Book Review: Welcome to Hell by CK Houghton

How would you feel if you woke up in what seems like the fanciest Caribbean resort but had no memory of how you got there? Would you think your buddies were playing the greatest trick in the world on you? Would you maybe get a tiny clue when the temperature continues to rise to uncomfortable levels?

In CK Houghton's wicked new novella, Welcome to Hell, Teddy Jameson wakes up disoriented. He's not where he was before he went to sleep. He asks, "Where the hell am I?" He doesn't pick up on the answer: "Oh ho, funny, very funny, indeed, Mr. Jameson." Thus begins Teddy's conflict between disbelief in what he knows is right and grudging acceptance of the fact his circumstances are vastly altered. Even though the Devil himself welcomes him, Teddy can't accept the charming man who looks more like Brad Pitt than our childhood image of horns, cloven hooves and flamesis the real Devil. Has to be a trick played on him by his best friends. He was just making love with his girlfriend.

Houghton leads Teddy through a series of events that repeat themselves over and over. A drowning followed by rescue followed by drowning. Still Teddy doesn't want to admit what he's seeing. The resolution of Teddy's disbelief comes after many scenes, threats and promises of eternal damnation.

Take a healthy pouring of Jonathan Swift's satire. Stir in black humor. Add a slug of morality play when the Devil explains what is in store for Teddy's eternal damnation. Stir well. Sip. Repeat.

Houghton hits two of my favorite writing elements, satire and black humor. If you are a bit bent, as I am certainly bent, this novella is for you. Sit back and enjoy. You'll find it's worth the ride.

Follow CK Houghton as Kristen Houghton on www.HuffingtonPost.com and www.TwoDayMag.com. She's the author of the wildly funny novel, No Woman Diets Alone--There's Always a Man Behind Her Eating a Doughnut.

Book Review: Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford

Jamie Ford's debut novel of hope is set against a dark backdrop of racial tensions in World War II Seattle. It's well written. It's romantic. And it's derivative. David Guterson's Snow Falling on Cedars precedes this book by four years, where nearly the same story is told. In Guterson's book, a non-Japanese falls in love with a Japanese-American girl just before Japanese Americans are relocated to internment camps inland. In Ford's, a Chinese boy falls in love with a Japanese-American girl just before she and her family are sent to an internment camp in Idaho. That doesn't make Ford's book a copy. It isn't. It's a strong, literary treatment of love in a time of crisis.

In Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet, Ford introduces us to Henry, a twelve-year-old Chinese boy living with his traditional parents in Seattle's Chinatown. His parents send him to a white prep junior high where he meets Keiko, another twelve year old. Keiko's family is about as different as it can be from Henry's. Her parents are proud Americans first, Japanese second. They are progressive where Henry's family of suffocatingly traditional. Henry is forbidden to speak Cantonese at home. His father insists he use "his American" even though neither parent understands much English. Keiko's family is open, fun-loving. Keiko doesn't even know how to speak Japanese, even though she lives in Nihonmachi.

With internment comes separation of the children. Keiko promises to return; Henry promises to wait. They write each other until the time between letters becomes too long. Eventually, the letters stop. 

The book switches between the mid 1940s and 1986. Secondary characters are well drawn, the plot is solid, and the longing both children feel for each other is believable.

Deliberately derivative or not, both Snow Falling on Cedars and Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet should be required reading for the glimpse they give into a world now nearly forgotten.

Book Review: The Left Lane by Keith T. Hodge

If this book were a movie, it would be rated R at the least, more probably X. It's raw. The language carries the rhythm of the streets, full of swearing, slang and a liberal use of a variation of the "n" word. It has gratuitous sex. It's a window into the drug culture of Martinsville, VA. And it's a window into custom cars and street racing.

So, why did I pick it up, since it's not like anything I normally read? Because I met Keith's momma and aunt at a book festival. They told me his story: convict, owner of a custom car company, writer. According to his aunt, he wrote the book in notebooks which his family then entered into Word for publication.

What I liked about the book was its sense of authenticity. The language and casual sex ring true. The street racing is fascinating, while the details of building custom cars would appeal more to a audience into such activities. The interactions between the main character Tyrone and his girlfriend Telina develop in the course of the story. The hood with its drug dealing and hustle are never far from the action, with some characters arrested, others killed.

This is not ripped from the headlines. Rather, it reads like it's what happens behind the headlines. The Left Lane by Keith T. Hodge delivers action in a new and authentic voice. Warning: this book is not for the casual reader because if its content, but if you persevere and finish the book, you'll have experienced a new writer with a natural talent learning his craft.

Welcome Sharon Struth, Author of The Hourglass

It's not often that I get to welcome a fan of this blog to participate in an interview. Sharon and I share an agent, a passion for writing and a love of travel. Our paths have run parallel for years, only to intertwine now through our agent Dawn Dowdle's Facebook group. We've lived near each other, she in Poughkeepsie, NY, me in Westchester County. We love travel, she to Tuscany and Germany, me to Japan and Thailand. We have books in our blood. And somewhere in mid-life we did an evaluation and decided to become writers.

Please help me welcome Sharon Struth who is celebrating the e-book release of her novel, THE HOURGLASS.

 Can you tell us a little about how you became a writer?

When I hit forty, I asked myself a tough question; do I want to do accounting for the rest of my life…because time is ticking by fast! It took me another eight years of soul searching, but one adult writing class later and I had my answer. A year later, I got published in a national anthology. Then another. Then, one day, I said “I’m going to write a novel.” Nearly every single day since that time, I’ve worked extremely hard at learning this craft. Is it an obsession? YES!

      Tell us about writing THE HOURGLASS, your first published novel.

The Hourglass characters came to me while in the middle of writing my first book -- which I finished and tucked in a drawer. Not worth the time to edit. But this story demanded my attention and time so I gave it a thousand percent.

 The main characters are two adults in the middle of their lives. They’ve never met, but they both face the same demon: learning to forgive themselves. In Brenda’s case, she’s a relationship psychologist with a best-selling self-help book. Her husband commits suicide the year before my story begins. The shame she carries over being unable to repair the damage under her own roof is understandable. CJ’s one single mistake tortures him, even after ten years. He lives a life of subtle punishments, punishments that deny him any true happiness. So, in short, it’s a story about learning how to forgive…others and ourselves.

Will you share the blurb for THE HOURGLASS with us?

I'd be glad to. 

Can forgiveness survive lies and unspoken truths?

Until Brenda McAllister’s husband committed suicide, she appeared to have the ideal life: a thriving psychology practice, success as a self-help author, and a model family. But her guilt over her affair with Jack’s best friend prevents her from moving on. Did Jack learn of her infidelity? Was she the cause of his death? 

The release of Brenda’s second book forces her into an unexpected assignment with arrogant celebrity author CJ Morrison, whose irritating and edgy exterior hides the torment of his own mistakes. But as she grows closer to CJ, Brenda learns she wasn’t the only one with secrets—Jack had secrets of his own, unsavory ones that may have led to his death. While CJ helps Brenda uncover the truth about her husband, she finds the path to forgiveness isn’t always on the map.

Excerpt from Chapter One:

An unexpected gravitational pull swelled Brenda’s anger. Her cute quip ran into hiding. She no longer cared about winning this man’s favor. His rudeness left her feeling as if she’d been doused with hot coffee this time. Brenda clenched her fists. A year of internal browbeating over Jack’s suicide had left her easily irritated.

Brenda gripped the frail edges of her self-control. “I once again offer my apologies for the accident, by definition an unplanned event with lack of intent.” He looked down his sturdy, Grecian nose at her, so she stood and put her hands on her hips. “Shouldn’t you, as a writer, know that?”

Every line on his face tensed. “I could do without your sarcasm.” He leaned closer. “Thanks to you, I missed my meeting. Maybe tomorrow morning you could get room service.”

The brunette unleashed a tight smirk. CJ motioned for them to move on.

Brenda fumbled for a good retort. As he stepped away, the last word went with him. The same way Jack had the last word in their life together. A silent explosion went off inside Brenda’s head and propelled her anger forward.

“Mr. Morrison?” She raised her voice to be heard above the crowd.

He looked over his shoulder and arched a questioning eyebrow.

Brenda crossed her arms and fixed a phony smile as she nodded toward his companion. “It’s so nice of you to bring your daughter to the conference.

To watch a book trailer, please visit www.thehourglassnovel.com.

The book is available from: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, All Romance Ebooks, and Kobo. 

Thanks, Sharon, for sitting down with me. If you have questions for Sharon, please comment here. She'll be monitoring the blog post all day, as will I.

All About Books and Hats

This past weekend I participated in two outreach events to promote writing (and my own book, of course).

The first event was the SML Business Expo on Friday, where the Chamber of Commerce brings local businesses together to network and attract new business. So, why was an author there? Because I never wear only one hat. My hat of the day was as the director of communications for the local arts council. We had a table and talked about what the arts council brings to the community. Since we cover performing, visual and literary arts, we had a sampling of books from Lake Writers, the literary arm of the arts council. This was merely a sample of what we have published over the last few years.

You'll see books by Susan Coyell, Sally Roseveare, Becky Mushko, Don Fink, Franz Beisser, Ginny Brock and me. It's always a pleasure to talk with people who have read these books or those who want to know where to buy them. I told everyone who asked about buying locally to go to the General Store, because I'd seen all the books on its local author shelf. If we had been allowed to sell at the expo, I probably could have sold 50 books, many of my own but lots by the other writers, too.

On Saturday, I drove up to Staunton, VA, in the gorgeous Shenandoah Valley to the SWAG Bookfair at 16 W. Beverly in the historic district. With a population of just over 24,000 people. this community supports four, count them four, bookstores. Alas, Smith Mountain Lake doesn't have that many people, but it can't really support a single bookstore.

I wore two hats on Saturday: one as the published author of Mad Max Unintended Consequences and the other as the president of Virginia Writers Club. I sold books, signed them, handed out information on the writers club and may have attracted a new member for the Roanoke chapter, Valley Writers. We'll see.

Anyway, 10 writers got together to network, sell books to the public (and each other, of course) and hang out. Always nice to reconnect with other writers and meet new friends. I go to the book fairs with one goal in mind: come away with at least one new speaking engagement. I succeeded. I also came away with ideas for promoting more than one writer in a group event. More on that later.

When you see a local writer at a festival, please visit. Tell her what you like to read. She may have written just what you are looking for. Or she may know a local writer who has.

Transitions

Last Sunday, April 14, I drove to the Bower Center in Bedford, VA to attend a discussion on imagery in Chinese poetry. Dr. Jeanne Larsen read from some of her favorite poems and explained the classic ways Chinese poets over the centuries look at spring. I'm more of a Japanese poetry student, but the shared traditions use powerful metaphors to talk about the transience.

Cherry blossoms, those delicate pinky-white blossoms burst into life and fall seemingly without provocation. Redbuds create a Jimi Hendrix experience along creek banks. Wild dogwood throw out ivory blooms dancing in understory in the woods. Maple and oak pollen paints everything a greenish-yellow. And trees put forth their first green leaves.

Have you ever really looked at those first leaves? They aren't the deep green of summer. They are bright, fresh and light. Japanese has a word for this color: new green. Nothing in my mind describes it better.

For a day I was filled with the glory of spring, new life, poetic images.

Dark reality intruded on two fronts. First, there was the bombing at the Boston Marathon. Lengthy reporting and speculation. Blood pools on the sidewalk. People being carried to the safety of ambulances. The same scenes on every network newscast. Two suspects. One dead. One captured alive. So many lives ruined.

Next came the news that my best friend's son had been arrested for DUI. He'd just started a new job. An arrest wasn't going to help him keep it. Turns out it wasn't DUI. It was possession of heroin. This young man had just royally screwed up his life. His court appearance is later this week. No one knows what's going to happen.

No one knows why two young men in Boston did what they did. We all want answers to "why?" Maybe we will get them. Maybe not. Why can't always have an answer. Sometimes, the only answer we get is "I don't know." My friend's son can't tell us why he was in possession of heroin. If he's convicted, he'll have a felony on his record. At 23.

And still spring continues. More flowers bloom. More pollen falls. More signs of new life. Mallards have nested again in the cove. Blue herons stand in stately watch in tree tops. Woodpeckers frolic and fight over nesting places. 

Spring brings symmetry with its return every year. So does violence when we least expect it. So do young men who make decisions that will follow them throughout their lives.

Let us reflect on the good, understand the evil and help the less fortunate. I think I'll go meditate by the water's edge for a while...

Mad Max Makes Her Debut

Last night, April 16, Mad Max made her official international debut at the Westlake Library where I live at Smith Mountain Lake. Her story is told in Mad Max Unintended Consequences. Our local library is a community center for local writers. Our head librarian, Joesephine Clark, and the Friends of the Library hospitality committee, John and Shirley Yates, made more than 35 people welcome. Thanks to everyone who came out. I'm humbled by your support.

As Mad Max's interpreter, I planned to talk a bit about how she came into being, read a few sections, and answer questions. I knew most of the people in the audience, the benefit of being in two local writers groups and the state-wide writers club, as well as being director of communications for the local arts council. Never hurts to have a platform when you're ready to launch a book.

It helped to have props. This funny little stuffed animal, Puss in Boots, was a gift from my grandmother on my first birthday. Yes, I kept it. So does Max...

I did my reading and threw the floor open to the audience. One of the first questions was about how Max came to be Max. Honest, I didn't plant it. Really I didn't.

Max was never supposed to be the main character. She was supposed to be a secondary character, part of a Greek chorus, if you will. One night in the eighth or ninth draft I woke up about four in the morning. I felt hands around my throat. A voice in my head shouted, "It's my story, damn it. Tell it my way." Okay, then. Can't argue with a pissed off voice in the head.

I recast the novel to be from Max's perspective. I gave her both meanings of the word mad. She is angry when her daughter stops being a mother to her children. She is madcap when her grandchildren need to laugh and be kids. And she is conflicted about the new role she is being asked to play in the family.

Even though her son-in-law is in the picture as a father, he's never been a hands-on father. He's always traveled for his work. Max has to decide if she's going to step back into a role of child rearing or not.

We talked about the major themes in the book: 

• What happens in a family when one parent suffers a brain injury and her personality changes?
• What would you do if you found yourself faced with raising children after you thought you were done?
• What steps would you take to protect your grandchildren from evil?
• How far would you go to seek justice in what seems like an unjust legal system?

We had many more questions, but those were the tops. Of course, writers wanted to know how many words I write/edit/polish each day (about 1000 polished, from 2500 to 5000 when writing very crappy first draft), if a sequel is in the works (the second manuscript is due to my agent, Dawn Dowdle, at Blue Ridge Literary Agency in June), and who would I see playing Mad Max in a movie or on television (Jamie Lee Curtis).

Afterwards, I signed books while my dear husband and business manager, Terry Naylor, handled the money.

At last we had cake. A word about the cake. Friends from the west coast donated it, since they couldn't come. Look closely. The first word is "imlroducing" instead of "introducing." Not as bad as the flub on my friend Alan Orloff's launch cake. His read "Deadly Camping" instead of "Deadly Campaign." Oh well, at least the decorator used cursive...