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Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Sunday, March 26, 2017
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Friday, September 19, 2014
"All My Sins Remembered" by Adam Stanley
REVIEW
All My Sins Remembered
by Adam Stanley
All My Sins Remembered is the first novel by poet Adam Stanley.
Description
The years is 2009, and Andrew White has just had his last argument with his first love, Leigh Mallory, whom he has not seen in almost ten years. In the sultry heat of a July, Atlanta night, he sweats out his sins and his regrets in a cheap motel, somewhere just off I-75. He has been in love with her for twenty years, and there have been many casualties along the way, including his own body, mind and soul. His only salvation lies in his enduring love of art, and the realization that maybe there is more to life than Leigh Mallory.
Excerpt
It was true, I had been searching for peace, or at least what I thought was peace. Starting that night after Graduation, when I drove away from Aventine for the first time, alone, and headed south to Key Largo in a car that that seemed empty without Leigh, my life has been one endless search. I have never stopped. And whatever it was I was looking for, I was always moving too fast to notice whether or I had found it or not.
I made up excuses to keep moving. For as long as I can remember, I have been looking for an abstraction that I have always called happiness. In summer I long for the snow. In winter I cry for the sun to return; in the autumn I watch the same leaves die that I watched come to life in the spring, and each season they are equally beautiful. For as long as I can remember, I have been looking for happiness, which is really nothing more than an abstraction; a kind of dream to keep you going year after year; an antidote against the sadness of reality; a lie that keeps you alive. I wait and wait, but there are too many tomorrows, and not enough todays.
Every six months I packed my car and made another impulsive move to an adjacent state. Following a lover or a dream, it always seemed just a few more miles down some Southern interstate, where the only difference was the vegetation, and a slight rise in humidity with every inch I drove further south on the map. Too often I found myself alone on some endless road, all the bridges I had spent so much time building, burned and left behind. Like that morning I had when I woke up in Nashville, alone, and hung-over, not sure what I had done wrong but it must have been bad because when I got up and looked in the mirror, both of my eyes were black and my face was caked in blood. Just like all the other times, I got in my car and drove south as fast as I could. This time it was a cousin in Mobile. Later, while I sped down interstate 65, I remembered bits of the night before. I had gotten very drunk and hit on this guy’s wife and he pulled a gun.
That’s all I remembered as I drove on, the lights from Montgomery fading in the rear-view. South Alabama was nothing but darkness and with the windows down I could smell the invisible cotton fields and rolling pastures strong with the acrid scent of manure in the warm, early spring air. As I drove on, radio stations passed away; old Country dissipated into static, then fluctuated for an hour or so between a screaming Pentecostal preacher, and a wavering Bach string quartet, before the Classic Rock station in Mobile took over for good.
This was not the first time I had taken this escape root [sic]. No matter where I was going, the desolation of these flat, lonely highways was unavoidable. Every time I ran from something, I was always driving in Alabama, and just like every other time, I always ran out of road.
It was water that stopped me every time. The ocean was the inevitable end to all my journeys. Whether it be the wild, reptile infested outcroppings of bayou and wetland that lie hidden like an Eden just south of New Orleans, beyond the iron bridge, where the Big River pours out its soul into the Gulf; or Biloxi, sitting entranced by a black jack dealer whose hand’s fluttered gracefully as a bird, watching the water in quick glances through the windows as he shuffled the cards like a magician. Pensacola, the beaches white as frozen tundra, sandbars rising in the green waves like humpback whales.
There were even bolder attempts to lose myself in the illusion of distance. I spent a few months in Europe, living on trains and in hostels. But no matter how far I traveled, the past was always close enough to feel its warmth on my face, its chill in my bones, its beauty and sadness brighter and clearer than it had ever been. Once, while waiting for a ferry to cross the English Chanel, I stood on the edge of a giant white cliff looking into the ancient turbulence filled with rusting Spitfires and cannon-blasted Spanish Galleons; I thought of Leer, and how we take the plunge into maturity and finally senescence, like a proud, blind King who is no better than his fool as he wades into the deep waters of death.
On the flight back to Atlanta, from France, I woke up and the clouds below looked like sand dunes or snow, and buried under them was the Atlantic. Everyone else was sleeping. The sky was very blue. The blue got darker and darker until it looked like night, like a sketch of the stratosphere I had seen in a science book in third grade.
Closest to outer space I will ever get; nearest to heaven I’ll ever be.
Some of My Favorite Lines
There are so many great lines in this book, including those in the images featured in this blog post. You can also check out the author's Facebook page and Tumblr blog for more images and quotes.
"The past is a dangerous place. Lately, I have been going there way too often - but there is nowhere else to go."
" ... she was his reason for living, and had been since he was fifteen."
"Like sound, not all silence is the same."
"Dying can be a very slow process."
"Even if someone would have told me that all those smiles would turn into wrinkles, I would have smiled anyway. A smile is worth it. You are going to grow old anyway, why not do it while smiling."
"She had loved heroin more than her own child."
"It is sad how someone can mean so much to you, and be such an important part of your life, and then, because of time, or other uncontrollable circumstances, you never see them again."
"Not all flowers are snipped as cleanly and perfectly by the careful hands of a florist as the fairytale ends of long-stem roses. The rarest, and most hauntingly beautiful wildflowers are ripped from the earth in a frenzied moment of passion, pulled up by their roots, with no thought of consequences or the possible aftermath."
My Review
By Lynda Dickson
The title, a quote from Shakespeare's Hamlet, is extremely apt and sets the mood for this poignant story. Andrew is a man haunted by many things, but mainly by his obsession for Leigh Mallory, his first love. Abandoned by his drug-addict mother at the age of four, his life has been marked by one disappointment after another. Now approaching forty, he sits drinking in a seedy motel and recalls his loves, his losses, his regrets, and the sins of his youth. He also contemplates suicide.
I have been following the author on Tumblr for a few years and was excited when I found out his book had finally been published. Unfortunately, I was in for a big disappointment. There is no doubt that the author knows how to write. The language is rich and beautiful and compels one to keep reading, even though the plot is barely existent and the book consists mainly of the stream-of-consciousness musings of a middle-aged drunkard. But that's not my complaint. Those of you who follow my reviews will know that nothing annoys me more than poor editing. Unfortunately, this is one of the worst-edited books I have come across. I would go so far as to suggest that no one other than the author read the manuscript before it was published; it doesn't even appear as if the author himself re-read it. It puts me in mind of Chuck Wendig's quote referenced in one of my recent blog posts: "Just yarf it up". The author did just that, but then he didn't clean up after himself.
Formatting and proofreading problems include: no paragraph indentations, overuse of commas, lack of apostrophes, incorrect punctuation in speech, incorrect word usage, spelling mistakes, lack of capitalization, inconsistencies with names (Corey/Cory, Rachael/Rachel), repetition. Other problems: the narrative jumps around with not enough indication of time and place, making it extremely difficult to follow; there are too many characters, making it hard to keep track of who is actually important to the story; I couldn't follow the action in the New Orleans incident, a pivotal event in Andrew's life; there isn't enough character development to explain Andrew's obsession with Leigh Mallory. It's a great shame there are so many problems with this book because the writing is beautiful, the narrative is compelling, and the story is heart-felt. My note to the author: get your book edited and republished.
Warnings: coarse language, drug use, alcohol abuse.
About the Author
Adam Stanley has been publishing poems and short stories for the last twenty years. Some of his credits include, "The Old Red Kimono", "The Prairie Schooner", and "Chum". He is an amateur musician and music lover, and his works are often imbued with a musicality that he still retains from his days as a rock musician and a student of Classical piano. He lives in rural Georgia. All My Sins Remembered is his first novel.
Links
Friday, August 29, 2014
"Next to You" by Claudia Y. Burgoa
GUEST POST and GIVEAWAY
Next to You
(Life Book 2)
(Life Book 2)
by Claudia Y. Burgoa
Next to You is the second book in Claudia Y. Burgoa's Life series. Also available: Where Life Takes You (read my blog post).
Next to You is currently on tour with Xpresso Book Tours. The tour stops here today for a guest post by the author and a giveaway. Please make sure you visit the other tour stops as well.
You can read about another of Claudia's books, Getting By (A Knight's Tale Book 1), as well as an interview with the author, in another blog post.
Description
Him
… I need time. Time to heal those wings and learn to use them …
Was part of the letter Rebecca Trent, Daniel Brightmore’s fiancée and best friend left when she ran away. The person he trusted the most for the past decade disappeared without giving him a second glance. She taught him how to love, believe in family and that everyone deserves a happily ever after. Now he’s struggling between wiping any traces of her from his life and drowning his sorrows away with the help of his new best friends - Don Julio and Jack Daniels.
Her
Rebecca’s past suffocated her to the point of not wanting to continue, her lifeline and the only reason to live began to withdraw from her. She wished it had been her imagination, but heard it loud and clear: “If not, there’s always a divorce, nothing is forever.” This time it became a leave or die situation. Something has got to change - she had to change. Packing light and leaving a letter behind, she takes a journey that can help her find herself through the shards of her painful childhood.
As letters, memories and stories are exchanged, two once inseparable people reconcile what’s left of their relationship. Beyond the confines of everything they built together, they’re left with two lonely people searching for what it means to be whole. Will they find meaning under their bruised psyches or will their pasts get the better of them?
Excerpt
From Becca’s list, I have accomplished two things: I didn’t look for her and I haven’t dated Trish. At the moment I’m at Sotano—Buddy’s night club—with a blond draped on my left, a brunette on my right and another blond next to her. One is slim, one curvy in the right places and the other in-between. All types, so no one gives me some shit that I have preferences or a type, because I don’t. Before we began this encounter, I asked them if they were sluts—Becca was very specific that I shouldn’t date that type. Of course, while we made the introductions, I omitted the part where my ex asked me not to date skanks—or easy women—I’m not an idiot. With a giggle the three of them shook their heads about the slutty part. Though the barely there material covering their bodies made me wonder if they were being honest. Of course, as a gentleman, I didn’t question them any further. Three at the same time should shorten the amount of women I should date. Though Becca didn’t give me a specific number of females I should go out with. As of right now, she hasn’t answered any of my fucking emails. There are several unanswered questions. Like duration of the dates? Can I fuck them? I don’t know, because Rebecca refuses to give me any further instructions. Perhaps, next time I’ll send her a letter to that address she gave me in her six page correspondence—front and back. Geneva, quite a trip and whoever helped her will pay. I just need a moment to regroup and plan my vengeance.
“Ladies, if you excuse me.” I run both hands through my hair when I hear that. Buddy is interrupting one of the girls, she was telling me something about her career in communications. That is rude. He should be thankful that I’m not at my best. If not I would beat the hell out of him for sticking his nose where nobody wants him. My fucking friends, brothers and security personal believe they are my sitters. Buddy—my foster brother—is looking all shades of pissed. Next time I need to take my dating to a place he doesn’t own. “D, out!”
Guest Post by the Author
The Writing Process
My process has evolved…
We know there are two types of writers: Plotters and Pantsers.
Being a pantser is fun, and I’m not afraid to confess that I’m a pantser at heart. Like all those amazing super heroes that instead of tracing a plan, they save the world as they go - not that I’m saving the world. The thing is that I make up things as I type. It’s like going to an archeological site and have two options, guide or discover on your own. I take the latter because that’s so much fun, right?
As much fun as it is - imagine visiting Disneyworld without having a map - after three published novels, I had to stop. Why is that? Because though I follow what my characters are supposed to do, there are times - multiple times - when I have to erase entire chapters because I took them to the wrong exit. All of a sudden my heroine is a wiping idiot that lost her strengths right before the end, when she’s supposed to have done the opposite.
During the development of Standing By, and as I tried to figure out why was it that I spent so much time rewriting, I send my work to a developmental editor. As she pick apart my manuscript, showed me the strengths, the weaknesses and the incoherent thoughts, she also gave me a few tips. Before I sat down to rewrite Standing By, I drew an outline, based on my initial plot, my characters motives, their personalities and the end of the story.
As I’m working on my two next novels - the third book of the Knight’s tales and a new Sci-Fi series, I’m doing something similar.
I wrote my initial manuscript, the 10-20k words draft where I get to meet my main characters. The ones that popped out from my imagination, I write down my mc’s profile, names, traits and physical characteristics. Then draw the plot … though I only have such for one of the books. The Sci-Fi book is right now waiting for me to define exactly what I want from it.
In a few words, I’m a world traveler that uses a map.
Featured Review
This is the much awaited sequel of Where Life Takes You. I can tell you that I was in pins and needles after reading the first book waiting to find out how Daniel and Rebecca were ever to resolve their issues.
With Rebecca's past literally paralyzing her and making her suicidal and Daniel's need for control, my emotions were flying everywhere when I read her goodbye letter. Our author has a way with her words where the emotions are brought to the surface and we cannot hold back - we are involved!
Following these two lovers through their reactions to their separation is probably best described as bungee jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. Down ... Up... Down ... Chaos! Loved the scene with the burning car. What can I tell you - I am divorced and know how it feels to think someone you love has abandoned you! The rage you feel can make you do crazy things!
About the Author
Claudia lives in Colorado with her family and three dogs. Two beagles who believe they are human, and a bichon who thinks she’s a beagle. While managing life, she works as a CFO at a small IT Company. She’s a dreamer who enjoys music, laughter and a good story.
Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win some great prizes, including a $100 Amazon gift card or PayPal cash (open internationally).
Links
Friday, June 27, 2014
"Where Life Takes You" by Claudia Y. Burgoa
EXCERPT and GIVEAWAY
Where Life Takes You
(Life Book 1)
(Life Book 1)
by Claudia Y. Burgoa
Where Life Takes You is the first book in Claudia Y. Burgoa's Life series. Coming soon: Next to You.
Where Life Takes You is currently on tour with Xpresso Book Tours. The tour stops here today for an excerpt and a giveaway. Please make sure you visit the other tour stops as well.
You can read about another of Claudia's books, Getting By, as well as an interview with the author in another blog post.
Description
Becca Trent lived her childhood next to a cruel woman - her mom - who lived to torment and neglect her. During her high school years, her mother married; bringing home not only a new husband, but a step-sister her same age. The latter took over her Mom’s role - making Becca’s life miserable. Including stealing Ian - Becca’s best friend and boyfriend - Lisa treated her worse than her mother had for the previous fifteen years. A couple of years later, things ended up in tragedy.
Becca buried that part of her life in the deep corners of her psyche, caught between sanity and nightmares. Between therapy, work, and her constantly looming past, she can't seem to find room to breathe. The memories of her late step-sister, Lisa, are her closest company.
Her best friend, Dan gives her that family love she always lacked. Everything was close to perfect, until everything and everyone from her past came back. Now, she’s trying to figure out how to survive and keep that bond which seems now to be held together by a thread.
Excerpt
My anti-fairy tale began like any other Telenovela. Thanksgiving was the first time Ian and I had seen one another in months. When Lisa came into the picture, he sank into the background of her demented fantasy—the one where life was a fun house and we were all her carnies in a three ring act that was sure to end in a bang. Ian tried to stay with me for as long as he could. In the beginning, he still climbed the tree house in the old oak next to my room every night, as if nothing had changed.
We would lie on my bed and talk, even if it was three AM when he rolled in from the latest party. Nothing was off limits between us. He knew all my thoughts, secrets, and fears. He was the ghostwriter to the memoir I would one day write about our lives.
There was far too much pressure on him to become the beacon of light for our sad little town, to make a name for himself. Everyone was counting on him to be the one to beat the odds, and to hand life and hope back to us on a silver platter. I was guilty of adding to the heaping pile of desperate dreams thrust at Ian. I knew that now.
Ian was the hunky blockbuster action hero, he was the dopey best friend, and the only family I had since Grandma’s death. He was my everything, and maybe I told him that one time too many times. I knew about the partying—he stayed out past curfew almost every Friday night—but it was just a little harmless fun, right? What was important was that he was there for me. I needed him; he cradled my heart whenever I couldn’t hold my own. He was supportive and gentle and kind.
Until Lisa stepped in and withered Ian, along with everything else decent in my life. I never knew the specifics of how their relationship began, but from what I gathered it was fairly simple. He was the boy next door and she was the new, exciting thing that had drifted into town. He liked to party, and funnily enough, so did she. Lisa’s idea of a party, however, was vastly different from everything I knew about Ian. Her favorite pastimes included binge drinking, smoking, and injecting anything she could get her hands on. Considering her ample funds at the time, this included most, if not all, drugs.
She propositioned him with a world where everything was pure. With all that Ian had on his plate, an “escape” must have been enticing. The temptation of lawlessness spread to other aspects of his life, however, and soon he was spending more time with Lisa and her narcotics than he ever had on his studies, activities, or me. At some point, he stopped hiding his newfound hobby of toking it up with that bitch. The boy I knew, the boy I’d loved since childhood, didn’t see the light of day anymore, even though I still saw Ian often enough. He and Lisa clung to each other like survivors of a shipwreck. It made me curl into myself further, knowing that I was losing him and, worse, that there was nothing I could do.
Senior year had found me alone on Thanksgiving. Mom, Greg, and Lisa had flown to Phoenix to visit relatives and celebrate the holiday together. That was when, for the first time in what felt like ages, I heard a familiar tapping at my window.
The sound startled me into semi-consciousness. It woke me up just enough to instinctively unlock the window and open it for him, but not enough to remember that this was no longer normal for us. He had no place coming to see me anymore, and especially not in the dead of night when I was home alone. Only when I turned to face him and looked into his glazed and bloodshot eyes did I realize my mistake. He was intoxicated, and in my bedroom, and I had no clue what was running through his mind.
“What are you doing here?” I whispered harshly, avoiding his gaze.
His voice was raspy and distant. “I miss you, Becky.”
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my tone even and clinical. I couldn’t be vulnerable; he wasn’t being fair or rational. “How can you miss me? You abandoned me.”
Ian didn’t respond. His mouth twitched in displeasure with a hint of earnest confusion. It made my blood boil a bit to have him barging back into my life, bent on fixing things between us, without the faintest idea why we’d been so broken lately.
“You left me for Lisa, just like everyone else,” I continued. He needed to know how much he had hurt me. It was my only real opportunity to speak my mind without the evil stepsister lurking in the shadows.
Featured Review
Absolutely fascinating story! I just finished reading this and I wanted more. I need to know if these two characters will be able to deal with their demons and learn to show their affection for each other.
Dan is so controlling. His life has been so out of control in the past that once he was on his way to success all he wanted was to be able to control his surroundings. He cannot fall prey to the chaos he has experienced growing up.
Becca is just the same. She never had any control over her life. The abuse and neglect at her mother's hand did not make life any better. All her life she has had to what she can to make her circumstances bearable while not being able to control how people treated her. After all that she has been through, this book deals with her impending melt down. How will she handle it?
I love Claudia Burgoa's writing. She has the gift of expressing her prose a range of emotions that feel true to life. The sequel to this book should be coming out soon and sure don't want to miss how this story will end.
About the Author
Claudia lives in Colorado with her family and three dogs. Two beagles who believe they are human, and a bichon who thinks she’s a beagle. While managing life, she works as a CFO at a small IT Company. She’s a dreamer who enjoys music, laughter and a good story.
Giveaway
Enter the tour-wide giveaway for a chance to win a Kindle HD or $140 PayPal cash (open internationally).
Links
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