A first person narrative structure is often the first structure that we try as children. It is the structure that is most commonly used verbally throughout anyone’s day, and yet it is actually quite difficult to pull off effectively. Here I will posit a review of sorts for Steven King’s Ride the Bullet, but in actuality I will be utilizing his excellent, yet brief, first person narrative to explore the difficulties present in such a narrative. Continue reading Review of “Riding the Bullet” By Stephen King
Firstly let me apologize for what I must consider to be too long of a delay. I have not abandoned you. Of course I cannot feel too guilty as I have not promised to a deadline of any kind, quite on purpose I might add, nor have I much of an audience to apologize to. Well now that any pretense has been drowned out of the conversation let us move on to the topic that has been derailed, Discworld: The Color of Magic by Terry Pratchett. Continue reading Review of “The Color of Magic” by Terry Pratchett
I would like to consider this my first review proper, and as such I will share with you, my trusted reader, what these “reviews” are intended to be. There is a reason for those pesky quotation marks as these are reviews not in the modern interpretation of the word, but more so a re-viewing, or a look back at what has been read. I will not try to tell you what to buy, or what not to buy, instead I will look at each story through an angle of my choosing in an attempt to glean interesting information and bring it to light in a way that will hopefully, at the very least, be entertaining. With all that being said I will, for the most part, not be reviewing new books. Instead I will seek out works that are obscure, forgotten, or perhaps classics that have escaped my reader’s eyes. At the end of each review I will offer up the title of the next book I am to read and review so that if one were so inclined they could read along. Sort of like a book club. Unfortunately as this is my first real review (that other one down there can be considered a test case) you will not be given any head start. The name of the book is “WASP” by Erik Frank Russell. So if your life permits it stop reading this right now and read that, then keep reading this. Again I’m not telling you to buy anything, but you have been forewarned. Continue reading Review of “WASP” by Erik Frank Russell
John Scalzi breaks the mold with his latest novel Redshirts: A Novel with Three Codas. At first it presents itself as a science fiction genre novel, which would be expected from Scalzi, but it’s a little more than that. It has action, it has romance, and it has strange and wonderful technology, but at its heart it has humor. Continue reading Redshirts: A Review in One Part
Light danced across the picture lined hallway as the stained glass door was opened for a brief moment before being set back in place. In that brief moment Nancy had come in, her arms filled with groceries and a small tight smile on her porcelain face. Her young figure flowed into the kitchen and set to work. Continue reading Thirteen Years
You wake up one day and things may not be as they were. Your lamp is no longer a lamp, your bed not a bed. These things still exist and yet somehow they don’t. Let me make one thing clear, we did not sign up for this. Continue reading The Ending to Follow
Howard walked in and sat down. The belt moved. They knew he was there, the chip in his neck told them so. Seventeen bolts, eighteen washers, two cotter pins, grease, a torque body assembly, a digital signature, and six minutes. The line moved again and he repeated the steps. He called the belt the highway to nowhere. He had never been to the other end of it, just as he had never been to the beginning of it. Sometimes what he worked on changed, or the instructions were new or different, it didn’t matter. The crimson red clock counted down and he kept working. In nine years the line had never stopped, in nine years he had never interacted with another co-worker. It was all insulated and it had been made so very carefully. Continue reading Nowhere Highway
The body is a temple and the mind is the God that is worshiped there.
I could not breathe in that room. It wasn’t the thick summer air that was suffocating it was the spirit of the room, Marcia’s spirit. She had been my college roommate and I had been the last to see her. Looking at this room now I don’t think I really did see her. Light spilled in from between the blind slats. Newspaper clippings and printed articles were pinned up to every wall with words and pictures that were circled or highlighted in red, always red. Bright yellow post-it notes accompanied many of these pieces. At a glance nothing tied together. Glasses half filled with water rested delicately between open books resting on open books with book marks bulging out the pages. Dust hung in the air and had already blanketed everything in the room. I went to flick the lights on but the switch had been taped down, a warning perhaps. She had always been so serious and so cautious, but I didn’t know what any of this could mean. Continue reading A Life Untied
When my daughter Hannah was three she had her own way of looking at things. She could conquer you with her eyes and melt a salty soul with her laugh. But for all her power she never sought to use them. If she had asked for the moon I fear I would have spent the rest of my life trying to bring it down. Continue reading Thoughts of a Child
I know a particular dog that is quite strange. He is afraid of leaves, but not pit-bulls. He can stand up and walk on two legs, but routinely falls off of the bed. He will play with you when you are trying to write, and he will sleep when you have time for him. His name is Jack, and he is a Jack Russell Terrier. Continue reading The Jack Effect
Fire races through thick beige carpet still streaked from vacuuming. It dances up the sides of a white couch leaping from cushion to cushion. The coffee table burns with its lone candle center piece. The wax boils and spits splattering the carpet with red shortly before it is consumed and blackened. Chairs on either side of the coffee table had been turned ever so slightly to create an inviting atmosphere. They matched the couch when it was still white, now they match it in black. Continue reading It Burns Just the Same
Any good mother has a set of rules that her children are to follow and my mother was no different. Some of these rules are almost universal: don’t touch the oven, don’t play in the street, be home before dark, be in bed by nine, always eat your vegetables, don’t talk to strangers, and always listen to your parents. That last one was always the worst. Continue reading Mothers and Their Rules
I am a Hannah’s father and Hannah is my daughter, and that’s the way we like it. When she was five years old I took her to see Santa Clause at a local store. She was so excited; her smile looked like it was trying to escape through her ears. Continue reading Hannah and I
I make this universe out of paper, and I keep a match in my back pocket.
The words the follow are not mine, but it’s where I must begin. Continue reading Where it Must Begin