Showing posts with label Michael E. Burge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Michael E. Burge. Show all posts

Friday, January 18, 2019

"Melding Spirits" by Michael E. Burge


EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY
Melding Spirits
by Michael E. Burge


Melding Spirits by Michael E. Burge is currently on tour with iRead Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.


For another book by this author, please check out my blog post on Bryant’s Gap.

Description
Twelve-year-old Evan Mason’s life has been turned upside down by the sudden death of his father. His mother isn’t home much, the insurance office during the day, waiting tables at night. Evan is spending a great deal of time alone.
Now he finds himself on a Greyhound bus headed for a small town on the Wabash River where he’ll spend the summer of 1958 with his loving grandmother.
Evan soon meets his new neighbor, Katie Dobbins. She’s a feisty blue-eyed girl with a ponytail, the type of girl Buddy Holly might sing about on American Bandstand. Evan is instantly enamored with her.
It seems the perfect summer is underway - but strange things are happening in the woods surrounding the Ghost Hill Indian Mound.
There’s a dark cloud lingering over the Wabash Valley - It won’t be long before it erupts into a raging storm.


Excerpt
1
Summer1958
Evan Mason sat in the back seat as Gladys Hatfield dropped the Ford Crestline into first gear, revved the engine, and lurched along the circular drive that serviced the all-in-one train depot and bus station in Chicago Pointe.
Today was Saturday, and Evan would soon be on a southbound bus headed for Laurenville, Illinois to stay with his grandmother for the summer. The thirty-three-year-old woman riding shotgun was Lila Mason, Evan’s mother. On Monday, she would be on a plane headed to Manhattan for a week of training. She had worked as a clerk in the Chicago Pointe office for two years and now had a shot at becoming an agent for one of the biggest insurance companies in the world.
“Okay, Lila,” Gladys said, as she double-parked near the main entrance to the station. “I’m going to drop you right here. I’ll park somewhere around the corner and wait for you. I think that’s his bus.” Gladys jumped from the car, opened the trunk, and with little effort hoisted the overstuffed suitcase and plopped it onto the ground.
Gladys was a large, sturdy woman. She wasn’t what one might call homely, but she had a crooked smile and her features were plain and asymmetrical. Her lips and fingernails were painted a ruby red and her dark auburn hair was piled up on her head in a massive layer of sweeping curls. A stiff northerly breeze was blowing, but her hair remained steadfast as she went about her business.
Not long ago, Gladys had discovered the magic of those aerosol cans that had made their way from the battlefields of WW II, where they were used to dispense insecticides, to the dressing tables of women around the world.
Only instead of DDT, they now were filled with a flowery smelling lacquer, a few layers of which could transform the flattest of hairdos into a high rise bouffant of staggering proportions. Gladys Hatfield had certainly done her part to keep the hairspray companies in business.
“You got a big kiss for your Aunt Gladys, Evan?” She beckoned him around to the rear of the car. He knew what was coming and tried to brace himself for the trauma that would ensue. She pulled him to her bosom, enveloping him in a fog of lavender perfume and talcum powder.
He was light-headed from lack of oxygen and the sheer devastation of the moment, and when he saw the two huge, over-puckered lips coming in for a landing, he was certain things were going to end badly. Fortunately, the sharp, instinctive reflexes of youth took over. He gave a quick twist of his neck and the two ruby red marauders landed three inches off target, splashing down high on his cheek, just below his right eye.
Gladys stepped back to arm’s length. “You have a good time down south, and don’t you worry about your mother. I’ll be watching over her. She’s going to do just fine in that new job. I just know it.” She reached into her purse, pulled out several folded bills, and tucked them into his shirt pocket. “Take Grandma Bea out for a soda. Go see a movie. Buy something for yourself, whatever tickles your fancy. It’s our little secret.”
“Thank you, Aunt Gladys. I—”
“Hold still, honey.” She yanked a flowered hanky from her pocket, wrapped it around her index finger, wet it with her tongue, and executed the dreaded lipstick erasure. Later in his life, Evan would have Freudian nightmares related to that moment.
Incidentally, Gladys wasn’t really Evan’s aunt. He called her that because Lila had always considered her one of the family. It made his mother happy.
Gladys lit a cigarette and slid behind the wheel. “See you in a bit, dearie,” she said to Lila, the cigarette dangling from the corner of her mouth as she spoke.
“Shouldn’t be long, Gladys,” Lila said, looking at her watch. “If the bus leaves on time, it’ll be pulling out in the next fifteen minutes.”
“Don’t rush. If I’m not in the car, I’ll be across the street at the drugstore. Alvin is there today.” She gave a little wink as she popped the clutch and humped her way down the street and around the corner. Gladys wasn’t the best of drivers.
“I hope you remembered everything, Evan. Did you pack your books and the card for Grandma Bea?” Lila said.
“Yes, Mother.”
She reached for the suitcase, but Evan rushed over and picked it up.
“I can carry it,” he said. “Do you want to hurt your back again, right before your trip?”
“Well, if you’re sure you can manage it,” she said. “I don’t want you to rupture something.”
He rolled his eyes and said, “Please, I’m not going to get a rupture!”
They walked toward the waiting bus, Lila checking the list she had taken from her purse.
“Okay, do you have your good jacket, your extra belt, and—”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Your new sneakers?”
He looked down at his brand-new Keds. “I’m wearing them,” he said, shaking his head in mild disgust. “We went through that list an hour ago. It might be a little late now, don’t you think?”
“Now, don’t be a smart aleck, dear. I could certainly mail those things to you, now, couldn’t I?” She snapped the clasp on the large purse she was carrying and pulled out two comic books. She handed them to Evan, then snatched a brand new brown leather wallet from the side pouch. “Your money is behind the little window compartment. Now, make sure you tuck this deep into your pocket so it doesn’t fall out,” she said as she demonstrated the prescribed tucking technique. Evan took it and jammed it into the hip pocket of his jeans. “And I hope you brought your harmonica. The people on the bus might enjoy hearing you play. Music helps pass the time on a long trip, you know.”
At Lila’s suggestion, Gladys had given Evan a top of the line harmonica for his last birthday. Evan had plenty of musical talent. His father had begun teaching him to play the piano when he was just four years old. Evan’s cognitive skills and tonal awareness had been uncanny, especially for a child his age. After his father’s death, Evan’s interest in music had waned. Lila hoped the harmonica might rekindle it.
Got it right here, Mother.” He pulled the instrument from his pocket and waved it to allay any doubt.
They sat on a bench in front of the station and watched as the driver tossed the bags into the cavern under the bus.
Lila lit a cigarette and took a couple of puffs. “Evan, you know, I don’t like the idea of leaving you with Grandma Bea all summer, but I hope you understand, it’s important for both of us that I get this job and get off to a good start. It can mean everything to our future. Aunt Gladys offered to help out, but you wouldn’t have been happy staying with her, would you?” She took another puff on her cigarette.
Evan looked at her and gave another roll of the eyes.
“I didn’t think so. You’ll have a good time at Grandma’s. She loves you a lot. She’ll be grateful for the company,” Lila said.
“Mother, it’s okay. You know I have a lot of friends in Laurenville, probably more than I have here. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Everyone headed south may begin boarding. Please be sure you have your ticket and all your belongings. Once we leave the barn, we don’t look back!” the driver said as he began to assist people onto the bus.
“Now remember what I said. You give that driver a good up and down inspection as you board, and when you get off at those rest stops, you make sure you keep him in sight all the time you’re there. When he gets up, you follow him. The bus can’t leave without him,” Lila said.
“What about when he goes to the restroom?” Evan said.
“Very funny,” she said and mashed the half-smoked, lipstick-smeared cigarette into the ashtray beside her. Lila didn’t have a robust sense of humor. “Now, get over here and give me a big hug.”
“I’m going to miss you, Mom.” He patted her on the back as they embraced.
“And I’ll miss you,” she said. “You’re the best son a mother could ask for.”
[Want more? Click below to read a longer excerpt.]


Praise for the Book
“With Melding Spirits, Michael Burge crafts a poignant coming-of-age story laced with suspense and grit. Crossing genres, this story is sure to appeal to a wide audience. […] Burge keeps the reader guessing and achieves an exhilarating climax toward the end of the novel. Aside from some profanity, this is a relatively clean read, with no graphic details or bedroom scenes, and I recommend it as a fantastic summer read.” ~ Litterarum Studiosus
“I enjoyed reading the story. There were many fun and interesting side stories to the plot. The tension of the story grows as you continue to read. It was fun to see all the pieces fit together to the somewhat surprise ending. There were also some great side characters to the story that added to the overall story.” ~ Dale Hansen
“I just loved this book very well written about growing up in the late 50's, your first love, standing up for a friend. Buy this book read it you won't be disappointed!” ~ Christina
“The suspense made me want to keep reading to find out what was going to happen next. It is definitely not a book that I could predict. I had it read in one day. It is that good. I am giving Melding Spirits a well deserved five plus stars. I would give one hundred stars if I could. I highly recommend it for other readers to add to their must read lists. I look forward to reading more by Michael E Burge and see where else he takes a reader to next. He has extraordinary talent. Melding Spirits is most definitely a must read!” ~ Amy C
“What a delightful book. Michael E. Burge has a way of getting into his characters hearts. I love meeting Evan, Katie, Riley, and Grandma Bea. Mr. O'Malley reminded me of my Papa. This story takes you back to a simpler time of 1958, where neighbors helped each other and looked after one another. I really enjoyed the build-up of this story and loved the ending. Truly a melding of spirits. I highly recommend this book.” ~ Amazon Customer


My Review
I received this book in return for an honest review.


By Lynda Dickson
It’s 1959 and twelve-year-old Evan is sent to spend the summer with his Grandma Bea. There, he runs into some old friends and makes some new ones. He spends time searching for Indian relics, eating ice cream at Dairy Queen, discussing movies and music, going fishing, and experiencing first love. Meanwhile, teenage girls are disappearing, and a murderer is on the loose …
Initially, this book appears to be a quiet look at the idyllic goings-on in the summer of a twelve-year-old boy. We are introduced to the characters and given an insight into their background, whether they are main characters or not. A lot of this is unnecessary but adds to the quiet charm of the book. Then the book takes a turn, and it feels like we have been thrust into an episode of Criminal Minds. This book doesn’t know what it wants to be. It reads like a middle grade action/adventure/romance but the language and violence place it firmly in the adult demographic. The chapters switch between the points-of-view of children and adults but, towards the end, we are head-hopping from paragraph to paragraph. Editing errors include overuse of exclamation marks and unnecessary italicizing of words and phrases. In addition, the title and cover image don’t accurately reflect the story. There is one reference to the melding of spirits in the book (see below), but it has no bearing on the plot, while the bridge on the cover only makes a minor appearance towards the end of the book.
Not what I expected.
Warnings: coarse language, sexual references, violence.

Some of My Favorite Lines
“They believed that every living creature has an energy, a spirit, that after death becomes even stronger because it melds with every other being that came before.”
“Sometimes, a person’s dreams have to be altered a bit.”
“He said most people just stumble along waiting for something good to happen, then before they know it, they’re out of time, kind of like a balloon that shoots around the room in every direction until it runs out of air, then it just lays there.”
“It must be hard having all that ability and knowing that you’ll never be able to use it. What a waste. Like being a bird in a cage.”
“You get used to it. I guess, after a while, change starts seeming normal.”
“I think that being happy has a lot to do with being able to control the thoughts that come into your mind.”
“Everyone has a story, son. Sadly, for most people, their story is never told.”

About the Author
Michael E. Burge
Michael E. Burge grew up in the Chicago suburbs and a small town on the Wabash River in Southern Illinois.
In the late sixties, he left college to serve on a U.S. Navy destroyer out of Norfolk, Virginia. Upon leaving the service, he transitioned to a career in the burgeoning computer industry, positions in product management and marketing.
He is now pursuing his lifelong interest in writing, publishing his debut novel, Bryant’s Gap, in 2015 and his second, Melding Spirits, in 2017.
Michael also plays piano, paints, and is an avid golfer. He and his family currently live in Illinois.


Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win one of seven copies of Melding Spirits by Michael E. Burge. Two winners will also win a $20 Amazon gift card (open to USA/Canada only).

Links



Monday, November 9, 2015

"Bryant's Gap" by Michael E. Burge

GUEST POST and GIVEAWAY
Bryant's Gap
by Michael E. Burge


Bryant's Gap is currently on tour with Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours. The tour stops here today for a guest post by author Michael E. Burge, an excerpt, and a giveaway. Please be sure to visit the other tour stops as well.


Description
In 1947 postwar Chicago, mob related violence is commonplace. Nothing stands in the way of the "Outfit" when it comes to making money; a body here or there, who really cares as long as everyone’s pockets are lined, but when a man is found dead in a small Illinois town - people take notice.
Bargetown’s Chief of Police Bert Thatcher looks to a seasoned and astute railroad detective, Grady Colston, for help in solving the case. Fate has brought them together, but they soon realize just how much they have in common. A tight bond develops between the two men as they strive to uncover the identity of the man found dead on the railroad tracks - his right arm severed. As the investigation unfolds, surprising details of the man’s past come to light, and the circumstances of his death pose a major dilemma for Grady and Bert.


Excerpt from Chapter 2
Follow the Tracks
Bargetown, IL
Thursday—August 7, 1947
Afternoon
Bert Thatcher, Bargetown’s chief of police for the last twenty years, was standing about a hundred yards down the railroad tracks when Grady Colston spotted him from the highway.
Grady slowly worked his way down the steep, moss-covered concrete embankment under the overpass. A foot in the wrong place and he would be on his ass, sliding toward the thick patch of bramble below.
When he reached level ground, he walked along the narrow, overgrown path to a small clearing where he had access to the tracks. A dozen crows were circling overhead, and from a nearby grove of pines, he could hear the annoying chatter of a host of others. He climbed the mound of ballast, stepped between the rails, and began moving from one tie to the next, carefully avoiding the pools of oil that had collected in several locations along the way. The last time he’d walked a stretch of tracks he had to scrap the pants he was wearing and use turpentine to remove the tar and oil that coated his newly polished Florsheims.
Grady had been a railroad detective for more than two decades. He had walked miles of track. Not my favorite part of the job, he thought, as he moved gingerly along, instinctively looking for anything that didn’t fit the scene.
He could smell the diesel fuel from the exhaust vents in the corrugated-metal Quonset hut in the lot adjacent to the tracks. The mechanics were busy inside. He could hear the sound of motors and metal-to-metal hammering. The sign on the front of the building read:
WILKES DIESEL ENGINE REPAIR
As he approached, he could see patches of sweat adorning the Chief’s khaki shirt. His dark green trousers were sharply creased, and there was a narrow black stripe running down the outside seam. The green matched the wide-brimmed straw campaign hat that sat high on his head. His holster was slung low around his waist to accommodate his melon-sized belly, and the .45 revolver looked a lot like the one Joel McCrea used to shoot his way through Indian Territory in a movie Grady had seen a year ago.
He’d never met Bert Thatcher, but recognized him from photographs. Bert was puffing on a cigar, studying the scene around the body that lay at his feet. Grady extended his hand. Bert grabbed it, squeezed, and pumped like he was trying to bring water up from a dry well.
“Good to finally meet you, Mr. Colston.”
“It’s a pleasure, please, call me Grady. I don’t know why we haven’t bumped into each other over the years, Chief. We’ve both been at this business a long time.”
“I saw you around the depot a time or two. Meant to introduce myself, but wasn’t quick enough on the draw. You were gone before I could get to you.”
“How did you know I was in town?”
“I had my secretary call the Illinois Central office about an hour ago to get some information on the train schedules, and they told her you were here. Good thing they were able to get ahold of you before you checked out. I’m bettin’ you’ve dealt with a lot more stiffs over the years than I have, and I’ve got a strong feelin’ I’m going to need all the help I can get on this one.”
Bert reached down, lifted the gray tarp from the body, and tossed it aside. It was a man’s body, lying face down, outside and parallel to one of the track rails. The light green short-sleeved shirt and dark pants he wore were matted with dried blood that had flowed from a place below his right shoulder, where his arm had been attached.
“Where the hell is his arm?” Grady asked, scanning the area for a clue.
“Not much mystery there,” Bert said, and pointed to a spot down the tracks about thirty yards. “We threw a tarp over the limb as well. Birds were feeding on it. I reckon dogs may have dragged it to where it is now. There’s a pack of wild ones that cross through this patch a few times a day on their way to the dump. Some of the men who work at Wilkes’ don’t even like walking to their vehicles at night. A couple of those hounds looked rabid.”
While the chief was talking, Grady spotted the trail of blood from the body along the track toward the severed limb.
“The way I see it, this fella was looking for a hitch to somewhere down the line and decided to let the I.C. pay for the ticket.” Bert was chewing on the end of his cigar stub between words. “Looks like he may have made a slight miscalculation when he tried to grab on, got caught up somehow and was dragged a ways. Got a contusion on the side of his coconut the size of a baseball, and cuts and bruises all over his body. He probably fell under the train and it lopped off his arm, or maybe he was lyin’ there and another train came along and did the job. Either way, let’s hope the blow to the head knocked him silly before the arm got ripped. I wouldn’t wish that kind of pain on my worst enemy.”

Praise for the Book
"Bryant’s Gap is an intriguing murder mystery with much stronger character development than you see in many of today’s bestsellers." ~ Kimberly @Lazy Day Books
"Well written, suspenseful and I loved the character development accomplished in this murder mystery. Some books take a while to get into or get my interest at all, but this one reeled me in from the beginning. I enjoyed some Chicago Nostalgia weaved into the book as well, so enjoy and take a chance on this one!" ~ Scott
"Mr. Burge has provided us with a highly complicated plot. Bert and Grady are really interesting characters that develop and become more interesting as the story goes on. Bryant’s Gap is loaded with twists and turns that will leave you guessing all the while you are flipping pages to find out what happens next. Mr. Burge has provided us with a fairly exciting book and well worth the read." ~ VicG
"This is one of those books that make you believe that the system is not always the best. Sometimes you have to go against the rules to have a better outcome. The mystery was good, and I was unsure what was going on with the victim's arm. I thought that it was cut off because of DNA or some evidence. This was also a great mob read. Also the references were fun and I enjoyed them." ~ Amazon Customer
"What a wonderful book. Michael paints a image in your mind as you read the story. The characters truly come to life. The story evolves, you follow in your mind and live through the characters. You imagine the scene, you follow as your turn each page. I loved each page, each chapter and the end was uplifting. Great job all together." ~ John S. Evers
  

Guest Post by the Author
My Childhood Experiences and their Impact on My Writing
About a month ago, I presented my book, Bryant’s Gap, at a library not far from where I was born. During the presentation I was discussing the locations where I grew up. A member of the audience asked if my childhood had significantly impacted my writing. I responded in the affirmative, but didn’t have much time to elaborate.
During the drive home, I began to ponder that question, and I concluded that my upbringing had indeed significantly impacted me, and therefore my writing, in a number of different ways. There were several contributing factors.
First, although I had a brother and a sister, we were many years apart, and didn’t grow up together. Each of us had sort of an only child upbringing. There weren’t many children in the neighborhood, so I spent a great deal of time playing alone. I would make up games to occupy myself, and I even had an imaginary friend I called Junior. He and I had a lot of good times together! Fortunately, I abandoned Junior somewhere around second grade, and haven’t had any imaginary friends since. The point is, it appears I developed a fairly vivid imagination at an early age.
Furthermore, my parents had a lot of friends and were always on the go. Although I wasn’t always elated about it, I often went along for the ride. Whereas some children lead relatively sheltered lives, by the time I was ten years old, I had become acquainted with hundreds of diverse people in varied settings; a large pool of personalities to meld together and sculpt into characters for a novel.
Lastly, both my parents worked, so during the fifties, when I was in grade school, I would arrive home from school to find an empty apartment, a note, and some spending money. Often, after I did my homework, I was out the door headed for one of two movie theatres within walking distance. On the way, I would stop for dinner, a fifteen cent hamburger, fries and a Coke. I guess I would have been what people refer to today as a latch key kid. I saw a ton of movies during my youth, and to this day I still love them. There was no rating system in place back then, so many of the movies had a mature theme. I remember seeing a film in 1957 called 12 Angry Men. It was a movie about the deliberation of the guilt or acquittal of an eighteen-year old boy for the alleged stabbing of his father. The entire drama unfolded in the juror room. It wasn’t exactly the type of film you would expect a kid to be interested in, but I truly enjoyed it. I was eleven years old at the time. I remember replaying the movie in my mind for quite some time, intrigued by the intricacies of the plot.
I view fiction writing as the process of retrieving experiences and images from the memory banks of the mind, using imagination to blend them together, and shape them into characters and situations to create a story. The more data available to draw upon, the easier it is for one to write a robust story.
Do childhood experiences affect our writing? The way I see it, my childhood created a vast reservoir of material - all I need do is put my imagination to work.

About the Author
Michael E. Burge learned to play the piano in his forties, golf in his fifties, and now, recently retired from a career in marketing, has gone on to publish his first novel - Bryant’s Gap. Set in 1947, the story is peppered with childhood memories of the locations where he grew up; a small town on the Wabash River and the suburbs of Chicago.



Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a $20 Amazon gift card or one of five ebook copies of Bryant's Gap by Michael E. Burge (US only).

Links