Thursday, January 24, 2013

BOOK REVIEW - KATHERINE TOMLINSON'S NIGHTFALLS: Notes From The End Of The World

Nightfalls: Notes From The End of The WorldNightfalls: Notes From The End of The World by Katherine Tomlinson
My rating: 5 of 5 stars

Author and former editor of Dark Valentine magazine, Katherine Tomlinson brings us Nightfalls: Notes From The End of The World, a collection of short stories themed around 'the end days'... 'armageddon'... 'end of the world'... 'sorry folks, we ran out of calendar, it's been nice knowing you'.   Contributors were asked to tell a story about the last day on Earth.

Katherine has brought together an amazing group of people... some of the most talented writers in fiction today.   I am both humbled and honoured to be a part of this anthology.   Proceeds from sales will benefit at-risk children and their families.

I’d like to take just a few minutes and say a bit about this fascinating collection.

“A few minutes, Veronica? Say a bit?”  Okay, okay… maybe you want to pour a fresh cup before you settle in to read this.

Nightfalls: Notes From The End of The World begins with a story from the man who gave me my first 'break' in to the 'print world'.

If memory serves, I first met Thomas Pluck over at Flash Fiction Friday. The thing is…

Memory can be a cruel mistress.   She will taunt and tease… scattering words and broken thoughts, like breadcrumbs, on the floor of one’s conscious.  If there are secrets that she is not ready to give up – and there always are - no amount of begging will help.  Memory will reveal the bits and pieces of one’s past in her own fashion… and in her own time.   And… she always wants something in return.

But, I digress…

For anyone who has ever read Thomas’s stories, Acapulcolypse is everything one has come to expect from Mr. Pluck… deftly written with a wonderful undercurrent of humour.  I daresay none of us will look at an ocean cruise quite the same way again.

In Some Say The World Will End In Fire, Sidney Anne Harrison brings us a new twist on the ‘world ends in a big, blazing ball of fire’ trope with a revealing look into one man’s madness.  There is a poignancy here that sets the mood beautifully.  The symbolism is inescapable – “The vegetable just continued to stare down at his string beans, as if they held some secret meaning.” - and makes for a very compelling read.  Sidney tells a frightening little tale that left me cold! Well done, Sidney!

“Ren wakes up to find he is scratching his balls.”  And thus begins Chris Rhatigan’s premonition on how life on this big blue spinning marble ends.  In Forward Is Where The Croissantwich Is, Chris brings us a quirky little tale, replete with wit and a rather disturbing look inside the mind of a man whose lift doesn’t quite make it to the top floor, if you’ll pardon the euphemism.  At the end, Chris’s character puts the whole matter of the ‘end of days’ into a perspective that only someone who has seen too much truth, could truly understand.

Kit Laurange’s Somebody Brave conjures up the apocalyptic demise of an ‘other-world’, where ogres and goblins seek to destroy man and dragons eat the sky… where the rattle of ‘bones’ decide… but wait, I can’t tell you!  That’d be giving away the surprise!

In Our Lady, by Dale T Phillip’s, an uncle does what he must to make sure his nephew has Christmas before… before los ángeles quemar.

Nigel Bird, one (of many, I might add… don’t want to be giving Nigel a big head, eh?) of my favorite writers, offers up Greene Day… a DJ’s reflections on the end of all things, good and bad, and waxes nostalgic over regrets too late to change now.  Nigel’s brilliant sense of humour comes through perfectly with that last caller!   Nice one, Mr. Bird!

Megan McCord’s Isabel is a heartbreaking tale of life, love and loss; a touching and poignant look at the ‘end of days’.   This one left a lump in my throat and a salty dampness on my cheek.

Anyone who has read Sandra Seamans knows that her writing never disappoints.   And so it is with The Memory Keeper… a memorable tale of… well, I can’t say too much without revealing the heart of the story.  Let’s just say that there’s a warrior woman and a wise woman… memories to keep and an ending one won’t forget.  Brilliant and imaginative, The Memory Keeper is one of my favorites!

Bon Appétit, Barb Goodman’s most welcome addition to this amazing collection, delivers the not-so-subtle message that one reaps what they sow and that no matter how much time man has left on this spinning orb, it’s never too late to stand up for ourselves.  Great story, Barb!

Christopher Grant’s Déjà Vu is a wonderfully crafted story with a very interesting twist to the ‘end of the world’ theme… a nicely written tale that challenges one’s perceptions of forever.

Denial only works for a short while and then reality kicks it to the curb, as evidenced in Matthew Funk’s It’s Not The End Of The World.  Sharp and tightly written, Matthew’s writing is always a pleasure to read.

A Sound As Of Trumpets offers up one woman’s rationalization for felicide.   Unfortunately, for her, karma really can be a bitch.   Berkeley Hunt writes a nice little ‘quiet horror’ here that is quite satisfying to read.

Col Bury – who let this bloke in? (just kidding, Col!) serves up the darkly humourous Supper Time… a gritty little tale that, were I a man, I would no doubt be squirming in my seat and touching parts of me for reassurance.   Ahh... but look and see who gets the last laugh here!

It takes the end of the world for a son to reconcile with his parents in Alex Keir’s poignant Call The Folks.

A few must be sacrificed for the greater good in Dellani Oakes’ Blackened, a futurist tale of an alien-wrought Armageddon.  I’m not a huge sc-fi fan, but I really enjoyed this story!

The End of Everything is AJ Hayes’ poetic ode to the end of… well, everything!   Beautifully paced verse brings startling imagery to one’s mind’s eye as AJ unveils mankind’s fate.

Last Shift, Steven Luna’s darkly humoured tale, reminds us that, in the end, we get what we deserve… and sometimes, more than we deserve.  Written in the voice of an ego-driven male, Last Shift is definitely on my short-list of favorites.  A little insight into the male mind is never a bad thing, right?

Curse you, Steven… now I can’t get the image of that hot chick in black tank top and shredded jeans, blowing white vapor over her red-painted lips, out of my head!

Into The Night, by… oh, wait… I can’t write about my own story; that’d be a bit self-serving, wouldn’t it? I will say this though.  In writing Into The Night, in order to bring the emotional depth to the story that I had in mind, it was necessary to resurrect a part of my past that has taken me a long time to come to terms with.   Such are the ‘sacrifices’ a writer makes for their craft.

There is a quiet, building horror to Richard Godwin’s Blackout… from the opening lines with the two protagonists discussing proper language use – I’m paraphrasing here: ‘just because the world is ending, is no reason for sloppy language’ – to his description of a naked woman in the street and two men eating her legs, Richard builds on a theme… inevitability.  Blackout is one of Richard’s ‘quieter’ stories… it is also one of his most powerful stories.  Poignant and reflective, Richard Godwin delivers!

“… Val Sweeney had been present at the beginnings of a few too many apocalypses…” And with that rather cryptic remark, Scott J Laurange’s Amidst Encircling Gloom captivates the reader, pulling them into Scott’s intriguing tale of Earth’s last days.  There is a thread of subtle humour throughout that strikes just the right chord, woven in with some beautifully descriptive phrasing…. “Val’s smile had fallen into his scotch…” … I can almost hear the splash!  Brilliantly macabre, Amidst Encircling Gloom is a ‘must-read’!

Devotee, G Wells Taylor’s contribution to this little soiree, is a haunting look at one man’s ‘world’… a world that slowly fades away… a world where not even the eternity of love can stop the inevitability of time.   Devotee is truly memorable.  This is a story that is going to stick in my mind for some time.


R.C. Barnes' Princess Soda and the Bubblegum Knight is the powerful and moving story of sisters facing the last day… and granting one last wish before… night falls and not even an echo survives in the darkness.

In The Last Wave, Kaye George gives us a look at an ‘end times’ precipitated by a shift in government.   It’s a cautionary tale… “Be careful what you wish for; you just may get it.”  After reading this story, I may cut back on my blogging.

In Allan Leverone’s The Dogs On Main Street Howl, not even an apocalypse can keep Kate from making it to Broadway.  Only thing is… there is no one to share her success with.   Except for the overdue baby nestled in her distended womb, Kate is alone in the ‘Concrete Jungle’ … just her, the baby and…‘The Things”.

The Knitted Gaol-Born Sow Monkey, by Peter Mark May, offers a ‘last day on earth’ look on prisoner Anthony Slaven… who exchanges one prison for another.  Dark magic blended with dark imagery, Peter’s story left a chill over me.  Nicely done, Peter… nicely done!

We always think… hope, rather… that there is time enough to reconcile past regrets.  Christian Dabnor’s Crossfade explores this hope, bringing to the reader a deftly written tale of human frailties and failings.

Jesse James Freeman brings us The Tasting, a tautly-written plague apocalypse tale.  There is a dark poignancy here that rather tugs at the heartstrings.  Brilliantly descriptive and evocative, The Tasting is a memorable read.

The Annas, by Patricia Abbott, is a haunting story… a morality tale, really… of a future doomed before its inception.  I must admit, the feminist in me finds a certain appeal in the concept presented in The Annas.  I probably ought not say too much more though, lest I give something away.  Patricia has written a wonderfully imaginative story with an ending that gave me goose pimples!  I enjoyed The Annas so much I had to read it again… and then, again!  Brava, Patricia!

Jimmy Callaway’s Night Train To Mundo Fine is a quirky little tale with a fine erotic touch.  I suppose there are worse ways to spend your last day on Earth.  Nice one, Jimmy!

Thank you, Katherine, for your tireless efforts in bringing this all together.  I'm sure I speak for everyone involved in this project in saying how much we are honoured to take part in this with you, especially one done for such a worthwhile cause.  Knowing that the proceeds will go to benefit at-risk children and their parents was all the incentive we needed to 'put pencil to paper' and bring a story or poem to you.   And, knowing that we are helping others is all the 'thanks' we could ever ask for.

Thank you for giving us this opportunity to, if I may borrow a few words from your introduction to Nightfalls, 'light a candle against the darkness'.


Veronica Marie Lewis-Shaw
12 January 2013
Cannon Beach, Oregon


View all my reviews

Saturday, December 29, 2012

DRUNK ON THE MOON 2 – A New Roman Dalton Anthology by Paul D Brazill

You know how, come Christmas morning, you felt there was something missing from under the tree... but you couldn't quite put your finger on what it was? Allow me...

Paul D. Brazill and Pulp Metal Fiction bring you the long-awaited follow up to Paul's first Drunk On The Moon anthology.... (drum roll, please!)




Paul's latest offering opens with a brilliant introduction by master of the horror/pyschological thriller, Richard Godwin, who makes a stirring argument for bringing a little lycanthropy into the fray between good and evil.

DOTM 2 is packed with such heavy-hitters as Paul D Brazill, Carrie Clevenger, Chad Eagleton, Matt Hilton, Ben LeLievre, Chris RhatiganBen SobieckJJ TonerVincent Zandri and...

Well, look at this... little ol' me... in here with all these 'big fish'! Hang on a sec.... (does little happy dance)...

Thrilled... and honoured... that's what I was when Paul approached me about using one of my 'Erin' pieces in an anthology he was putting together. Of course, I said 'yes'!

Chuffed... is what I am now... seeing my story in print along with these amazing writers... totally chuffed!

Congratulations, Paul... and everyone who has contributed their time and talent to make this anthology possible. It's an amazing collection of stories... I'm going through my second read right now; I can't seem to put it down!

A special thank you to Marcin Drzewiecki & Jason Michel for the amazing (you already said amazing, Veronica)... for the awesome (said that too, sweetie!)... brilliant (mmm...)...

Thank you, Marcin and Jason, for your fantastically inspired cover art! ;-) 

Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Veronica's Kitchen Presents: Nana's Cranberry White Chocolate Chip Cookies


CRANBERRY WHITE CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
from Nana's Recipe Vault

Tina introduced me to her grandmother, Nana, shortly after she brought me back to Portland with her several years ago.  Nana immediately 'adopted' me and took me under her wing in the kitchen.  We have spent many wonderful days... and evenings... in her kitchen, cooking and baking all sorts of deliciousness! 

Nana recently introduced me to this delicious variation of the venerable chocolate chip cookie.  If you love soft, chewy, warm, sweet, slightly tart in your cookies, look no further!  This recipe makes about two dozen cookies... you may want to double it!  

Cranberry White Chocolate Chip Cookies

Ingredients:

1/2 cup unsalted butter, softened
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 cup light brown sugar, packed
1 egg
1 1/2 teaspoons vanilla extract
1 1/2 cups all-purpose flour
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 cup dried cranberries
1 cup white chocolate chips


Instructions:

1.  In a large bowl, cream together the butter and sugars.

2.  Beat in the eggs and vanilla.  For a little ‘extra’, substitute brandy for the vanilla extract and increase amount to two teaspoons.

3.  In a separate bowl, combine the flour and baking soda.

4.  Gradually add the dry ingredients to the wet ingredients and mix well.

5.  Fold in the dried cranberries and baking chips.

6.  Drop by tablespoonfuls onto an ungreased baking sheet leaving about 2 inches in between.  "Remember, Veronica… parchment paper is a girl’s best friend!"

7.  Bake at 375°F for 8 - 10 minutes or until cookies are lightly browned.

8.  Allow cookies to cool on the baking sheet for about 1 minute, then remove from pan to a wire rack and allow cookies to cool completely.



 Cookie dough may also be made ahead of time and frozen for later; dough will keep several weeks in the freezer if stored properly.  To freeze cookie dough:

After folding in the cranberries and white chocolate chips, divide dough out into halves; set one half aside.  Turn dough out on to lightly floured pastry board.  Flatten dough into a rectangle and roll out to a thickness of approximately ¾’.  Transfer to a double layer piece of wax paper and, using a large kitchen knife, cut dough into approximately one inch squares (larger if you want bigger cookies), pressing the knife down through the dough; do not use a sawing motion.  Do not separate.

Repeat with the other half of dough and wrap in freezer wrap or container.  When cooking from frozen dough, you may need to adjust cooking time slightly.

Enjoy!




Saturday, November 17, 2012

2012 NaNoWriMo novel - AFTER THE TEARS - Excerpt from first draft

Full


Synopsis

Six months after being shot by her lover, and prime suspect in the Case of the Missing Monet, Portland police detective Aimee Belanger returns to the force. Assigned to the Vice squad, Amiee's first case takes her undercover in local crime boss Pearce Bedford's organization, where she soon comes face to face with an old 'friend' from her days with the New York City Police Department... who also just happens to be the wife of the man she is investigating. Amiee and Kathryn quickly become 'involved', picking up where they had left off.
Things quickly go pear-shaped however, when Kathryn turns up dead and all signs point to Aimee as the 'trigger'. Aimee finds herself on the run as she flees to New York, in search of the real killer.

Excerpt

04:39 P.M. - 2 April  – Airport Sheraton, Portland
*
“Police! Nobody move!”
The crash of the door against the hotel room wall and the shouted command come in almost the same instant… in the space of a single heart beat. With no more warning than the men in blue gave, I shove the woman’s face from the ‘v’ of my naked thighs and roll off the edge of the over-sized queen bed in one practiced motion, scrambling for my badge and identification, buried somewhere in the small pile of clothes beside the bed. The woman lets out a piercing shriek at the sudden intrusion and grabs for a sheet to cover her own nudity. I grab my badge and turn around, holding it up to the uniforms.
“Don’t shoot… don’t shoot… I’m a cop… I’m a cop…!”
“Hands up… now… now… now, godammit!” I comply.
The air fairly reeks of testosterone as half a dozen of Portland’s finest swarm in to the room, dragging the sheets off of the bed and searching the piles of clothes for weapons, which they find… my department issue 9mm Sig Sauer P226… in its shoulder holster, under the edge of the bed.
Just then, two more policemen enter the room… plainclothes officers. I can only stare helplessly up at my former colleagues from Burglary… Dawson and Gibbs. Swearing silently, under my breath… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck… fuck!

“Well… well… well… look what we have here, Gibbs… our favorite little carpet-muncher! I almost didn’t recognize you without your clothes, Belangér.” Dawson stares for a moment and then turns, smirking, to Gibbs.
“Better go find the crime scene photographer, Tom… gotta preserve the scene.”
“Fuck you, Dawson!” I get up from the floor and then turn my back to the pair, stooping to pick up my clothes. Turning back to face the detectives, I slowly and deliberately begin to dress, as if I could care less that they have seen me naked. One of the uniforms hands Kathryn a sheet to cover herself. Showing considerable calm under the circumstances, she gathers her clothes and then heads to the bathroom to dress, locking the door behind her.
Dawson looks around the room for a moment and then motions me over to a small table in the corner. Gibbs makes to follow the two of us but Dawson shakes his head. Gibbs turns to the lieutenant in charge of the assault team and the other officers begin clearing out of the room. Kathryn is still in the bathroom. The thought enters my mind that all my work of these last few weeks just got flushed down the toilet and I’m back to square one… worse than square one; my cover is blown! As far as Kathryn was concerned, I was the daughter of a ‘card-carrying’ member of the East Coast mob, sent out to the West Coast for my own protection. Kathryn and I shared some ‘history’.
“Aimée, what the hell is going on here? You know the department is investigating Pearce Bedford. What in the hell are you doing with his wife?”
“What’d it look like I was doing? God... you really are dense?”
“You realize you have completely compromised our investigation.”
“I’ve compromised your investigation? Are you serious? What the fuck are you… … this is my investigation and you just blew my cover!”
Just then, the head of Burglary Division – Captain Sam Benson, my old boss – walks in the room. What the hell? He spots Dawson and me in the corner and heads our way.
“Sam?” I can get away with calling the captain by his first name; we spent three years in the trenches together. “What is Burglary doing in the middle of my Vice investigation?” But before Sam can answer, another brass joins the fray – Deputy Chief Fritz Edwards. If there is a less popular man in the entire Portland Police Bureau, I haven’t met him. On top of everything else, Edwards is a narrow-minded, strait-laced asshole… translated – he hates gays and lesbians, but is very careful not to do anything actionable in front of witnesses. Perfect! My day just went from bad to worse! Fuck!
“Detective Belangér, if you actually spent some time in your squad and read the memos, you would know that your case has been re-assigned to Burglary.”
“May I ask why, sir?” Considering that I have just been caught in flagrante delicto with the wife of the target of my own investigation; me questioning the deputy chief’s motives is pretty ballsy, I’ll admit. Right now, I may not be thinking quite as clearly as I should be. The scent of Kathryn’s sex on my face isn’t helping matters either.
“My team has been making progress and…” Seething beneath the surface, I try to keep my emotions in check as the chief cuts me off with a chopping motion of his right hand.
“This is not the time or place to discuss your unit’s shortcomings, detective!” Looking around the room… “Get your things and report to my office in one hour!” He turns and strides from the room before I can reply. I feel my face flush at his sharp rebuke and as I watch him leave the room, my dark, liquid eyes burn with unconcealed anger, boring holes in the back of his handmade Italian suit. Sanctimonious asshole!
*
As pissed as I am now, I know better than to keep the bureau’s ‘little Hitler’ waiting. The last time someone made the mistake of keeping the deputy chief waiting, he ended up on parking patrol for a week – in the middle of the worst snowstorm this city has seen in a decade. Considering how Chief Edwards feels about lesbians, and me in particular, I’d probably spend the next month doing cavity searches on all the ‘working girls’ busted in the department’s recently reinstated prostitute sweeps. The absolute last thing on earth that I want to do is to be shoving my fingers up some skank’s swampy snatch, checking to make sure they’re not trying to smuggle in a cell phone or drugs.
And so it is that I find myself outside the deputy chief’s fifteenth floor office exactly, according to my Corum chronograph, 27 minutes and 12 seconds later. I may have given a few pedestrians a heart attack as I navigated my ‘lights and sound-equipped’ onyx black Mustang through the city streets… the roar of its five-liter tuned V-8 echoing off the brick and concrete edifices that make up downtown Portland.
The aide stationed outside Edward’s office announces my arrival and I settle back in one of the black leather Ethan Allen over-stuffed chairs… and wait.
Becoming quickly bored with the magazine selection on the polished table between the two chairs – Golf Digest and Aviation Northwest – my mind goes back to that day four weeks ago, when I first met Kathryn…
~~~
– Portland Police Bureau
Six weeks after I had been shot by my lover – it was an accident; she had been aiming for my boss - who had been trying to frame my ex-lover; who just happened to be the newly appointed chief of detectives, of a string of burglaries – I returned to duty and the first step toward putting my life back together… again.
My on again/off again girlfriend was in jail awaiting trial on charges of burglary, grand theft, attempted murder and a few other charges. Being an assistant district attorney had not worked in her favor and the presiding judge remanded her without bail because of her position and ‘assumed connections with undesirable elements’… a polite way of saying she knew criminals and was apparently considered a flight risk. Cassie refused to see me and short of over-powering the guards at the Multnomah County jail, it didn’t look like I am going to see her before the trial.
As for my ex-lover, Julia resigned from the bureau and left Portland in the aftermath of the shooting, my declaration of love for her and Cassie’s subsequent arrest and incarceration. I have no idea where Julia is and if I am smart, I will let her go… again. Do you really want to get burned again, Aimée?
With the string of burglaries now solved, I requested and was granted, a transfer to Vice. My first assignment was a Pacific Northwest industrialist who was running a chain of underground ‘casinos’, complete with prostitutes and drugs. The authorities had been trying to get something on him for years, but he was too well-insulated and almost fanatical about letting anyone in who hadn’t been vetted a dozen ways from Sunday. There was no way we were going to get someone undercover in; I could see this after studying the case files over a long weekend. Just when I was thinking that I had been handed the loser of all loser cases, something caught my eye.
The target of our investigation, industrialist Pearce Bedford, was married to a woman who used to frequent a very specialized ‘club’ in Manhattan. This ‘club’ was in fact a bordello catering exclusively to the elite of Manhattan society, specifically the closeted females of Manhattan society. I had ‘met’ Kathryn… she went by the name Nancy Plato back then… while on an undercover assignment with the NYPD, my home before coming to Portland, Oregon three years ago.
*
I had gotten in as a masseuse, hoping to gain access to records that according to an inside informant, were kept on the premises and disguised as lesbian porn DVDs. Two weeks later, the DVDs had not materialized and my bosses pulled me out, but not before I had met, up close and personal, several well-heeled clients. Nancy was one of those clients. Nancy liked young women and upon learning that my father was a part of New Jersey ‘society’ – aka, the Mob - we had struck up a friendship. Nancy liked dangerous women. I had been a little sorry when the assignment had ended.
*
I was up until dawn formulating a plan to present to my captain. After years of trying to infiltrate Bedford’s inner circle, I had found an ‘in’. From the case file we knew that whatever his wife desired, Pearce Bedford got for her… whatever she wanted. I had a calling card right into Kathryn’s bed… my days back at that Manhattan bordello. This was almost too good to be true.
As I sat at the marble kitchen island counter of my fifth floor condo at CYAN/PDX, working on a second pot of Ethiopia Sidamo, I realized that I was going to need a crash course in computer hacking from my favorite ‘techie’ at PPB. Ryan, a former hacker of international repute, had turned his computer prowess over to the forces of good several years ago and had found a home with the Portland Police Bureau. Since there was no way in the world I was putting Ryan within five miles of the Bedford compound, he would have to impart some of his skills to me.

Wednesday, November 7, 2012