Category Archives: 2015

PW Picks: Books of the Week, December 7, 2015

This week at Publisher’s Weekly: a bibulous Southern preacher’s perverse quest for sainthood, plus how human perception is changing.

Source: http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/68840-pw-picks-books-of-the-week-december-7-2015.html?utm_source=Publishers+Weekly&utm_campaign=9e2d958a01-UA-15906914-1&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_0bb2959cbb-9e2d958a01-304545489

Sophia

Sophia

Sophia by Michael Bible (Melville House) – Bible’s short, comic novel, which relates a bibulous Southern preacher’s perverse quest for sainthood, is full of small miracles. The Reverend Alvis T. Maloney is a Rabelaisian figure, the “lazy priest of [the] town’s worst church,” whose irrepressible appetites lead him into distinctly unholy alliances with his parishioners and the Holy Ghost, about whom he has recurring erotic dreams that would make John Donne blush. Whether he is a man more sinned against than sinning is an open question, but his desire to follow his own unorthodox righteous path is undisputed. The plot is almost secondary, though there is an excess of it: a cross-country chess tournament tour with Eli, a prodigy and Maloney’s “redneck Virgil”; an attack on a suburban house involving a hot air balloon; and a game of wits with a blind bounty hunter chasing Maloney and his pregnant lover from “the great Southern Bohemia” to New York City. Bible shrewdly pairs his maximalist comic style with a minimalist form. The novella is composed of short, paragraph-long scenes that are variously poetic, bawdy, and zany.

The Verdict

The Verdict

The Verdict by Nick Stone (Pegasus Crime) – This propulsive legal thriller from Thriller Award–winner Stone (Mr. Clarinet) centers on the arrest and impending trial—seemingly a certain prosecutorial slam dunk—of multimillionaire hedge funder Vernon James, a poor West Indian immigrant’s son, for the murder of the young blond whose strangled body is found in his luxury suite at the London hotel where only hours earlier he accepted an award from the Hoffmann Trust, a liberal umbrella organization, as “Ethical Person of the Year.” James’s predicament should come as catnip to Terry Flynt—at 38 hanging on by his fingernails to a job as a lowly legal clerk—who blames James, his former childhood best friend, for getting him booted out of Cambridge and starting him on the downward spiral of booze and depression that nearly destroyed his life. But, as Flynt is stunned to discover when he’s tapped to work on the defense team, his feelings are significantly more complicated, especially once the evidence he starts to uncover suggests that James might be innocent.

To see other picks: http://www.publishersweekly.com/pw/by-topic/industry-news/tip-sheet/article/68840-pw-picks-books-of-the-week-december-7-2015.html?utm_source=Publishers+Weekly&utm_campaign=9e2d958a01-UA-15906914-1&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_0bb2959cbb-9e2d958a01-304545489

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“Holly’s Corner,” part 8

[Writer’s note: What began as a writing prompt — photo and first paragraph — has become at least the start of a story. I will endeavor to add short sections to it, at lest as long as there is some interest. It might be a little rough in parts, but that’s because it is coming “hot off the press,” which could be part of the fun of it. In the meantime, you are free to jump off from any part of this story thus far and write your own version. Click Holly’s Corner below to get Parts 1 – 7.]

by David E. Booker

I hadn’t refilled my drink and there wasn’t anything on a nearby table, so Marc dropped the rest of the Ricky Ricardo on the floor, turned and raced out of the restaurant.

Everybody’s a food critic.

#

Father Brown was waiting for me at what passed for an office. Treehouse with slightly insulated walls was a better way of describing the former storage area, second story walk up. The steps needed repair and were steeper than some parts of the trail at House Mountain. Not exactly inviting for business. And there was an odd smell, like cooked cabbage and roasted Brussel Sprouts that came and went without seeming regularity or reason.

I thought about asking him if he had a hot plate hidden somewhere in my ramshackle pseudo-office, but wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.

It was a cool, rainy day down at Holly's Corner.

It was a cool, rainy day down at Holly’s Corner.

Father Brown was in his seventies and had been a Catholic priest. He had been tall in his day, but was now a bit stoop-shouldered, maybe even hunched back, and more than a little reluctant to go outside. His hair was white and he wore a goatee that could make him seem like a mischievous old uncle or a devious old man, depending on what he said and how he said it. His having one slightly lazy eye didn’t help in determining if he was mischievous or malevolent. Being convicted as a pedophile didn’t help either. At least that’s how people heard it. He had actually been convicted of aiding a pedophile, something he said he did not do wittingly. He did not know he was doing it.

He came to me to help him clear his name. The church wasn’t going to help, nor the parents of any of the kids. But a couple of the kids who were now adults came forward and said he had nothing to do with what happened to them. Armed with that, I had tried to move forward, but then Father Brown started losing his mind, so to say. Memories became jumbled, details incoherent or empty in places. Then, out of the blue, details return. Sometimes only for a while.

Doctors, at least the ones I can afford, have not answer. Medicare has not been much help, either, in paying for some specialty tests. Thus far, speculation … excuse me, diagnosis … has run the gamut from chemically based to an emotional one, a form of post-traumatic stress. A few ten thousand dollars more and they might just be able to nail it down … or not.

When lucid, he could be a wonder to have around and for a man of his age. He has taken to the computer as if he’d entered a second childhood. He says he has his own place, but he is always “locking up the office” at the end of the day and is the first one in.
I have found food wrappers and apple cores in the trash sometimes in the morning, but Father Brown says he brings things in and heats them in the microwave he bought at a yard sale, then donated to the office. Once in a while it makes an arcing sounding when heating something and some day may catch fire and burn the place down.

Brown’s first name is John and I can see the headlines now: “John of Arc Sets Self on Fire.”

I should not be so flippant.

“Did you make mud pies at your lunch meeting at Holly’s?” Brown asked when he saw me.

“Probably would have been better off if I had,” I said. “Ran into Marc.”

“I bet that hurt.”

Sometimes Brown took things too literally or maybe he was having fun with me. Sometimes I couldn’t tell. He handed me a damp cloth to wipe myself off.

“The client and I couldn’t agree on terms, so she left and I’m on the search for another replacement.”

“That’s the second one in the past week that you couldn’t reach terms with.”

We were standing in what served as the receptionist area. We had erected a flimsy wall with drapery on a rod across the opening where a door would be. Brown sometimes called it my Les Nessman door.

We were six hours and many years away from a fictional radio station. I would have to make sure Brown had no plans for turkeys this Thanksgiving.

“This one was about finding a family heirloom,” I said.

“Heirlooms can be priceless.”

“Not a recipe.”

“Recipes and spices have played important parts of history.”

“How would you know?”

“Because I told him so.” It was a woman’s voice. It started a little whiny, then turned a little guttural.

I tossed the wet wipe in the trash and stepped through the curtain and behind door number one was the woman who had threatened me with her rolling pin. She was still gripping the deadly device.

#

(To be continued.)

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Photo finish Friday: “En-light-ened”

Discussing the ramifications of an inflatable Christmas with her little brother.

Discussing the ramifications of an inflatable Christmas with her little brother.

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Motes”

The motes in the sun /

bloom larger with each movement /

downward into snow.

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cARtOONSdAY: “tHE hOLIDAY lETTER”

Santa even put his best elves on it -- and they still came up as blank as a fresh piece of paper.

Santa even put his best elves on it — and they still came up as blank as a fresh piece of paper.

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Monday morning writing joke: “Drink up”

A writer walks into a bar and orders three beers, all to be delivered at the same time to his table.

The waitress brings over his beers and the bartender watches as the writer takes a sip out of each mug in turn, starting from the writer’s left and going to his right. A couple of nights later the writer comes in and does the same thing: three beers delivered to his table; he drinks a swallow from each mug in turn.

Finally, the third time it happens, the bartender delivers the beers and tells the writer, “You know, these beers start to go flat the moment I draw them out of the tap. You would be better off drinking one, ordering another, and then a third.”

“But,” the writer said, “I need to order them this way and drink them just this way.”

“Why?” the bartender asks.

“One mug is for my brother the screenwriter in L.A. The next mug is for my brother the advertising writer in New York. And the third one is mine, a small-time mystery writer who frequents your bar here in Atlanta. I do this here and each of my brothers is doing the same thing in the bars they are in.

The bartender appreciates the tradition and from then on says no more, until one evening the writer comes in and orders only two beers.

The bartender thinks something must have happened to one of the brothers, so when he has a moment, he walks over to the table and expresses his condolences.

“No, no, no,” the writer says. “We are all fine. Alive and well and procrastinating before the blank screen in search of our next words.”

“But you only ordered two beers.”

“You see,” the writer says, “my wife and I converted to being Southern Baptist and we no longer drink, but my brothers still do.”

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Libraries: the hauntingly beautiful and the beautifully haunted

The World’s Most Beautiful Library Is In Prague, Czech Republic

Source: http://www.boredpanda.com/beautiful-library-prague-czech-clementinum/

The Klementinum library

The Klementinum library

The Klementinum library, a beautiful example of Baroque architecture, was first opened in 1722 as part of the Jesuit university, and houses over 20,000 books. It was voted as one of the most beautiful and majestic libraries in the world by our readers!

The ceiling frescoes were painted by Jan Hiebl. In 1781, director Karel Rafael Ungar established Biblioteca Nationalis, a collection of Czech language literature. Some of the rare historical books from this collection have been sent to Google for scanning and will eventually be available on Google Books.

Just as the library is a rare and little-known treasure, so is it associated with several little-known facts: the Klementinum used to be the third largest Jesuit college in the world; recording of local weather began there in 1775 and has continued ever since; it is featured in a novel by famous Spanish-language writer Jorge Luis Borges.

Photos of the library can be seen here: http://www.boredpanda.com/beautiful-library-prague-czech-clementinum/

***

Phantoms among the Folios: A Guide to Haunted Libraries

Source: http://americanlibrariesmagazine.org/2015/10/28/phantoms-among-folios-guide-to-haunted-libraries/

In the fall, a journalist’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of ghosts. Newspapers and magazines that haughtily refrain from printing news of the paranormal for 11 months of the year eagerly jump on the Halloween coach in October to regale their audiences with dubious tales of the preternatural.

American Libraries is no exception. However, unlike less reputable media, we go to original sources whenever possible to ascertain whether or not our spooks are spurious. And in so doing we have uncovered a hauntful of genuinely eerie events hiding amid the folktales.

Libraries are haunted?

Bleak mansions and somber castles usually spring to mind when we think of haunted places. But ghostly phenomena—whatever the cause—can manifest in well-lit, modern offices as well as crumbling Carnegies. Of course, it helps if you inadvertently build your library on top of a graveyard.

Haunted libraries fall into two types. First, there is the “building with a reputation,” where a convenient murder, curse, or other tragedy has occurred. Library staff can then blame the odd noise, the occasional book falling off the shelf, or glitches in the air conditioning on the resident “scapeghost.” No one reports anything too spooky, and the children’s librarians have a good time with it at story hour.

Second, there are libraries where credible, responsible people observe enigmatic human shapes, hear disembodied voices, and witness other classic parapsychological events. Glib explanations about how the building must be settling ring about as hollow as those mysterious footsteps late at night on the upper floorboards. The library staff learns to live with its wraith, usually by accepting the paranormal as a normal working condition.

Both categories of haunted libraries are described here. Like a good journalist I will begin with Type One, forcing you to read through to the end to get the good stuff. Just make sure you don’t finish this article alone in bed, late at night, during a violent thunderstorm.

’Tis the curse of service

As if library directors didn’t have enough to worry about, a curse would be sufficient to send stress levels over the line. Fortunately, the curse on Peoria (Ill.) Public Library directors seem to have lifted long ago. Uttered in 1847 by the lawyer-plagued woman who owned the land where the library now stands, the curse is said to have been responsible for the untimely deaths of three directors: The first was killed in a streetcar accident in 1915, the second died from a heart attack suffered after a heated debate at a library board meeting in 1921, and the third committed suicide in 1924 by swallowing arsenic. Since then, Peoria directors have lived long, fruitful lives.

Trisha Noack, ‎manager of Public Relations at Peoria Public Library, said their Main Library was remodeled and reopened in December 2010.

“Most of these reports came from the stacks area, now known as LL1 and the home of our Art Gallery and Local History and Genealogy Room,” Noack said. “Since the stacks were eliminated (and) the entire library building (was) stripped down to the bare walls, there has been no further activity.”

Ruth did it

On October 11, 1947, Ruth Cochran, assistant librarian at the Umatilla County Public Library in Pendleton and president of the Eastern Oregon Library Association, suffered a cerebral hemorrhage as she was closing the building. She went to the basement to rest, but soon became too weak to move or summon help. The next day the custodian’s wife found her, still conscious, and she was taken to the hospital where she died, according to the Pendleton East Oregonian. Ever since, spooky events in the library have been blamed on Ruth’s ghost.

Harvey Thompson, a library patron who took an interest in Ruth, said there is “something in the building that makes people nervous.” Once a custodian was alone in the building painting the children’s room when the intercom system buzzed repeatedly. “The folklore was that Ruth was suffering in the basement trying to summon someone,” Thompson said.

The library, now called the Pendleton Public Library, moved to into a vacant remodeled junior high school building in November 1996, according to library director Mary Finney. Ruth’s old building has been converted into the Pendleton Center for the Arts. Former executive director Tom Hilliard said that he never saw or heard anything he couldn’t explain: “It was an old building [a Carnegie built in 1916]. Noises turned out to be pipes expanding or a bird in the attic.”

Rockin’ wraith

The Cairo (Ill.) Public Library boasts of a ghost that one young library patron has dubbed Toby. Director Monica Smith noted that Toby usually hangs out in the special collections room on the second floor of this 1884 building. “I’m here a lot of times by myself at night, and I do hear many different sounds like someone walking around upstairs,” Smith said. “Many times I come back and find the lights on that we turned off in that room. I definitely think there is a presence here.”

Former librarian Louise Ogg once saw a ghostly light rise up from behind a desk, pass slowly by her office, and disappear into the book stacks. Another staff member was with her and saw the same thing. There used to be a rocking chair in the library that made creaking noises by itself, as if someone were rocking in it. “You kind of get used to it,” Smith said.

More available at: http://americanlibrariesmagazine.org/2015/10/28/phantoms-among-folios-guide-to-haunted-libraries/

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Photo finish Friday: “What Black Friday really means”

Id, Ego, and Superego.

Id, Ego, and Superego.

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Haiku to you Thursday: “Table”

The best linen rests /

surrounded by plates and pie. /

Scraps become compost.

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Writing tip Wednesday: “Short, short story contest”

SSS-Header

We’ll keep this short.

Enter the Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition for a chance at $3,000 and a trip to the 2016 Writer’s Digest Conference, PLUS national exposure for your story! Click here to see the full prize list.

Here’s the bottom line.

Keep your story under 1,500 words to qualify, and be sure to get your work to us by December 14.

One First Place Winner will receive:

  • $3,000 in cash
  • Their short story title published in Writer’s Digest magazine’s July/August 2016 issue
  • A paid trip to the ever-popular Writer’s Digest Conference!
  • A copy of the 16th Annual Writer’s Digest Short Short Story Competition Collection
  • A copy of the 2016 Novel & Short Story Writer’s Market
  • A copy of the 2016 Guide to Literary Agents.

Other prizes and how to enter: http://www.writersdigest.com/writers-digest-competitions/short-short-story-competition?utm_source=competition&utm_campaign=wd-tjo-comp-161125&utm_content=801449_WC151125&utm_medium=email

Deadline: December 14, 2015

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