anyone getting sick, okay?” I warn with a wink.
She coughs, trying to cover it by stooping over. Her black hair falls over her face in one solid lump. I light a candle and peer at the watch nailed to the rocks behind me. I’ve only got about half an hour.
“Keeps?” She swings around, hair hanging over her eyes and in her mouth. “Come here, let me show you something.” She shuffles closer, looking a little scared. I pull out a hairbrush from the bag I brought home last night. “This is a hairbrush.” She squints at it, waiting for it to do something. “It’s for your hair, so it’s not so, um, hard to manage…” She tips her head to the side, looking for all intents and purposes like a puppy about to have its first bath. She’s our first and only girl resident. “Come sit in front of me.” I pat the ground gently, and she slides backward. “Don’t be scared. I’m not going to hurt you,” I reassure, although I’m not one hundred percent sure that’s true. “Keeps, what did I say when you came to live here, when you became a King?”
“Dat I could stay as long as I wanted and dat you would keep me safe,” she replies warily.
I grip the brush firmly in my hand and gesture to the section of cold stone in front of my crossed legs. “Do you believe that’s true?”
She scrunches her eyes shut and says, “Yes.” Crawling over to sit in front of me, she turns her mound of thick, black hair my way.
I raise the brush to her head, place it in her hair, and make a liar of myself.
*****
The boys cover their ears to shield themselves from her caterwauling.
“Throw her back,” Krow mutters, scowling, which only makes her scream louder.
She bends her head back every time I run the brush through and screeches like I’m actually scalping her. The brush snags in the dirty clumps, and I can’t pull it through. I’ve said sorry about a hundred times but now that I’ve started, I feel like I need to finish it. She needs to look less like a street urchin and more like a child on her way to school if we’re going to remain inconspicuous.
On the hundredth and fiftieth scream, Kin finally storms over. He gets up in her face, and I think he’s going to tell her to shut up. It’s what I should have done, but I feel at a loss on how to deal with a ten-year-old girl who thinks I’m torturing her.
“Keeper, what would you like me to do? I can cut it all off or you can let us clean it up. Right now you look like a drowned rat wearing a dead cat toupee. Do you want to look like a drowned rat with a bad hairpiece?” Kin says.
She shakes her head and whimpers. Then she whispers, “I wanna look like that.” She points to the catalogue I’ve been teaching some of them to read from. A sweet girl with long brown hair in two plaits on either side of her head smiles thinly at us, her eyes round and blue, her ribbons frozen in mid-swing.
Both Kin and I stare at each other and gulp. Then Kin puffs out his chest, swears, and laughs. “If you can rescue women from burning buildings, together we can surely plait a ten-year-old girl’s hair.”
The boys snicker. “Shh!” I snap and then look to Kin. “Here you do this side and I’ll take the other.” We separate her hair into two uneven handfuls and go to work. With my mouth pressed tight, I start, with one eye on the photo we’re trying to replicate. The other eye is watching Kin try to plait hair with his giant paws. I swear he’s starting to sweat. I snort, gripping her hair so it doesn’t fall out.
Kin’s face jerks to mine. “What?”
I look down at the ground, my eyes watering. “Um, nothing…”
Kin holds his twisted clump of hair tightly, a concentrated, almost cross-eyed look on his face. “What?”
A laugh escapes my mouth, and all the boys join in. “I can’t watch you. My God. It’s like watching a bear try to peel a plastic banana!”
Kin sighs in exasperation but refuses to give up, a small smile creeping into his stern expression. “Yeah well, you’re surprisingly good at this. Anything you wanna tell us?”
Laughter fills the rocky space. It’s warm and bright, scrubbing the walls of grime and filling my heart.
When we’re finally done, I grip my plait tightly in my fingers, searching for something to tie it with. Krow steps forward and begrudgingly hands me two bread bag ties, which I wind around the ends. I push Keeps gently in the back. “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
Turning around, she gives me a look of ‘you’re kidding, right?’ and scampers to the mirror. She frowns when she meets her reflection. Her whole face is now visible, smooshed cheeks and pinchy little ears. She looks cute. She tips her head down, and one large lump falls over her eyes. I remember the gift I bought that I was saving for her King birthday. Fishing around in the paper bag, I retrieve two red clips with white polka dots on them. Keeps stares at herself like she doesn’t know it’s her face. I sweep her fringe back and clip it in place. She touches it lightly, like I’ve just put a diamond tiara on her head.
She smiles sweetly, her dark lips brimming with teeth. “I think you should cut it off. I’m a King, not a queen,” she states proudly.
I stall in shock, and then my heart does that proud, pumping-strong thing. Kin slaps my back, and I stumble forward. Keeps draws in a sharp breath as I fall and begins coughing uncontrollably.
“We’re going to be late,” Kin says, extending a long arm in my direction, his eyes sliding to the coughing girl sitting delicately on a faded purple cushion. “We’ll think about the haircut.”
I smile at her. “Think about it some more, Keeps. You might miss it when it’s gone.”
Her determined eyes tell me otherwise. Her sallow, sweaty skin worries me.
We leave the boys and… girl… with instructions and head to work.



About the Author:
Lauren Nicolle Taylor lives in the lush Adelaide Hills. The daughter of a Malaysian nuclear physicist and an Australian scientist, she was expected to follow a science career path, attending Adelaide University and completing a Health Science degree with Honours in obstetrics and gynecology.
She then worked in health research for a short time before having her first child. Due to their extensive health issues, Lauren spent her twenties as a full-time mother/carer to her three children. When her family life settled down, she turned to writing.
Author of the best selling Woodlands Series, she is also a 2014 Kindle Book Awards Semi-finalist and a USA Best Book Awards Finalist.
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Clean Teen Publishing Links:
Giveaway Details:
There is a tour wide giveaway. Prizes include the following:
  • A print copy of Nora & Kettle with a signed book plate
Giveaway is US only
Ends March 25th at 11:59 PM ET

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Thursday, March 10, 2016

Long Lost By Harlan Coben


Myron Bolitar, an agent, sports and otherwise, finds himself involved, once again, with Terese Collins an old flame.   This old flame appears to be willing to cook Myron's goose by embroiling him in an old murder and terrorism.

Coben does a nice job providing Myron with a sense of ambivalence and an over active moral compass.   His rich friend, Win, has no ambivalence and appears to have very little conscience.  He does have an enormous sense of responsibility in regards to his friends.  

The ex-wrestlers that make up Myron's office staff provide a colorful counterpoint to Win's effete and deceiving demeanor and Myron's boy scout attitude.

Lots of action, violence and a good connection to current events.

I highly recommend.






This book may have been received free of charge from a publisher or a publicist. That will NEVER have a bearing on my recommendations.

Sunday, March 6, 2016

Coming in May 2016: DARK ANGEL by Ron Felber


Coming in May 2016: DARK ANGEL                                                                               
By Ron Felber                                                                        
Publisher:  Barricade Books                                                     
Publication Date:  May 2016                                                     
Price:  $16.95/ trade paperback original                                    
ISBN: 978-0-942637-87-8                                                                
 
Praise for the Jack Madson series: 
“Ron Felber has created an enduring character in tough guy Jack Madson.” –Newark Star-Ledger

"Tight, edgy writing . . . Felber grabs you hook, line, and sinker!” –First Chapter Reviews 

JACK MADSON IS BACK IN RON FELBER’S NEW THRILLER DARK ANGEL

A NAZI GENETICIST, A RENEGADE CIA OPERATIVE, 
A TRANS-HUMAN SERIAL KILLER, 
AND A HOLLYWOOD STARLET AS DEADLY AS SHE IS BEAUTIFUL – 
ALL PART OF A HORRIFYING CONSPIRACY INVOLVING AN IVY LEAGUE RESEARCH LABORATORY 
AND REACHING THE HIGHEST LEVEL OF U.S. GOVERNMENT
DARK ANGEL, the final book in Ron Felber’s acclaimed Jack Madson thriller trilogy, finds Madson caught in a web of power, sex, intrigue, and global deception.  It seems innocent  a top university laboratory is conducting research for the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA), a division of the U.S. Department of Defense that is dedicated to exploring new technologies with military applications, in the name of national security.  When Madson discovers a multinational defense contractor is colluding with the scientists  and their motives are based on the advancement of an entirely different agenda  a much darker picture emerges.

DARK ANGEL opens with Madson down on his luck, when he gets a call from his long time buddy Eddie Lawlor, promising cash and a quick case.  The parents of a Princeton University student don’t believe their daughter committed suicide.  When Madson reviews the evidence, he agrees with the local police that the girl jumped from a window, but is troubled as to why she took her own life.  Whatever her motive, the student acted alone - case closed. With no way to investigate further, Madson becomes distracted when he reconnects with an old flame.  Now known to the world as the alluring Hollywood movie star Coco Channing, she and Jack immediately begin rekindling their relationship.

Then Madson receives a second call, this time from Dr. Marjorie Kurtz, a high level scientist who insists that deeply classified — and sinister –  research is being carried out at Princeton.  Her story is so unbelievable Madson is unconvinced until he digs deeper.  The next time he tries to see Kurtz, he instead discovers her bloody, dismembered body.  Madson realizes something evil is happening at Princeton and that there’s a shocking link between the student’s suicide, the scientist’s murder, and a CIA black ops project being carried out in laboratories eight stories beneath the campus.

What’s worse, Madson uncovers a conspiracy connected to the evil Nazi doctor, Josef Mengele, who experimented on innocent victims at Auschwitz during World War II. Mengele’s ambition was to create schlacht maschinen or human killing machines.  Madson’s investigations reveal Mengele’s horrifying work is being used in the creation of trans-humans, to bring forth an unstoppable army of genetically engineered super soldiers. One of those creations is behind the horrific murder of Dr. Kurtz and others, and now has set their destructive sights on Madson.

Attempting to put together the pieces, Madson begins to question his own reality.  Is his romantic past with Coco exactly as he remembers it? What is the decades-old link between a U.S. Congressman, the CIA, and a renegade defense contractor?  With this final installment in the Jack Madson trilogy, Felber’s fast-paced storytelling leaves readers shocked and wondering – what exactly are the secrets the United States government is keeping from us?  Riveting, fast-paced, and highly engaging, DARK ANGEL is a novel that will live on in readers’ minds for years to come.
# # #
About the Author
Ron Felber is the author of the Jack Madson crime thrillers A Man of Indeterminate Value, The Kafka Society, and Dark Angel. His non-fiction books include Mojave Incident and Il Dottore: The Double Life of a Mafia Doctor, the inspiration for the FOX television drama “The Mob Doctor”. Mr. Felber is a graduate of Georgetown University. He teaches creative writing at Drew University's Caspersen School of Graduate Studies.

Wednesday, March 2, 2016

The Forgotten by David Baldacci



I found myself looking at John Puller and thinking Jack Reacher.   Baldacci's character doesn't head butt but...he is bad ass.   Puller, an Army Criminal Investigator, finds himself, once again, involved him affairs that at best can be peripherally related to his oath of office.   Instructed by his dementia laden, father, Puller Sr., John finds him self in Paradise looking for trouble.

This is an action packed action adventure.   I would recommend blocking out enough time to read it at one sitting rather than annoying your loved ones with major distraction over a period of days. 

Puller has the no non-sense approach to life that is epitomized by Jack Reacher.   My apologies to both authors for their character comparisons but I get a strong, strangely familiar familial vibe that suggests that these two characters were siblings separated at birth.

Paradise Florida is not what it seems and Puller sees sides of Paradise that he wishes he could erase from his memory.   Puller is a tough guy with a soft spot for those who are unable to protect themselves.   He does have more regard for social propriety and laws that the aforementioned twin.

The issue the book addresses is one of disturbing notion.   One can only hope that it is being dealt with in as firm a manner as it was in this book.

I highly recommend it.


This book may have been received free of charge from a publisher or a publicist. That will NEVER have a bearing on my recommendations.