This blog is a continuous work in progress, fluidly charting my diverse interests and reflecting the far reaching range of my tastes. Frequent subjects of discussion include literature, sports, politics, pop culture and artistic motivation. You will find thoughtful essays and stream of consciousness rants, reviews of books written by others and the presentation of my own fiction - novel excerpts as well as short stories. What it is today may not be the case tomorrow. Welcome to A Line A Day.
BREAKING: NOW ACCEPTING REVIEW REQUESTS FROM
INDIE AUTHORS
I plan to review independently published novels
(with perhaps a sprinkle of non-fiction thrown in) on a regular basis when the
calendar turns to 2017. No genres barred (reading only one type/genre of book seems extremely dull to me), which is not to say that I will read everything that
comes my way. I may take a pass on most queries for I intend to be picky, my
selection criteria based strictly on what sounds like "my kind of book". DIVERSITY welcomed, PRINT my preferred format (I might read a PDF
on screen in rare exceptions, but when it comes to reading I’m a non-Kindle owning huge fan of ink on paper). In addition to a synopsis I'll want to see a
brief excerpt from your book to help me decide. For a taste of my reviewing style,
type "book reviews" into the Search bar. Or you can peruse my collection of reviews at goodreads.
The world of publishing is a brutal place no
matter how you go about it, as I have learned in multiple ways. If you’ve
written a masterpiece that literary agents and editors somehow failed to
recognize the beauty of, perhaps I can assist in spreading positive word of
mouth for it. You got into this after all to be a WRITER who would rather be writing than banging your head against the wall to self promote. I'm well aware that reaching the masses and getting them to give you a chance is no easy task. I’ve certainly appreciated those kind enough to publicly heap
kind words upon my prose.
Whether it’s your book or somebody else’s, I’m
going to be reading something regardless because I LOVE BOOKS.
Curtis took a discretely proud peek at his
reflection in the tinted window of a lime green Mercedes. His muscled torso was
accentuated by the snug fit of his brand new policeman's uniform. He struck an
imposing figure as he patrolled streets that he had grown to manhood roaming.
Surely no one would be foolish enough to break the law on his vigilant watch.
But if criminal activity were to take place, he was well prepared for the task
of maintaining order and safety for the citizens under his protection. Despite enduring criticism upon
announcement of his decision to become one of the city's finest, Curtis was
positive that he had been born to do this. The way to combat the many legitimate
accusations of brutality and racial profiling by the police force was not to
cry out in impotent anger, but to become an active part of the solution. He took off his hat for a moment and
rubbed a hand over his cleanly shaved, chocolate brown skull. His friends asserted
that brown and blue did not, and could not mix. Curtis looked forward to
proving them wrong. More so, he was anxious to prove his worth and advance
rapidly through the ranks. Once he made detective he would marry Denise, buy a
house out in the suburbs, and get started on the family he had planned on being
the head of for as far back as he could remember. "Looks like I'm going to have a quiet
first day on the job," said Curtis to his partner Steve. "Don't get ahead of yourself
rookie," advised Officer Steven Coley. "The sun is just beginning to
set. Darkness gives people foolish ideas." "Well, we'll be there to give those
fools second thoughts, won't we?" Instead of answering the question, Steve
chuckled, his belly shaking under a uniform that seemed about to burst at the
seams. "Quite the eager beaver, aren't you?
Believe it or not, I was once as primed to charge forth and do good as you are
now." "So what happened?" Curtis
asked, examining the gray that had begun to invade his partner's curly blonde
sideburns. "Have you seen too much to care anymore? Have you grown
jaded?" "Nope," replied Steve.
"I've just grown up."
*
* * * *
Leonard looked over the grocery store that
was laid out before his vantage point behind the cashier's counter. He was not
searching for anything in particular, simply admiring each object within view
because it was all his very own to admire. Every can of soup, bag of potato
chips, bottle of detergent, was his to sell and profit from. Years of hard work
and frugality had paid off. As of today, Leonard was a business owner. He had
earned his proverbial forty acres and a mule. The dream that always felt within
reach, no matter how many setbacks and complications kept them away, was now
firmly within his appreciative grasp. Mr. Kim seemed like a good man and had
sold him the store at a fair price, now that he was ready to retire and move
back to Korea. Leonard wished him well. Still, he felt that justice had been
served by the passing of this store from the Korean man's hands into his own.
In order for money to replenish and revitalize this neighborhood it needed to
circulate throughout the black community, not flow out into the hands of outsiders.
Leonard had been born and raised less than twenty blocks from the establishment
he came to acquire. But although the distance traveled was physically short,
several decades of strenuously worked muscles and judicious application of his
studies were needed to complete the journey. Leonard had big plans. He would not be
content merely to make a good living supplying his neighbors with bare
necessities. Little by little he would expand the inventory until his store
stood out from nearby competitors. People would walk a few extra blocks to
obtain what he alone could offer them. He intended to give the store an
Afrocentric flavor, to make it a source not only of personal, but also of
neighborhood pride. He may have been starting small, but felt
confident customer loyalty would eventually enable him to branch out into other
areas of interest. Leonard was determined to become not only a successful
businessman, but also a leader, a pillar of his community. He had always
believed that most limitations were self-imposed, that all goals were
attainable through hard work and commitment to a vision. No less than the world
had been imagined for himself, and this store was to be just the first chunk of
it. A young man in his early twenties or late
teens walked through the door. He was greeted with a nod and slight grin that
Leonard could not suppress. Although numerous people had been in and out to
make purchases throughout the day, the feeling of euphoric unreality had not
quite evaporated yet. Leonard had only been more proud on one other occasion,
the birth of his son. Julian was now assured of a mighty inheritance, an empire
that would be built one happy customer at a time.
*
* * * *
Marshall prayed that his apprehension was
masked, for if not, his intentions would be apparent. He was ashamed of his
actions in advance of their undertaking, but had been left with little choice
in the matter. His mother was sick, real sick, and the only think keeping agony
at bay was her medication. The medicine was not free, now that insurance was no
longer part of the equation, and it was not cheap, not by a long shot. Somebody
had to take care of Mama, and the list of applicants consisted of Marshall
alone. He noticed a poster of Malcolm X in
contemplation on the wall and took this to be a sign of support for his cause.
After all, Malcolm had made the words "by any means necessary" a
legendary battle cry. Marshall had no shortage of necessity. As for means, this
was it, his lone option. His mother required her medication, and those who
supplied it required to be paid. This meant that Marshall needed money, plenty
of it, quick. There was not enough time to earn it honestly, so he had set out
in search of someplace and someone to take it from. His feet led him to this
grocery store, and instinct made him stop and decide this was as good a place
and time as any. Marshall felt his nervousness slowly
giving way to resolution that was spiced with anger. It was unfair that he was
forced to stoop so low. He had never stolen from anyone before, never hurt
anybody. This wasn't the type of person he had ever intended to be. He was an
honor roll student, known and even teased for his clean cut lifestyle. Living
otherwise had not really been an alternative. His mother raised him from day
one to always do right. She had done this on her own, having long ago been
abandoned by Marshall's father, and no one could have done a better job.
Marshall did not want to let his mother down. But this wish was crushed under
the weight of his desire to ease her suffering. He grabbed a bag of something that he
didn't bother to take notice of and headed towards the grocer. The longer he
hesitated, the greater the chance that his nerve would be lost. Marshall
experienced one last quiver of doubt when he realized that his crime would be
against one of his own. He could have sworn a Korean man ran this store. But it
was too late for such a thing to be consequential. An unstoppable surge of
momentum was pushing Marshall towards his destiny.
*
* * * *
"I'm going to run across the street
to get a pack of cigarettes. This is my last pack and then I'm quitting for
good. It's my one vice and we cops can't afford bad habits, ain't that
right?" Officer Coley suspected that the remark
was a dig at his increasingly prominent beer gut. Then again, he may have
become oversensitive to the issue since Erma had gone on an exercise kick and
started harassing him about his physical condition. "You going on the patch,
rookie?" "Nah," answered Curtis.
"Cold turkey. Once I make a decision, I stick to it. I don't need any
outside help." "Whatever you say. I'll wait out
here." "You want me to get you
anything?" "No, I'm fine." Curtis headed towards the grocery store,
crossing at the crosswalk after looking both ways for traffic like any law
abiding citizen should. He recalled with amusement Denise's remark that he had
developed a new stride, a cop walk, as he walked around their apartment in his
new uniform, his polished badge gleaming, the weapon in his holster and
nightstick by his side granting him officially licensed power. As a six foot
three African American male with a chiseled frame that may as well have been
armor, Curtis was used to being considered intimidating. But in his new
wardrobe, in his new professional capacity, with his new "cop walk",
a layer of respect had been applied to the apprehension he naturally evoked.
And Curtis was reveling in it.
* *
* * *
Leonard took a glance at his watch. It was
just closing time. The young man headed towards him held a bag of cashews that
would be the final sale of Leonard's first day as an entrepreneur. A dollar
bill, the first one earned, was taped to the wall behind him. He intended to
bring in a picture frame for it tomorrow. The approaching customer had tightly
braided hair, like Latrell Spreewell of the New York Knicks. Now that he was on
the short track to affluence, Leonard was considering whether to loosen his
purse strings for the opportunity to become a season ticket holder. It would be
a well-deserved reward for a life-time of industriousness. "Will that be all, young man?"
*
* * * *
"No sir," answered Marshall in a
near whisper. He cleared his throat to properly enunciate his demand. "I
also want you to hand over all of your money." "What?" Not wishing to confuse,
Marshall removed the gun in his waistband and pointed its barrel towards the
grocer. From this point on he was certain that his intentions would be
perfectly clear, questions unnecessary. "I see," said the man behind the
counter in a voice that taunted with its calmness. Although Marshall was the
one calling the shots, the one in possession of the deadly weapon, he had never
been more frightened in his life. "Take it easy, son. I'll give you
whatever you want. Just take a deep breath and gather yourself. There's no
reason for anybody to get hurt." Marshal looked down and saw what the
grocer had seen, that his hand was shaking uncontrollably, not a good sign when
one of its fingers was on a trigger. He felt a trickle of sweat sliding down
his temple, even though it was comfortably cool in the grocery store. This show
of fear shamed him. He half expected the grocer to laugh at his amateurish
behavior. If he did, it would be his final act, for Marshall would not tolerate
being ridiculed. He had entered this store with the intention of committing a
neat and efficient armed robbery that would solve all of his problems. Now he
just wanted this terrifying ordeal to be over with, one way or another. "May I ask you something?" asked
Leonard as he gathered together the bills in his cash register. "I don't
wish to offend, but don't you want to do something meaningful with your life?
Don't you want to contribute to society instead of leeching off of it? Because
the truth is, all you're doing is digging a hole with bad choices to bury
yourself in. Is that what you want?" "I just want some medicine for my
mom," Marshall said, desperate to resume command of a situation that
seemed to have a mind of its own, to accomplish the goal he had set for
himself, to stem the blinding tears that the grocer's questions had unleashed,
and to convey to this man that he was not a bad person, appearances to the
contrary, that his trembling hand had been forced by events beyond his control.
"I can't afford to worry about that other stuff right now. I can't afford
nothing but that medicine, and with the money in your register, I can get it. I
didn't dig this hole. I was born in it. Now I'm trying to climb out, cause my
mom can't survive in a hole much longer. Do you understand?" "Yes, I think I do."
*
* * * *
Officer Curtis Mason, hotshot rookie cop
eagerly anticipating his first opportunity to combat evil in any form he saw it
perpetrated, strode through the door of a neighborhood grocery store. There he
came across an unexpected sight that caused him to hesitate, but only for the
briefest of moments. As an officer of the law, Curtis was trained to react
swiftly and decisively, even when taken by surprise, especially then. His hand
whipped instinctively towards his holster, like a cat stretching forth its
claws as a mouse ran by.
A boy was hunched over the counter, his
braided head cradled in his arms, shaking and sniffling in a manner that
suggested he was crying. One of his hands was clenching a large wad of cash,
which in of itself was suspicious. On the opposite side of the counter, the
store's proprietor was reaching behind his back, putting an object into his
pants pocket, out of sight. Perhaps a wallet. Perhaps not. "Everything okay in here?"
Curtis asked. "Put your money away, son," the
merchant said. "Our transaction is concluded. We've both gotten through
the day. We can both start over tomorrow." Curtis lowered his empty gun hand back to
a relaxed position, placated by the voice of the grocer who simultaneously
answered the police officer's question and reassured the young man who was
leaving the store with a look of wonderment in his eyes.
"Everything is just fine." THE END
Dear readers: Only takes a moment to nominate Matters of Convenience in Amazon's Kindle Scout Contest. If it's chosen for publication by Kindle Press, those of you who nominated it win a free copy. THANKS in advance for your support. Enjoy the excerpt! Likes, Shares/Retweets & VOTES would
be much appreciated.
A few minutes of your time is all I request to read an excerpt from my soon to be published second novel - Matters of Convenience. It has been submitted to Amazon's Kindle Scout contest and will be eligible to vote on for 30 days starting on September 14th. A split second is all that's needed to push the button nominating it for publication by Kindle Press. Peruse book excerpts available in multiple genres for others to your liking as well, with 3 nominations allowed at a time. If Matters of Convenience is offered a publication deal from Kindle Press, a free copy of the Kindle edition will be sent to you as reward from Amazon and THANK YOU from me.
The Kindle Scout program has been described as American Idol for books. Rather than singing and dancing for your entertainment I've presented an excerpt (first 5000 words, give or take a few) from Matters of Convenience. Enough nominations from readers for publication puts the decision in the hands of judges at Kindle Press. You get to have a say in what's published, and if a book you nominated is chosen, you land a free copy of it.
SAGA TO BE CONTINUED: The next step will be a return to court for adjustments to the verdict and what the actual award ultimately will be. I won't try to predict the final verdict.
You saved your sister from an attacking dog, though you got hurt, and you knew you’d get hurt. I am so proud of you, young man. Keep on. Keep on. pic.twitter.com/wBy0fuv07L
On February 14, 2018, 15-year-old Anthony Borges was shot 5 times when he used his BODY to barricade the door of a classroom. He saved the lives of 20 of his Parkland classmates & had to have a third of his lung removed. Anthony is a HERO that will always deserve praise! pic.twitter.com/JUmJZzsAL7
This is a beautifully written novel, full of bold sorrow and muted hope. Where there is hope, no matter how cautiously one treads from the past, there is a chance of happiness. But some people cannot or will not move forward, and for them life is a continuous echo of sorrow, an eternity of regret. Those incapable of happiness because old wounds failed to heal will be cruel to those who try to love them. Whether it desires company or solitude, misery consumes whoever is nearest. Regardless of how far one travels, anguish that has been absorbed into the bones cannot be escaped. The Lowland is a story of family, a construct we are told is bonded by blood but actually is held together by love and willingly made sacrifice. It is the story of a woman who marries the love of her life, loses him, and then marries his brother whom she never comes to love while carrying the child of the man she violently lost. Leaving a country behind does little to erase memories and allow a new chance at happiness to take root. Someone who cannot love you, regardless of the ties of blood, will always be a stranger rather than family.
What an incredibly eventful time period to read about. Somehow in one city in one year there is The Great Molasses Flood, the early growth stage of the NAACP in a racist climate, a Spanish Influenza pandemic, unions gaining a foothold to combat unfair labor practices and absurdly low wages, the Boston Police Strike of 1919 and resulting riots, the start of Prohibition, a relentless hunt for violent radicals who sow seeds of fear, and Babe Ruth being traded from the Red Sox to the NY Yankees where a dynasty will result. This action packed period of time in history was fascinating to learn about, with a multi-plotted page turner Dennis Lehane story line thrown into the middle of it as bonus. The more things change the more they stay the same was the thought that repeatedly came to mind as I read The Given Day. In 2016 we call the violent radicals Islamic terrorists; the medical crisis du jour is the Zika virus; protests follow questionable shootings with riots sometimes resulting when activists from the newbie #BlackLivesMatter movement face off against police officers with #BlueLivesMatter mindsets; and Kevin Durant has left Oklahoma City to form a super team in the Golden State. What's the modern day equivalent to the molasses flood? Donald Trump's presidential candidacy perhaps. Both certainly created enormous messes to deal with.
Sometimes it's necessary to carefully arrange a system of beliefs to explain the unexplainable. People love a good mystery provided it gets solved in the end. Unresolved we are left with questions that can haunt us. Religion serves the purpose of providing answers without needing to bear the burden of proof. By accepting the influence and omnipotence of a higher power, rather than wrestling with questions, people accept explanations that cannot be disproved. But even the most strongly constructed belief system can be vulnerable to harsh doses of reality and cruel twists of fate. The Loney is a place where people come to seek miracles, a private Lourdes. Maybe the miracles are gifts from God. Maybe they come from elsewhere. If you find what you seek, does the source matter? If you learn the truth, was the miracle worth the lesson? I recommend giving Andrew Michael Hurley's atmospheric debut novel a read. I've done my best to review it spoiler free. Like high tide on a desolate beach, this novel will pull you in and hold on fast.
NOW ACCEPTING REVIEW REQUESTS FROM INDIE AUTHORS ---
I plan to review independently published novels (with perhaps a sprinkle of non fiction thrown in) on a regular basis when the calendar turns to 2017. No genres barred, which is not to say that I will read anything/everything suggested to me. I may take a pass on most for I intend to be picky, my selection criteria based strictly on what sounds like "my kind of book". DIVERSITY welcomed, PRINT preferred. In addition to a synopsis I'll want to see a brief excerpt from your book to help me decide. For a taste of my style, type "book reviews" into the Search bar. Or you can peruse my collection of reviews at goodreads. Send queries to mudhousebooks@gmail.com -------------------------------------------------------------------
Roy Pickering is the author of the novels Matters of Convenience & Patches of Grey, as well as the novella Feeding the Squirrels which you can find presented here in serialized form. A sampling of his prose is showcased at RoyPickering.net. Roy once blogged here in tandem with his wife. Erin's presence is still felt through her artwork in many of the postings.
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