“The Timkers” by WR Vaughn

51qrUS5D5BL._AA160_The Timkers Chapter One — A Rocky Start

Sam Harkins’ breath punctuated his steps with misty clouds as he power-walked past boarded storefronts in downtown Seattle. The bank sign nagged “Jan. 15, 2016, 7:36 a.m.

Late and still ten blocks to go. His pace quickened to a jog as he jammed his hands into his Vietnam-era flight jacket. He knew he shouldn’t have stayed up to watch The Sting again for the twentieth time—but he loved it so: the music, the thirties and the great actors—Redford and Newman and his favorite, Robert Shaw. Dodging a bike messenger, Sam crossed against the light, his mind occupied with grandiose plans that would all fall into place like the orchestrated steps of an elaborate sting if he got the job. Right now, that was a capital “IF.”

A cold chill ran down Sam’s spine when he spotted, Penalso, a wiry Tex-Mex boldly selling shit through car windows like a drive-up espresso stand. Sam ducked behind a Metro bus and waited, but just for a moment. He didn’t have time to deal with that asshole, not this morning. How the fuck did he find me? He must have followed me from Austin. But why?

Sam felt like an idiot believing he could catch a break, but he was not all that surprised at Penalso’s pit-bull tenacity. When Sam lost his job as a computer tech, he understood it wouldn’t be long before he would be pulled back to rejoin the gang’s sullen ranks—like a hungry dog follows along behind a pack of strays. His job interview in California might be his last chance to keep from getting entangled. Sam kept his head down and headed for the diner at the end of the block.

“Sammie boy!” Penalso shouted.

Shit. Sam didn’t turn to look or change his pace. He jaywalked across 6th Avenue, breaking into a full run once he was out of sight. Dealing with someone like Penalso was like stumbling upon a rabid Doberman. Unless you were packing a 9 mm with a full clip and one in the chamber, you walked away slowly until you had a chance to run like hell. While Penalso himself was not that dangerous, he had a tendency to cut his way out of tough situations with a hooked carpet knife. Sam had only his wits to defend himself. Sure, he had a few moves, learned the hard way—behind bars back in Texas, but he usually tried to avoid the rough stuff. As for his wits, he had twice as many as Penalso: most folks did.

When Sam reached the diner, he looked through the window at the clock—his breath fogging the glass. 7:40. He wasn’t sure if he had time to go in. At least I’ve got to say good-bye.

Inside, he was greeted by the usual breakfast smells of coffee, bacon and burnt toast. He took one of the red-topped seats, and only Doris, his mom, looked up. Wiping wet hands on her apron, she looked like she’d had a tough morning.

“Morning, Sam. You’re a bit late. You’d better watch the time.” She poured him a cup of coffee.

“Hey, Mom.” He put his pack down at his feet. “I know. The concierge didn’t wake me and draw my bath.” She doesn’t need to know about Penalso.

“Don’t be smart with me, Samuel,” Doris chided with a thin smile and a raised eyebrow.

“I just came to say good-bye. I don’t have time—”

“Sit. You have time for a hot meal…the bus station’s just around the corner.”

He rechecked the clock. For a moment, it looked like the hands were moving in double-time. Nearly 7:42.

“Your usual, Sam? I can ask José to rush it.”

Sam glanced up again. 7:43 “Yeah. I guess . . . if it’s fast—make it to go.”

“Sure, hon,” she said, turning to the order window and placing the order in gringo Spanish.

An unintelligible reply came from the kitchen.

“I’ll make sure your eggs are done this time,” she said with a wink.

Sam was impressed with her Spanish. Ironically, it was getting better since they had come up from Texas, thanks to the undocumented cook.

“Gracias.” Sam dug in his jacket pocket and pulled out a month-old breath mint (he ate it), a red USB memory stick, his bus ticket and a crumpled schedule. Asking casually, “Have you seen Francine this morning?” he pushed the stick deep into his pocket and scanned the booths in the mirrored wall.

“It’s a bit early for her.”

Sam returned his attention to the schedule. For motives Sam didn’t understand, his absentee dad had arranged an interview with his new company in California. He suspected it was just another attempt to screw with his mom. Yes, it was a long way, but Sam looked forward to getting out of this cold, damp city that seemed to be dragging him down into the sewers, along with the brown leaves and endless rain. And now that Penalso had found him, he had another reason to skip.

“Today’s the big day.” Doris refreshed his coffee.

Sam heard the worry in her voice. She had been supportive ever since he was laid off—but he knew she was afraid he would never find another job and end up with the likes of Penalso. She might be right on both counts.

He looked up. 7:45. “Yeah, if I make the eight o’clock bus.” Is that clock right?

“Then we need to get you fed. ¿José, los huveos?”

All Sam could do was wait, and worry, and watch out the window for Penalso—and Francine. And now, the erratic hands on the old clock made it seem like time was moving at half-normal speed. He swallowed another slug of Doris’s simply awful coffee, the cup rattling against the saucer.

Watching people come and go in the mirror, Sam admired a young redhead taking one of the stools. Cute. Have I seen her before? She ignored him, like most of the women his age. A couple of strangers came in and went to the back table where Mr. Zeitnehmer had set up his office. The couple quickly exchanged cash for something handed back in an envelope and settled into a booth. Whatever he’s selling seems to be popular. Some kind of stock deal? Discount tour tickets? Exotic drugs? Mom sure didn’t care. Mr. Zeitnehmer brought in a lot of hungry breakfast customers, and Sam knew the diner sure needed the money.

The cop sitting further down the counter didn’t seem to notice or care. Sam turned briefly toward the windows to see if Penalso was hanging around outside. There was no sign of him, but he noticed that the cop was studying him—he probably knew about Sam’s run-in with the for-profit judicial system back in Texas. Maybe everyone did, as if he were wearing a “Convicted Felon” tattoo on his forehead.

Doris refilled his cup. “You weren’t up all night again watching TCM, were you?”

“No choice. I had stuff to finish.” Like “The Sting” and “The Untouchables.”

“Did you finally get Mrs. Carpintero’s computer fixed?”

“Yeah…yes, ma’am. She had a blown memory stick. I told her she needed a UPS.”

“A UPS package?”

“An uninterruptible power supply, Mom—UPS, a power line conditioner.” He slowly shook his head.

“Oh. What about the other stuff?”

“You mean the malware? That’s her own fault. She and her son wade through the Internet as if it were an elementary schoolyard. The websites she browses are more like gator swamps in Cambodian minefields.”

Sam heard the clock hands snap forward as cold air pushed up his pants legs. 7:44. Geez.

Glancing up, Sam saw a striking brunette come in wearing a short wrap dress over black tights. Francine. Finally. Sam swiveled around and tried to catch her eye. As usual, she didn’t look up. Eyes down with thumbs tapping away at her fancy phone, she found her way toward the booths near the window. Sam’s stomach tightened. Lately, his nocturnal fantasies had featured her in long moonlight walks followed by intimate snuggling and slow, passionate sex. But he hadn’t mustered enough courage to ask her out. And now he was leaving. It was too late. Say something!

“Hiya, Fanny.” The smartass in the back had beat Sam to the punch. “Care to join me?” He offered his table with a flourishing gesture and a leer.

The look she gave him would freeze a Hawaiian volcano in full eruption. “It’s Miss Dancing, to the likes of you.” She took her seat with her back to the boor—but facing Sam.

“You’ll succumb eventually to my charms, darlin’” The interloper slumped back into hiding.

“He must have learned a new word,” Sam mused under his breath. This sleazeball reminded him of the owner of the down-and-out bar in Flashdance, who constantly hit on the pretty, topless dancers. Sam dreaded Francine having to settle for the likes of that creep, and he regretted the way his life was playing out. Perhaps when I get back. If I come back.

Sam knew he wasn’t leaving much behind—just his mom and a tiny two-room apartment. They both really needed and wanted each other to succeed on their own—even though they had been living on their combined incomes for some time—not to mention the symbiotic moral support. Of course, there was the remote prospect of Francine, but he knew no girl would even consider going out with a boy still living with his mom. He caught Francine giving him a passing glance over her menu.

“Here ya go, hon. Eat it while it’s hot.” Doris handed Sam a brown paper bag with spots of grease bleeding through the sides.

“Thanks, Mom.” He checked the clock. 7:52 Shit.

“Good luck. Do you have everything? Clean underwea—”

“Mom! I’ve got it covered.” His cheeks turned pink as he tucked the sack under his arm like a football. Sam wished she would stop treating him as if he were five and off to his first day of kindergarten.

“You know, I love you.” She smiled—her eyes, brimming with tears, said she would miss him.

“I love you too.” He reached over the counter and gave her a one-armed hug, kissing her on the cheek. “It’s only for a week or so. I’ll call you.” He lied on both counts.

Sam turned to steal one last longing glance at Francine. She looked up, as he made a break for the door. Her lips said nothing, but her eyes told him everything his imagination wanted to believe.

“Bye,” Sam said as he bolted out into the cold. He scouted up and down the block, but didn’t see Penalso. He hadn’t gone five steps before he heard Francine’s voice calling after him.

“Sam, you forgot your pack.”

Sam ran back and took the rucksack, gazing into her big, melting chocolate eyes. “Thanks. I would be lost without…” You.

“Have a safe trip, and good luck with the interview. That job has your name on it.” For the briefest instant, their hands touched; hers were strangely cold, but her smile seemed warm.

“I…sure. Thanks again. I…need to run,” he said, walking backwards. As the distance increased, he smiled again and turned, only to run into someone. Penalso.

“Didn’t hear me back there, Sammieboy?”

“Fuck off, Penalso; I have a bus to catch.” Sam pushed the tough away.

“That ain’t no way to treat an old amigo from home.”

“You’re no pal. Now get out of the way.”

“Trying to vamoose again? I’ll bet you figured I wouldn’t find you up—”

“What do you want?” Sam edged toward the street, but Penalso blocked his path again.

“Folks ‘round here tell me you’re flush—carrying a couple of C-notes, at least.” Penalso twirled his knife on a leather lanyard. “Is that all you have left from the heist?”

Sam turned to Francine. “Get back inside.” He didn’t want her to see him gutted or what he was going to do to Penalso. Fewer witnesses.

Francine just stood there, perhaps too frightened to move—but she didn’t look frightened—she looked angry.

“Let’s have it. Yo creo, you owe me.” Penalso pulled in his knife and wrapped his bony fingers around the handle.

Judging by the look in his jaundiced eyes, Sam figured Penalso was probably high on his own dope. Stupid and high—a bad combination. “How do you figure?” Sam kept his distance, but Penalso soon had him cornered, and he didn’t have time to go around the block.

“Start with my fare to follow you up here. Y compadre, you still owe la mordida por Waco,” Penalso swept his blade in a wide arc to cut off Sam’s attempt to dart past him.

“You’re full of shit as usual, you jackass. I was nowhere near Waco; I was still in Austin—entiendes?” Sam had seen Penalso fight before—he usually won, so Sam made it a point to keep the pack between his body and Penalso’s blade.

“Sí, entiendo, but I heard it was you, Sammie. You owe me.” Penalso charged again, but Sam danced out of the way.

Sam knew he was out of time. “Then come and get it,” Sam wrapped the pack’s strap around his fist.

Penalso charged again, but he slipped, leaving the back of his head open for a roundhouse blow from Sam’s pack. Penalso ended up facedown on the pavement, but unhurt. As he scrambled to his feet, his blade slashed out, slicing through Sam’s jeans at the knee.

Sam managed to parry with a soccer penalty-kick to Penalso’s jaw. Sam heard a sickening crack, and Penalso fell like a rag doll. Fixing sick computers was not the only thing he had learned in juvie.

Inexplicably, Francine ran to Penalso and knelt beside him, cradling his head—it didn’t seem to be connected to his neck.

“You bastard—you killed him!” She started to scream and wail as if she had lost her first true love.

Sam couldn’t believe his eyes; his mind swirled with what had just happened. He had never killed anyone before. With a single impulsive blow, he had slid headlong into the morass he had been trying so hard to escape. Francine’s accusing screams tore through his soul like Penalso’s knife was going to. Why did she care about this creep? Nothing made sense.

A heartbeat later, it was almost as if Sam could hear the bus’ brakes squeal “Run! Run!” Sam broke into a limping jog and didn’t look back.

 

More about WR Vaughn 

Amazon:http://www.amazon.com/Timkers-Stitch-Time-WR-Vaughn-ebook/dp/B00QOGLHH4/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1421709163&sr=1-1&keywords=The+Timkers

 

 

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Sneak Peak at Deborah Heal’s New Book

My latest book is on a sad topic–the Cherokee Trail of Tears–but that’s not to say there aren’t moments of levity. Here Merri and our old friends Abby and John are preparing for an all-night “time-surfing” session in an empty apartment they may have sneaked into without permission:

Faint noises came from the hall. Merri and Abby started then looked at each other, wide-eyed. Someone knocked softly on the door, and a smile bloomed on Abby’s face. “It’s our secret knock,” she explained as she race-walked to the door.

“Of course you and John have a secret knock,” Merri said, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t everyone?”

John came in loaded down with plastic shopping bags. How he managed to lug it all up without being seen was a mystery they didn’t take time to discuss.

“Wow, it’s dark in here,” he said, setting the bags on the kitchen counter. “I forgot to warn you about not turning on lights until I got something to cover the window.”

“And yet the little women managed to think of it themselves,” Merri said. “Amazing.”

John grinned and tugged at her hair. “Oh, stop, Merri Christmas. You know I respect your ginormous brain.”

“What’s all this?” Abby ignored them and began snooping through the bags. “You must have bought out the store.”

“It’s amazing what you can find at a Dollar Store. Did you know they have blankets there?” Out of the largest bag on the counter he removed a green blanket in a zippered vinyl case and held it for them to see. “It’s thin and wimpy, but it should work to cover said window.”

“What else?” Merri said, unable to tamp down her curiosity.

“These,” John said, handing Abby three flashlights. “Even with the windows covered we should keep the light to a minimum.” He handed a writing tablet and pen to Merri. “Because I couldn’t remember if you still have yours in your backpack. Toothpaste and brushes, as requested, and soap and paper towels as an added bonus.”

“I’m all in favor of good hygiene,” Abby said.

“One thing I’ve always admired about you, my dear,” John said. “Here are mixed nuts and cheese crackers in case we get hungry later. Bottled water because…well, you just never know, do you? And coffee—with sugar, my love—so we can stay awake.”

Grinning, Abby took the coffee from him. “My hero.”

“Instant?” Merri said without bothering to keep the disgust from her voice.

“What was I thinking? I’ll go back and buy a coffee maker. Maybe a waffle maker would be nice.”

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist,” Merri said. “But what about cups?”

“Oh, ye of little faith,” he said and pulled three ceramic mugs out. “And last, but certainly not least, breakfast.” He opened the last bag, a white paper one in which Merri glimpsed three jelly donuts. “Unless you think we should eat them now before they get any staler.”

Abby took the bag from him, closed it firmly, and put it on the counter.

“Now,” John said. “Tell me what I missed while I was out foraging.”

Tremora’s Young Michael Interviews Author Bill Westwood—Fiction

Regarding: Tales of Tremora: The Shimmering by William Westwood Jr.

A young boy who has lost his father is a terrible thing.  Now, a young boy who goes searching for said father and wanders off into a leaky, shimmering veil, deep in the forest of the Cascade Mountains, and finds himself in another world altogether can be a very, very terrible thing.  And, this is how Michael found himself in the middle of a terrific adventure in the land of Tremora.

Just fourteen years of age, Michael is sent off with well-wishes from his worried mother who is on the other side of the shimmering.  She watches him hike down the trodden trail with a little green man named Tracker–Michael’s guide and protector in this curious world.  What Michael doesn’t hear are her final words, said to herself as a whispered afterthought, “Oh, Michael. . . . Now you’re both gone.  I knew you’d choose to stay, of course–it’s in your blood.  And, Megan assures me Tremora needs you. . . . But, please be careful and come back to me safely.  And please, please, Michael, don’t kill your father.”

Michael follows Tracker over hill and dale.  They meet up with wood elves, fairy folk, ogres, a camelop, and a wazalop on their way to the wizard’s gathering where the greatest wizard and magician of them all, Megan, will be presiding.  It is here, Michael finds out the real reason why he is in Tremora—he is to save Prince Cedric from the dragon.  And “finally” he learns where his father is.

I met up with Michael after he spent a couple of weeks training with the wizards.  I had far too much curiosity to know how Bill Westwood could come up with such a unique world for Michael to complete his quest.  Michael had a little time to kill before he was ready to head out again on this next leg of his adventure.  After a brief introduction to Nova, his animal guide, and a few pats on her fuzzy nose from me, we sat down to chat about this amusing, imaginative man who was Michael’s inner guide and overall good-guy creator.

After a little thought about my musings, Michael said that Bill had spent five years in England—the mystical land of elves, fairies, wizards, and the like.  Not only did he spend time with the little folk, but he met his wife there as well.  It was a very important period in his life and set him on a new course to follow his dreams.  Then, he added, “Well . . . it might have something to do with his background as a Russian linguist, and his time spent in the National Security Agency.  I think he probably had some interesting adventures of his own.”

Those years in England provided plenty of time to conjure up a wonderful land for a young boy to travel and have adventures in.  I know how it has changed Michael’s life, but another curiosity I have is about how the book an author is writing changes his own life.  Does writing a book that is so involved and wildly different have any effect on him when he’s writing it or when he’s done?

Michael arched an eyebrow and squirmed a little as he thought about this.  After a bit more fidgeting, he said he wasn’t sure, but he thought it had changed Bill a great deal.  “He spends a lot of time in Tremora, you know.  It took over seven years of Bill’s life to get this far.  Did you know that he is an artist as well?  He has made sculptures of just about all of us.  That’s why I’m stuck here now, waiting. . . . There’s such a backlog for his artwork that he hasn’t had time to get back to “me,” and it is frustrating—I need to go and find my dad, alread!”

We talked some more about the different stories and various authors we knew. That brought me to wonder about another question.  So, I asked if he had any fears that Bill would “kill off” any of the main Tremora characters during these perils.  There are a lot of authors who “do in” their characters to promote more suspense into their storyline.  “Bill loves us all too much, Diane, and he would never do that.”

With that, Michael jumped up, threw his backpack on, and said as he turned and walked away. . . . “Besides, I have to go and save Prince Cedric and my dad.”

If you want to have a little fun, check out Bill’s sculptures here.

Time and Again by Deborah Heal

Time AND Again Kindle

 

“Time and Again”–Charming!  Quaint!  Clever!

Time and Again is a good, wholesome, old-fashioned story with a modern twist.  This charming tale touches upon many of the hard issues that kids have to face today—depression, bullying, weight issues, absentee parents, abandonment, self-esteem, and young love.  It is written in such a way that these issues, which seem so momentous at first, gently blend into the background and simply melt away as the relationship between Abby and Meredith develops and they become fast friends.

Both girls are embarking on new adventures in their lives.  Abby just graduated from college, has taken a summer job—her first job, as a live-in tutor.  Meredith recently moved to the lonely, empty little town of Miles Station with her mother to an old historic home she inherited.  Determined to make a new life for them, her mother must work all sorts of crazy hours, which leaves Meredith with nothing to do.  She is feeling angry and dejected, and the last thing she wants is a babysitter hanging around, pestering, her all day long.

Naturally, the story does not end there . . . the old house promises some mysterious, quirky surprises for the two as they delve into its history and of the presently defunct town of Miles Station.

Ms. Heal did a marvelous job in addressing some of the confusion that children have in growing up while trying to understand the adult world.  In this, the book turns an enjoyable story into a chapter by chapter mini life-lessons book for teenagers.  Her teaching style is crafted in such a way to make you think you are just reading a fun story.  She offers so much in the way of learning history, relationships, people, and in surviving the turbulent teenage years, that you will want to read it time and again.

Note: I would like to thank Deborah Heal for this lovely copy of her book, and to Review the Book.com for the opportunity to review it.

 

TIME AND AGAIN–AT AMAZON

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Unclaimed Legacy by Deborah Heal

Another Great Book by Ms. Heal!

Unclaimed Legacy_Kindle_v1


“Time and Again”
was a great introduction to Abby, Merri, John, and all the others living about in the Miles Station’s neighborhood.  By the time I had turned to that last page I felt like I had made some new friends.  “Unclaimed Legacy’s” genuine warmth and down home spirit turned those new friends into my old friends–people I’d grown up with in my old neighborhood. You know . . . the ones who make you feel like you were a part of their family.  And, what is more fun than having a summer adventure with your pals from the old neighborhood?  This time, Eulah and Beulah need to solve a long-time mystery in their family tree and there is only one way that Abby, Merri, and John can help them.  Of course, by now . . . you know what that is from reading “Time and Again.”

“Unclaimed Legacy” really has great character development and character interaction. There is a little love-play tension between Abby and John throughout the book.  The history of Eulah and Beulah’s bloodline dances around a great mysterious tale that only can be solved through the odd and quirky computer program that has intrigued our three friends from the beginning.  Adding the new characters gives a bit of depth and suspense to the mystery.

But, I really appreciated the way this author weaves all the history of the area into the story.  I’m not a great history lover but in this book there is nothing glaring or boring with dull facts that will cause you to nod off.  I was almost through reading the whole book before I realized how many historical tidbits were presented.  With the little I know of the third story and my experience with the first two, I am really excited to get into the last one of the trilogy.

It is so refreshing to just have a good story to kick back, relax, and unwind from a trying day.  Every night I read it before hitting the hay and the worst part of that is the book is done. It was really something to look forward to in ending my day. The good news is I have the last book of the trilogy left to read.  And, I can’t wait!

I’d like to thank Deborah Heal for this beautiful copy of “Unclaimed Legacy” in exchange for an honest review.

 

UNCLAIMED LEGACY — AT AMAZON

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  • Language: English
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Every Hill and Mountain by Deborah Heal

Every HIll and MountainAn Entertaining Mystery!

 

Deborah Heal considers herself a Christian fiction author.  Right there, for a lot of people, that would wave the red flag: “Stop!  Do not enter!” “This will contain over-zealous subject matter meant to weave a certain message into the story in which to enlighten or prescribe the author’s beliefs.”  I almost passed up the chance to read this fun trilogy because of this worry.  Through the first book, I turned every page with much trepidation that a preacher would jump out of page 25, 137, or 192 to scream at me about his way to see the light.  In certain times and places I find this acceptable, but not when I am reading for enjoyment and to relax.

I was so wrong!  In all three books–nothing like that happened at all.  As a matter of fact, Ms. Heal did an excellent job of writing a great three-part story that young adults on up can enjoy.  The first book was an introduction to Merri, Abby, and John and the Beautiful Home computer program.  The second book took us on another adventure with the cheerful trio and their neighbors to seek out a puzzle of heritage.  This last book delved further into Illinois history as Merri, Abby, and John used their unique computer program to help Kate, (Abby’s roommate from college) find an ancestor by the name of Ned Greenfield from Equality, Illinois.

Their arrival to Equality gave them an unexpected surprise.  Everyone they met was hometown friendly in a down-home sort of way.  The streets were crowded; and it wasn’t until they met the local sheriff that they learned it was the annual Salt Days celebration to commemorate when the village was founded in 1735.  The area was the hub for salt mining in the United States after the Indians surrendered the “Great Salt Springs” to the US government by treaty way back when (Wikipedia).  The story continues with little tidbits of local history to amuse and entertain as is the author’s penchant for sneaking in lessons without our being consciously aware we’re being taught.

With all the information they try to find out about this Greenfield relative of Kate’s, the farther down the family tree he seems to slip.  These friendly villagers start to clam up and the true hunt begins.  This tale tells of a salt baron’s ruthless rise to success, slavery—the likes of which you’ve never heard before, a spooky third floor in a mansion, and a ditzy old woman who has the answers, but takes to having “spells” when questioned too much.

On the social scene, John and Abby’s crush deepens as Abby (figuratively) pulls the petals off the daisy one-by-one “He loves me. . . . He loves me not.”  This couple prefers to follow the old-fashion values of genteel courtship until marriage; whereas, Abby’s friend, Kate, was lured into a more complicated, serious relationship with her boyfriend, Ryan. The subject of sex is mentioned in the book, but it is handled with intelligence and decorum.

Now that the trilogy is over, I look back and shake my head when I think I almost missed a great opportunity to learn so much about our history and the history of Illinois.  The information was presented in a unique mystery story that was fully entertaining and enjoyable.  I liked the books so much that if I had my druthers, I’d like Ms. Heal to drop the trilogy and just continue the storyline into a lengthy series.  I enjoyed the characters so much that I could imagine them on more adventures of this kind, and as long as the program is willing—why not?  If more of us hungry readers are so inclined to persuade her, perhaps we can change her mind about this being the last book.  I’m certain that the state of Illinois has many more hidden tales to tell that the Beautiful Home computer program could bring to light.

I’d like to thank author Deborah Heal for this lovely copy of Every Hill and Mountain in exchange for my honest review.

 

EVERY HILL AND MOUNTAIN–AT AMAZON

  • File Size: 2276 KB
  • Print Length: 276 pages
  • Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1482609169
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  • Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
  • Language: English
  • ASIN: B00BUQ1NGI

She’s My Dad by Iolanthe Woulff

Intriguing! Honest! Refreshing!

My first thought when I saw the high ratings for “She’s My Dad” was the author must have a lot of friends–the book cannot be that good.  And, even though I do review books I am happy to report that all the reviews are accurate.  There’s no fudging on this one.

“She’s My Dad” is not what I expected it to be.  It is not a journey of mismatched sour romances; nor it is a bShe's My Dad Coverook of soul searching, familiar movies, or transsexuals. Even though the book does have a transsexual person in it, it is not about the process or the whys and whatnots. It is a modern day allegory that shows the inside truth of people set in a northern Virginia college town.  The college openly accepts everyone through their doors who wants an education; but, there are some people who were bred in Southern tradition and are set about what they feel should be right and proper—and, they are not happy about Windfield College. And, they plan to do something about it.

This book is as fun as it is smart.  It is not written in the typical fifth-grade English that most novels today are. Actually, there are interesting words that pique one’s curiosity of how the characters interact with each other; however, not so many as to bog down the flow of the storyline. In addition to the intelligence of the book, it is witty, clever, and engaging—full of suspense and mystery.  Ms. Woulff has an amazing ability to paint the character portraits with incredible sharpness and clarity so you don’t lose sight of who is doing what.

What further surprised me was the interesting storyline.  I certainly was not expecting sub-plots that involved big ugly brutes and wealthy crime bosses who were involved in home-grown terrorism.  There are many interesting side stories that puzzle into the main characters’ lives and plot of the book.  Every one of them is clearly defined and is woven ever so carefully into the climax of the novel.  Normally, this type of literature (crime, guns, things that go boom, etc.) does not interest me; but, this was so well written I could not put it down.  The more I read, the h
ungrier I got.

Be forewarned that there are a few characters that use foul language occasionally; and, there are some scenes that are briefly sexual. That being aside, considering the sensitive nature of some of the material, I felt, it was handled with great care.

Overall, I absolutely loved the book!  Loved it!  The message it brings us is so important—so necessary, that I wish it were in every library, college, and bookstore in America.  Better than that—it really needs to be a movie.

Note: I’d like to thank both Iolanthe Woulff for this lovely copy of “She’s My Dad” and Review the Book.com for this opportunity.

SHE’S MY DAD at Amazon

  • File Size: 653 KB
  • Print Length: 471 pages
  • Page Numbers Source ISBN: 1432744054
  • Simultaneous Device Usage: Unlimited
  • Publisher: Outskirts Press, Inc. (November 13, 2009)
  • Sold by: Amazon Digital Services, Inc.
  • Language: English
  • ASIN: B0030EG3HW